Title: Friday Pajamas
Author: smolder
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Angel the Series belongs to Joss Whedon and David Greenwalt. Big Bang Theory belongs to Chuck Lorre and Bill Prady. MIB belongs to Lowell Cunningham.

Chapter 5: Friday Pajamas

Naturally Sheldon's inadvertent prophecy would prove to be true.

Neither Fred nor Sheldon ordered alcoholic drinks. Fred because it was something she had yet to test and a crowded room with lots of strange people wasn't the best place if something went wrong.

Sheldon because he didn't drink, although for someone who didn't drink it was really startling how often he got publicly drunk.

It was, in all honesty, a simple mistake. The lady who took their group's table was so flustered by Sheldon's precise instructions that she mixed up their drinks when she brought them out. It didn't help that two were Cuba Libres (one virgin, one slutty) and one was lemonade while another only had lemonade as a component. Once everyone's drinks were set in front of them it was stuck in her mind and she continued to bring them refills throughout the night.

So Sheldon and Fred got progressively drunker, poor Raj was still mournfully mute, and Penny was staring at her drink wondering why she hadn't at least started to get that nice warm feeling yet. At least, until the singing started.

The group was already quite familiar with Sheldon's spontaneous musicality while impaired. Fred's came as a surprise. It might not have if they had known that in her previous reality she had been the best of friends with a green empathic demon who owned a karaoke bar. Then again that, in itself, might have been surprising.

They opened with the Element Song that Sheldon had already made so infamous and followed it by singing the digits of pi to what seemed to be the tune of Mary Had A Little Lamb. After that came songs from School House Rock sung in various languages (Sheldon - Russian and Fred - Latin) and it might have continued into the night or until they passed out into a drunken stupor since no one was quite brave enough to try and approach or stop them.

But, on the next song Fred switched to a language that had even Sheldon scrunching up his face in confusion and a man in a black suit who had previously blended in with the crowd (and watched with amusement) stepped forward and called for everyone's attention. He held up a silver, pen-like device and…

Nothing strange happened and everyone went back to enjoying their evening.

Sheldon and Fred were no longer in the ballroom.

There was no singing on the ride over to the apartment. This was declared a rule of the car by J and even drunk Sheldon respected rules.

After all drunk Sheldon logic was like regular Sheldon logic only somehow fundamentally skewed.

Sheldon insisted that she walk him back up to his apartment since she had been the one to pick him up. He was determined to follow the proper protocol he had researched which included returning the date to their place of residence. (He seemed unaware or uncaring of the fact that he had somewhere along the line placed himself in the feminine role.)

They made it up the flights of stairs with much tripping and running into walls. Fred's heels were ditched in one of Mrs. Grossinger's flower pots on the 2nd floor and it was much smoother going after that although Sheldon was aghast at all of the dirt and germs she was accumulating on her bare feet and proceeded to tell her about it in great detail. Much to her amusement.

When they got to apartment 4A Sheldon stared at the doorknob with intense concentration befitting a man with two PHDs. He tried three keys before he got the door open. (This was only relatively sad because the first one had been the correct key and he had been trying it upside down the first time.)

"Wellllll," Fred leaned in the doorway and looked around in a sort of dazed curiosity since she hadn't allowed herself to the last time. "I suppose it's time for me to skedaddle back on down to the car."

"You can't drive!" Sheldon said in a loud scandalized tone turning back around to her. "You," he pointed at her accusingly, "are drunk."

"I'm not driving; J is. 'Member?"

"Have you seen the multitude of statistics on accidents caused by drunk drivers in this country alone?" he turned around again and continued talking as if she hadn't said anything.

She stumbled into the apartment letting the door close behind her. She ran into the couch and looked at it accusingly. "I don't even drive normally."

He continued mumbling to himself as he wandered into his room, only running into the doorway twice before he successful crossed it. She meandered after him; there was something wrong about this whole situation. If tranquilizers didn't work how was she even able to get drunk? Was it a matter of what Illyria saw as a threat to her…

The thought drifted away even before it was even fully formed.

He turned to look at her. "You're in my room. No one is allowed to be in my room."

Fred tilted her head in confusion, "You just got through sayin' I couldn't go."

Sheldon thought for a moment staring at her blankly and then startled pointing at her again. "No driving!"

"No-pe." She said popping the P.

He went back to rummaging in his dresser.

"Watcha lookin' for?"

"Friday pajamas," he murmured distractedly.

She looked down at her fancy dress. "What am I going to wear? I can't sleep in this. Well I can but it would get all scrunchy."

"I do not believe that "scrunchy" is a word," Sheldon said before giving a whoop of triumph and turning around and happily showing her his green plaid Friday pajamas.

Fred was suitably impressed.

He inspected her clothing, "No, your formal wear is not apt sleeping attire." He pulled his pajamas close to his chest possessively, seeming to think about the issue very hard. "We will have to share." He proclaimed, grudgingly handing out for her the bottom half.

"I can't get my own pair?" Fred asked more out of curiosity than anything else.

"It is Friday night and these are Friday pajamas" he explained slowly. "There are of course back up Friday pajamas in case of emergency but this doesn't qualify as such. I can show you the list of requirements for an emergency situation if you like."

"Naw, but shouldn't I get the top part?" she asked scrunching up her nose in confusion and still not taking the offered piece of clothing from his hand.

"No, I always put my pajama top on first because the top is typically associated with first except in such cases as totem polls, contrary to popular belief which assumes the opposite to be true."

Fred squinted as if examining an equation for flaws but it was Sheldon so he was probably right, she nodded to herself and reached behind herself and unfastened her dress. It pooled at her feet leaving her standing unabashedly in front of him in only her bra and panties.

Sheldon blinked slowly. There was a lot of skin visible. "Your epidermis is showing," he said in a serious tone.

After a beat they both laughed uproariously. "It's not", he gasped for breath, "even really funny."

"I know." Fred tried to catch her breath leaning against him for balance.

"It's the true medical name for the upper layer of cells that make up the skin, the only comedy is from people's common misconceptions as to what is being referred to," he continued mirthfully, not noticing the contact that would usually bother him.

Fred took a deep breath getting her giggles under control. "Yu-uP" again popping the P on the end with great relish.

Sheldon looked down absentmindedly following the way her bra's black strap looped around her neck with his eyes, "Penny had a bra of similar construction. I was unsure of how to categorize it when I was organizing her living quarters. She seemed to take great offense that I was "going through her panty drawer"."

"Yeah, girls don't like that," she said with a smile finally taking the offered pants from him. Her first attempt to put them on caused her to tilt onto the bed where afterwards she had enough balance to get her legs in the holes successfully.

"Ta da!" she pointed at her now plaid clad legs.

He was suitably impressed.

"But now you're not dressed for bed, Sheldon," Fred pointed out.

Sheldon looked down at himself, it was true, he was still completely dressed in his suit holding his Friday pajama top. How had that happened? He was supposed to be getting ready for bed. He was already so far behind schedule.

"I change my clothing in the bathroom," he told Fred. "Usually, I would have showered as well but I am afraid it would be unsafe to continue with my usual nighttime bathing regimen given my impaired state."

"Alright," she replied easily.

When he returned an indefinite amount of time later after a fight with his Batman cufflinks, an epic battle with his tie that almost ended with Sheldon Cooper the brightest mind of this generation accidentally committing suicide by way of DC memorabilia (not the first time), wrestling both his shoes off (one flipped up and was lost forever never to be heard from again in the lands of "The Shower") and struggling with various buttons he found Fred half asleep in the middle of his bed.

"No one is allowed in my bed," he murmured staring down at the half naked woman in his clothes. She didn't seem to hear him.

"Hey." He poked her shoulder, carefully staying out of punching range (memories of Penny's right hook when awoken were deeply imprinted in his brain). "Hey," he poked her again."Hey Fred," her shoulder received a third poke, "you can't sleep in my spot. That's my spot. It is optimally conditioned for me to achieve my greatest sleeping experience."

Fred frowned without opening her eyes, grabbed the offending finger that was poking her, and pulled him down onto the bed next to her with surprising strength.

"But Fred, I couldn't possibly sleep…" she snuggled up to him and although he usually disliked touching he felt so very warm and heavy. Warm and heavy and sleepy. Too much so to be expected to move. Besides it was Fred and she was probably relatively sanitary. He rearranged himself so that he was as comfortable as possible under the circumstances.

As he drifted off to sleep Sheldon absentmindedly nuzzled her wavy brown hair.

"Soft kitty…" he sighed.