A/N:
As stated in the summary, this story is based on the events of the Season 8 finale. Some of you can probably guess that watching it kind of killed me on the inside. Despite the fact that it left me with a roller coaster of emotions, I definitely have hope for Sheldon and Amy for Season 9. Until then, this fan-fic is my source of therapy. It's my greatest hope that it serves as a form of therapy for all of the Shamy shippers out there, too.
There's a lot to be said about the finale, but I won't waste your time with my opinions. I'll let my writing do the talking. This story is going to span across the hiatus, so please don't expect weekly updates. In addition, this is my first time writing for The Big Bang Theory fandom, so I apologize if it's not up to par with some of the other writers. I'm not fluent in Sheldon or Amy speak, so there may be times where they seem out of character. Just a warning. I tried, but I'm nowhere near as brilliant as the writers for the show are.
One more note: the story will mostly capture Amy's perspective. Upon occasion, we will get a look at what's going on in Dr. Cooper's head.
Without further ado…
Disclaimer:
I do not own The Big Bang Theory. Chuck Lorre, Bill Prady, and CBS do.
The Caged Bird Hypothesis
Chapter 1: The Sweetest Sorrow
"There ain't no way you can hold onto something that wants to go, you understand? You can only love what you got while you got it."
–Kate DiCamillo, Because of Winn-Dixie
May 21, 2015
It had been two weeks. Two very long weeks.
Sheldon didn't want to admit it, but every single minute that ticked by when he didn't hear from Amy made his stress levels rise. His nerves felt like they were hot-wired; a feeling that was comparable to the period in his life when he tried to purposefully induce anxiety in order to increase his productivity. As if that wasn't bad enough, this was much worse.
Recently, he found that his heart raced slightly faster than its normal perfect rhythm and that despite the copious amounts of Advil he ingested, the constant throbbing pain near his temples would not cease. There was even a tiny tremor in his hands when one looked hard enough. His shoulders remained stiff, no matter how much he attempted to relax them. His natural, lopsided grin, which he had allowed himself to show more in the last six months, started to dissolve into the tight-lipped mold he had perfected for occasions when he was forced to smile. And if one looked even harder, really looked, one could see that his blue eyes hadn't lit up in happiness or amusement in the last couple of weeks.
He feigned enthusiasm as best as he could, but he knew acting wasn't his forte. A shame, really, since everything else was.
Even though the inside of Sheldon's mind (and heart) was consumed with confusion and sorrow, he kept a detached demeanor on the outside, making sure to appear as if he wasn't affected by Amy's absence. He knew his mistake with Zazzles and the other cats. It was obvious (even to him, after much introspection) that he had acted upon his feelings of loneliness. Years had passed since that incident, and now, he believed that he could appear nonchalant about the situation without purchasing twenty-five pets (or other unnecessary items to fill the void). And that's exactly what he was doing.
He continued on his progress with Dark Matter, filling white board after white board with more equations and theories. He chatted animatedly about the newest editions available at the comic book store, re-watched Star Wars and Star Trek with his friends, and played Halo and paintball with a gusto he hadn't experienced for the last couple of years. He still scoffed at anything Wolowitz said, rolled his eyes at the bantering between Leonard and Penny (both of whom had returned from Las Vegas declaring that they thought a last minute wedding wasn't their style because it didn't include the people most important to them), and often reminded Raj that staying with Emily was a horrid idea because he still had to work on issues with being alone.
All in all, it seemed that Sheldon had everything under control. His years of indifference and apathy had served him well. He was an emotionless wall who could blink and blurt out anything that came to mind, regardless of the appropriate social protocol. It was true that he didn't quite understand the pleasure of having emotions. After all, he was above emotions—they were petty things that were waste of time. Biologically speaking, yes, he did have a heart. But, it pumped blood, and other than keeping him alive, that organ had no business interfering with what one would call 'love.'
That was so far from the truth that it was funny.
Years ago, he was delighted because everyone—colleagues, friends, and family-thought he was an emotionless wall. He didn't care back then. The only thing that mattered was his ability to express his genius. The world deserved to know how brilliant he was. The world needed to know how much they should appreciate Sheldon Lee Cooper. Then again, he knew how some people could resist this idea. It was silly to him, of course, but he was aware that 'haters' existed. Every harsh comment thrown his way, every annoyed glance was ignored. Plebeians could be ignored. What couldn't be, though, was that Sheldon Cooper was the best Homo Novus, and nothing could alter that fact.
But, ever since he had laid eyes on all five feet, four inches of Amy Farrah Fowler, with her sharp tongue that could refute any point of his, and clad in her purple and black striped cardigan, khaki colored skirt, orthopedics, and thinly framed glasses, things had been different.
Through the five years they had spent together, including the many arguments, intelligent conversations, Date Nights, and evenings of drinking tea and enjoying the comfortable silence that they shared from time to time, the wall that he had spent years constructing had begun to crack, a little bit at a time. It had never crumbled completely, and for that, he was grateful. Even though she had changed him, there were parts of his personality—his quirks, as he liked to call them—that could never alter or disappear altogether.
When he took the time to really think about how much he had emotionally and mentally grown because of her, it terrified him. It meant that she had a greater influence in his life than he'd care to admit.
And that was why the bravado he kept up took a tremendous amount of effort. Sure, he didn't have a lot of difficulty finding things to ponder—particle physics, superheroes, the movies that he had seen and the many that he still wanted to see, a multitude of video games, the perfect nature of his spot on the couch, his interesting relationships with his friends, how his mother was fairing in East Texas, the list kept going on and on. The difficult part was forcing himself to focus on these other subjects and not her.
What frightened him more than anything was that he thought about her a little too much. Whenever he saw the color green, he was reminded of her sparkling eyes that always managed to make his lips quirk into a small smile. Whenever someone would laugh, he immediately thought about the times his ears had picked up on her quiet chuckle. She had a musical lilt that he liked. There was something endearing about it, something that he couldn't quite understand, but like many aspects of life he found puzzling, he just learned to accept it.
What hurt the most, though, was when everyone else had their respective partner beside them, either at dinner in 4A, or out and about. He tried to ignore the small looks of affection passing between couples, or the hand holding, or the occasional kiss. He would have to look away in those moments, for sake of their privacy, and because it was simply proof that he had no one to share those things with now. The emptiness that was there made him think about the years before he met Amy. And despite his efforts to deny it, he didn't want to go back to that time of his life. Loneliness had been his companion for far too long. For the last five years, he wasn't in its constant company.
He knew that he shouldn't be this distracted. It was ridiculous really. Absolute hokum. As much as he tried to repress everything, his mind wouldn't stop relentless questions. It kept asking him when she'd contact him. He figured that she needed a few days at most before she knocked on his door, prepared to explain herself. But, he had not heard one word from Amy. No phone call, no text message, no email, no Skype call. And of course no visit. Nothing.
The only thing that kept him from demanding that Leonard take him to her apartment, or getting on a disgusting, germ ridden bus was the fact that he knew that she needed her space. She had said that being his girlfriend was mentally and physically exhausting, and that she needed time to step back and evaluate their relationship. He had agreed, albeit hesitantly. He didn't want her to reevaluate the situation. Because his fear—that she would leave him—would become a reality. The way things were right now, it sure felt that she had left him.
He wasn't sure why this day was any different. He had woken up, stuck to his regular bathroom schedule, ate oatmeal for breakfast, arrived at CalTech to work diligently on Dark Matter, spoke to Leonard, Raj, and Howard at lunch, and when Kripke burst into this office to complain about Lord knew what, he glared at him and stated firmly not to interrupt him anymore because as the better physicist, he needed to be left alone to work. When it was time to go back to the apartment for Thai food, something stopped him. He knew it had to deal with her (there wasn't much that didn't these days, but that thought never left the safety of his mind). He wasn't romantic, so he couldn't say that it was an urge need to see her or he'd die.
It was an itch. And he hated those. This itch wouldn't go away; his brain was driving him insane, even though his mother had him thoroughly tested for insanity.
Instead of placing himself in the passenger side of Leonard's car, he pulled his bus pants from a drawer of his office desk (he kept a spare there, in case he ever needed to take the bus home from work for whatever reason). The next thing he knew, he was on the bus on the way to Glendale. He sat in his seat, fidgeting during the whole ride. Thankfully, the person next to him remained silent, minding their own business. In his current state of mind, if he had opened his mouth to speak, a bunch of nervous gibberish would have spilled out.
He had no idea what to say. He thought that a plan of action was in order, and the second he sat down in the bus, he thought of multiple ways to approach the situation. But, it seemed he had reached an impasse. Despite his tendencies to prepare and organize, he knew that upon seeing her face, he would figure it out.
Spontaneity had never been his middle name, but maybe that was the problem all along. Amy had said several times that she deserved romance, something that was spontaneous. He hated spontaneity. It wasn't planned; it was chaos, anarchy. He couldn't quantify it, and that drove him mad.
He sighed, knowing that he was going to get nowhere unless he gave into these irritating feelings. Liking singing Soft Kitty when he was ill, or drinking tea when he was upset, seeing her would make it all better. He just needed to hear her voice. Feel her body pressed against his in a tight embrace. Kiss those lips that he had missed so dearly. He needed all of that. Right now.
As soon as the bus stopped moving, he was off of it like The Flash. He made his way into her apartment complex, a place he could almost call home because he had spent many evenings there for Date Night. A sudden stab of guilt hit him in the abdomen, causing an involuntary wince. Now was not the time to think about that.
After the agonizingly slow elevator ride, he took a deep breath and marched to the door marked 314. His jaw was set and determination burned in his azure eyes. His inner Texan flared, telling him it was time to get his woman back.
What halted him in his tracks was the note that was taped to the door with his name written in her cursive print. He reached out to take it, confusion knitting his brows. With trembling fingers, he unfolded the piece of paper to read its contents.
Sheldon,
Before you begin to wonder about this, please find the key to my apartment to let yourself in. It's located behind one of the pictures hanging in the hallway. The clue is "new swan stone." Once you have entered, you will find a DVD on the coffee table. Insert it into the disc player, and everything will be explained when you watch the video. Go.
-Amy
He operated on autopilot as soon as his eyes finished skimming the letter. He raced to the painting near the elevator, internally thanking his helpful brain for its limited German; spending time in Germany as an adolescent had been beneficial after all. As soon as he read the words, he knew "new swan stone" meant Neuschwanstein. Sure enough, when he arrived at the painting of the magnificent castle that Disney had emulated for its famous image, his fingers wrapped around a key taped to the wall behind it.
As fast as his long legs could carry him, he dashed back to Amy's apartment. With unsteady hands, he jammed the key into the door and pushed it open.
The apartment was oddly cold, making him tug at his windbreaker absentmindedly. His eyes scanned the length of the room, finding that it was spotless—nothing was out of place. He immediately spied the DVD on the coffee table. Grabbing it, he brought it closer to his eyes for inspection. It was just a plain silver disc, but whatever was on it was apparently vitally important.
He did as he was told and turned on her TV to insert the disc into the player. Her face popped up the screen, startling him for a second. He took a moment to take in her appearance—one that he had not seen in what seemed like forever. Her haunting green eyes stared back at him, but there was no light in them, just a deep sadness. Her pin-straight, chestnut colored hair lacked its usual shine, and her rosy lips, which were normally tilted up in a small smile, were pointed downwards in a frown. The state that she was in reminded him of that dreadful Skype call two weeks ago.
He shuddered at the memory, momentarily distracted from his task. He shook himself out of his tangent and took a hold of the TV remote to click play.
Sheldon's breath hitched as Amy's face unfroze.
"Sheldon," she began quietly.
He found himself digging his fingers into the upholstery of her sofa, shoulders tensed in anticipation for what she was about to say next.
"At this point, you're probably wondering why you're watching this. Why would I go through all of this trouble when I could just talk to you?" She paused to look away from the camera, seeming lost in her thoughts.
He almost wanted to turn off the video and not hear the rest of her message. There was a large part of him that feared what she wanted to tell him. But, a bigger part knew that he had to at least give her the benefit of the doubt. He had spent enough time ignoring her needs, in favor of his own. This time, he would let her have the floor. A small sliver of hope bloomed in his chest. Perhaps what she had intended to say would be positive, after all.
With bated breath, he allowed himself to keep watching.
After a few seconds of silence, she spoke again. "As you may have noticed, I haven't contacted you in the last couple of weeks. I needed time to think on my own. As much as it pained me to keep my distance, I knew the second that I heard your voice or saw you, I would crumble into nothing. And I couldn't let that happen. I have more dignity than that." Her voice grew in strength; she appeared less shaky and frightened than she had when she began.
"I know that this 'break' has caused you discomfort, as it interrupts our normal interactions. For that, I apologize. On the other hand, this 'break' has taught me many things. One of which is, despite the affection I have for you, I deserve better than this."
She drew in a quick breath, arching one of her eyebrows in a way that said, 'Don't you dare refute my point.' It reminded him of the expression that flitted across her face when he was about to insert a blunt comment. The arch in her eyebrow disappeared a second later, giving her the same grim look.
"Before you begin your rebuttal, please let me finish. You have given me so much over the years, Sheldon. Not only have you given me your companionship, but you have also shown me how to love and how to trust. And you introduced me to a group of wonderful people. For the first time, I have friends." A brief smile crossed her lips.
"I cannot thank you enough. But, that doesn't mean I deserve the pain that comes along with being your girlfriend. While you have made improvements with reading facial cues and understanding emotions, there are times when your ability is still lacking. It's not that I don't notice the snide little comments you make about me; I just choose to ignore them because I've had to ignore my peers' remarks during my whole life. Whether the comments are coming from you, or from the people I used to know, they're still hurtful. I deserve better than that. And I know how hard you've worked to change for me. Believe me, your progress is admirable. That doesn't mean there aren't things I long for. Five years have passed, and even though we have exchanged I love you's,applied for an expedition to Mars together, and had our first sleepover, there are parts of the relationship that are missing. I know what you're thinking—it's not the intimacy I'm referring to. As much as I would love to have a physical relationship with you, I understand the difficulty with that. You're not the only one who has hesitations. Before I met you, there was no need for me to look at anyone that way. Yes, I hint at it often, but there's much more to it that you are unware of." She swallowed.
"In order to be intimate with you, I need to know that we belong to each other—that you are unconditionally mine and that I am unconditionally yours. No 'ands' 'ifs' or 'buts.' And I don't know that for sure." Her voice cracked at this statement. "You're a flight risk—we both know this. You're changing, I realize. But, there's still something that's blocking us. A wall, if you will. I'm on one side of the wall, and you're on the other. This wall…it's like we've come to a stand-still. To be honest, I don't know if you're willing to climb over it. And I don't know if I'm strong enough to." She sighed, her green eyes shining with unshed tears.
With a shuddering breath, she said, "After two weeks of deliberation, I've come to a decision. You may expect me to drive to Pasadena, admit I was wrong, and beg for your forgiveness. You may believe that I will ask that we pick up where our relationship left off because of course you're right, and that as usual, I've let my feelings control the rational side of my brain. Unfortunately, my decision is not going to skew in your favor. As difficult as this is to say, it seems that I need more time away from you, Sheldon. Far away from you, where my head is clear and my heart isn't bruised."
The last part came out softly, and it wasn't lost on Sheldon that there was pain emanating from her voice. A spike of guilt pierced his midsection. Nevertheless, he forced himself to keep his eyes trained on the screen as she went on.
"A year ago, you left on a train because you needed time to discover how you would handle all of the changes in your life. Call it hypocritical, but I'm doing the same. This time, it is my journey of self-discovery. Please do not think this is just about you. It's so much bigger than that. As soon as I left your apartment after our anniversary, I realized how much had changed over the years, and how much hadn't changed. It scared me to think about the time before I met you and our mutual friends. While I'm grateful that I've come so far, I occasionally wonder what life what have been like if I hadn't been on the dating website that Raj and Howard had signed you up for. Life then was simpler, albeit more lonesome." She shifted in her seat, clearly agitated.
"My point is, I need to rediscover who I a m, without you and without everyone else. It's time that I evaluate who Amy Farrah Fowler is as a person, not just an addition to the group. Instead of riding various trains like you did, I'm traveling by plane and by car. I have certain destinations in mind, and when I visit them, I hope I can find my answers. I already spoke with the administration, President Siebert, and the faculty at CalTech. They have allowed me to take a sabbatical for six months, and if need be, longer than that. I told them that I'd be continuing my neurobiological research, and wherever I had planned to travel, there would be access to lab equipment. They took my word for it, after I signed a mountain load of paperwork. I'm expected to publish all of my findings, which should be interesting." The tiny smile was back, if only for a few seconds.
"The administration gave me permission to leave my car at university, but the key to the ignition is with me. So, don't think about breaking in and attempting to drive it." Her voice was stern, but there was a hint of laughter underneath if one listened close enough. She paused, and in a softer tone, she forged on. "I packed most of my things because I honestly do not know how long I will be gone. If you enter the Tardis doors to get inside of my room, you'll notice that my belongings are missing. For the sake of space, there were some things I didn't take with me. But, there are particular items that I would like back in your care. You can find them on my bed, in a small box with a note attached."
Her eyes began to tear up in the next moment, leaving a wet trail down her cheek. Reflexively, he wanted to wipe the tears away with his thumb. He suppressed a shudder; years ago, he didn't want anything to do with touching another human being, much less dealing with their bodily functions or secretions. He had his own to deal with, after all. He tore himself out of his reverie, waiting for her next statement.
In a strangled, choked voice, she said, "Sheldon, my decision wasn't easy, but I really believe it's the right one. If you love and respect me, please do not contact me while I'm away. Even if you try, I will block your calls and text messages. I need to do this on my own, without you. And please don't attempt to see me. I'm not disclosing any of the locations to anyone; they are my own private destinations that mean something to me. I promise you that I will be all right. I strategically planned this journey out, so I know how each step will be executed. Above all, I am a neurobiologist who is used to running experiments and following protocol. The method is already in place, but the results are inclusive. I need to carry this experiment out, if only for me."
With one last heaving sigh, she whispered, "I love you, Sheldon. It's frightening to me how much I love you. But, I'm not sure that's enough to keep us together. I'm sorry. I hope you understand."
The video clicked off then, leaving static ringing in the air.
He blinked at the screen before grabbing the remote to turn the TV off.
For the second time in his life, his mind was silent. The first time had been when he had received the news that his Pop-Pop had passed away. Even though he was five at the time and his mind wasn't as full of information as it was now, it still operated on a constant energy and a hungerfor more knowledge. There were always a million thoughts circling in there, never quite at rest. So, when his mother sat him down to let him know the tragic news, he was at a loss. Never had his brain quieted like it had in the moment. Now, as he sat motionless on the sofa, he felt like he was five all over again.
Eventually, his muscles moved on their own, and he soon found himself outside of her door. Blinking again, he raised his hand to knock three times and chant her name. Just before his hand made contact with the surface, his brain finally seemed to wake up from its fuzzy state.
Sheldon, it toned ominously. Don't be a fool. She isn't there. You don't have to knock.
Taking a hold of both Tardis doors, he pulled them open. He shouldn't have been surprised by the sight—she had said that she packed nearly all of her belongings. Still, the one time that he had actually ventured into her room (when he was dressed as Doctor Who), was enough for him to know that there was a quiet, intimate feeling about it. Now, it just felt cold. Unwelcoming. Empty.
The box was indeed on her bed, just as she had said. He approached it carefully, appearing as if he was afraid to touch it. When he reached the foot of the bed, he peered inside of the container. The sight of the items was enough to make him grimace.
On the bottom was the ornate wooden tea box he had given her for their fourth anniversary. As much as he loathed giving gifts, he knew anniversaries were milestones in relationships. With much prodding from Penny and Bernadette, he had relented and gone shopping. After several days of wandering through various stores, he had given up and taken to browsing online. He happened to come across a website that specialized in tea accessories. It made perfect sense to him: many of their interactions involved drinking tea, so he figured he might as well go with that. Upon receiving the gift, her green eyes had sparkled with happiness, and before he knew it, she had leaned in and planted soft kiss on his lips. After that, he realized that perhaps gift giving wasn't so horrendous after all.
On top of the tea box was the collection of Star Trek DVDs he had dropped off at her apartment soon after she and Wil Wheaton had that Fun with Flags argument. His grimace deepened. She really was upset with him if she was going to give those back. No one would ever want to return Star Trek. It was inconceivable.
His eyes kept searching the contents of the box. Tucked beside the tea box was the mushroom log he had given her. He remembered that she had complained about it at first, but grew to adore it because of its uniqueness. The reason why he was opposed to giving her flowers (especially roses—how cliché) was because they died within a few days. Mushrooms, however, could last a very long time. Why would someone want something that would sit on a table and just wither away? He didn't understand. Plus, mushrooms could be eaten and she liked the taste of them. In his opinion, the mushroom log trumped flowers any day.
His heart nearly stopped when he saw several DVD versions of Fun with Flags. They had agreed that after filming, she could develop copies for herself, while he was content with watching the episodes online. Despite their creative differences, Sheldon cherished his time with Amy when they had worked on videos. He liked sharing the experience with someone, and it was all the better that it was Amy. To see those DVDs in the box—it felt like a slap in the face. It hurt to think that she didn't appreciate the time they had together on something that was so important to him.
He felt another stinging sensation when he found the letter he had given her for Valentine's Day a few years ago—the one that made her his emergency contact at CalTech. After struggling for days to find a suitable present, he finally came to the conclusion that as long as it was personal and involved him, she would be content. Additionally, he had mentioned that if he were to suffer from any injuries, or impending diseases, she would be the one he'd like share the experience with.
But, the last two items, which rested innocently on top, made an unintentional whimper of misery escape his mouth. Because, right in front of him, was a frame that held their prom picture. In the photograph, his eyes were closed as he smiled goofily at the camera, while she clutched onto his arm and stared up at him, completely enamored. It wasn't the picture itself that caused him to have such an adverse reaction, as it was the memory that came along with the picture. It had been the night that he had admitted out loud that he loved her. He was terrified to tell her, but when he interrupted her rambling to mention the notion, he found a responding warmth in her eyes that told him it would be all right.
The other item, her tiara, mocked him from its spot. It glimmered in the light, reminding him of the day he had purchased it for her. They had just begun dating, and tensions were already high. She believed that he didn't care about her accomplishments (which, admittedly, at that time, were menial to his own). In order to appease her (and because Leonard had suggested it), he bought her a piece of jewelry. The moment she pulled it out of its gift bag, she proclaimed that she was a princess and suddenly, he found himself with an armful of Amy. He didn't like to admit it, but seeing her in that tiara, her eyes alight with sheer giddiness, made something flutter inside of his stomach. He had been told those fluttery feelings were called 'butterflies', but his logical mind knew that couldn't be the case. Regardless, that feeling stayed, and ever since that day, she was his princess, loathe as he was comment on it.
He noticed that the tiara had a note attached to it, like she had mentioned in the video. He took it from its resting place, unfolded it, and began reading.
Sheldon,
Here are the items that I want you to have back in your possession while I'm gone. Please take care of the items for me, and do not dispose of them. Even though I debated on whether or not to include the tiara, I finally deemed that it was necessary. I am no longer your princess. At least for the time being. I'm sorry.
-Amy
When he finished reading the last line of the note, he wordlessly folded it in half and returned it to its place in the box. Operating on autopilot again, he took the box into his arms and left her bedroom, closing the doors on his way out. Once he arrived into the main living area, he balanced the load in one arm and swiped the key from the table with the other. He gave one last glance around her apartment before quietly exiting and locking the door behind him. Slipping the key into his pocket, he made his way to the elevator. If he hurried, he could catch the next bus to Pasadena.
On the journey back to 2311 North Los Robles, as Sheldon clutched tightly onto the box, he felt a throbbing pain in his chest. It was an undeniable ache, one that lingered. If he had not experienced it before, he would have thought he was having a seriously medical emergency. He thought back to the other time in his life when he felt this way, his eidetic memory supplying him with the full details.
Five-year-old Sheldon Lee Cooper had spent the day memorizing the elements of the periodic table. He had already finished the school work he planned to accomplish that day during the wee hours of the morning, so he allowed himself to have fun for the whole afternoon. And of course, the periodic table board game that he begged his mother to buy him beckoned for him to play with it.
What troubled him was that his mind was having trouble focusing on the elements. Earlier that week, his mother had told him that his Pop-Pop passed away. Since then, he tried to block it out of his mind, as if the event had never occurred. Something in him knew better, though. His chest constantly felt constricted. It seemed to him that matter how much oxygen was actually available, it never felt like was enough. He would have preferred numbness over this feeling. Whatever it was.
"Shelly," Mary Cooper said softly from the kitchen. "It's time for bed soon. Come get your warm glass of milk."
"Okay, Mama," Sheldon answered, climbing down from his spot on the wooden chair at the dining room table. He ambled to the kitchen and stopped in front of his mother. His small hand reached for the glass, but Mary held onto it.
"How about we go into the living room, instead of the staying in the kitchen? I'd like to talk to you."
She frowned. Even though Sheldon had a difficult time reading facial cues, he knew that frowns were considered negative expressions. His own eyebrows scrunched up in puzzlement, but he followed silently. Settling down in his designated seat on the couch, he held his hand out for his milk.
Mary carefully passed him the glass. He began to take small sips, relishing the taste of the warm liquid. After a moment, he turned his attention back to his mother.
"What's wrong, Mamma?" he asked.
"Shelly," she murmured. "Nothing's really wrong with me. I'm worried about you. I know that it hasn't been easy with the loss of Pop-Pop. I've noticed that you're a little more off than usual."
Not one to drink a beverage and talk, Sheldon set his glass down on coaster resting on the coffee table in front of him.
He paused, contemplating the method in which to answer. Finally, he said, "I try not to think about it. Whenever I do, my chest hurts really baldy, and I don't know why." He shrugged, but it was obvious that not knowing the answer truly bothered him.
"Oh, Sheldon." She inched closer to him, opening her arms. "Come here."
Resolutely, he shook his head. Despite the fact that he loved his mother dearly, he didn't like the idea of touching anyone. The thought of physical contact was enough to make him shudder. He tried to avoid it at all times, except for when he had no other choice. Luckily, even when he was forced into it, he kept emergency Purell hidden in his pocket.
"Sheldon Lee Cooper," she responded, sternness evident in her voice.
"Fine."
He begrudgingly moved and sat down in her lap. Before he could register anything, she wound him in a tight embrace in her arms. He didn't want to say anything, but his mother's proximity was always comforting.
"I'm so sorry that you have to go through with this. I know it's your first time dealing with death, and I'm sorry to say that it doesn't get any easier. But, I can help you understand why your chest hurts." Her hand gently stroked his cheek in an affection matter. "That pain you feel…it's your heart breaking," she whispered, her soothing Southern drawl filling his ears.
Despite only being five, Sheldon knew it was improbable that a heart could break. A heart was a muscle, and while muscles were capable of aching, recovery was still possible. Muscles weren't like glass—they couldn't break. He didn't understand what his mother meant, so instead of trying to reason with her, he let her hold onto him.
Years later, as Sheldon nearly reached 4A with a box of Amy's belongings in his arms, he finally understood what his mother was getting at that day. His heart couldn't physically break, but metaphorically speaking, yes it could. That ache—it was shattering.
His heart was breaking, and he wasn't sure if there was anything to do to make it stop.
May 21, 2015
Amy scanned the large monitor attached to the wall to confirm her gate number. She was always a bit paranoid when it came to air travel. It involved much more planning than simply taking off in a car. There was a right place and a right time, and from her own experiences, she knew missed flights were the worst.
Once she located her destination and found the corresponding gate number, she nodded, breathing a silent sigh of relief. Fortunately, A-27 wasn't very far from where she currently was. Even though security had taken longer to get through than expected, at least it ended near the A gates.
Wheeling her small carry-on bag behind her, she strolled across the floors of the LAX airport. While she walked, she remembered that she had to make one phone call before departing. Fishing her mobile out of her purse, she dialed the number that she now knew by heart.
The person picked up on the second ring.
"Amy! Are you okay? Is everything all right?"
Amy could hear the exasperation on the other end of the line. She must not have started drinking yet, she thought silently. Otherwise, she'd be a lot mellower.
Cringing, Amy said, "Hi, Penny. I'm okay. Just got through the security checkpoint, actually. I'm on my way to the gate. The plane is due to board soon, but before I left, I just wanted to let you know that I'm fine and that everything is going well."
Penny sighed. "You're really going through with this, huh?"
There was no hesitation as Amy responded.
"Yes. I have to do this for me. You let Sheldon go on his own a year ago, and he didn't even have a plan. I do. I know where I need to go, and I know what I need to do. I promise that this is important, Penny. Trust me."
"I do. And I'm really glad that you decided to tell me before anyone else. Thank you for calling me before you left." She was quiet for a moment. When she spoke again, there was a hint of melancholy in her voice. "I'm going to miss you, bestie."
Amy stopped where she was. That was the first time Penny had called her that. Sure, she had mentioned the pet-name to Penny many times, but never once did she receive the sentiment in return. Her lips curled into a sad smile. This must have been how Leonard felt when Penny said she loved him for the first time.
"And I you."
"Take care of yourself, Amy. I know you said that you can't keep in contact because you want to do this on your own, but if anything happens, please let someone know. No one knows where you're going to be, and naturally, we're going to worry. We're here for you. All of us."
Amy nodded, even though she knew Penny couldn't see her. "I know. Thank you. Oh, there's something I need to ask you before I hang up."
"Yes?"
"Would you mind looking after Sheldon? I know he'll be okay with this eventually, but for now, he may be a little shaken up. It's just—a lot of people have left him, and even though I feel guilty for being of those people, deep down, it's for the best. I want to make sure that there's someone there in case...anything happens to him. Can you do that for me?
"Of course. Leonard and I will keep an eye on him." She paused. "He loves you, you know. In his own Sheldon way."
Amy sighed softly. "I know. I love him, too. And that's why I have to go."
"Good luck. I'll drink a glass of wine in your honor."
Amy had to suppress a chuckle. "Thank you. Bye, Penny."
"See you later, Amy."
She pulled the phone away from her ear to end the call and toss the device into her purse. She was about to reflect on her conversation with her best friend when she realized that she should probably check the time. Glancing at her watch, her eyes widened and she quickly scurried the rest of the way to the gate. By the time she reached it, pre-boarding had started. She barely had enough time to collect herself before her zone number was called.
Clutching onto her boarding pass, she looked down at it and back at the monitor behind the woman at the counter to ensure that she had ended up in the right place.
Springfield, Illinois stared back at her from both the page and the screen.
"Boarding Zone 2," came the voice from the intercom.
She stepped into line. Under her breath, she murmured to herself, "Looks like I'm ready to go home."
A/N:
If you'd like to let me know what you thought, please leave a review. It's much appreciated. Also, if you are wondering, the chapter title is based on Shakespeare's line, "Parting is such sweet sorrow." I'm a big fan of Shakespeare, so don't be surprised if he somehow gets woven into the story.
