Author's Note #1: I do not own "The Big Bang Theory", the characters, situations in aired episodes, or the like. I own only original characters and situations. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note #2: The bulk of this scene is transcribed from Season 4, Episode 21 "The Agreement Dissection".
"How come, if we're the smart people, we don't do this every night?" Amy Farrah Fowler stumbled toward the door to her small apartment, becoming momentarily distracted as her hip hit a wooden stand in the floor's hallway. She jangled her keys, searching for one that would work the bolt mechanism to her place.
"What's sixteen times fourteen?" Sheldon Cooper asked, already sensing Amy's impending failure.
Amy looked back, pausing in her task of unlocking her front door. Her swaying stance betrayed her lack of sobriety, as did the sly grin teasing on her lips. In a voice deceivably sweetly innocent, like the taste of the Cosmos she had indulged in, came her response.
"My burps taste like cranberry juice."
Sheldon merely nodded, pursing his lips in silent criticism. "And, there's your answer."
Amy's hand stayed on the doorknob, her balance still visibly precarious.
"Would you like to come in for a nightcap?" she offered, hopeful that their night would not end, especially when she doubted she would be able to recall even half of it the next morning.
"If you're referring to the beverage: no, I don't drink," Sheldon replied, maintaining his professional composure. "If you're referring to the hat you don while wearing a nightshirt and holding a candle: I have one."
"I have Yoo-Hoo."
A childlike, but amused, smile crept onto Sheldon's steely face. For a moment, the cold, calculating air of CalTech's leading theoretical physicist and second youngest awardee of the MacArthur Grant faded, revealing his penchant for the frivolity he allowed to lightly color his life.
"It's hard to say no to Yoo-Hoo," he relented, his posture lightening. "The name literally beckons."
"Make yourself comfortable," Amy greeted, finally opening the door to let them into her apartment. She unceremoniously flung her handbag onto a nearby chair as she strode over to the kitchen, no longer fearing what would happen to her in her drunken state. After all, she was home, and she had Sheldon Cooper with her. The man could outsmart anyone, and while he may not be much physical protection, his intellect still made her feel secure, perhaps because Amy's was hindered by ounces upon ounces of vodka.
Sheldon closed the door, twirling to do so.
"Thank you." His nice scrunched as the noxious aroma of burning tobacco assaulted his nostrils. "Is someone smoking?" he asked curiously; he knew for a fact that Amy lived alone, and she did not engage in questionable behavior such as smoking.
"Oh, that's just Ricky," Amy revealed, pointing to a desk. A small capuchin monkey sat upon the wood surface, an ashtray brimming with smoldering butts next to him. In his paw was clutched a lit cigarette. He brought the tobacco to his lips and inhaled as Sheldon stared in amazement.
"You own a smoking monkey?" He did not know what he was more amazed by: the fact that Amy owned a monkey, the fact that the monkey smoked, or the fact that Amy could stand even a second in a room that reeked of his great-uncle Leroy's living room.
Amy opened the door to her refrigerator, fetching two bottles of the chocolate drink she had promised her friend. Her face bore a look of mild exasperation.
"Don't be silly. He's one of the animals in my department's nicotine addiction study."
The money let out a long stream of smoke. Sheldon looked on disapprovingly.
"What's he doing here?" he accused. Always one for strict adherence to policy, except of course when it inconvenienced him, Sheldon did not like the thought of his friend harboring a laboratory animal in her apartment. He was certain that was against university policy, if not the building and health codes.
"I'm giving him emphysema. The least I can do is let him hang out and watch cable," Amy shrugged, as if this was part of some widely accepted logic.
"Remarkable," Sheldon said, as Amy busied herself pouring him a glass of Yoo-Hoo. He strode over to the creature, hands clutched behind his back, brows furrowed as they were when he analyzed any situation, whether academic or social. "Aren't you worried about second-hand smoke?"
"A little," Amy admitted, her face showing her lack of concern "The real danger is him biting my face off while I'm sleeping." She turned and replaced the bottle of Yoo-Hoo in her refrigerator.
Sheldon turned back to the monkey, bending forward to examine him more closely. The monkey looked Sheldon directly in the eye and puffed out a cloud of foul smoke. Coughing, Sheldon retreated.
"Is he deliberately blowing smoke at me?"
Amy gazed at the monkey, half amused.
"Yeah. He's kind of an ass." She presented Sheldon with the glass of chocolate milk, which he took from her, grateful she had adhered to the social paradigm of offering one's guest a beverage. "Thank you."
The capuchin chirped.
"May I share something with you that's troubling me?" Sheldon began, making his way over to Amy's couch, placing himself upon it with his friend beside him.
"Of course! What's rattling around in that big, bulbous brain of yours?" Amy asked, her drunken state still noticeable. She rested her face on her hand and concentrated on keeping eye contact with Sheldon. In all honesty, she was thinking more about the fact that he was the first man to be in her bedroom since the superintendant came around checking everyone's smoke detectors (from which she had removed the batteries since the monkey moved in).
Sheldon eyed Amy warily, unsure if Amy was able to keep up with a delicate conversation topic.
"Priya has essentially nullified my roommate agreement with Leonard, making life in the apartment very uncomfortable for me," Sheldon said, his distaste in his roommate Leonard's choice for a girlfriend. The last thing he needed was a lawyer that worked against him.
"And you want me to kill her?" Amy inquired. "DONE," she exclaimed, without hesitation.
"No! Of course not," exclaimed Sheldon, though his tone was hardly believeable. Not that he condoned murder, but it would be a rather large inconvenience to have the police in his and Leonard's apartment while they investigated. Not to mention the fact that Leonard would likely need round the clock comfort, and there was only so much tea he could make.
"I trained Ricky how to smoke, I can train him to shoot a poison dart," Amy offered, signaling the nicotine-addicted monkey. "No jury would convict us 'cause people love monkeys." She emphasized the last few words.
Sheldon was growing impatient.
"I understand the alcohol has stirred up whatever it is that makes girls go wild, but I really need to talk to Smart Amy now."
Ricky chattered hyperactively, jumping on Amy's table.
"Excuse me," Amy stood from her place next to Sheldon, grabbing a pack of Lights on her coffee table. She packed the tobacco expertly, having done this more than enough times at the CalTech's neurobiology lab. "Have you considered that your intelligence could be the very thing causing your dilemma?"
Ricky took the cigarette Amy offered.
Amy sauntered back to the couch to try and clarify her hypothesis. Sheldon's face bore with it the same look of confusion as when Howard Wollowitz informed him "Silicylic acid would do wonders for your skin" was not what they had meant by "Give the barista a tip".
"No," Sheldon conceded.
"Well, what do you think Ricky over here would do if an interloper encroached on his territory?"
"Well," Sheldon began, recalling what he had read about primates back in the second grade while all of the other children chose to amuse themselves with a caterpillar who apparently had quite the voracious appetite, "When challenged, monkeys generally assert their dominance through chasing, assault, and a stylized penile display. That's a little outside of my comfort zone."
"You're being too literal," Amy said. "My point is, he would not meekly surrender to the rules, and neither should you." She punctuated her sentence with a prod to Sheldon's chest.
"Are you suggesting I play dirty?" Sheldon was bemused by the thought of lowering his standard to those of Priya Kuthrapali, but there was a small part of him that wondered if Amy could, in fact, have a point.
Amy nodded.
"Yes, dirty." She laced a finger through her golden brown hair, twirling it seductively, as she had seen her best friend Penny do at the bar that night. "Dirty…dirty…dirty."
Sheldon studied her quizzically. He had no idea what those drinks had done to Amy, but she was not the neurobiologist he knew.
"Which brings me to my next order of business," she slurred. Amy Farrah Fowler leaned forward, not giving Sheldon a moment to back away or hesitate. She closed her eyes and planted her lips firmly upon his, reveling in their contact for the slightest of instances. That single second translated into months of wondering, impatience, and questioning. That moment made her feel less in control of her mind than the Absolut and Ocean Spray concoctions she had downed too many of.
Sheldon's unwavering façade did not relent.
"Fascinating," was all he said.
Amy felt her body tingle, her head swim, and her stomach do sommersault after sommersault after sommersault. She felt her stomach churn and twist, lossen and tighten. Amy felt pressure on her throat, and she knew this was not she would have normally reacted after kissing Sheldon Cooper. This reaction was not emotional; it was physiological.
"I hope you don't take what I'm about to do as a comment on what we just did."
Amy sprang from the couch and bolted to her bathroom. Sheldon stared after her, knowing less about what had happened to Amy now that he did just thirty seconds before. He knew alcohol could affect people in surprising ways, after all, he had woken up sans pants after an awards night and did not remember a single minute of the night, despite the humiliating videos Leonard and Penny had shown him. Still, being sober while Amy was not made this a new experience. Perhaps Amy should consider herself in her addiction study, he mused.
The sound of Amy retching travelled into the living room. Sheldon got up to check on his friend, now genuinely worried, but still disappointed that a scientist of her caliber had succumbed to alcohol's call.
"Who's to say you shouldn't be dissecting our brains?" Sheldon muttered to Ricky. The monkey responded by shooting a puff of smoke at Sheldon. "You really are an ass," Sheldon admonished.
Sheldon figured he would stay a few more minutes until Amy finished expelling whatever was left of their small dinner.
"Amy?" he called, "Are you all right? Would you like me to prepare a hot beverage?"
"No, no," Amy called, her voice still strained from her nausea. "Okay, yes."
"Very well," he said, striding into the kitchen. Sheldon opened two cupboards before finding the tea. He filled the kettle with fresh water and set it on the stove, setting the burner on HIGH. From the sink, he grabbed a white mug with pink daisies painted on it and washed it. Sheldon looked back at Ricky, who had taken a seat on the tan couch and began flipping through the channels on Amy's television.
The kettle whistled a piercing tune, cutting into the relative quiet of the night. Quiet. Sheldon noticed the lack of horrendous retching coming from the bathroom.
"Amy?" he called.
"Yes?"
"Oh, thank goodness," he sighed.
Amy shuffled from the bathroom, her hair in disarray. She sat upon a stool at her kitchen, resting her head on her hands.
"Here," Sheldon slid a mug of steaming tea in front of her. "Peppermint tea. The Menthol will help soothe you."
"Thank you, Shelly," Amy uttered.
Sheldon rolled his eyes. Only his mother had permission to call him "Shelly". He supposed he could let it slide, as Amy was not in her right mind. But, just once.
Sheldon took the empty mug out of Amy's hands and set it in the empty sink.
"Come on. Bed," he ordered.
Amy relented, forcing herself out of the stool, into a swaying, upright position. Sheldon moved to her right, placing an arm securely around her, so that she would not end up napping on her floor.
"Let's go," he whispered. He and Amy slowly made their way down the hall and into her dark bedroom. This was the first time he had seen Amy's bedroom; it felt minimally wrong. After all, he did not technically have her consent to be in here. A friend's safety is more important that technicalities, he supposed. Sheldon helped Amy to her bed. She sat down, still bleary from all the alcohol being metabolized in her system. Sheldon gently pushed her upper body down, setting her head on a soft pillow in a white pillowcase. He then hoisted her legs up onto the bed, taking her shoes off after. Sheldon looked around the room and noticed a pink, white, yellow, and green quilt folded on an armchair in the corner. He picked it up and unfolded it, covering Amy's body with it.
"Soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur…"
He tucked the blanket in around her, adjusting the smaller pillows for maximum comfort.
"Happy kitty, sleepy kitty, purr, purr, purr…"
Sheldon stood back up, a soft grin on his face. Who said he could not be sympathetic. He simply chose not to be, most of the time.
"Good night, Amy Farrah Fowler," he whispered.
"Guh nigh…Shelly," Amy mumbled.