Chapter Nine: Second Time's The Charm
"Hello, Sheldon."
"Hello, Amy."
When she had first opened the door at 7:06 on their date night, Sheldon was a little concerned. After all, he'd been forced to knock twice, which amounted to eighteen knocks in total when one took into account that the average knock consisted of a mandatory series of three short raps on the door repeated in a treble pattern—or, at least, average as far as he was concerned.
Sheldon's eyes combed warily over his girlfriend's face, searching for clear signs of anger or distress. However, there were none to be found beyond a slight swelling and reddening around her eyes—and that could just as easily be due to allergies as being upset. Overall, Amy seemed calm and composed. Her beige skirt was ironed and neat, her blue tights seemed unblemished, and the plum blazer she was wearing over a pink button down top was one of his favorites as it brought out a rosiness in her complexion which he found oddly fascinating. Her sheen of dark hair was brushed perfectly straight and cascaded down her shoulders like a fountain of sparkling milk chocolate.
"Come in, Sheldon," she said, stepping aside so he could enter.
He thanked her as he passed by, not bothering to unbutton his gray suit jacket as he secured his usual seat. Sheldon had taken extra care in his appearance tonight, even applying a bit of the cologne his sister had given him for Christmas last year because Amy had once remarked how much she liked it. He'd brought along a tall, black umbrella, which he leaned against the edge of the coffee table so he wouldn't forget it later. Turning, his eyes tracked her as she walked into the kitchen. He declined her offer of refreshment and was surprised when she returned cradling a glass of red wine in one hand.
As she took a seat across from him on the couch, he watched her take a delicate sip, a bit of the liquid pooling slightly on the plateau of her bottom lip. Her tongue slipped out to catch the drop before disappearing back inside her mouth. The action caused his stomach to tighten in a strange way. His eyes locked on those pinkened lips, noticing for the first time that she was wearing a fair amount of gloss this evening. He'd told her on more than one occasion that it made her lips look slippery. And that was true. But tonight, it also made them seem as succulent and beckoning as ripe fruit. He idly wondered what it would feel like to kiss her now. Would his lips slide right off or would the gloss act more like a glue keeping them together? Did the gloss have a flavor? Would it make the act of kissing her even sweeter than it already was? Was such a thing even possible?
"Sheldon? Do you mind if I speak first?"
He looked up at her, shocked at how lost in his thoughts he'd been. Now was hardly the time for woolgathering. There were things to be said. He had to stay on top of this if he wanted to stay in control. Leonard said his plan was crazy, but Sheldon knew better. Not only had his mother had him tested, but he knew Amy better than anyone—especially Leonard. He knew what she needed, and he was going to give it to her.
"Actually," he said, clearing his throat, "I have something I need to say first, if you don't mind."
She inclined her head in acquiescence and took another slow nip of her wine. It unnerved him that she was drinking. Was this a sign of how upset she was? For the 818th time since he'd met Amy, he cursed Penny's obvious influence on her. Alcohol was never the way to solve anything. His father had more than proved that in his nearly fifty-five years on the planet.
Sheldon looked down at the hands clenched in his lap. Thanks to his memory, he was able to easily recall the speech he had practiced on his way over. All he needed to do was gather the courage to deliver it. This has to work. If it doesn't, what will she make me do? Will she make me beg? Bring me to my knees? Make me—No, he refused to even consider any of that. There mere idea of the mighty Sheldon Cooper being brought to his knees was ridiculous. It will work. I'm a genius. I know Amy. It will work.
"It is evident from your actions of today that the two gifts I sent you were not welcome. It does not take a genius to deduce why. I want you to know that you have more than made your point, and, after long and careful deliberation, I concede that it is a valid one."
"Thank you, Sheldon."
Smiling, he glanced up at her. The smile died a quick death. He'd been expecting her to have her usual cheerful expression. The friendly smile and the warm, welcoming green eyes he could sink into like a fuzzy blanket on a cold day. However, Amy wasn't smiling. Her expression was closed, placid, and gave nothing away. A spike of fear coursed through him.
Clearing his throat, he continued, "I should never have hired Candace without telling you about it. I can see now that it could possibly be considered a breach of our relationship agreement Section 11, Subsection 3B, which—"
"It could possibly be considered a breach?" she repeated. The pitch in her tone gave him a hint of underlying anger.
"It was a breach," he immediately corrected. "A definite breach. Because of this, I have fired Candace. As punishment, I will have to go without an assistant until Alex comes back on Monday."
"It's Thursday."
"Yes." He observed her carefully, unsure where she was going with this. It was date night, after all. Date nights always happened on Thursday. Why would she feel the need to remind him of the day of the week?
"So you have to go one day without an assistant?"
She placed her wine glass on a coaster on the coffee table and regarded him with something akin to frustration. His eyes caught on a folded white piece of paper lying next to the coaster, but he didn't have time to wonder what it was as her question discernibly demanded an immediate answer.
"Yes." Surely she realized what this meant? It wasn't just one day. It was one of the most important days in his career. The final proposal for his project with Kripke was due tomorrow. The proposal had to be perfect or Gablehauser would never let them hear the end of it. Moreover, it had to be perfect so the university would be able to secure the necessary funding. Not having an assistant would mean he would have to get his own lunch, answer his own phone, and pick up his own dry cleaning. Who had time for all of that when he already had so much else to accomplish?
"You fired Candace today?"
He exhaled a little, relaxing. Indubitably, this would make her happy and soothe the temper he'd been sure was brewing only minutes ago. "Yes."
"What reason did you give?"
"Her job was always going to be temporary."
"You still had to give a reason for terminating her employment early. What did you say?"
"I told her the truth."
"Which is?"
He didn't want to say. There was something about her hard tone that told him he was balancing precariously on some narrow ledge as it was. One wrong word could catapult him into an unknown abyss. Still, he couldn't not tell her. Wouldn't that be worse?
"I explained that her work was substandard."
"You think that's the truth?"
He shrugged. "It is the truth. I asked her to sort my paper clips. She sorted by size only. Anyone with half a brain knows one should sort by brand, then color and finally size."
Amy opened her mouth as if to argue with him, but closed it just as quickly. "I see. Do you have anything else to add before I speak?"
He searched his brain a moment. How could he have possibly forgotten the most important part?
"Yes, Leonard tells me that women do not wish to have their bedroom activities known to the general public—even if those activities are not actually occurring. Thus, I will speak to Kripke tomorrow and demand that he cease discussing our physical relationship with his friends and colleagues. Moreover, I will no longer answer any question he puts to me on this score."
Sheldon sat back against the couch, relieved to have expressed everything he'd meant to express. Surely this would finally alleviate Amy's anger, and they could get back to where they were only days ago. He missed their texts messages and Skyping with her. He even missed hearing her complain about her mother and the overall incompetence of her lab assistants. Most of all, Sheldon missed just having her nearby. Somehow, over the summer, he'd grown more dependent upon her company. He'd thought having Leonard back would make this feeling go away. It hadn't. If anything, it was more persistent than ever.
Amy snatched the wine glass up and, with a deft flick of her wrist, downed the contents in one, fluid gulp. Getting to her feet, she returned to the kitchen and poured herself another glass. Once she had resumed her seat, she relaxed against the sofa. If one were not watching her eyes, one could presume that she was comfortable and untroubled. But Sheldon was looking at her eyes. They were blazing at him worse than the day she'd overheard him with Kripke. Only, this time, there wasn't just anger in there. There was something similar to hurt in there as well. Why would she be hurt?
"Do you have anything else to say to me?" she asked, returning her glass to the coffee table.
Sheldon searched his mind, but came up empty. What else was there left to say? He had delivered the apology she wanted, made amends for his transgressions, and even enacted a punishment for himself. Yet, after a moment's deliberation, he realized there was indeed something else he had to offer her.
"Yes. When we go to dinner tonight, I will pay the entirety of the check. Order whatever you like. It's on me." He smiled, pleased with himself.
She inhaled sharply and balled her hands into little fists. "That's it?" she hissed between gritted teeth.
Sheldon unconsciously leaned away from her. "Did you want dessert, too?" he asked, confused.
Exhaling, she impatiently shoved her hair over one shoulder. "No. I want a real apology, but I suppose that's too much to expect from the most stubborn man on the planet."
"I did apologize."
"Not about Kripke you didn't."
It was his turn to exhale in disdain. "I have been over this with you. I have nothing to apologize for in terms of Kripke. I never told him we were engaging in coitus. He deduced that all on his own."
"I see," she said, taking her glass and settling back against the arm of the sofa. "So lies only occur when one specifically says something one knows is not true to someone else. Is that it?"
He knew where she was going with this line of questioning, but she clearly didn't understand the situation. "Amy, you don't understand—"
"No, no, Sheldon. You have had your turn to lead the discussion. Now, it's mine. So, under your supposition that lies only occur when one speaks an untruth aloud, you are not guilty of anything. Is this correct?"
Sheldon watched her guardedly. He'd never seen her like this. "Yes."
"I see. Let's put that wonderful, eidetic memory of yours to the test, shall we? Do you remember on Tuesday when Kripke asked you if I liked teddies? What did you tell him?"
"I said, 'Amy's not into stuffed animals.'"
"And then he said?" she prompted.
"'No, I mean lingerie. You know, like crotchless panties and see-through nighties.'" He broke off. "Amy, what is the point to all of this?"
"I'm getting there. Then, after you explained the general impracticality of crotchless panties, what did he say next?"
The words came to Sheldon's tongue unbidden, like she was in charge of his brain instead of him. He closed his eyes, but the dialogue still spilled from his mouth like verbal vomit. "'Oh, I get it. You're probably a simple man. You just like her naked, am I right?'"
"And then you replied?"
He kept his eyes closed so he didn't have to look at her as he answered. "'Yes. The quicker she is without clothes, the quicker we can exchange bodily fluids, sweat all over each other, and make pleas to a deity neither of us believe in. It's great. Best thing ever. Now, can we get back to work?'"
She was quiet. Too quiet. His curious brain had to know what she was doing. He opened first one eye then the other. Amy was holding her wine glass and had swallowed almost half of it. Not a good sign. She had to understand the circumstances. He never would have said that if he knew—
"Sheldon," she said, swirling the wine in her glass. "What you said to Kripke about us 'exchanging bodily fluids,' would you say that—according to the definition you and I just agreed to—is a lie?"
She was a black widow spider, and he was a trapped fly. He could struggle all day, but she had him dead to rights. She knew it. He knew it. She knew he knew it. Her eyes finally left the wine and pinned him. "Well?" she demanded.
He gulped. "Yes."
"And you don't think you owe me an apology for telling such a bold-faced lie?"
"You have to understand the situation, Amy. It wasn't like it was Leonard, Raj, or Howard. It was Kripke. Kripke. What would you have had me do?"
She knocked back her wine and set the empty glass on the coffee table before leaning towards him. "How about telling the truth?"
"B-b-but, then he would have thought he was better than me. He would have thought he was smarter than me," he blurted, jumping to his feet. She couldn't think he would allow such an atrocity to occur when one stupid lie could take it all away? What difference did it make what Kripke thought was going on, especially if it wasn't true?
"I see."
He was beginning to hate whenever she said that. Clearly, she didn't see.
"So, Sheldon," she continued, getting to her feet as well. "You thought it was better to throw my reputation under the bus than to have a fellow physicist know his paper was better than yours—even though it plainly was. You admitted as much to me the night I offered you a consoling hug."
That was irrelevant. Didn't she know that? "How did I throw your reputation anywhere? You act like I was telling everyone that you're some kind of hussy. You're my girlfriend and have been for the last two years. It's expected that we would be engaging in coitus."
"And yet we aren't, are we?"
He inhaled hard and stepped back. "Is this where you begin pressuring me to succumb to your feminine wiles? I've already told you, I'm working on that—"
"I have no doubt you are," she interrupted, picking up the empty glass and returning to the kitchen. When she'd filled it for a third time, it was enough to send him over the edge.
"Must you drink at a time like this?"
"Believe me, as angry as I am, I need to be drinking right now."
"As inebriated as you obviously are, there is no way you can drive us to dinner. As my dinner time is rapidly approaching—"
"Sheldon, do you consider our relationship at all important?"
"What?" he said, stopping his speech mid-sentence. "Of course I do. I wouldn't be here if I didn't. I certainly wouldn't have worked so diligently putting together our relationship agreement."
"Then cease speaking of dinner and listen to me carefully. Whether your ego will allow you to accept this or not, I want you to understand me. You permitted Kripke to believe lies about me and to spread those lies throughout your workplace. You allowed this because it was easier to slander me than it was to have him know the truth, which is that in terms of this project, he was smarter than you. You lied to him and you let those lies bring hurt to me. And, in the end, you chose your own ego over our relationship."
"I did not. You still don't get it. I didn't lie in the beginning. I just didn't correct his misconception. It's not the same thing, and—by the way—no one is smarter than me."
"Obviously that's not true. You yourself acknowledged to me that Kripke's research and insights were far superior to your own."
What difference did that make? "My IQ is 187. His is 169. He's not smarter than me."
"It's irrelevant."
"No it isn't. No one is smarter than me—well, except maybe Stephen Hawking, and I would need to see his IQ test to be sure. My IQ is 187, for Christ's sake."
"Mine is 190."
The swirling outrage, anger, and frustration that had been clouding his mind abruptly disappeared under the weight of shock. "What?"
"You heard me. You say no one is smarter than you. Well, I am. And, like I said, it's irrelevant."
"You said your IQ was 183. You lied to me."
"No, I believe if you'll think back, you guessed early on that my IQ was around 183 based on your perceptions of me at the time. I simply didn't correct you."
"That's the same thing!" he accused, more furious than he'd ever been in his life.
"Yes," she said, a bitter smile on her face. "It is, isn't it?"
And, just like that, Sheldon realized he had been had in more ways than one. He wanted to scream at her, to rail against the injustice of all of it, to argue against her irrefutable logic, to strike her, to kiss her, to congratulate her for her pure brilliance and cleverness—all at the same time. But he did none of it. He simply watched as she walked over to the coffee table and picked up the folded piece of paper that had been lying there.
Unfolding it, she scanned the lines on the page a moment and sighed heavily before turning to look at him.
"What is that?" he asked.
She held it out to him. "This is the termination notice in the relationship agreement. As you can see, I've signed the bottom. As per the agreement, I will also be sending you notice via certified mail within three days."
He stared at the paper in his hand, unable to believe it. She was breaking up with him? Why? Because he wasn't smart enough? Surely that couldn't be the reason. She'd known she was smarter from the beginning. Because of Kripke? It couldn't be. That was ridiculous. His eyes locked on her signature at the bottom in black ink. She'd signed it. She'd had it ready and waiting before he'd even arrived.
"You were going to break up with me before I even got here?"
She turned her back on him and walked over to her desk to retrieve a large, silver gift bag. Pivoting, he could see a fine mist of tears in her eyes had developed. What was she crying about? She was breaking up with him. Wasn't this what she wanted?
"I was hoping you had finally realized what you had done. I was hoping your stubborn will would bend just a little to allow you to see the pain you've caused. But it won't. It never will, and my patience has run out waiting on it to do so."
"No," he argued. "I bend for you all the time. You have me doing things I don't want to do all the time. You push me all the time. But just because I won't fall to my knees over you, you think—"
"I don't push. I nudge you, Sheldon. There's a difference. I nudge you because the alternative is for us to remain as we are forever. Do you know what happens to things that remain as they are forever? They stagnate, they mummify. I don't want that and, if you think about it, neither do you."
No. This couldn't happening. Surely she understood how important she was to him. Surely she knew how much he needed her. She was as essential as oxygen. Why would she do this? He hadn't wanted a girlfriend, but she had insisted and now she was just calling it all off? No, he wouldn't stand for it.
"Please, Amy," he begged. "Please don't do this to me."
A tear fell down her cheek as she handed the silver bag to him. "I'm sorry, Sheldon, but everyone has their line. This is mine, and you crossed it. It's obvious from your actions that you don't respect me and you never will. Not really. It's also obvious that you'll never ever be able to put me first. It's always going to be about your ego, your desires, and you. I'll be somewhere at the bottom of the totem pole after the Flash and before your favorite pair of pajamas." She exhaled and brushed the tear away. No more followed. Somehow, that knowledge hurt him more than anything else. "There was a time when that was OK with me. After all, I've never come first for anyone. Why would a boyfriend be any different? But I've changed. I want more now, and you can't give me that."
"I can. I can kiss you. I want to make love to you, and I will. I'm working towards that every day." The tears which had stopped falling on her face were now flooding his own. He didn't care. He couldn't lose her. Not now. Not like this.
"I know you are, but this isn't about physical affection. If it were only that, I could wait years for you. It's about more than that. It's about me and what I need, what I deserve."
"Tell me," he beseeched. "Whatever it is. Tell me, and I'll give it to you."
"No, you won't."
He gritted his teeth. "Yes I will. Try me."
She closed her eyes, looking exhausted and haggard. Finally, her eyes popped back open and she said, "Fine. Will you make me more important than your comics?"
"Yes."
"Physics?"
"Yes."
"Your mother?"
"Y-yes."
"The Nobel Prize?"
He hesitated. He hadn't meant to. It was involuntary. He'd opened his mouth to quickly agree, but he could tell it was too late. He'd waited too long. He'd lost her.
"Here," she said, dangling the silver bag in front of him.
Sheldon took it and stared down at the contents. There were two H.G. Wells novels he'd given her; what was left of a book of Cooper Coupons; a boxed set of Star Trek: The Next Generation DVDs; a long, folded sheet of paper that seemed to be his emergency contact form for work; and assorted other items he had given or loaned her over the course of their relationship. On top of it all was the small, silver tiara he'd purchased for her so long ago. His heart squeezed painfully in his chest at the mere sight of it.
"These things are yours. I gave them to you."
"It is my understanding that this is the established protocol during a break up. Besides, I believe having those things around would only make this harder for me."
He looked up, surprised to find her already over by the door with her hand on the knob. "Amy, don't do this. We can talk about it, negotiate—"
"I don't want to negotiate anymore, Sheldon. There are some things that can't be compromised. My self-respect is one of them." She opened the door. "Please just go. If there is anything else, I will have it shipped to you." She paused and bit her lip. "I would say 'Let's be friends,' but the truth is that I care about you too much to ever be just your friend again."
"But, Amy … " He broke off, unsure of what he could say to change her mind. There had to be something. Things couldn't end like this.
Tossing the bag on the couch, he charged towards her, cradling her jaw between his hands as he roughly pulled her mouth up to meet his. He kissed her, pouring every bit of emotion he had into it. He might not be the kind of hippie to spout off every feeling, but he could show her what she meant to him. He could make amends. She just had to know he was serious; she had to give him some time. His Amy always gave him more time.
She struggled against him, but he kept a tight hold, trying to coax her stubborn lips to kiss him back. He gentled the kiss, massaged her mouth carefully with his own. She tasted of strawberries and wine, and he devoured every drop of her he could. She moaned and opened slightly under him, something he took immediate advantage of. Amy was succumbing. She was giving in. He was winning. He slipped his tongue inside of her mouth, uncaring of germs or the overall icky feeling that usually accompanied such a gesture. Tonight it felt good. Her tongue met his and slithered erotically against him. He deepened the kiss, jerking her body to his, wrapping her firmly in his embrace so she could never escape.
She's mine. She's always been mine. She always will be mine. If he could have tattooed those three sentences on her forehead, he would have. Since he couldn't, he set about kissing the knowledge into her with every fiber of his being.
When he finally pulled back, he looked down at her. She blinked and stared disorientedly back at him. He smiled and reached up to caress her cheek. She understood now. They could work this out. Somehow, some way. They would.
"You should go now, Sheldon," she murmured.
His hand dropped away in shock. "But, Amy, I just—"
"Kissing me didn't change my mind. If anything, it only proved what I've been saying all along." She pulled out of his embrace and walked over to the couch. Gathering up all of the items, she gently shoved them into his arms and went to open the door. "You should go now."
Sheldon had never been good at reading expressions, but the current one on her face was abundantly clear. She was serious and determined. Nothing he could say was going to sway her. He stumbled over to the door, almost as if he had no more control over his body than he had over this situation.
"Goodbye, Sheldon," she said when he had made it to the other side of the threshold.
"Goodbye, Amy," he automatically replied, unable to stop himself from watching as she slowly and firmly closed the door in his face.
At last, he was brought to his knees, literally and figuratively. But, whether it was from Amy's words or the mere finality of that gesture, he couldn't really say.
