A/N: Greetings fellow life forms! I hope you all are having a fabulous day/night/afternoon/whatever they have on your planet! The muse hit me again during my English class, and I had to write something out. I'm relatively sure that this is something that's been done before, but I hope I can put my own individual twist on it! As always reviews = love.

Rating: K+ again, nothing severe, just a few words not suitable for most children's ears.

Pairing: Sheldon/Penny. Friendship bordering on romance.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Big Bang Theory, or any of the songs mentioned in this piece.

Sing us a song, you're the Piano Man, sing us a song tonight! Well we're all in the mood for a melody, and you've got us feeling alright. -Billy Joel, 'Piano Man'

XIX

I trudge up the stairs in the direction of my lonely and messy apartment, with the enthusiasm of a drowned cat.

Work hadn't been particularly kind to me today. On my already less-than-flattering uniform, I am currently sporting some tomato soup a (married) drunken man had spilled upon me while simultaneously trying to (pitifully) hit on me (for future reference, all you gents out there, the proper way to pick up a girl is to not say, 'You're daddy must be a baker, because you've got a nice set of buns"), some child vomit on my shoes, because his mother was actually serious when she rattled on about his tantrums that sometimes pitched when he didn't get his way (this time it had to do with the way his food was prepared. Damn, I should've listened to his complaints when he said his macaroni was too cheesy. I mean, I'm around Dr. OCD enough, I should be used to it), and finally, a glass of red wine that the drunk man's wife poured on me when she though I was hitting on her husband. Needless to say, if I had a choice between going to hell and reliving this day over and over again, I'm pretty damn sure I'd pick hell. Every time.

When I finally made it to our landing after a whooping four flights of stairs, (Damn Leonard and his stupid ass experiment which permanently damaged the elevator) I nearly just give up the battle right then and there and collapsed on the floor for a good nine hour snooze. But something stops me from curling up on that surprisingly comfy-looking carpet.

There was music coming from the apartment opposite of mine.

At first, I thought I just might be hallucinating, because let's face it, sleep was not in the cards last night between my two late night shifts. But sure enough, when I placed my ear on the door of 4B, I actually heard some instrument playing from beyond the door.

And that was the tipping point of my curiosity.

I fished my key out of my tomato-soup smelling pocket, and thrust it into the lock, turning it swiftly until it clicked open. I was surprised to find the head of the wack-a-doodle committee himself, sitting behind what appeared to be some sort of keyboard, coaxing a flawless melody out of the tiny black and white box.

Holy crap on a cracker.

His usually animated navy blue eyes were shut firmly, as if he had given himself over completely to the gorgeous piece he was playing. His long and nimble hands twirled and danced over the white keys. (Hey! Who knew I was poetic?) The tune that filled the air I could have sworn that I had heard before, and if I was a betting woman, I would have put my money on Beethoven or Mozart as the composer.

When he finished the piece, I couldn't help but give a little bit of applause at this impromptu performance. He had been fantastic.

His eyes snapped open as soon as soon as I had put my hands together the first time. He looked kind of startled, his face kind of going all 'deer in the headlights' on me, but he smile when he realized who the intruder was.

"Sheldon! That was amazing! What was that?" I asked, crossing the living room of the apartment to where Sheldon had set up the square instrument and a small bench. I let my fingers play the top few notes of the instrument before a stern glare from the physicist forces me to stop.

"That particular piece was called "Claire De Lune," by Claude Debussy. It is a French piece composed by Debussy in 1890, but it wasn't published until..." He began, launching into full lecture mode.

But I cut him off impatiently. "Yeah, yeah yeah. I don't need the PBS special." I snap. He rolls his eyes at me condescendingly. I ignore him. "So know anything modern?" I asked.

His fingers struck up the chorus to "Don't Stop Believin'" by Journey. I stop him a few notes in.

"That was great, but I'm talking about stuff like Britney Spears or Dave Matthews, or Coldplay?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Who's Dave Matthews?" He asks, his face questioning.

I sigh. "Move over, Moonpie!" I say, giving him a slight shove as I scoot-y my booty onto the already small bench. I hear a "only MeeMaw gets to call me Moonpie." from his end of the bench and fight back a smile.

I put my fingers on the keys, and try to remember the opening lines to Coldplay's 'The Scientist", figuring its rather appropriate for the situation. I softly began to play, throughly shocking the wack-a-doodle.

"Come up to meet, you, tell you I'm sorry, you don't know how lovely you are. I had to find you, tell you I need you, tell you I set you apart." I sang the first couple of verses, before fading out when I noticed my crazy neighbor staring at me with a face that I usually use when he's ranting about how electrons move in fixed orbitals or something science-y like that. I drop my hands into my lap awkwardly.

"What?" I ask, somewhat irritated.

"I didn't know you could play the piano." He says, somewhat insultingly.

"I'm not completely incompetent, ya know." I snap.

He shakes his head. "No, no. It was a pleasant surprise. Not only do you possess musical knowledge, but you know how to apply it to an instrument to produce a lovely tune. Kudos, Penny." He says, offering me one of his rare smiles.

I smile back. "Thanks, sweetie."

"Wherever did you learn how to play? Perhaps to woo some gentleman back in Nebraska?" He inquires.

I laugh. "No, I'd never go that far for a guy." I snort, in a rather unladylike fashion. "No, I actually learned it for an audition I had a couple of years ago for the part of a blind chick on The Mentalist. I was doing pretty damn well, until the directors found out that I wasn't actually 'visually impaired' and told me to leave before they called security. Now that I think about it, that wasn't my worst audition." I say, reminiscing.

"Well, I shudder to think of what ranks as your, how you say, "Number One." But if you wouldn't mind scooting over a bit, I believe that I may have found a piece to your liking." He said, giving me a 'shoo' motion.

I smirk. "Alright, Billy Joel. Let's see what you got." I say, tapping my fingers on the piano.

The song he begins is rather unfamiliar to me, that is, until the wack-a-doodle actually begins to sing.

"Penny Lane is in my ears, and in my eyes. There beneath, the blue suburban skies. I sit and meanwhile back in Penny Lane..." He sings, in a low bass range.

I finish out the line, " there is a fireman with an hourglass, and in his pocket is a portrait of the Queen. He likes to keep his fire engine clean. It's a clean machine."

And as he finishes out the song, I find myself fighting back tears. I feel stupid at the sight of the make-up smudges on my hands, and quickly wipe them on the denim of my already ruined skirt.

"Penny?" Sheldon asks. The one time he notices...

"Yes, Sheldon?" I reply, my voice kind of scratchy and pitchy, and just overall terrible sounding.

"Have I made you upset?" He asks, and I look up to see him staring at me intently.

"No, sweetie, you haven't made me upset." I say, wiping the snot from my nose on my arm.

He doesn't even break out the antibacterial wipes at this point, which throughly surprises. "Well, what has made you upset?" He inquires, seeming to put forth a conscious effort to see what's making me cry.

"That song, Penny Lane. My dad used to sing it to me when I was little. It was funny, I actually thought there was a street named after me." I say, smiling a little.

He notices my facial expression, and gives his weird throaty chuckle.

"Anyways, my dad died a couple of months ago from a stroke. And hearing that song just made me think about him. It made me sad, that's all." I say.

Not knowing what else to do, Dr. McCrazy put his hand near my shoulder, and made stroking motions in the air. "There, there. Sheldon's here." He says softly, comforting me in his own, weird little way.

I make a point not to laugh at his inability to comfort another human being like a normal person, which involves actually touch them, something he considers to be one of the Seven Deadly Sin. "Thanks, sweetie. I feel a lot better." I say, sniffling.

"Do you have any requests?" He asks, after a brief silence.

I think about this for a moment. "Do you know Iris, by the Goo Goo Dolls?" I ask.

His eyes light up with excitement. "I do. Would you like for me to play it for you?" He asks, setting his long, pale fingers atop the correct set of keys, awaiting my response.

I nod quickly. "Yes, please!" I say, settling back down next to him.

And it was in that moment, when Sheldon began to play, that the troubles of the day melted away with each verse he played. His soft, harmonious bass contrasted nicely with the higher notes he was playing. His eyes sparkled as he played, showing a side of Dr. Sheldon Lee Cooper, PhD that I didn't know existed. I was shocked to find that Sheldon possessed the ability to show happiness about something other people knew about. (Paging the mothership, it looks like your alien is beginning to show some signs of human emotion.)

This was a kinder, gentler side of Sheldon Cooper that the world rarely gets a glimpse of.

A side I wouldn't mind getting to know.

So I smile, and pick up the last line of the song, singing in harmony with Dr. Wack-a-doodle.

XIX

Hello again! I am rather sorry if this doesn't live up to the other pieces written similarly to this one.

But reviews make my days better.

Live Long and Prosper,

IEMDW18