36. A little night music

Despite all his assurances, Penny could not help but worry about Leonard. For he still often left their bed in the middle of the night, for hours at a time, to brood in the living room. She felt – no, she knew – that the memory of her infidelity still plagued him. She was at a loss as to what to do about it. Since they had been back together, they had never discussed it, other than some vague mentions at their sessions with the doctor. But it was not enough. He needed to talk about it, and perhaps he needed her to talk about it, too, but she was terrified of beginning the conversation.

Finally, one night, Penny decided she had to act. Leonard slid off the bed at around 1 AM. She waited fifteen minutes, then walked slowly out to the living room. He was standing, again, by the patio doors, looking out on the street, hands behind his back. There was music playing.

"Leonard?" she said softly.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"That's all right." She hugged him from behind, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

"Nice music. What is it?"

"Chet Baker, I think. I started listening to jazz…you know, back then. It's calm, isn't it?"

She listened. "You're right. Sad, but calm. Like you, maybe?" They were quiet again.

"What are you thinking about, sweetheart?" she asked softly.

She could feel him tense.

"Please, Leonard, let's talk. I know something bothers you. I know you come out here at night." He started, surprised. "I haven't wanted to intrude, but I think we have to talk about it."

Leonard was quiet.

"It's about what I did, I know," Penny said gently. "It's OK, you have the right to be upset. I just wish you'd talk to me about what you're feeling."

He stared out at the street, shaking his head. "I keep wondering what I could have done differently. I could have tried harder to get you to talk about what was bothering you. You were scared and confused, and I didn't pay enough attention to that. I should have realized that all the changes in your life were challenges, things we should have discussed."

She continued to hold him from behind, letting him talk out his guilt. But now he was silent.

"Let's sit," she suggested. And they went to the couch, one at each end, their legs intertwined.

"I just think I could have loved you better, Penny," he said sadly.

"Leonard," Penny said quietly, "I'm responsible for my own behavior. Only me. You have to at least give me that, let me take responsibility for my actions. And nobody could possibly have loved me better than you did. If there was anyone who could have loved better, it was me."

Leonard pursed his lips. "Maybe we could have loved each other better, then."

"Maybe," Penny shrugged. "But we couldn't have loved each other more."

"What do you mean?" he wondered.

She thought. "I mean that we did the best we could at the time, given what we knew then, what we understood then. We did as much as we were able to then. I hope we can do a better job now."

Leonard looked at her closely. "That's profound, Penny. Really."

"Don't sound so surprised," she kidded him.

He laughed, then was quiet. "So what are we able to do now that we couldn't then? What do we know, or understand, now that we didn't then?"

"Good questions." She thought. "Now I know that I can take pain. That it's not so terrible to risk being hurt. That unless you're willing to risk being hurt, you can't really put all of yourself into loving somebody else. And that the risk is worth it."

"Wow." Leonard watched her. "And what do you understand now that you didn't then?"

Again she stopped to think. "Now I understand that choices have consequences. How important every choice can be. That we only have one life, that a choice can affect your life forever. If I hadn't broken up with you, things would have been different. If you hadn't asked me out again, we might never have gotten back together. If I had listened to you more carefully, I would have treated you better. If I had tried harder, I would have known myself better. If I had known myself better, I might have been stronger. If I…if I…if only I," but now she was beginning to cry, despite herself. "If only I had been stronger, none of this would have happened." And she was crying softly.

"Shh, Penny, shh. It's over. It's over," and he reached for her hand.

"No, it's not over, not in your mind. Leonard, I think we have to talk about what I did. It still hurts you, I know that. And we haven't talked about it. We have to, I think."

Leonard looked at her, sighing deeply. "All right. Let's talk about that night."

Penny began to tremble slightly. She had started this, but it was going to be terribly difficult. First she had to ask. "Do you still have all those awful thoughts, the ones you told me about?"

Leonard shrugged. "Not so much, actually. I think I was so scared of something like that happening again, that's why I kept thinking about it. I mean, I know you've been with lots of guys besides me, that in itself shouldn't have bothered me. I think the real problem was that I worried about it happening again. And I don't now, not really."

Penny smiled to herself, realizing that Dr. Gallo had been right: as his anxiety lessened, the obsessive thoughts receded. "So, is there anything you'd like to know? Any questions you'd like to ask?"

Leonard thought. "I guess the most important thing, the thing that really bothers me still, is whether you thought about me that night. Because I think about you all the time. I mean, before this especially. You're always on my mind. Like when I was kissing Mandy on the boat, I thought immediately about you – that's why I stopped. So what about you? Did you think about me, and go ahead and do it anyway? Or not think about me? Or what?"

Penny could feel her eyes tearing up again, but she desperately wanted to give an honest answer. "I'm a little confused. Because I think the answer is yes and no. No in the sense that I didn't actively say to myself, "Leonard will be angry," or something like that, something direct. So I didn't think about you, specifically. I'm sorry, I know that's terrible, and it must hurt. Still, it's the truth. But also the answer is Yes, in the sense that I felt very tense all the time; I knew that what I was doing was crossing a line, was wrong. I was conscious enough of what I was doing that I realized that."

Leonard was quiet, but Penny could see the pain in his eyes, on his face. She had to struggle to restrain herself from throwing herself at him, covering him with kisses, begging for forgiveness, trying to take the pain away. Now was not the time for that, she knew. Now was the time for her to talk with him.

"But I want you to know something, Leonard. These days, you are always with me. I'm always thinking of you. I can't explain what changed, or how it changed, but I think about you all the time. It keeps me from being sad. I know I have work to do still, it's been a bad year. But I feel like I've always got you in my pocket, or on my shoulder, giving me advice, supporting me, just being with me, keeping me company. And it makes me feel better."

"Sounds sort of creepy," Leonard joked.

"I guess. But seriously, it's so comforting to think about you, and about us, now. It's a different feeling than I had before. I did love you then, you know that. Somehow it's deeper now. Maybe because we've been through so much. Maybe because we survived such a terrible few months. Maybe because soon I'll be having your baby. I don't know how you feel."

Leonard looked away, out at the street again. "I do feel close to you. But I can't say everything's fine. Sometimes I wake up at night upset, that's why I come out here. I don't know if I have nightmares, but I wake up and I worry that things might go wrong again. Not the same way, you know, but that something might happen between us. After all, a baby is a lot of responsibility, and they say it can cause problems in a relationship. And I don't know if I could take another crisis, but I don't know what to do to keep one from happening. So I worry about things, and then I can't sleep, so that's why I come out here to think."

Penny looked at him sadly, knowing how badly she had hurt him. "Sweetheart, can I suggest something?"

"Sure."

"I think it might be good for you to start seeing somebody. I could never have gotten through this without Dr. Gallo. And you know Dr. Stevens has helped us a lot. But you need somebody to talk about all the things that are bothering you. I know there are things you can't really talk about with me. You need to work them through. We can get a recommendation from Dr. Stevens. He knows you, he knows the situation. I really think it would help you. Maybe help us, too. And now's the time to start, at least, before the baby comes and before we go to New York."

Leonard sighed. "You're probably right. Boy, that's a lot of therapy. A lot of money, too."

"We'll manage," she assured him. "And it's worth it. It will help you, I'm sure. It's helped me more than you can imagine."

Leonard looked at her. "So, how are you?"

"Good, I think." Penny closed her eyes and rubbed them. "I have nightmares," she said quietly.

"Oh? About?"

She looked at him. "Don't take this wrong, but about something happening to you."

"How?"

"Every way you can imagine. You get hit by a truck. You get sick. You go away. Just…you're not there."

He was quiet. A thought dawned. "Is that why you wake me up in the middle of the night, to have sex? Because you had a nightmare?"

She nodded. "To prove to myself that you're still here. To prove to myself that I belong here, too."

"What do you mean?"

"They say," she explained, "that dreams are a way of working through things. So maybe part of me thinks you should have left me. I guess I want to prove that you still want me, that I can make you happy. But I keep having those nightmares, so maybe I'm not sure. Maybe that's why I keep dreaming about it. Maybe you should have left me. Maybe you'd be better off."

Leonard shook his head. "I did leave you. For a month we didn't see each other, talk, text, anything. You can't be much more separated than that. And by the end of that month I knew I wanted at least to try. And so we tried, and it worked out."

"Did it? Really?"

"I think so. Look, it still hurts. A lot. I think my nightmares are about that. I don't remember my dreams like you do, I guess. But I know I wake up feeling terrible about myself. Like I failed. Like I got punched in the stomach. I felt that way for most of the first month, you know. And sometimes I still do."

After a moment, Penny sat up. "Whoa!"

"Sorry," Leonard said, in apologetic mode. "I didn't mean that to be an accusation."

"No, no," Penny hastened to say, smiling broadly. "I think the baby just kicked."

"Really? Is that the first time?" Leonard asked, wide-eyed.

"I think so. My stomach has been feeling funny all week, sort of like butterflies. But that was a real kick."

"Let me feel it," he said. So she turned around and slid into him, her back to his chest, his arms around her, resting on her belly, waiting for another kick.

They sat there quietly for several minutes. Penny could hear his heart beat, and feel the soft rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, more calmly now. She wanted so badly to help him heal.

"I hope you know how sorry I am," she said.

"I do."

After another minute she continued. "I hope you know how much I love you."

"I do, I think." Not quite what she was hoping for, but it would have to do.

Another minute. "I know how sad I made you. I really do. But now I want to make you the happiest man on earth."

Leonard could feel that she was starting to cry again. They stayed like that, waiting to see if the baby would kick again. Eventually he could feel her tears drip down onto his arms as he held her. He kissed the top of her head. "It's all right, Penny. We're going to be all right."

She turned around to kiss him, a long, wet kiss, as her tears continued to fall. "Don't ever leave me, Leonard. Please. I need you more than you know, more than you could ever understand. Promise me you'll warn me if you ever think about leaving me."

"I promise."

They lay on the couch another few minutes, her head nestled into his neck, as her tears stopped and dried.

"I guess the baby's done for the night," she said. "Let's go to bed."

A few days later, after dinner, as Penny cleaned up, she looked over at Leonard working on the dining-room table on his laptop. She smiled at how domestic the scene was. But somehow not quite domestic enough. When she was done cleaning, she walked over and sat down at the table next to Leonard.

He looked up and smiled at her. "What?"

"You shouldn't have to work on the dining-room table. You need a real office."

He shrugged. "I have a lab at the Institute."

Penny shook her head. "It's not the same. You need a place where you can work, without the kids disturbing you."

Leonard smiled at her. "You're really planning ahead, aren't you?"

"I'm all about the planning. Look, we've already got our next year and a half mapped out in detail, and we're thinking about proposals for me for one or two years beyond that. So what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, nothing," he said. "But we'll be in a Columbia apartment next year, and I doubt we can get more than two bedrooms. Maybe a small den."

"Sure," she admitted, "but I was really thinking about afterwards. When we get back here."

"I figured we'd let this place go, and find someplace new when we return in a year and a half. Right?"

"Right." She looked at him earnestly. "How about a house?"

"Ah," and finally Leonard got it. "I see. Sure. I think we can afford that, between what you and I will be earning and what we can probably save from it. Happy?"

"I don't know. Are you?"

"A house does sound nice." He looked down at his laptop, furrowing his brow in his recognizable look of concern.

"What are you working on so hard, anyway?" she asked, suddenly alert.

"It's not really work. It's an email from Rob Gold, the chair at Columbia. They keep asking me about whether I'd be interested in a regular position there."

Penny looked at Leonard in surprise. "Wow. That would be a big step for you, wouldn't it? When did this happen?"

"They brought it up when I was there, and they keep pestering me about it."

"So? Are you interested?"

Leonard looked at her in disbelief. "Of course not. You don't want to move to New York permanently." She looked at him, narrowing her eyes. "Do you?" he asked, more hesitantly now.

"Is it a good career move for you? It would be like a promotion, right? What does that mean, a regular position?"

Leonard looked embarrassed. "Actually, they were talking about something full."

"Full? You mean like a Full Professor? Isn't that like the highest thing you can get?"

"I guess, just about," he said reticently.

"Leonard! That's incredible! Why didn't you tell me?"

"I said, I knew you didn't want to move to New York for good."

Penny shook her finger at him, scolding. "Sweetheart, we're a two-career family. Don't you know what that means?"

"No, what?" Leonard asked, mystified.

"It means we have two careers. Sometimes I wonder…."

"All right, all right, I get it. Jeez, you sound like Howard and Raj."

"What do you mean?" Penny asked, surprised.

"They thought I should pursue it, too," Leonard said simply.

Penny pulled on her ear and chewed her lip. "If you asked Hayley, what do you think she would say?"

"Oh, I know what she'd say. We talked about it; she thought I should definitely encourage them, even if only for competitive purposes."

"I don't know what that means," Penny said. "But can I ask you something?" Keep calm, keep calm, she told herself.

"Sure."

"Leonard," she said as sweetly as she could, "how do you think it makes me feel that you talked about a big step in your career with your friends, and with your sister, but not with me?"

She could see the fear in Leonard's eyes as her words registered, and she reacted as quickly as she could. "I'm not angry, sweetheart. I guess I just realized that we might not be on the same page about some things."

Leonard nodded and looked at Penny, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Penny stood up, took his hand gently and led him toward the couch. "Step into my office." They sat and she turned toward him.

"You've spent the last three months learning everything you could about film and theater, thinking about my career. And I'm so happy that you're involved in helping me work through my options. But now it seems like all sorts of things are happening with your career, and I don't know anything about them. Don't you think that's a little strange?"

Leonard looked at her cautiously. "I didn't think you were interested. I mean, I have no intention of moving to New York without you, and…."

"Hold on, hold on," she interrupted. "Let's not presume anything. Why don't you start from the beginning and tell me what's happening so that we can talk about it together. Like a couple. OK?"

Leonard looked down guiltily. "You're right. I should have included you. OK, here's the situation. You know that I'm on soft money at Caltech."

Penny nodded; she knew what that meant – that their work, and salary, were funded out of grants they received. Sheldon often complained about the need to be raising money constantly.

"That's been all right, the work is going well, there's no shortage of funding. But it would be nice to have a regular position."

"Regular means," she ventured, "that you would be paid by the university. With tenure?"

"Right, a regular salary. If it was with tenure, that would be permanent. I'd still have to raise money for the research, but not for my salary or for the lab. And probably I'd earn more than I do now, especially if it were at the Full level like Columbia's talking about."

"And what was this about competitive purposes, what Hayley said?" she asked.

"She meant I could maybe leverage the Columbia possibility. If I got a big offer from one place it would raise my market value."

"What is this, like baseball? Universities trade professors?"

"No, no, but it would make it possible for me to maybe get a more attractive offer from someplace else."

"Do you want to go someplace else? I thought you liked Caltech?"

"I do, but actually UCLA has approached me and it would be nice to have a regular position here in LA."

"All right," Penny said doggedly, "we're back to that. Look, Leonard, why do you assume that we have to stay in LA? You have a career. You have a right to think about where you'd be better off. And you should be talking about this with me, not just assuming that I'm going to drag you around to wherever I want to be."

Leonard furrowed his brow. "OK, OK, I can see that. But, you know, it's not like film or theater. You guys audition, and you know the next day, or the next week, if you got the part. For us, it could take a year or more for one of these jobs to come through. They'll have a search committee, and send out for letters, and then it has to go through the department and the administration. It's a very long process. I wouldn't even want to start it unless I was serious about considering going someplace else."

"Well, are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Are you serious about maybe going someplace else?" she insisted. "Should you be? I mean, regardless of me and my career?"

"What do you mean regardless? You just said, we're a two-career family. I can't decide that without thinking about you and your career. What do you want from me?" Leonard was completely baffled.

"I want you to tell me honestly what's best for you, not what you think is best for me," Penny said in frustration. She sighed. "Look, I'm not saying that you should wake up one morning and tell me you're moving to Alaska. But just like we talk about what I might be doing with my career, we should be talking about yours. Why should your career take a back seat to mine?"

"Well," Leonard said simply, "for one reason, because there's really only one place to be if you're in film, and that's here."

"What about New York?" Penny countered. "There's plenty of work there. And you could get a big job at Columbia. And you never even mentioned it to me! Leonard, I don't understand you, you're having all these successes and I have to practically beat the information out of you. What's that all about?"

Leonard sighed, for about the tenth time during the conversation. "They're things I'd rather not think about. Frankly, I just want to do my research. But Howard and Raj are telling me I should get the Institute to match the Columbia offer, Hayley wants me to consider moving to New York, Sheldon wants me to stay, UCLA is pressuring me….I wish they'd leave me alone. It's stressful, and I don't know what to do!" he said in exasperation.

"Well, maybe you could talk about it with your wife? Or is that too stressful, too?" Penny was getting more and more frustrated. "What am I supposed to do, just guess about what you're going through? Leonard, do I have to get angry with you to get your attention?"

"No, no, of course not," Leonard answered quickly, and again Penny saw the look of fear on his face. She took a deep breath and slid over to him, putting her arms around his neck.

"Leonard, this is ridiculous. I'm not trying to argue with you. I'm trying to have us talk seriously about our future. And our future includes both my career, and your career. When we met with Diane and George, they made it clear that I had to keep my options open. You even understood that better than me, that I had options and shouldn't be forced into something I didn't want to do. Isn't that right?"

Leonard nodded.

"So how is this different? You're having a tremendous success with your work, everybody's interested, lots of places want a piece of you. I got that – even though I sort of had to guess even about that," she said, chiding him again. "So now you have tons of options, and you should be thinking about what makes sense for you. And we should be talking, and thinking, about this. If you feel that New York is a huge upgrade for you, then, well, you tell me and we talk about it. Why is that so hard for you?" She saw Leonard looking fearful again. "I don't get why you don't want to share your concerns with me. Don't you think I deserve to be a full partner in our marriage?"

Leonard shook his head sadly. "Penny, I don't handle stress like you do. I couldn't deal with all the decisions you're going to have to make. I find all this overwhelming. I'd rather not think about it. I just want to do my work. But," he heaved a sigh, "I know that's stupid. So, OK, what do you think?"

Penny stroked his cheek gently. "I know you find it stressful. It's different for you. For me, I can decide to make a film, that's three months, maybe four months. But moving to another university is like a lifetime decision. So don't put yourself down, it's a major decision, and it would be stressful for anyone. But let me ask you: what's your ideal job? Is it at Caltech? UCLA? Columbia?"

Leonard looked at her, lost. "The thing is, I actually don't know. I really liked the group at Columbia. Don Cohen is so smart, and our interests are so close. But I like people here, too. And all our friends are here."

Penny pondered this for a moment. "You don't have to make a decision now, do you? Can't you hold them off, tell them you're going to think about it? Maybe your time at Columbia will help you figure things out? It's like me with my decisions, you don't want to be rushed into any decisions you don't have to make now. Does that make sense?"

Leonard looked at her appreciatively, relief evident on his face. "It makes the most sense in the world. You're absolutely right. I guess I was just letting events take control of me, rather than the other way around. I should just tell Rob that I'll think about it. And I should probably let the Institute and UCLA know about the possibility, so they can figure out if they would be able to match whatever Columbia's going to do. And then we can use next year to try to figure it all out."

"Together," Penny said firmly.

Leonard smiled. "Together."

They sat on the couch for another couple of minutes, Penny looking closely at Leonard as he closed his eyes and tried to relax. She could see how tense the conversation had made him.

"Leonard, we have decisions to make. Our careers are taking off. Our finances are changing, big time. We have a child on the way. We're moving across country for the year. It's a lot to deal with. But we should deal with it together. I always want to know what's happening with you, just like you always want to know what's going on with me. That's what it means for us to be partners. Partners in life. For life. Right?"

Leonard smiled, and relaxed a little. Penny leaned into him, nuzzling his neck. "I love you more than anything, you know that, don't you?"

"I guess," he said sweetly.

"You guess?!" she raised her voice in mock anger. "What do I have to do to prove it to you?"

"You already did, Penny." He looked at her. "You have a way of forcing me to face things I need to, when I don't want to, and somehow making it all better." He looked at her with a tenderness that caused a catch in her throat. "I don't know how you do it. You make me such a better man." And the inevitable tear formed in his right eye.

"No way," she said softly. "I just want you to believe in yourself. To believe in yourself as much as I believe in you. You did it for me, the least I can do is do it for you."

And they stayed, huddled together on the couch, quietly grateful, until it was time for bed.

The next morning, Penny woke up early. Pregnancy was making her a much lighter sleeper, which was a problem. But it did mean that she got to watch her husband sleep and think about him, and about them.

This morning Penny watched Leonard for what seemed like an hour. He was all grown up now. Funny way to put it. But she remembered Leonard as she had met him. Shy and immature, barely able to look her in the eye; full of self-doubt about his work and his life. But he had a wellspring of courage she had recognized early on, and he drew on it to ask her out, time and again, and to survive all the pain she'd inflicted. And in the process he had changed so much.

Nobody would ever believe this was the same man. He still had his insecurities and his weaknesses, but he was so much stronger now. More self-assured, more mature, more successful. And yet the core of kindness, sensitivity, and responsibility was still there. It was the same Leonard, only older and wiser. She prided herself on the fact that she had seen the wonder in him from the start. She knew he was special from that first day.

Now he was downright impressive, all anyone could ever want in a man. No girl would have looked at him twice back then. They all looked at him now, she thought with enormous satisfaction. Her view of him had evolved, too. Back then she struggled with the thought of spending her life with a man like him; that struggle was partly responsible for her fears and indecision. Now she could barely imagine not spending her life with him.

She herself had changed so much. She had been a kid, practically a teenager, a little wisp of a thing with high-school dreams and a succession of childish crushes. Now, she would like to think, she was a woman. She had suffered, and she had caused suffering. Terrible suffering. And she had known the love of a wonderful man. How that love could transform a person. How she had been transformed. A success on the stage. And, she hoped, a success in life. And a mother. That was the ultimate. A mother to the child she had been.

It had required so much time, and so much pain, for her to realize the things she needed to be happy. And now she had them. A career she loved, and two people she loved – one beside her and one inside her.

What had George called her, the first time they met? "New raw talent from the sticks," it was. She didn't feel like that now. She felt like a battered veteran returning from the battlefields. War-weary, but victorious. And headed home. She knew where her home was now: with Leonard. Her career would take off, she knew that. And so would his. It would be exciting. But their home would always be with each other. The two of them had gone through so much, and in the end had created a bubble of their own, safe from whatever else might find them. Soon there would be three. And a house, too. With a yard….It wasn't Hollywood. But it was home.

Leonard opened his eyes and saw her staring at him. "What?"

"We've grown up together, haven't we?" she said softly. "We were so young back then. We thought we knew so much."

"Well, you did," he kidded. She nodded.

"You helped me see how little I knew. How much I had to learn. About myself...about life…about love." She kissed his cheek.

"And you helped me see that I could hope, and dream, and attain my dreams."

"What dreams, sweetheart?"

He smiled softly. "To be with you, of course. To have a family with you. Oh, and to unlock the mysteries of the universe."

"Well, two out of three's not bad. And there's still time for number three."

END

A/N: Thanks to all who have followed, favorited, or just read this story. And very special thanks to my loyal reviewers, in particular to 123justafan, ajond, arubagirl0926, bamadude, Chuk49, hokie3457, katladyd, nibbler747, SRAM, and Stephen Tannhauser. Your comments, suggestions, and constructive criticisms have been a great support. I only hope that The Command Performance has been as enjoyable to read as it was to write.