Sheldon

"Okay. Barry Kripke, Leslie Winkle, and Wil Wheaton. Sheldon, go." Wolowitz leans forward across the table with a demeanor of expectancy.

"Go where?" I question in a perfect execution of sarcasm. For today's lunch period, Wolowitz, Koothrappali, and I have taken to playing the ever-classic MFK game, which, to my understanding, is an acronym for "Marry, Fuck, Kill." I, myself, am not a MFK enthusiast, as the game does not seem to properly exercise my 187-point intelligence. However, without Leonard, I find maintaining conversations with these two idiots to be both taxing and a waste of my time. The games we play at lunch only aid in filling awkward silences.

"C'mon, Sheldon," Koothrappali begs in such a way that only barely convinces me to join. "Please play?"

"Oh, alright," I snap. "However, I propose that we alter the MFK to MCK, in which the C stands for coitus. All of those opposed may now raise their hands." I don't allow enough time to pass for them to think about it. "Excellent. Motion passed in favor of Dr. Sheldon Cooper." I pause to think. "Question."

Wolowitz rolls his eyes. "This isn't supposed to be hard. But sure, what is it?"

"I was given to believe that this game, when played in a circle of heterosexual males, should include a list of female names. The only female name you've provided is Leslie Winkle's and, quite frankly, her gender is questionable at best." I cross my arms. "Besides, we all know I would kill her. Therein lies the dilemma."

"Fine, Sheldon. New list. Uh…Leslie, Amy, and…" Wolowitz appears to be deep in thought. Remarkable. "Penny," he finally adds.

I feel a jolt of surprise, which, additionally, is remarkable; Wolowitz rarely ever manages to take "the wind from my sails," as they say. "Well, let's see," I say, recovering. "I would kill Leslie Winkle – really, I can't see why you'd think that would change. First, I would strangle her with that robot arm you so cleverly invented – " The "cleverly" part was my own private bazinga. " – and then I would – "

"Sheldon," Wolowitz interrupts. There seems to be a throbbing vein protruding from his forehead – he should probably consult with a medical practitioner about it. "You don't need to tell us how you'd kill her or why; you just need to tell us that you'd kill her." When he's frustrated with me, he speaks rapidly and produces more saliva than is deemed normal. Duly noted.

"Alright," I say, readjusting myself in my chair. "I suppose I ought to start over, then. I would kill Leslie Winkle and have coitus with Amy Farrah Fowler..."

"You'd marry Penny?" Koothrappali demands. "I would so bang her over the other two. Almost did, you know."

I frown, irritated. "Well, Rajesh, that's the beauty of matrimony. You have the option to 'bang' your partner as often as you'd like." I instantly realize my blunder.

"You want to bang Penny repeatedly?" Koothrappali says this with such glee that, quite frankly, it's nauseating.

"That's not what I said," I tell him, succeeding in remaining calm. "I said you have the option. I, myself, would be content in a brief, sexless marriage with Penny."

"Whatever, dude," says Koothrappali, unconvinced. "You so want to bang her." He turns to Wolowitz. "Okay, do me."

"Priya, Bernadette, and Penny."

"Bang Bernadette, no contest," the Indian says in a reply so quick it appears suspicious.

"You would have sex with my fiancée?"

"What? Dude! She's hot. A Shiksa goddess."

This is point where I begin to tune out their frivolous banter because, and let's just be completely honest, I don't care. Instead, I imagine what it would be like to be married to Penny. She'd have to be subservient to my needs or else nothing in the relationship would work. Additionally, it would serve our future inter-marital discourse well if she undergoes one of those operations like Charlie Gordon does in Daniel Keyes' Flowers for Algernon. Although, I suppose I'd be satisfied with Penny not saying anything at all throughout the marriage, though that might just be a pipe dream (assuming that I've taken up an addiction to opium, which is as likely an event as marrying Penny is). Despite her lack of knowledge in, well, anything remotely relevant, a marriage with Penny wouldn't be so dreadful. Case in point: A. We live together already. B. I'd use the threat of divorce to compel her to do my bidding.

Regardless, I fear for our imaginary offspring.

xxxxx

Penny

"Hey, Penny, Sheldon told me he wants to marry you so he can have sex with you whenever he wants," Howard says casually at dinner.

Sheldon chokes on his pizza – it's Thursday – and roughly dabs at his mouth with a napkin. "I object," he shouts, turning to me. "Penny, I never said that."

Raj, after taking a large gulp of his beer, says, "Yeah, you kinda did."

I glance at Sheldon. He's bouncing up and down on the couch like he really needs to pee, and his face is all kinds of twitchy. "Jeez, Sheldon," I say, "they're just messing with you. You getting all upset about it makes me think it's true."

He stands up, his chin jutting out. "It's not." He doesn't say anything else as he makes a speedy retreat to his room. His door slams.

"Holy crap, what crawled up his butt?" I ask, gnawing on some pizza crust. "Sheldon can be such a diva."

"Yeahhh," says Howard slowly. "He's been acting weird lately. I mean, weirder than usual. I thought you two got in a fight or something because it seems like every time I mention you, he gets as feisty as my mother with me." He polishes his batman belt buckle with his sleeve.

"Ew," I say, making a face. Howard's greasy way of talking makes everything sound dirty. But he does have a point. Sheldon's been such a girl lately – he's either super polite to me, or he's having a fit over the tiniest things that don't normally upset him. The other morning, for example, he had a temper tantrum because he didn't like my PJs. He said they had birds on them and that he doesn't like birds. So I reminded him of the Blue Jay he befriended to make the point that he likes some birds. He told me that the birds on my night clothes weren't Blue Jays, they were Western Bluebirds, and he doesn't like Western Bluebirds. He said I could either change into less offensive PJs, or I could move out.

"I think he likes you," says Raj with a cheesy grin. He rummages through the fridge for more beer.

I blink. That's the most retarded idea I've ever heard. There's a better chance of me liking Sheldon. Actually, scratch that, there's a pretty good chance of me liking him than the other way around. Something else must be bothering him. Maybe this whole Leonard thing is more than just a mild pain in the booty to him. Maybe I should talk to Sheldon. Yeah, I should talk to Sheldon.

"Get out."

"What?" Howard and Raj ask together.

"Go. Leave," I say. They stare at me. "Depart?"

Howard and Raj slowly get off the couch and move towards the door. The last thing I hear before the door closes behind them is Raj muttering, "I miss Leonard."

I knock softly on Sheldon's door. "Sweetie?"

"I'm asleep," he says, his voice muffled.

"No you're not." I roll my eyes.

"On occasion, I have one-sided conversations during my REM cycle."

"This isn't one-sided."

There's a pause. Then – "I love you, Meemaw."

"You're not asleep, Sheldon."

"What was that, Meemaw? Oh, yes. I agree. Penny's a wretched female."

"What?" I ask, pretending not to have heard him.

He speaks louder. "Penny's a wretched female!"

"Huh?"

"Penny's a wretched fe – oh, good Lord. Penny, just open the door."

I slip into his bedroom. He's balled up and facing the wall with his knees tucked beneath his chin. I sit down on the edge of his bed and squeeze one of his Superman-sock-clad feet comfortingly.

He lifts his head. "Please don't do that."

I stop. "Sorry." I try to think of something to say.

"Penny, you know I don't like people in my room. Might I suggest you speed this up?"

"I just…Is there anything you want to tell me?" I lace my fingers together in my lap and stare at the floor. I can tell Sheldon vacuumed recently because there are lines in the carpet, all of which follow the same direction. What a Whackadoodle.

"Nothing comes to mind. Well, besides the fact that you somehow managed to get the toppings wrong for my pizza. Again."

I tell Sheldon Raj's hypothesis – wow, look at me using big words – for the reason why he's been acting weird. I expect one of Sheldon's irritating laughs; instead, he remains perfectly still. In the painful silence that follows, I try to think of anything and everything at once. Unfortunately, the chief image in my head is of Sheldon half-naked with a towel around his waist.

"Hmm," he says. "I'm not quite sure how to process that."

You and me both.

He rolls over to face me, still curled in a ball. "On what grounds does he base his supposition?"

I shrug. "I guess it's like playground bullying. Like when a boy is mean to a girl, it really means he likes her."

Sheldon snorts. "By that paradigm, I would be deeply in love with Leslie Winkle, which – you know – I'm not."

"So, Raj is wrong?"

I'm both alarmed and comforted by the amount of time he takes to think about this. Finally, he sits up and dangles his legs off of the bed. He shrugs. "As much as I enjoy disproving people's well thought-out theories, who am I to say? After all, my understanding of the vast range of human emotions is satisfactory at best. Although it seems unlikely that my fondness for you is the source of my erratic behavior, I am open to testing the idea."

Was I really hearing this? "Test it how?"

"Well, Penny," he says, his voice dripping with condescension, "as intelligent as I am, I still should be allotted a designated period of time to plan such an experiment. Though if you must know – and we might need Amy Farrah Fowler's knowledge of the human brain to aid us – one idea is that we take a look at my electrical response to you."

"Or," I say, closing in the space between us. We're so close that I can count each of his eyelashes. He smells like soap and baby powder and clean.

"Or what?" he asks faintly.

I'm not sure what possesses me to do this, but I crawl up to him and kiss him. Slowly, at first – I don't want to scare him off. His mouth is rigid against mine. In fact, he doesn't seem to be kissing back – or moving, for that matter – at all. Just when I think I've killed him, I pull away.

Sheldon's eyes are closed, and his mouth is a flushed line across his face. It seems to take him a moment to realize I've stopped. Finally, he opens his eyes, tilts his head to the side, and scrutinizes me. "Your method of experimentation constitutes as scientific malpractice; your results could never be published."

I stare at him. "Romantic."

He clears his throat. "You didn't let me finish. Despite your procedure being unorthodox, it was, ultimately, effective." He points to the hallway before I can reply. "Now that you've collected your findings, I trust that you know your way out."

Annoyed, I make for the door.

He stops me. "Oh, and goodnight, Penny."

xxxxx

A/N: My dirty bitch ass honey badger roommate – aka username beckett77 – managed to find me on here, so I've taken longer than usual to post this chapter just out of spite. But, for my revenge, I'm going to embarrass her and invite y'all to read her stories; she's far more proficient in writing than I am. Psst. Review.