…
"Hey, Sheldon," Eli called from where she was sitting on the couch as he walked through the door. She draped an arm over the back of the sofa to face him. "How was day two of lecturing?"
"Oh," he fingered the strap on his messenger bag before placing the whole thing on the counter, "fantastic. Infact, one of the students is a doctoral candidate. He's writing his thesis on String Theory. He asked me to read it, the brave soul."
"And how'd that go?"
Sheldon pulled out a stack of paper, the words barely recognizable under the red ink.
"I tore it up." He shined. "Anyhoo, what are you working on?"
He walked over the the couch and stood behind it, looking over her shoulder. Scattered on the coffee table was a collection of books and papers.
"Just some Shakespeare."
"Eli, of all people, the last to mind to use the term, 'just Shakespeare' would be you. He looked at the book she held in her hands, "Hamlet: Prince of Denmark," He fell into a dramatic brogue, "You cannot play upon me!" Back in his normal voice, he continued, "the man was as mad as a hatter."
"Oh, I don't know. I think he knew what he was doing: had it all figured out." Grining, Eli flipped a couple pages.
"Listen to this," She began to read, though she knew the verse by heart, "Doubt thou the stars are fire; doubt that the sun doth move;"
"Doubt truth to be a liar;" Sheldon's voice joined hers.
"But never doubt I love." Together, they ended.
Sheldon sat next to her on the couch. Her eyes followed him, smiling. He smiled back and thought maybe Hamlet did have it all figured out.
Eli continued to read. He watched her as her rosy lips formed the words, and parted with each with a whisper of air. Like a babbling rivulet, her words comforted him. Only, Eli never babbled. Who knew where the playwrite ended and she began. Sheldon loved her voice. Her eloquence left him entranced.
Lazily, their bodies sidled together until the length of her side was pressed against him. Her head fell to his lapel and he allowed his to rest upon hers. Never before had he noticed how small she really was. For once, he didn't shy away from the contact. He became quite partial to the new masculine role of guardian and, as he had seen Leonard do so many times, placed an arm around her. The soft poetry and prose of Shakespeare lulled his eyes to close. His chest rose and slowly fell as he breathed in her rasberry fragrance.
…
Eli couldn't think. She couldn't think, she couldn't breathe. Sheldon was so close to her. Please, she prayed, don't let her voice falter. Please don't let Sheldon see the effect he had on her. His scrubbed-clean scent charged her mind.
Her body betrayed her. She urged it to stay where it was on her side of the couch; however, when her hip made contact with his, all protests stopped.
While her mouth recited the words from the play, her mind occupied itself with Sheldon. It listened to the sound of his breathing: in and out in and out. Her head too rested itself on his shoulder, listening for the beat of his heart. The weight of his head returned the embrace.
The realization dawned on her. What was she doing? What was he doing? This is not the Sheldon that had bawled her over outside of the comic book store all those years ago. He had somehow changed, but, how? He wore the same odd ball T-shirts. He still ate off of a schedule. His idiosyncracies were still, characteristically, Sheldon. But he didn't shy away from her touch when she experimentally nuzzled against him. In response, his arm encircled her shoulders. Perhaps, he was not less Sheldon…but more.
"OW!" Eli cried out, jerking them out of their reverie.
"What? Are you hurt?" Sheldon's concern deeply touched her.
"No, No, I'm fine. It's just a paper cut." She resisted the urge to stick the finger in her mouth.
"Here, let me see." Tentatively, he took hold of her hand and gingerly observed the bleeding digit. In the next instant, he pulled forth from his pocket a pre-moistened towelette, the smallest tube of Neosporin Eli'd ever seen, and finally, a band-aid.
When he finished dressing her wound, she burst into a fit of giggles.
"What?" he raised an eyebrow in inquiry.
"You just pulled an ER out of your pocket," she laughed again. "Everything, but a kiss,"
…
A kiss? Did she want a kiss? Oh, dear. Where was Penny when you needed her? Meemaw would, on occasion, kiss his boo-boos and ouchies. Somehow, Meemaw's kisses didn't seem apropriate. Instead, he improvised.
Once again, he took her injured hand in his, enveloping it in his grasp. He folded all but her fore and middle fingers into her palm. With his own two fingers, he caressed hers. His skin grazed hers, forming a sentence in an unspoken language.
"Sheldon," she breathed, realizing what he was doing. His clear blue eyes looked into hers, full of apprehension. He hoped she would understand the sentiment behind the Vulcan kiss.
"Sheldon," she said his name again, relishing the word on her tongue. Carefully, she leaned towards him. He grew rigid at the approach, but did not move away. Her hands rested on his chest, his heart thundered in his ribs. His blue eyes were open and afraid. She waited until he closed them, allowing her to proceed.
Their lips met in an intensity that, Sheldon was positive, rivaled that of the Hadron collider. Indeed, he was in awe at the energy created by the fusion. It crawled on his skin, chilling him through, and also set him on fire. Never had he experienced anything so fantasmic.
When Eli pulled away, he suppressed a moan. Already he missed her. This time he let his neurochemistry have the con. His long arms pulled her to him. Her arms wrapped around his neck, toying with the short hairs at the nape of his neck, causing a shiver to spread down his spine. Their lips met a second time. And a third.
Finally, they separated. Sheldon breathed heavily as he looked down at Eli. Her green, dialated eyes were heady and her lips slightly swolen. He watched her bring her fingertips to her lips, an expression of amazement plastered on her face.