Sheldon
Once, when I was a child, I was watching television at Meemaw's house, and I stumbled across a romantic comedy film playing on some ludicrous channel for menstruating females. In the movie – and fear not, I changed the channel before I was able to discover the name of the film – there was a man who seemed to think littering rose petals on a perfectly good carpet was a valid way to seduce a woman. As tempting as a darn-tooting, good ole flower allergy arousal sounds – hint: sarcasm – I find that I am partial to finding an alternative mode to seducing Penny. Any objective person of the female persuasion might suggest that I remove all of my clothing and wait for her in an artful pose upon the couch. The thought has crossed my mind. However, I'm far too classy for such waywardness. Perhaps I can just "turn her on," as they say, by dazzling her with my intellect.
I sit in my spot, waiting for Penny to return, and practice what I might say in my head. Perhaps I should quote Albert Einstein or Blaise Pascal or Leon Cooper at her. Their words, in my mind, are akin to those of poetry. Perhaps I could sing her a song about String Theory or paint her a diagram of the diesel engine of a train or – Ooh, I've received a text message.
I retrieve my cell phone from my pocket; there's a message from Amy Farrah Fowler. It reads as follows: I hope you're happy.
What a thoughtful message – although, it seems completely out of character for Amy Farrah Fowler in that it's both sentimental and clairvoyant. I send her a quick response: Thank you.
She doesn't reply back. Odd.
The door opens, and Penny walks in looking forlorn.
I sigh, rising from the couch. I suppose it isn't the best time to turn on Mr. Sex; rather, now is the time for me to morph into Socially Obligated Sheldon. "Coffee or tea?" I question.
She frowns at me, dropping her purse on the coffee table. "What?"
I'm already in the kitchen, bustling about to find a mug. "You appear to be in dire need of a hot beverage."
"No, thanks," she says, sinking down onto the couch.
I pause, craning my neck to look at her. "Penny, I have no choice. Coffee or tea?"
"Fine. Tea, I guess."
"So," I say nonchalantly as put the kettle on the stove, "what's the – as you put it – word, hummingbird?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Unacceptable," I say, unfolding a teabag. "You're required to tell me."
"Required?"
I look at her sternly. "Don't make me put something in your tea."
She sighs and beckons me towards the couch with a halfhearted finger wave. "Come here."
I kindly obey and sit down beside her.
She rests her head upon my shoulder. "Things didn't go good with Amy."
"Oh, Penny, that's terrible," I say, frowning. "You know the proper word is well, not good."
"Sheldon," she chastises.
"Alright," I say ruefully. "Sorry. Tell me what happened."
She tells me all about the events that have transpired from the time she abandoned me for alternative dinner plans until the point where she returned home. "I just…I don't know what to do," she says, burrowing her face deep in my ticklish armpit, making me giggle. She glares at me, clearly under the illusion that I'm not taking her seriously, which – you know – I'm not.
"Penny, there's no need to be alarmed," I say. "Amy Farrah Fowler, as complex as her mind may seem, is as simple as any other female."
Penny continues to glare at me.
"Meaning," I elaborate, "that achieving her forgiveness is as effortless as a trip to the jewelry store."
"I'm not getting her a second tiara!" she snaps.
"Fine."
"Actually," she says, "I was kinda hoping you would talk to her."
The kettle whistles, making us both jump. The annoying whistling sound coupled with the ridiculous suggestion that I should talk to an angry Amy Farrah Fowler has put quite the damper on my mood. Quite the damper, indeed.
"Penny," I say, rising to fix her tea, "I know how you women work. I know that the moment I pass through Amy Farrah Fowler's apartment door, there will be a gang of wild, wronged females waiting to ambush me with rolled-up newspapers."
"A gang?"
"Oh, yes," I say seriously. "Everywhere I go, I leave a trail of broken hearts in my wake." I sigh as I steep Penny's tea. "Oh, the woes of being so charming."
"Well, then, there you go. Charm Amy into forgiving us."
"Oh, no," I say. "I can't do that."
An hour later, I find myself standing before Amy Farrah Fowler's door. I knock thrice, say her name, and repeat. This is ridiculous, I think to myself. I should not be here.
"What do you want, Sheldon?" Amy asks with an Eeyore face when she finally takes it upon herself to answer the door.
"Permission to enter?" I mumble, looking at my feet.
"Permission denied."
I glance up and give her a berating look, to which she responds with thinned-out lips. "Fine," she finally says, stepping aside to allow me to pass through the doorway.
xxxxx
Penny
After I drop Sheldon off at Amy's, I return home. I told Sheldon that I will pick him back up when he calls me, but he's not allowed to call me until he's talked everything through with Amy. On my way up the stairs, I see Barry Kripke at his door. Despite the dude's total foulness, I figure the decent thing for me to do, as a neighbor, is to stop and say hi.
"Hi, Barry," I say, fumbling for my keys.
He's in the process of locking his own door. "Hewwo, Woxanne," he says with indifference as he makes for the stairs.
"I hear you're moving," I add, which makes him stop on the top step. "That's too bad."
"Yeah, wewl," he says, turning towards me, "seeing another man naked, and then having that same man hit on you wiwl have that effect."
"So, when are you moving?"
Kripke shrugs and starts down the stairs. "As soon as I can find a new apawtment."
"Good luck!" I call after him.
Sweet, so I'm this close to getting my old apartment back. Part of me is really going to miss living with Sheldon, but, really, moving across the hall won't be that different. In fact, we probably won't fight as much once I'm back in my own place with my own rules about what temperature to keep the thermostat at, or which TV channels can be watched and when, or how cereal boxes should and should not be arranged…
I shake my head as I unlock the door to go inside.
I'll miss it. All of it.
xxxxx
Sheldon
I make myself comfortable on Amy Farrah Fowler's sofa. "I suppose this conversation is long overdue," I say.
"Which conversation?" she asks dully. "Do you mean the one where you confess that you dumped me for my best friend? Or the one where you admit that you forced her to lie to me about it?"
"Excuse me," I say, highly affronted. "I have some objections to those accusations. For one, I did not dump you. Our decision to terminate our relationship was mutual. Secondly, my decision to partake in the mutual decision of relationship termination had absolutely nothing to do with Penny." I dig my fingernails into the skin of my palms to prevent myself from twitching. "And thirdly, you think I was the one to advocate this sneaking around hokum?" I scoff at her. "Everyone knows I despise secrets."
"If you didn't break up with me for Penny, then why did you?" she asks.
I artfully arrange my face into an expression of profound disgust. "Do you wish for me to provide you with insight into my…feelings?" I spit the word out as if it's poison on my tongue.
"I believe you owe me as much," she replies smoothly.
"Fine," I say. I take in a dose of oxygen and think for a moment. I begin slowly. "I felt that we – as in you and I – were no longer compatible mates. Of course, this feeling did not reflect your character in any manner. My complaint, merely, was to the relationship itself. There was something off about it, I suppose." I frown. "I was under the assumption that you felt the same way."
"I did," she says, "but you must understand that I cannot help but feel slighted in that your instant reaction to our break-up was to fling yourself into the arms of my bestie."
"I understand," I say, hesitating. Charm her. I sigh and bow my head in lament. "I wish things could have worked between us, and I must admit that my rash involvement with Penny was rather ruthless of me. For that, I am deeply and inexplicably sorry."
I peek up at her and see that her facial features have softened. I quickly look back down into my lap.
"Do you mean that?" Amy Farrah Fowler asks.
I force myself look up at her once more.
"Yes," I lie.
xxxxx
A/N: Sorry that my updates have been slower/shorter than usual – I've got midterms and all that good stuff going on. Spring break is on the horizon, though, so I'll be better at updating then. Also, as I'm posting this, I see that I've got roughly 270 alerts for this story. This means, in a perfect world, I should be getting at least 270 REVIEWS PER CHAPTER. If you're not reviewing, no words can express the depths to which I loathe thee. Hmph. Please review.