So, I said I wasn't going to write another multi-chapter Sheldon/Penny fic. Yeah, I'm a filthy liar. I'm predicting around 20 chapters. We all know how THAT can turn out. See The News Article Significance...all 42 chapters of it.
What can I say? I'm a glutton for punishment. Sue me.
Relativity
n.
1. A state of dependence in which the existence or significance of one entity is solely dependent on that of another.
2. (Physics / General Physics) either of two theories developed by Albert Einstein, the special theory of relativity, which requires that the laws of physics shall be the same as seen by any two different observers in uniform relative motion, and the general theory of relativity which considers observers with relative acceleration and leads to a theory of gravitation
Three minutes will determine the rest of my life.
One hundred and eighty seconds.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
It's funny how time moves slower when you're watching it, but it feels like I've been staring at my cell phone for a year, but it's only been about thirty seconds.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
One line is negative. Two is positive. One minute down. How could I have let this happen? I'm always careful. I'm meticulous with my pills. I insist on using protection. Yet, here we are. One week late for a period that's been as reliable as the orange color of Snooki's skin since I was seventeen years old.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The first sex I'd had in almost a year and I might have a possibly lactose intolerant bun in the oven. One minute left. In sixty seconds I'll know how I'm going to spend the rest of my life. Leonard and I might be tied together for the rest of our lives whether we're ready or not. And by we, I mean me, considering the guy freaking proposed to me in the midst of said possible conception.
Damn it.
Ten, nine, eight…
That horrible terrifying vision I had back in February may come eerily to life, making me forget why I said yes to the Beta Test to begin with.
Seven, six, five…
My father is going to kill me. I guess it's true what they say. Like Mother like daughter. My mother got pregnant with my sister after two months of dating my father. My sister got pregnant at fifteen with her son. And now, in a surprise attack at age twenty-six, comes little Penelope with her bastard.
Four, three, two…
Deep breaths, Penny.
One.
Swallowing my fear, I set my phone down and reach for the disgusting little pee stick. And I immediately go limp with relief as I see one pink line. I feel myself begin to laugh, feeling every tense muscle in my body relax as I toss the offending object into the trash and wash my hands, before splashing cool water on my flushed face. When I look up into my tired green eyes, the smile immediately leaves my face. That's when I burst into hysterical tears.
Not because I'm upset or sad, but because I feel so guilty about being ecstatic that I am not pregnant. Because, I feel horrible about the fact that I am relieved I don't have to spend the rest of my life with Leonard. And it's not that I don't adore the man. He's adorable. He's genuine. He's great in bed. But, this is the second time we've tried to make it work. And it just isn't. And I want to love Leonard that way, but I just…don't.
Through my bleary, watery eyes, I find my phone and quickly text my sister, who is probably holed up in her bathroom in Omaha, hiding from her kids and smoking a cigarette.
Not pregnant.
She must have been waiting, because about ten seconds later, I receive her response.
Jesus, Pen. Ever heard of a rubber?
This pisses me off for several reasons. One, because she's a damn hypocrite. I'm twenty-six. She was sixteen when her first was born. Two, because she used to buy into her ex's shitty excuse that condoms gave him hives, so he couldn't use them.
Have you? I answer, rolling my eyes, grabbing a wad of toilet paper and swabbing the pool of tears beneath my eyes. That's when I hear the knocking at my door and look skyward.
Really? You have to do this now? You couldn't wait until tomorrow?
Knock, knock, knock.
"Penny!" I don't know why, but I always wait for that third round before opening the door. And there his is. My old buddy. Dr. Sheldon "Whackadoodle" Cooper, six feet two inches of uncontained nut job. A thirty-two year old man with a brain to rival Einstein…dressed like a kindergartener.
"What d'you want?" I sigh, swabbing at my nose with the tissue and seeing him recoil in horror, before swiftly pulling his T-Shirt over his face like a surgical mask.
"Are you ill?" He interrogates, glaring at me as if I've lured him over here under false pretenses. I ponder my response for a moment, because on the one hand, if I say 'yes', he'll retreat back to Fort Moon-Pie. But if I say 'no', he'll sit on my couch and lecture me about how I'm an irresponsible slob who hails from the hills of Nebraska.
So, I just sigh and shake my head, resignedly stepping aside so he can brush past me as I shut the door.
"Have you been crying?" He inquires, eyeing me suspiciously as I sniff unceremoniously and flop onto the couch, shrugging.
"Kind of," I tell him. "It's not a big deal."
"Are you behind on rent again?" If I didn't know better, he'd seem like a concerned friend. "If you are in need of a loan—"
"No," I growl, shaking my head vehemently.
"Well, I would offer you a beverage, but seeing as this is your apartment, I can't say that I have high hopes that you are even in possession of a tea bag. I've seen your cupboards."
"Okay," I cut him off, giving him a death glare, "You came over here. So, what the eff, Shelly? What do you want?"
"Very well," he composes himself, perching on the edge of the cushion and meticulously brushing some invisible dust off of his khaki clad knee, "I came to ask your advice on a matter."
"No you cannot make a relationship work through Skype," I tell him dryly, glancing toward the fridge and feeling my spirits lift slightly at the sight of a bottle of Merlot. Rising I pat Sheldon's head (just because I know it bothers him), and fish around in my cupboard for a clean cup, finding one coffee mug toward the back. It's the Cornhuskers mug my father gave me the last time he came to visit. Okay, so maybe it's not a glassy crystal goblet, but it holds the liquid and I'm going to drink it anyway, so who gives a crap? Plus, it's not like Sheldon drinks anything stronger than Mountain Dew, so who is he to judge?
"Oh, I know," He responds resignedly, "I've tried." Scowling at him, I sit in my armchair and hunch over with my elbows on my knees, grasping my mug and staring expectantly at him. "I kissed Amy."
"Sheldon," I sigh, trying really hard not to roll my eyes, "I know you've kissed Amy. I've seen her kiss you, remember?"
"No, Penny," He tells me soberly, "I initiated the kiss. It was the day of Howard's space launch."
"Oh," I reply blankly, a little dumbfounded, and more than a little disturbed by the image of Sheldon Cooper macking on Amy Farrah Fowler. I mean, good for them. Ya know? The girl's been trying to get in Shelly Bean's pants since 2010. And, for someone who claimed to be 'above' baser biological needs, this is kind of huge, even if it will sort of haunt my nightmares until the end of time. I love Amy and Sheldon, but even I don't want to watch them suck face.
"Nice," I finally say, giving him an approving nod and taking a long swig of lukewarm red wine. "How was it?"
"It was…" He looks contemplative for a second, "short, dry and lacking," he smirks, "like Leonard." I shoot him a look of warning, raising my fist to remind him that even though he's taller and smarter than I am, I could bring him down with one arm tied behind my back. He knows it too, judging by the way he brings his hand up to protect his throat from my wrath.
"Watch it, Cooper," I tell him in a low voice, feeling bad for my poor, tiny boyfriend.
"It wasn't unpleasant, I must admit," Sheldon adds, watching me warily, "Amy has a pleasant enough smell and acceptable breath." I can only stare at him in disbelief. Most guys would have been like, 'It was hot.' But this is Sheldon. He doesn't like touching people on a good day, so the fact that he kissed Amy is a pretty big step in the right direction, though I doubt she's going to be peeing on any sticks in the near future.
A Shamy baby is a horrifying concept.
Shaking my head to rid myself of the thought, I settle my gaze back on his face and raise an eyebrow.
"So is that it?" I ask, not feeling particularly charitable at the moment. "You and Amy kissed. Anything else?" His eyes narrow, watching me as if he's trying to figure out what I'm thinking.
"I have decided to allow my relationship with Amy Farrah Fowler to progress at a natural pace, provided that she stay within the parameters that I set." He fires this off in a quick fire tumble of words that mean nothing to me as I watch his mouth move with my jaw hanging open like some kind of Neanderthal.
"'Kay," I finally reply, finishing my wine. "Good talk. Use protection." I half heartedly pat his shoulder and head back for mug number two of wine, when I hear him speak again.
"The reason I have sought your advice, Penny, is that I need you to tell me where to take Amy on a date. She has expressed a desire to be 'wined and dined', as it were." The look on his face is so serious, that I crack up, snorting with laughter as I clutch the edge of my kitchen counter.
"You mean, The Cheesecake Factory ain't cuttin' it?" I quip dryly, pouring my drink and pouting my bottom lip as I stare at the now empty bottle while Sheldon releases a long suffering sigh.
"As always, ain't is not a word. It is a colloquialism, and furthermore—"
"Honestly, sometimes I feel like there are three people in the relationship," I tell him, moving back to sit in the chair and cross my legs, "You, Amy and me. Shenamy."
"Clever," he mutters, rolling his eyes and staring at me expectantly.
"Alright, Big Guy," I nod, leaning forward and looking him square in the eyes, "First of all, no chain restaurants. There's something so…cheap about them."
"I beg to differ. The Cheesecake Factory is not exactly—" He stops speaking at my look and gives a little huff before gesturing for me to go on.
"Second, you want a place that serves food you both like. So, sushi is out. Amy finds it horrid. I'm gonna suggest Italian. There's this Bistro near the expressway called Angelina's. It's family owned. A little pricey, but the food is to die for."
"Penny," Sheldon says tiredly, "Doesn't that seem a little extreme? As food is our main source of nourishment, that statement is invalid for a number of reasons."
"Shh," I hiss, using my two fingers to tell him to zip his yapper. "Go to Angelina's. Order a bottle of Lambrusco. She loves it, because it's sweet."
"I don't drink," He scoffs, sounding slightly horrified.
"Bullshit," I snap, pulling out my phone, "Should I remind you about Howard's bachelor party?" I watch as he groans, shaking his head.
"An error in judgment on my part," He concedes haughtily, making me growl in frustration.
"Look, do you want my help or not, Moon-Pie?" I cross my arms, noticing the look of irritation on his face at my use of his Meemaw's nickname for him. Which he hates. And I love to give him hell for. It's so damn easy.
"As always, I would prefer you not call me Moon-Pie as my Meemaw is the only one I allow that privilege. But, I will take your suggestions into consideration." He looks perplexed for a moment, before leaning forward. "Are you sure Amy wouldn't enjoy the exhibit about The Big Bang at the Science Center more?"
It takes every ounce of patience I possess not to give him a swift right hook to the face.
"Yes, Sheldon," I scoff, "I think Amy would enjoy looking at an exhibit about something she has no interest in." His eyes narrow on me, and I know he's trying to figure out whether I'm being sarcastic or not. Whackadoodle. "Sarcasm, you butt."
"Ah," He nods, "I thought so." Wringing his hands and smoothing the fabric of his pants meticulously, he glances toward the door, "Has Leonard taken you to Angelina's Bistro."
"Yeah, we've been a few times," I answer, brushing my long hair out of my face. Sheldon gives me a weird look and shakes his head after a second.
"And you found it to be a pleasant environment? Do you deem it sanitary and up to health code?" He fires at me, making my head spin.
"Whoa, Sheldon. It's great. Real high class. They wash their dishes and everything." I get up and take my empty mug to the sink, sagging against it as the heaviness of my exhaustion settles over me, making my body ache.
"Well, now that we've attended to my matter, I suppose social protocol dictates that I inquire as to why you were distressed before I knocked on your door." This almost makes me laugh, because it would have been so much easier for him to just say 'So what were you blubbering about?' But he doesn't, because it's Sheldon. And Sheldon could make the simplest question a five hundred word essay.
"It's nothing…" I wave my hand dismissively, rubbing at my eyes, but I notice he hasn't budged, waiting expectantly for me to spill the beans. I sigh in defeat, knowing I can do this the hard way or the easy way, so I clasp my hands together and look at the ground like Kristen Stewart does when she accepts a Teen Choice award. "Okay, fine. I took a pregnancy test." Sheldon's eyes widen in understanding as he realizes what I just told him.
"Oh."
"Yeah," I swallow, embarrassed.
"And you were upset, because…?" He asks, looking confused.
"I was crying because I felt bad for being happy that I wasn't…that I'm not…" My face crumples again and my eyes begin to burn. "I was glad that I wasn't, because I'm not ready to…I don't want…" I sniff, feeling sick even saying it.
"You don't want to be bound to Leonard by your offspring," he responds knowingly, pursing his lips. "I can't say I blame you. If one were to choose a mate to procreate with, Leonard would not be at the top of any list for a number of reasons. Namely, he has a host of health problems, and—"
"I don't care about his freaking health problems!" I snarl, extremely annoyed, "That's not it! I just don't love him!"
"Penny," Sheldon's voice lowers, and he approaches me cautiously, "I am not implying that Leonard is not a good person or friend. He is, for all intents and purposes, my closest and best friend. But, the fact is, and has remained since the day the three of us met five years ago, that you and he do not suit, and no amount of time or growth will change that. There is a quote from the quintessential classic musical Fiddler on the Roof; 'A bird may love a fish, but where will they make a home together?'" A small smile plays at the corners of his lips, making him look like a little boy, "My Meemaw adores that film. And that very saying applies to your relationship with Leonard. You are simply too different." My eyes begin to water again on their own, ands my lower lip quivers uncontrollably, because he's right. And I hate him for it. But, it's never going to work with Leonard, no matter how many Beta Tests we try. And, the thing is, I don't want Leonard to be different, because he is so great the way he is. So, there's only one solution.
I have to let him go.
Because, somewhere out there, there is a girl who is right for Leonard Hofstadter and who will make him happier than I could ever hope to. And that's all I want for him. In a way, it hurts me so badly, because I do want to be that person, but this is the second time I've tried and failed. And I can't do it anymore, because I don't want to hurt him.
I'm crying again, in front of Dr. Doesn't-deal-with-human-emotion, and I don't care. Because this is his fault. He never misses an opportunity to remind me that Leonard and I suck as a couple, and there's really nothing I can say, because he isn't wrong, and it's just not fair! A second passes before I feel a tentative pat on the shoulder, followed by his uncertain voice.
"There, there."
But I don't want comfort…and, as much as I want to be angry with Sheldon, I can't be, because it's not his fault that Leonard and I don't work. Reaching behind me, I swipe a piece of paper towel, sniffing and probably looking completely attractive while doing it (sarcasm).
"Where is Leonard?" I ask, hearing the nasal, teary tone of my voice and cringing.
"He is currently speaking with his mother regarding a seminar that she is giving at Rutgers University next month. He is planning on attending," Sheldon explains, standing with his hands behind his back. "He also expressed his intention of asking you to accompany him to meet his family." I bury my face in my hands, wanting nothing more than to sink into the floor and disappear for a while.
"I can't," I whisper, meeting Sheldon's eyes worriedly. He gives a curt nod.
"I know." Checking his watch, he sighs. "It's nearly six o'clock. Amy will be arriving soon. She agreed to watch the film version of Star Trek and analyze the inconsistencies with me."
"Oh, uh…lucky her!" I tell him, wiping my nose with the paper towel and tossing it onto the counter. I watch Sheldon's blue eyes flit over and linger on the offending wad of paper as if he's counting down the seconds until he can flee my House O'Germs.
"Well," Sheldon starts backing toward the door, "I'd better go. It's three minutes until six. Shall we expect you for supper?" It's weird, because when he says this, his Texas comes out and I hear him twang a little. If I weren't in such a crappy mood, I would probably snicker. It's kind of cute in a weird, bizarre way. Then again, Sheldon's always been kind of cute in a weird, bizarre way.
Even the first time we met, I thought he was adorable…for like ten seconds. And then I found out he was a nut. Not that I'd trade him or any of the guys (well, maybe Howard). But if he wasn't so – Sheldon – he'd actually be kind of…I don't know. Sexy?
And this, ladies and gents, is why I should not drink wine. Because I think stupid thoughts that make no sense.
This is Sheldon. Yeah, he's technically good looking…in theory. But he's a certifiable kook who is utterly smitten with himself on all levels. He's arrogant, selfish and a brat. Yet, we all are still friends with him. Because, as big of a pain as he is, none of us can really imagine life without Sheldon Cooper anymore.
"Yeah, I'll be over in a bit," I finally reply, waving him out and locking the door behind him. I rest my forehead against the cool wood of the door and try to remember what it's like to be sane. I vaguely remember the pregnancy test sitting in my bathroom where I left it, and feel my stomach drop again in relief.
What if it had been positive?
Fast forward eight years. Leonard and I are married, living in Glendale with our eight year old kid, probably a little dark haired boy with glasses who can't eat dairy products. I attend P.T.A. meetings, I drive to soccer games and watch my kid sit on the bench because he's terrified of everything. I cook dinner at night and Leonard comes home from work at the university, kisses me and we spend the evening in silence, before going to sleep on separate sides of our bed. We play our parts. We pretend everything is great.
And we're both miserable.
I know how this story ends, because I've seen it. My parents live it. My mother, the aspiring painter, got pregnant, and thirty-three years later, she is still living in a farm house in Omaha, baking pies and regretting everything. My parents are wonderful, loving people. But they aren't happy. They love their children and their grandchildren, but sometimes, I wonder if they love each other. Sometimes, I wonder if Mom doesn't resent her kids just a little bit…if she sometimes doesn't wish that she could change everything.
I trudge back into the bathroom, and toss the pregnancy test into the trash can, washing my hands and leaning down to start the shower. I make it as hot as I can possibly tolerate, relishing the feeling of scalding water on my skin as if it can wash away the anguish I feel in the pit of my stomach like a lead brick.
After, I sit on my bed wrapped in a towel and stare at the clothes I've picked out for myself, tiredly. I can't seem to find the will to get dressed and walk across the hall. I'm terrified.
Pull yourself together, dumbass.
I force myself to move and get dressed, pulling my wet hair back into a braid and reviewing my reflection in the mirror. No makeup. No need. It's all going to come off anyway. Glancing back toward the trash can containing the negative test again, I bite my lip and strengthen my resolve to do what needs to be done. I walk across the hall and reach for the doorknob, taking a deep breath as I turn it. Sheldon and Amy are huddled together on the couch in deep discussion about how Spock would never stoop to the level of mere men and engage in a carnal relationship with emotions. (Well, Sheldon is talking and Amy is kind of staring blankly at him, but whatever floats their boat…) Raj is seated on the armchair, clutching a bottle of Blue Moon and reading the DVD case for Star Trek.
"Hey, you!" Leonard grins, crossing from the counter toward me. I try to smile, but I don't think I'm successful as I hold my hand out to him.
"Hey," I swallow, not allowing myself to look at Sheldon and Amy, who have fallen completely quiet. I'm pretty sure Shelly knows what's coming. I take Leonard's hand, feeling my heart clench painfully as I nod toward the door. "Will you come up to the roof with me for a minute?" Leonard's brows furrow in obvious confusion as he stares at me. He looks over at Sheldon, who immediately looks away.
Thank you, Dr. Obvious.
"Sure," Leonard tells me, looking worried. "Is everything okay?" Biting my lip, I nod. We leave the apartment and head up the stairs. After propping the door open, we step out onto the same roof where Howard married Bernadette (God help her).
"Look," I inhale slowly, looking toward the city hall. "We need to talk." I can hear him sigh resignedly.
"We're breaking up…aren't we?"
I will have you all know, that this is entirely Matt's fault for putting this idea in my head and encouraging my crazy. He's a CRAZY ENABLER. All. His. Fault.
S