Summary: Self-explanatory. Five early near-misses between the Shamy, and the time they finally came face to face. Spoilers for Seasons 1 – 3.
Chapter summary: Supplemental scene to Season 3: The Pants Alternative. Amy runs into Sheldon after a long evening of tissues, tears, men-bashing and some very slutty strawberry daiquiris.
Author's Note: This is a collaboration between fanfic writers FoxPhile, Lionne6, xLostInTheSun, Musickat18, WeBuiltThePyramids, and xMarisolx. It was inspired by a fantastic idea Lio (that's me!) came up with during a discussion in the Shamy thread at Fanforum.
This is Chapter 5 of 6. Don't forget to check Part 1 by xMarisolx, Part 2 by WeBuiltThePyramids, Part 3 by Musickat18, Part 4 by xLostintheSun, and Part 6 by FoxPhile!
Disclaimer: The Big Bang Theory is an American sitcom created by Chuck Lorre and Bill Prady, and is produced by them along with Steve Molaro. It is a Warner Brothers production and airs on CBS. All characters, plots and creative elements derived from the source material belong exclusively to their respective owners. The authors of this fan fiction do not, in any way, profit monetarily from the story.
"But how could Ryan do this to me, Joy? I loved him sooo much," a young woman whined as she sat curled up in the plush chair in a corner of the hotel bar. "My heart is completely, utterly, horrifically bro—hang on." Between sniffles, she put her strawberry daiquiri down on the candle-lit table, untouched. "I'm going to need something stronger than this. Ryan and I were together for three weeks. This is REAL pain, Joy; it needs REAL alcohol. Where is—oh, hi."
Magically, a clean-cut bartender materialized at their table, carrying a tray of shot glasses filled with pale amber liquid and attempting to make eye contact with her. He leaned forward just enough to flicker a glance or two down her low-cut, white blouse. "You look like you could use a follow up shot," he said to the tawny blonde.
"Oh, we do," her friend Joy replied, even as she caught the bartender's look. She cleared her throat meaningfully, regarding him sharply over the rims of her mint green glasses.
Caught, he started slightly, then slunk back to the bar with an appropriately guilty look on his face. Joy shook her head, "Linny, this is a rhetorical question, but how do you still manage to attract guys right and left when your nose is red and you have mascara running down your face?"
"Huge boobs," Linny answered without batting an eyelash. "Now give me that," she said, taking the shot glass and holding it up to Joy. "Men are monsters. Let's drink to being done with the pathetic scumbags forever."
She and Joy clinked glasses, shot back the amber liquid, and then fell back into their easy rapport without missing a beat. Joy picked up Linnea's lead and took to the task of soothing her. "Men are just insufferable jerks who only think with their penises. You know this."
"But that ugly, horrible, skanky redhead in accounting? How could my Ryan decide to play 'hide the salami' with her in the supply room when we had just spent all last Friday night watching movies and making out? And worse? That Post-it Note shelf was our spot! It's where we had our first kiss." The blonde started sniffling again, and Joy offered her a little package of tissues from which Linnea yanked five at a time. "It was sacrilege! I think he just did it to hurt me. I mean, how could he—no," Linnea broke off, staring in surprise down the length of the hotel lobby's hallway. She moaned and started shredding one of the tissues nervously with her fingertips. "Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no."
"Heno? What's a heno…OH," Joy sputtered. "Oh no." She had turned to look in the same direction as her friend, and hissed sharply on the intake when she saw the same approaching apparition. "Merde."
Coming towards them was their friend, Cassy, glossy blonde curls bobbing around her shoulders as she walked gracefully in a pair of heels, an apology already stamped all over her pretty, soft features. Next to her stomped along a brunette woman with heavy, dark-framed glasses, a mismatched ensemble consisting of a maroon skirt, red tights, an unflattering mustard yellow cardigan, and a neutral, unsmiling, almost haughty expression on her face. The two women could not have been a more mismatched pair.
"I can't believe she brought her," Linnea whispered, even as she tried to sit up straighter and brush the tears and crumbling mascara from her eyes.
"Pad your panties, girls, we're about to take a trip to awkward and uncomfortable," Joy growled to herself between gritted teeth. She carefully pulled her lips back into a snarling smile as two new women approached their little table.
"Hiiiiiiiii guys," Cassy trilled in a voice that was overly bright, her smile tight and green eyes just a little wild. "Look who let me know she was free to join us for drinks this evening! And insisted on doing so! It's our co-worker, Amy. As in Farrah Fowler! You know Amy Farrah Fowler."
"Good evening," Amy Farrah Fowler said seriously, studying Linnea with unabashed curiosity, "Cassy intimated that you have been bamboozled by a beastly buck of a postdoctoral assistant, and naturally I dropped everything to come console one of my favorite co-workers. Clearly my expertise in such matters was needed." Amy plopped down unceremoniously into one of the opposite arm chairs, pinned her knees together primly, and clasped them lightly with both hands. She continued speaking in the same monotone, "I'm here for you. Sister."
"I…oh….uh….expertise?" Linnea inquired, looking between Amy and the other two women uncertainly. "What…I...you…I need more tissue. And tequila." She paused and then sat up a little straighter, looking at Amy as if an alien had just turned up at the table, "I…I didn't know you had ever dated, Amy. I mean, I'm sure you have had a boyfriend, well, maybe not a boyfriend but met…men…met someone who was male, somewhere. Sometime. Somehow. It's not…it's not…unlikely?"
Joy began to make desperate gestures towards the bartender, but the man was already approaching the candle-lit table with four more shots of tequila and two more strawberry daiquiris, his eyes still trained rather directly at Linnea's chest region. He placed the drinks on the table as Amy continued to speak.
"Linnea," Amy began, "I am a highly regarded neuroscientist at the top of my field, and as such I have insight into human behavior, particularly the chemical reactions going on within your brain that you believe are causing you to feel, in laymen's terms, 'sad.'" Amy reached up and made little quotation marks in the air, and then dropped her hands to her knees again. "I am here to help you understand that all you are going through is a severe drop in your dopamine and serotonin levels, which you can easily control via proper medication or brainwave frequency alteration. I'm sure that, under my guidance, we can relieve you of the mistaken belief that the aforementioned romantic entanglement has any true import. I feel confident I can help you recover a more cheerful disposition by explaining to you that your attachment to this male was a mere chemical reaction which, once you see the logical side of it, you can easily overcome and dismiss." Amy reached into her pocket and pulled out a portable electroencephalography device. "So let's glue these electrodes to your scalp and get started."
During this speech, all three women (and the bartender) had stared at Amy in what she took for rapt silence and awe. When she finished, the three girls tossed back the contents of their tiny glasses in unison and slammed them on the table. The bartender opened his mouth to say something, then decided against it, and did so in such an apparent stupor that he forgot to take a look down the darker blonde's blouse again. Instead he muttered to himself.
"Could that girl be any weirder?"
Amy didn't catch the comment, but did hear his tone. Instead, she watched the bartender leave suspiciously, and then picked up her shot glass and frowned."What is this?"
"Magic juice," Joy replied, blinking owlishly.
"Be nice," Cassy said, looking sternly at Joy.
Putting her fingertips over her lips, Joy muttered from behind them to Cassy. "Your 'nice-girl,' people-pleasing, spineless jellyfish issues are why I just had to suffer through that ridiculous soliloquy."
"Shush," Cassy said, furrowing her brow worriedly as she looked back at Amy. She nudged Joy's ribs with her elbow and spoke kindly to the brunette. "That's tequila, Amy. It's our traditional drink of choice every time Linnea breaks up with yet another guy." She gave Linnea an exasperated but fond look, adding, "Which means we're usually here every other week, drinking our sorrows away."
"Oh," Amy said shortly, looking rather unimpressed, "Well, with all due respect to Linnea's generous secondary sexual characteristics, indiscriminate taste in sexual partners and unappeasable appetite for coitus, I don't drink." She put the glass back back down.
Linnea picked it up and made an announcement. "I do, and I need that. Thank you." She took her shot with gusto, shuddered, and slammed the glass back down as Amy watched her with a frown of disapproval. Linnea simply flung a dismissive gesture at Amy's EEG device with her hand and added, "And I am not putting those on. Sister."
"Fine, and you're welcome," Amy said, stowing the contraption back into her pocket. She picked up the pink drink on the table instead, and inspected it. "I'm still thirsty. What is this?"
"Straw…strawberry…uh, the word, there's a word. Merde. Cassy, what's the word?" Joy turned her hand over at the wrist to point at the drink, clearly having a hard time remembering the name of it. The tip of her nose seemed to be turning slightly pink.
"Daiquiri," Cassy said, eyeing her friends carefully and wondering how many they had managed to tuck away before her arrival with Amy. "Joy is trying to say it's a strawberry daiquiri."
"Oh, I like strawberries," Amy said, and picked up her drink, taking a very long sip through the lime green straw. She cleared almost half the glass of its contents in one go. Cassy and Joy both opened their mouths as if they were going to say something, but then exchanged a glance and closed then again, turning back to watch Amy closely. Amy returned their looks with an unabashed one of her own, informing them simply, "I'm a nervous sipper." She followed that up by taking another long sip, sending her glass down to its pink dregs.
Joy lifted her brows, "Oh, you don't say."
"Wait, what did she say?" Linnea blurted out, turning to look at Cassy. "Did you understand what she said?"
"No," Cassy answered, puckering her lower lip and shaking her head skeptically. "Not one word. As usual."
"I said—" Amy began.
"Nothing," Joy cut in, quick and stern, the look she gave Amy decidedly dirty. "Nothing at all. Let's continue, Linny dear, with why Ryan sucks and how we're going to plan to cut off that tiny penis of his that he insists on taking to greener pastures. Well, not greener, I didn't mean greener! Merde again!" Joy tossed her hands, palm upwards, and turned to look at Cassy desperately for help even as Linnea slumped over in her chair again with another wail of heartbroken anguish. White tissues were spilling out of her hands and starting to collect in messy piles around her feet.
"I was saying," Amy started again, as Cassy and Joy groaned, "that your neurological reaction to playing the female cuckold is merely—"
"Okay, OKAY," Cassy said, holding up her hands and leaning forward. She strained to keep her tone level and kind as she spoke, "you know, Amy, maybe we shouldn't come at this from that angle. Let's not dwell on chemistry, or cocks, or the holding of said cocks–"
"– or redheads sucking on said cocks in supply closets," Joy muttered around the edge of her glass, making Linnea sob harder and bury her face in her molting handfuls of tissues.
Amy opened her mouth to protest, but Cassy held up a hand to her and continued to speak, keeping her tone as sweet but firm as possible. There was a reason why Cassy ran the Human Resources department at UCLA. "–Or the scientific side of this, just for a moment. We get enough of that at work, don't you think?" She gave Amy a pointed look.
"How can we possibly ever get enough of science? It explains everything," Amy asked, looking between Cassy, Joy and Linnea in confusion. "I know you only work in the Human Resources Department, Cassy, but surely all the time spent around better minds at UCLA has lead you to at least appreciate the power of science." She looked to Joy, the only other at the table with a doctorate in the sciences, for support.
"You'd be surprised what science can and can't explain," Joy noted dryly, studying Amy over the rims of her green glasses; her brown eyes holding a speculative but hard expression.
Amy frowned, and narrowed her own eyes back at Joy. Something in the air shifted as the two scientists stared each other down, and you could almost hear the skir of the gears in their head spinning as they sized each other up.
Suddenly, Linnea sniffed, sighed dramatically, and rustled in her chair with a certain amount of annoyance. She reversed the cross of her legs, pressed a tissue to her eye, and let the rest tumble from her lap like snow to the floor. Making sure she got in a particularly loud sniffle, the tawny blonde made it clear who was supposed to be the center of attention that evening. Joy reluctantly shifted her gaze from Amy and turned back to her friend and inquired," So. Tell us what that lecherous, awful asshole said to you when you confronted him about his supply closet activities?"
Linnea spun her tissue around her finger and daubed at the streaks of mascara running down her face. "He said that he was tired of waiting for me to 'give it up.' He said he was a man of passionate sexual appetites that needed fulfilling."
"Pointing out the obvious," Amy muttered, taking another long sip of her drink. She had almost finished it. "In the wild, Gorillas often take multiple–"
Joy picked up Linnea's untouched drink and slammed it down in front of Amy, saying rather tersely, "Be so kind as to finish this for her. Now."
"I'm not finished with what I was saying!" Amy protested.
"Yes you are," Cassy said, though her tone of voice was much more coaxing than Joy's. "And I'm afraid that I much forbid any further mention of dopamine, gorillas, or EEGs."
"That depletes my usual stock of conversational topics," Amy said.
"That is not our problem," Joy returned, staring daggers at Amy through her mint green glasses until the brunette slowly picked up the daiquiri and took a nervous sip. She kept sipping hotly every two seconds, her eyes skipping between the other three women, noting that the acidic Joy, in particular, was starting to grind her teeth. Amy recalled that teeth grinding was behavior observed in primates before they brutally assaulted each other, and figured it was probably best to concentrate on her tasty pink drink. It was pretty good after all, and a bartender—who was very cute if you liked the toothpaste commercial kind of man—had dropped off another round of them.
"He just said that it was my fault because I wouldn't give it up," Linnea whispered, eyes starting to tear up again. "He said it was over and that I had missed out on the thrill of taking the 'Ryan Ride.'"
Cassy and Joy gasped in horror; Amy sucked on her straw hard and her drink crackled with bubbles of an unpleasant sucking sound. Cassy wordlessly shifted another drink in front of her and Amy took it. The other three women tossed back another round of shots and picked up the thread of their conversation as if it had never been snipped by an alcoholic interruption at all.
"I just wanted him to respect me!" Linnea wailed, slumping over in her plush chair, covering her eyes with her hands, "His eyes are so, you know, and his butt is just so, so, sooooo," She sighed breathily, "But obviously he just wanted a fire-crotched, flat-chested, dog-breathed whore with a yeast infection, a nose that looks like a bus parked on her face, and loose morals!"
"Like I have said, Linny, men think they are so smart because they have two heads, and women talk so much because they have four lips." Joy shook her head sadly as she watched mascara run down Linnea's cheeks. "And most of the thinking men do, they do with the head located in their genital region rather than one on their shoulders."
Amy looked startled, and said, "That's a biological impossibility, and you know that, Joy." She paused but then went on slowly, "So you must have meant your remark factiously." She paused again to think about it as Joy stared at her in bemusement. Suddenly, Amy gave the briefest, snarkiest of tiny smiles that seemed to die on her lips as quickly as it came. "Funny," she acknowledged frostily.
"Men. I've tried to sleep with them at a drop of a hat, I've tried to hold out for torturous weeks, but it seems that no matter how I try to play the game, no man I date can resist weighing anchor at any welcoming port," Linnea said, resting her tear-stained cheek on her palm and staring off into the distance. "To top it off, no matter what they decide to do with their pathetic little peckers, somehow they always find a way to a woman for their behavior. Ryan made me feel like it was my fault he cheated on me!"
Cassy's eyes had taken on a slightly glassy shine, and her cheeks had turned a rosier shade. She was catching up with her friends, and quickly. She murmured, her tone almost dreamy, "Isn't that just like a man?"
Linnea and Joy sighed softly in agreement, and lapsed into silence to sip at their daiquiris.
Amy polished hers off as well, even as she found it more difficult to sit up straight in her chair. She reflected that Cassy's words seemed like the wisest thing she had ever heard, and then when the full ramifications of that thought hit her she frowned. Amy looked over the empty glasses on the table, and tried to remember how much had been drunk from various glasses before she emptied them, and as she found herself unable to calculate fractions in her head, she looked into the bottom of her empty glass and wondered for the first time if daiquiris were made with something stronger than just strawberries.
"It IS just like a man," Linnea stated emphatically, "An evil-penised man whore boob stick."
"That's what my last girlfriend called me before we broke up," the bartender shared with a big smile as he dropped off more shots and cleared away all of the empty glasses. "Without the boobs, of course." He chuckled at his own joke and looked around at the ladies for support, but Joy looked at him icily and after a pause Linnea simply devolved into more weeping.
Cassy murmured sympathetically and began plucking tissue after tissue out of the little package to give to Linnea, who jerked them out of her hands one after another until she buried her face into massive handfuls of white fluff.
Joy rolled her eyes. "Check please," she said, but like any man with a sense of self-preservation, the bartender had hastily retreated when Linnea had broken into tears again.
Amy put a hand up over her cheek to try to cool the burning sensation she felt rather pleasantly building there. "You should get revenge," she noted absently.
"I should," Linnea agreed, jerking her head up. A tissue stuck to her eyelashes, and the tip of her nose was smudged with black mascara. "I should get revenge." She paused and then turned to Joy, asking blankly, "How do I do that?" She plucked the tissue off her face and tossed it over her shoulder, only to immediately take another from Cassy.
"You break into his apartment and steal all of his spoons," Joy answered. "It doesn't hurt him but it drives him nuts when he realizes he can't eat his morning cereal with a fork or a knife." She picked up a daiquiri and took the straw in her fingertips, starting to poke it aggressively against the bottom of the glass, "And cut out the crotch of all his jeans, especially his favorite ones. And then spill a vanilla milkshake all over his desk Friday after work, so when he comes back Monday he'll find it covered in a huge rotting mess that looks like cum!"
"Yes," Cassy agreed firmly, taking a moment to sip her own daiquiri, "I like that. And we'll egg his car! No, wait, this is better," she sat up and put her hands out in front of her, palms down, "What if we buy a gallon of hot pink paint, and accidentally drop it on top of his car?"
"Why are we concentrating on him?" Linnea asked, sitting up straighter, "What about that redheaded bitch in accounting? Let's hide 50 Post-It notes that say "You're a dirty whore!" in 50 different places in her office," Linnea slurred, "In her books, under her computer, in her…in her STAPLER! Yes, we'll booby trap the STAPLER. Accountants are into their staplers, right?"
"You should take a little pin and poke holes in all of his condoms!" Amy blurted out, "give them an unwanted pregnancy, even though the shame of the social stigma of siring a bastard child is not what it once was…although, perhaps it'll all end in a tear-stained shotgun wedding after the paternity test results are revealed on Maury Povich." All three women stared at her in shock. Amy just shrugged and said, "What? I was sick with the flu a month ago and had to watch daytime TV." Amy looked around at the stunned faces and then started to suckle on her straw like a starving baby with a pacifier, staring at a poster of melons.
"See, now, that makes your spoon idea look a lot saner," Linnea noted to Joy. "However, I feel we're losing sight of our true mission here, and that's to drink away our sorrows into oblivion. So bottom's up, bitches!"
All of the women picked up a glass and toasted each other, then took their final round of shots with gusto. Without thinking about it, Amy picked up a shot glass as well. She tossed back the liquid and swallowed before the tequila really hit her senses. When it did, Amy shuddered uncontrollably, attempted a smile that turned considerably sloppy around the edges. She stood swiftly to her feet and said, "I'm going to go projectile vomit." Amy took a step towards the hotel's main hall but paused, then turned back to add, "Which I would like you to know is not a remark on the beautifully blossoming friendship I feel forming with all of you, whom I already think of as bosom bud–oh God, I need to stop talking." Amy staggered away, following a green "EXIT" sign, which was about all she could clearly make out any longer.
"Wait, Amy," Cassy said as she tried to rise to her feet, but she quickly sank back down, drawling out, "Oh boy. Um, I'll go find her a minute. Or two." She blinked rapidly a few times, and looked around worriedly, "Did she take her purse? Where are her car keys?"
"Why are you so concerned, Cass? Did we just become friends with Amy Farrah Fowler?" Linnea asked.
"If we did, I blame that manwhore, Ryan, for everything," Cassy replied.
"Speaking of, I wonder if the 'Ryan Ride,' is any good," Joy mused thoughtfully. Her friends turned to look at her in shock, and Joy sat up straighter looking back with equal horror, "Um, did I just say that out loud?"
Amy stumbled out into the humid California air, ignoring the sound of her cell phone tweeting cheerfully in her pocket. She went straight over to the nearest wall, placed one hand up against it heavily, and barely managed to choke down a mouthful of puke. She then stumbled several paces further on, and came up against a collection of trashcans, one of which seemed to be spitting up an argyle sock. She opened the lid of one and vomited into its depths, relieving herself of all the strawberry daiquiris and the half-digested remains of the Monte Cristo sandwich she'd had for lunch. She was standing there, desperately clutching the sides of the trashcan for support and breathing heavily, when she heard a desperate voice demand, "Move. Move, move, MOVE," from behind her.
Amy fell back against the side of a dumpster and waved the trash can lid airily in front of her, blurting out, "Excuse me!" which clearly was what the interloper into her private hell would have said if, Amy reckoned, he wasn't another one of those terrible manwhores she'd been hearing about all evening.
She sunk against the dumpster and watched as a tall, thin man dressed in a dapper black coat stepped up next to her, flipped his tie over his shoulder, and proceeded to vomit into her trash can without ceremony. Amy stumbled back several paces to put distance between them as he went about his business. To her surprise, the man had no pants to match his jacket, and she stared at the upturned, white-clad buttocks presented to her in stunned silence as he made his own deposit into the trashcan.
"SHAMELESS," she slurred, splaying her feet and lifting the trashcan lid in front of her like a shield. Her phone continued to trill from her pocket, but she ignored it in the face of obvious, imminent danger.
The tall man stood up, wiped delicately at the corner of his mouth, seeming to wince as her phone continued to ring loudly. "Are you going to answer that?" he asked, pinching his temple. The phone rang again, shrill and demanding, and the man scolded her, "Answer your phone, woman!"
"You're not wearing pants," Amy accused him, unable to unfocus on the shocking realization she had been staring at a man's nearly naked backside, and even worse, was getting glimpses of his barely covered front bulge. She looked at it, and then tried to look at his face, but ended up going back to staring at the bulge peeking at her with each flap of his coat.
"I left them in the fourth dimension," the man informed her coolly, sizing her up and seeming to realize exactly where she was looking. He pulled his coat together as best he could over his underpants and continued haughtily, "I'd ask you to help me look for them, but a drunken, rude plebian like you who won't even answer your own phone probably don't even know what the fourth dimension is, let alone how to find pants there."
Amy bridled at the insult, drawing herself up further and waving her tin shield at him threateningly, "I knew my Euclidian geometry before you were potty trained, you brainless, boring, thoughtless….MAN." Amy furrowed her brow and tried in vain to come up with a wittier insult than that. "Man…you…MEN!" She snapped her fingers as it came to her, and she pointed at him, "Only think with your penises! You penis ponderer person! With your thoughtless penis, exposed…I…you….you don't think, wait…no, if you think…with your penis…." She closed her eyes and tried to reason her way through it, "If you're thoughtless then you don't think so if you think with your penis then logically…where am I going with this?"
"Are you trying to suggest I am the type of male who thinks with his penis or that I don't have a penis at all?" The man drew himself up taller, almost looming over her, but Amy was not so easily intimidated.
"Yes," she slurred back at him, her green eyes narrowed, her shield raised, and her stance braced for bickering.
He took an outraged breath and opened his eyes wide in shock, and Amy noticed they were quite blue. "I have a penis!" he informed her, squaring his shoulders as if he, too, was preparing to fight.
"Which is exactly just like a man! Yes! You. Men. I've heard all about you! All you men and your evil penises, shamelessly spreading your seed all over town with ugly redheaded whores!" She gestured to wildly to the town at large with her trashcan lid.
The man paused, blinked once, and then noted, "You sound just like my mother." He seemed to find that curious. "Are you Episcopalian?" He put his hand up to steady himself against a large stack of cardboard boxes. As he pressed his weight against them they collapsed, and he tumbled head over feet right in, leaving Amy to stare at his wiggling, threshing feet.
"Help!" came his muffled cries from inside the box. "Help me!"
Amy taunted him mercilessly, "Why don't you access the fourth dimension and help yourself out of there! You can pick up your pants on the way!"
For a moment there was silence, and then Amy dropped her arm to her side, letting the trashcan lid rest against her hip as she waited for his rejoinder. Instead, she distinctly heard the muffled sound of a drunken, tenor voice softly warbling the Element Song to itself, and a black clad foot swung back and forth in front of Amy's face to the beat of the song. By the time the singer slurred himself through europium, zirconium, lutetium, and vanadium, Amy had had a change of heart. She took a step forward to go to his rescue when two blondes and a short man with a mop of dark hair burst out of the side door.
"Sheldon!" the man called out. Amy pointed to the pile of cardboard crowned by a pair of flopping black feet, and he and the blonde hurried over and started to fish within the depths for their friend.
"Amy," Cassy gasped, leaning heavily into the door. "Oh, thank god I found you. I was trying to call you!" She looked up, and slid open the bar that would keep the steel door propped open. "Come on, the taxi is here. We're going home."
Amy and Cassy clung to each other for support as they turned for the dimly lit hotel hallway. Behind them, Amy could hear a man and woman's voice crying out, "Sheldon! Stay still!" and "Sheldon, stop singing that stupid song!" and "Sheldon, let go of my ear!"
Amy informed Cassy, "Your arrival was opportune. That man was not wearing pants, did not have a penis, and was strenuously threatening to do something with it in the fourth dimension."
A clenched fist punched the air above the cardboard boxes, waving about in defiant outrage. Over the protests of his two friends, Amy heard the tall man yell, "I DO HAVE A PENIS AND I AM NOT GOING TO DO ANYTHING WITH IT IN THIS OR ANY OTHER DIMENSION!"
"Isn't that JUST like a man?" Amy asked Cassy, even as she slid the bar back into its original position, letting the heavy steel door fall closed behind them, abandoning the three strangers and all their genitals in the humid back alley of the hotel.
"Don't worry," Cassy promised Amy as they zigzagged unsteadily back through the hotel bar, "Considering what you drank, you're not going to remember any of this in the morning."
Author's closing note: Hopefully you've landed here after reading the first "5 Times" chapters, starting with xMarisolx's. From here your next, and sadly last, visit is with Foxphile! Major appreciation to xMarisolx who got to beta for me for once! She did an amazing job, and this chapter wouldn't sing without her music. Give her big snaps up for her help.