1. It's Gonna Be An All-Nighter

"Are we there yet?" he asks.

"Not quite." She stares straight ahead, hands firmly on ten and two. She's driving. She always drives. "Check the GPS," she quickly peeks in his direction. "I need to know where to turn."

He turns on the device. "Uh oh."

"What's wrong?"

"We were supposed to turn one-point-eight miles ago."

She sighs loudly, pulling a rough U-turn in the middle of the road that has him crashing against the passenger door of their company car, clutching dearly to his seat belt.

"This is absurd," he comments after a tense moment, frowning down at the RECALCULATING message, a digitalized hourglass turning itself over and over on the blue screen. "We are scientists. We should not be outsmarted by simple technology. Simple and ancient technology, might I add."

"Well, it's pitch black outside and there are no streetlamps or signs, and I'm afraid neither of our doctorates were specialized in topography. This house is right next to a lighthouse, is it not?" She brakes and squints through the windshield, searching for the turn they somehow missed.

"That is what the woman on the phone said," he nods. "However, I believe it is no longer functioning."

"How convenient," she mutters.

"It's actually rather inconvenient if you ask me." She deadpans at him, and he offers a sassy smirk in return.

"Ah, there it is." She finds the missed turn obscured by some shrubbery and overgrown trees (no wonder) and turns onto a dirt path. After about a quarter mile, the GPS speaks up: "The destination is on your right."

"Turning right would have us plummeting several hundred feet into the Pacific Ocean," he says skeptically to the machine in his hands. "So forgive me if I object to that proposal."

"I don't understand," she frowns. "Where is the house? You typed in the correct address, right?"

"Of course I did," he retorts, offended.

"Then where is it?"

"Wait," he says. "Keep going. I think I see something further down the cliff, beyond those bluffs. To the right."

"I thought turning right would have us plummeting to our doom." She mocks.

"Well, don't turn ALL the way right. Just a little right."

"You mean a forty-five degree angle as opposed to a ninety degree?"

"Yes," he says slowly. "That is what I mean."

"All right." Slowly, she moves the car onto even more uneven ground. Driving through the mountains at night is usually a bad idea. "It is rather steep here," she says, nervous. "I sure hope you're right."

"I'm always right," he answers sternly. She does, however, happen to look over and see him once again white-knuckling his seatbelt.

They are driving right alongside the cliff's edge, nothing but some weedy grass and a less-than-sturdy-looking wooden fence between them and a fatal drop to the ocean far, far below. No lampposts to light their path. Not to mention they are going down a sharp incline and the car is practically accelerating itself.

However, the path soon evens out to a grassy knoll, and once beyond a dense cluster of bramble and wildflowers, they can see a part of the cliff which juts much farther out. They both gasp at the abruptness of seeing a large plateau of land so suddenly.

"This is it?" he asks.

They roll to a stop, headlights shining their golden cones onto a stately house. Down the hill the path ends at an abandoned lighthouse, a tall silhouette against the moon-lit sky. Very close to the cliff's edge sits a gazebo, a small table with two chairs inside. The house itself is closed off, uninviting. White, stacked stone exterior, gray roof. Magnificent, multi-story windows. A tall, arching entrance. Ornate spandrels and fretwork. A dying person inside.

"This is it," she affirms with a stoic face. She turns off the car and opens the door. "Get the equipment."

He hefts a rather large metal suitcase from the trunk, heavier than it looks, and follows his fellow scientist through the tall, swaying grass to the front door. She knocks three times, then stands aside and waits. They wear matching expressions of impassivity, just-another-day-on-the-job faces, and white coats, their company name embroidered on the front: Sigmund Co.

With no immediate answer from inside, he sets the equipment down by his feet. "Who on earth would build a home with beautiful picture windows only to cover them up with drapes? Kind of defeats the purpose, doesn't it?"

She glances down at her wristwatch and sighs.

"This will be a long night. I can feel it." A moment passes, and she looks up. She sees the sky stretched taut above her, indigo laced with sequin stars, and she takes in a deep breath. No porch light, no working lighthouse, and covered windows. The only source of light comes from the moon and it's bright enough to illuminate the entire cliff and cast a strip of sparkling light across the ocean. For some reason, she finds herself staring at it a moment longer than she normally would.

Later, after they'll have finished this assignment and have moved on to another, she will look back at this moment with heavy profoundness.

"An all-nighter, for sure," he agrees.

"I know."

Inside, just faintly, they can hear piano music.

"Oh, for crying out loud." He steps forward and bangs hard on the door.

"Coming!" a female voice finally calls. The music stops. Or maybe they imagined it. Seconds later they pin on their cheerful smiles for a small woman – early-thirties, no makeup, hair pulled into a dark bun – standing in the doorway, which seems to be nothing but a prism of gold light.

"Hi, I'm Lily. We spoke on the phone. Thanks so much for coming at such a late hour." Her voice drops to a low murmur. "I'm afraid he doesn't have much longer."

"I'm Dr. Eva Rosalene, senior memory traversal agent of Sigmund Corporations." The female scientist extends her hand. "This is my colleague, Dr. Neil Watts, technician specialist."

"Not as fancy of a title, but trust me, I do all the heavy lifting, and not just physically," Watts gives Rosalene a wink.

"So nice to meet you both. Please come in. Let me introduce you to my kiddos." She disappears into the other room as Rosalene and Watts stand in the open doorway, sharing a look of alarm.

She clutches his arm as he bends to lift the equipment. "It's a child?" she whispers.

He gives her a grim smile. "It had to happen sooner or later, right?" They follow Lily into what appears to be a formal den. It is immaculately clean. Minimalist, but elegant. Wooden floors so polished you can see your reflection. Gray curtains, gray love seat and armchairs, all equi-distant and organized to fit the room perfectly.

In the corner of the room two children sit together on the bench of a shiny grand piano, both looking more than healthy and spry, although you can never be too sure. Rosalene and Watts have never had to work with a child before. And they hope they won't have to start today.

"This is my daughter, Sarah, and this is my son, Tommy," Lily beams. "They're twins. Aren't they the cutest little things you've ever seen?"

Rosalene and Watts offer clinical smiles.

"Please, sit down," Lily orders. "Can I offer either of you a hot beverage? Tea? Hot chocolate? Coffee?"

"No, thank you," Rosalene declines.

"I don't mean to be rude, but we're already getting a late start tonight." Watts chuckles. "I assume our client is upstairs?"

"Oh, he's with his doctor right now. It shouldn't take too long. Please, sit."

The two scientists share the love seat, adjacent to the two small children, who are giving them both humongous grins. Lily takes an armchair.

"So," Rosalene begins after a moment, "What can you tell us about him?"

"Oh, well, not much, I'm afraid. I became his caretaker about five years ago. He really hasn't told me much. He's an extremely private man. He's widowed, I do know that. His wife died about fifteen years ago. He hardly speaks about her. No children." She pauses with a smile. "He really is a charming old geezer, if perhaps a little abrasive and time-worn. But what sixty-year-old man isn't, I suppose."

Watts watches her expectantly, waiting for her to resume. "That's it? That's all you know about him?"

"Be polite," Rosalene hisses.

"I'm sorry, but I do believe the mail carrier would know more about our client than this woman. Perhaps we should consult with him."

"Stop." She gives him a pointed look. "Lily, perhaps you have some questions for us? We understand that this procedure can be a little strange for most people to grasp."

"I do, actually," Lily responds tightly. "I guess I don't quite understand… how it works. You can somehow… create memories in someone's brain that never really existed?"

"Basically, yes. It's a technology that has been around for many years now, though I suppose it's still fairly new. By the Ethics Code, we can only experiment on individuals with not much time left to live. Many people therefore seek it as a wish fulfillment service when they know they are about to pass. So, to put it simply, we go in and create artificial memories in the client's brain, whatever memories they request. They then are able to pass happily and contented."

"And we are able to collect data on the technology to help further advance it," Watts adds.

"He is adamant about this procedure," says Lily, "Has been following the research and development for years, he said. He is a very smart old man. Very interested in all those… science-y tech-y things."

"Oh dear lord," Watts mutters beneath his breath.

Rosalene shoves him. "Would you happen to know of his request for the procedure?"

"Oh yes," she smiles. "He wants to go the moon, though he has said he isn't sure why."

"The moon!" Watts exclaims, "They aren't getting any easier, are they, Eva?"

"That's what he says he wants," Lily answers with a shrug. "Yet another thing he's rarely divulged, though I have spotted him many times at the cliff's edge, staring up at that thing. I knew better than to tell him to get back inside, that it's way too chilly out. I just let him be."

Rosalene and Watts both nod understandingly.

Sarah turns to her mother. "Will he wake up soon, Mommy? Tommy and I wanna show him how good we're getting at the song he taught us." She turns to Rosalene and Watts. "Tommy and I are real good at the piano. Do you wanna hear us play?"

Lily interjects, flustered. "Maybe another time, honey. It's past your bedtime. Why don't you and your brother go up and get your jammies on and pick out a book? I'll be there in a minute to read."

The little boy perks up. "Can we read The Little Engine That Could?"

"Of course. But you must go right now."

The three adults watch as the little scamps hurry up the stairs, racing each other to the top.

Lily smiles apologetically. "I'm sorry. They're seven, so they don't quite understand the situation yet. I'm still trying to figure out a way to tell them. I mean, they see him as an uncle. He's really the only father figure they've ever had."

"Well, you better find a way soon," Watts scorns.

"Yes, well," Lily says. "If you're both ready, I think it's about time you meet the old devil."

"Yes," Watts agrees emphatically, popping up. "Let's get the ball rolling while we're all still young."

Lily makes a start up the stairs, so Rosalene takes the opportunity to smack Watts's arm. "You are so unprofessional."

He winks. "That's why you love me."

On their way up the stairs, Watts nudges Rosalene. "Hey, does watching me carry this heavy suitcase up a flight of stairs with only one arm turn you on?" He performs a few curls for added effect.

She rolls her eyes. "Don't make me gag."

Lily pauses at a door at the end of the hall. She pushes it open and steps quietly inside. "How is he, doctor?"

A wise-and-kind-faced man addresses the trio with a sad smile. "It won't be much longer, Lily. But the old man is stubborn, don't forget that. It could be another day. Maybe two."

Rosalene and Watts gasp as they turn their attention to the man of the hour, lying on the left side of a large bed and hooked up to an IV and heart monitor. The gray comforter is pulled up to his shoulders. He lies like a man in a coffin. His skin is the color of soy milk. He has gray, bushy eyebrows, set in a look of deep concentration though he is unconscious. Lily approaches the bed and leans close. She tenderly pushes his hair away from his tall forehead.

"Dr. Cooper?"


AN: So anyone reading this is probably wondering where the heck this is going. Why is Sheldon so old? Where is Amy? Where is everyone else? Who are all these random people? And all I can say is that this will be a different type of story. But you will still see all the familiar characters in Sheldon and Leonard's apartment, and the majority of this story will take place in flashback.

This fanfic is actually based on my absolute favorite 16-bit video game. It has a crazy good story and a type of story that Sheldon and Amy and the rest of the gang fit into so easily. There are a lot of similarities. I wanted a lot of things to stay true to the original story, like some of the names for example. However, there will be huge changes to the storyline as well. I've thought long and hard about how I'm going to do this, and I think I've come up with a storyline that is genuine with both the original story of the video game and Shamy's love story.

Just a disclaimer: This story will definitely be very sad at times, so if that's not your kind of thing it might not be the kind of fic for you. But I will work hard to balance the sad moments with levity. It is rated M for mature language and descriptions of adult themes.

If you'd like to listen to the soundtrack of the original game, you can go here: watch?v=Snl67XsI6Is