A/N: Holy moly, it's the end. I can't believe I actually finished this xD Thank you so much for reading, even if you hadn't reviewd or anything like that - I hope you enjoyed it! For those who did, thank youuu from the bottom of my heart. I doubt I would have ever got this far if it weren't for your support and such, so thank you! I've started another fic, which was originally intended to be a sequel to this, but then ran off by itself. But maybe I'll churn one out yet; who knows? ;)

It ain't no use in callin' out my name, gal
Like you never done before
It ain't no use in callin' out my name, gal
I can't hear you anymore

The sun was sweltering, its harsh rays shining through the windscreen of Amy's car to such an extent that she was entirely certain sitting in a greenhouse might not be quite so scorching. It seemed to prick her bare arms, each point marked by a freckle, and heat the surface of the steering wheel that she clutched, palms growing ever sweatier by the minute. The windows had been drawn as far down as Amy was able to send them in the hope of coaxing in an absent breeze, yet her efforts did little to elicit any element of respite from the elements.

All at once, she received memories of Texas. It was inexplicable—only perhaps not; the heat had been anticipated there and she could recall as though it were yesterday, not fifteen years in the past—and yet the thoughts hurtled towards her with all the velocity of a freight train: a painful jolt to the chest that so long had passed and yet with so little recollection of those summer months of her childhood. Ahead, the traffic lights made the inevitable transition to red and it was just as well - Amy's thoughts had long since strayed from the road.

Since that last flight from Galveston, the first and last marker of a new start, of sorts (the last of her road-trips; the last extraction from a home that had yet to be so), they had settled, she and her mother, in a state of anxious lingering in California that had extended for so long that its epithet—a home, not a house—had finally become that which Amy had yet to boast. It was only a slight comfort; her remaining years in high school and then, for a slight continuation, into her adult years, were spent in solitude.

It wasn't as though she particularly minded; Amy was of the inclination to attach herself to books rather than people, at least when the latter failed her. There was something companionable in the silence of the printed word that didn't mock her bespectacled appearance, nor her penchant for rather frumpy clothing. She was comforted by the silent companionship in a manner that she hadn't felt since— well, since Galveston and there it was again, the influx of emotion that chronicled her thoughts.

Amy wasn't entirely sure why these memories had chosen to rear their collective head now of all moments. She hadn't spoken to him in years; their correspondence via letters had begun with the most admirable of intentions and Sheldon, true to his word, had sent her one for every day that he was absent. Amy's own responses were sporadic, but heartfelt, and yet as the months trickled past into years, their communication had faded into the background. The final letter, rather poignantly (painfully so; she'd since blocked it from memory), arrived on the second anniversary their separation at the airport.

The lights had changed once more and off she went, driving through Pasadena in something of a daze. The irresponsibility of it struck Amy, but for the life of her, she couldn't draw her thoughts from Texas and then further, from her childhood and the events that had shaped her adult life: the actions and inactions of her family and the highways in between. For old time's sake, Amy found herself trawling through the radio until something suitably old wound its way to her ears.

Don't think twice, it's alright.

She allowed the dulcet tones of Dylan to lull her, to bring her down from the frantic grasping for those snippets of her adolescence. He sung of hope and peace and freedom and Amy knew that, although it wasn't yet tangible, there was something of a ray of optimism of her own across the horizon. The lyrics still swam through her head even as she pulled to a stop in the car-park of her destination. The address of her new-found friend from yoga class (it hadn't been an activity she had enjoyed, for reasons that Amy hoped to be self-explanatory) had been committed to memory despite being uttered only once. It was a prospect that Amy hadn't considered allowing to slip from her mind.

Penny lived on the fourth floor of an apartment complex that was, she noted sourly, apparently very poorly managed, if the dilapidated state of the elevator's "Out of Order" sign was anything to go by. It was little wonder, Amy added to her steadily increasing bank of personal commentary, that she was so toned; clambering up four flights of stairs so frequently would certainly have its effects on a girl.

My thighs will be like steel by the time I'm through with this.

The thought was not quite as comforting as it might have been, because, by the time Amy finally rapped her knuckles on the door to apartment 4B, she was struggling to catch her breath. The scarlet of her cheeks was in part embarrassment when Penny answered the door to an exhausted Amy.

"Hey, Amy! We were getting worried about you there."

"Sorry I'm late. I had an.. unfortunate run in with several flights of stairs."

Penny laughed and Amy felt a swell of acceptance that she managed to smother with a small smile of greeting to Bernadette, another yoga friend, who also appeared in the doorway. She held her bag, slung loosely on her shoulder, and it was then that Amy realised that she was indeed very late. They were already preparing to leave.

Indeed, no sooner had the revelation struck her did Amy step aside to allow them both through the door, standing somewhat awkwardly by as Penny struggled to juggle her heels ("I sure ain't walking down those stairs with that many inches!"), her purse and the simple act of locking her door. She rocked back and forth on her own heels (flats, more accurately; she'd yet to brave the precarious art of tottering around on high heels) as she waited, ceasing only in her rhythmic pendulum when a short squeal from Bernadette shocked her into a jump.

"Howie!"

The small blonde hurried past Amy, who followed her hasty path to the arms of a somewhat vertically challenged (alright, so it was an understatement) male. In Amy's own giddiness that she had actually been invited out with two real-life women, both of whom were far more attractive than she could hope to be, she had failed to hear the door of the opposite flat open.

Where that door had once stood, shielding the apartment from prying eyes, now stood three males. One, Amy noted, was evidently Howard, the fiancé that Bernadette and Penny so frequently discussed when they really ought to have been focusing on their breathing techniques (it had been upon pointing out as such that the three had first been acquainted). The other two remained anonymous to Amy and, as such, she stood quietly by as Penny swept forward to greet them.

"Hey, guys! Lemme guess: Comic Book Night?"

"Yup," a short, squinty guy chirped. "As usual." He rolled his eyes behind his glasses. Amy felt compelled to advise him to get his eyesight checked, because that much squinted was hardly natural, but shyness prohibited her to the role of a mere listener. "It's the only part of the Roommate Agreement that isn't inherently traumatising to my digestive system; I really ought to champion it."

"Where is Whack-a-Doodle, anyway?" Penny retorted. What a strange name.

Having detached himself from Bernadette, Howard jerks a thumb back into the apartment. "We think he's trying to contact his home planet. Keeps tapping away on Facebook. We might have to stage an intervention."

That's it; Amy couldn't help herself. "There's much debate about the long-term effectiveness of interventions," she commented, poking her glasses further up her nose with a nervous finger. "Though the initial study is somewhat flawed and out-dated, I believe it has some merit."

They blinked owlishly at her, as though finally acknowledging her presence in the midst of the elusive nature of one Whack-a-Doodle, until Penny realised somewhat belatedly that Amy's own identity was shrouded in mystery. She placed a hand on Amy's shoulder and said:

"Oh, guys, this is—"

"Amy?"

"Sheldon?"

Over the shoulders of his three companions, there he stood, towering in the doorway and looking more baffled than Amy had ever seen him. A stunned silence followed, not only on the part of those directly involved, but their companions too, who glanced between both Sheldon and Amy as though both had announced that they were next in line to the throne of the Great Britain. There was some movement to say something, including a particularly spirited attempt on Penny's part that ended in nothing more than an incoherent noise. Leonard finally elected to take one for the team.

"You know what, I'm not even going to ask."

Off he went down the stairs, leaving the mute Asian fellow to trot duly behind, closely flanked by Bernadette and Howard and, finally, a reluctant Penny, who still eyed Sheldon with bemusement. They were left alone, an awkward silence swelling in the space between them.

"What are you doing here?" Amy finally blurted, wringing her hands closely together.

Sheldon pursed his lips. "I live here, therefore I believe it would be far more apt for myself to posit the question to you."

She smiled—he was still the same Sheldon and that was comforting on more than one level—and, to Amy's mild surprise, he mirrored the gesture. There were so many unsaid words between them, consuming just over a decade's worth of silence, and yet that fleeting tension seemed to have lifted for the moment. Sheldon jerked his head towards the staircase, indicating the desire to follow his friends, and she complied. They took the first flight without speaking.

Hesitantly, Amy reached out with tentative fingertips and brushed the palm that had been unconsciously bumping against hers as they descended the stairs. She glanced fleetingly up at his face, but Sheldon stared stoically ahead. Taking her prior experience—admittedly, all those years ago—as law, Amy slipped her hand into his, entwining their fingers together and giving his hand a small squeeze.

When Sheldon squeezed back, Amy thought she might have simply died from the happiness of it all. Looking ahead, she grinned widely.

I'm a-thinkin' and a-wond'rin' walking down the road
I once loved a woman, a child I'm told
I give her my heart but she wanted my soul
But don't think twice, it's all right
- Bob Dylan; Don't Think Twice, It's All Right