When Penny first met Amy Farrah Fowler, she kinda, sorta, really, really wanted to punch her in the face.

This had nothing to do with her (strangely wonderful, never to be spoken about or even thought about if at all possible) weird connection with Sheldon and everything to do with the fact that Amy reminded Penny so much of a feminine Sheldon and sometimes Penny really wanted to punch Sheldon as well.

A lot of it stemmed from the way both of them tended to be dismissive of her except when they were insulting her. Penny was sort of resigned to it from Sheldon because everyone who knew Sheldon for more than a few days learned to be. However, she was determined not to take it from someone else who could so casually inquire if she felt she "was a slut" because of the amount of men a mathematical equation had told them she'd slept with.

(And, drunk on tequila three nights later, she pulled out a purple ballpoint and a pad of post-its because she couldn't find a notebook anywhere and did the math herself. Well. Wrote down the names (or descriptions) of the men she could remember and found -goddamn it, Sheldon! – that if you counted early sexual experiences where she didn't go all the way, her "number" was 32. How did he do that?!)

The problem with Amy was that she was so determined not to be ignored by Penny. Suddenly she had a new best friend that she wasn't even sure she liked half the time and couldn't figure out how her life ended up this way; slumber parties with scientists, videogames with... yet more scientists.

She tries to go out and change things for herself, get part of the equilibrium she's comfortable with back and hears her Nana's voice chiding her in her mind ("Honey, you should know that life doesn't always turn out how we plan. If you like your life, this is something you should be grateful for, not something you should run away from.") as she makes plans to hit a nightclub with some girls from her acting class, as she lets a random hard body named Nick pepper moist kisses against her neck while they dance.

It's not that it's unfun exactly; it's more that her ideas of real fun have changed. She finds that she likes videogames and trying to follow a conversation from people who don't (actively, mostly) make her feel stupid when she just doesn't get it. She likes her smart friends, even Amy—sometimes especially Amy, because how can you not like someone who compares your hair to a sunset-tinted waterfall of silk (even when it makes you a little uncomfortable)?

And the thing with Sheldon fades because Penny makes it fade, or at least is grateful when there are no more big events. She pays no attention to the little things like when he hands her her box of dumplings and her fingers brush his and

(she walks in and sits on his lap and Sheldon huffs for a second. "Just because I'm on the couch and you are in my lap doesn't mean that you're not in my spot." And Penny smiles and says, "Yeah, but do you really mind?" before Sheldon takes a moment and finally shakes his head with the tiniest of smiles and says, "It's not altogether unwelcome. Just so long as we're clear on the other part for the)

it sends a full-body shiver through her, right down to her toes. She finds herself trying to distance herself from him even as she's thrown together with him more often—is more aware of his life—because of her proximity to Amy. And she's single and both Sheldon and Amy claim not to be a couple but you don't actually have to be a scientist to see where things are going to eventually lead between them.

Penny has always been free with her touches, her compliments, someone so utterly used to contact that it feels strange to pull away from it, but she has also always been careful not to be a poacher. She can never predict when it's going to happen around him, and when it does, she gets the worrisome feeling that he can see it too

(for someone who claims to be a physicist with a working knowledge of the universe, he seems so startled at times like these, when she's just seen herself watching tv with his legs resting in her lap as he worked on his laptop and she's snaking a casual hand up and down his thigh, neither of them really interacting, but surrounded by an invisible cloud of—of togetherness and Sheldon's eyes burn into hers quizzically, his mouth shaped into a tiny 'o' before he turns away and starts discussing Battlestar or D&D or someone that Einstein probably knew and the moment is lost.)

so it's just easier when she tries not to get physically close to him. No more lectures on how she's invading his space, on how often the average human touches their nose, thereby transferring bacteria. And if she feels a sense of loss, it's a fair trade for what she's getting in return.

#

As time passes without another major instance, and Sheldon and Amy grow closer, Penny finds herself relaxing. She starts to formulate an idea (a hypothesis) that the magic exists and she herself can make it stronger by the sheer wanting of what it shows her. There's a lot of things (variables) left of out this idea, she knows, but her stomach rarely flutters around Sheldon anymore; he's Amy's, and that's that. She tries not to touch him when she can avoid it—which tends to be easy because of Sheldon's aversion to physical contact—and when she accidentally does, there are no more flashes.

For a short period, it seems as though Sheldon is touching her more often, fingertips leading her by the elbow or minute pressure on the small of her back and still… Nothing. Penny can't be sure if he was testing his own hypothesis, but she suspects it's something like that.

But it's okay. Things fall into their natural rhythm of couple and couple and couple and Raj. Penny feels such a sense of pleasure at getting back together with Leonard (no more wondering, and hoping, and thinking she did the wrong thing.) because almost from the beginning of the beta-test, she admits to herself that she loves him, has loved him for a long time in fact.

She also knows that love wasn't the problem before; pressure was. Leonard likes to move fast to cement things when he's happy, so he never has to feel the uncertainty he had growing up, and Penny doesn't want to go forward just to make him feel more secure about their relationship. But he's given his word that he'll give her time (and she's proud of herself for not just ending it when he's unable to keep his word), and their beta-alpha-whatever-it-is new relationship starts bumping along quite nicely.

Things happen; the standard stuff of life.

Penny accidentally shaves the back of Sheldon's head and is awarded 12 strikes, resulting in the need for her to take 4 consecutive classes which she does without complaint this time because hey, she shaved the back of the guy's head.

(After getting to spend 20 minutes with her hands in his surprisingly silky hair. At one point, Sheldon closed his eyes and leaned his head back against her, almost nestled against her breasts before he straightened abruptly but she doesn't think about that, no, she never does…)

Amy starts insisting on regular periods of hand holding which Sheldon complains about but allows and yet Penny catches him sometimes when he thinks no one is looking, hand unfurled and poised unnaturally, waiting with an expectant look before Amy begins to "paw" at him.

Bernadette and Howard get married and then Howard Frickin' Wolowitz goes into space (and was she really thinking this was the standard stuff of life? When did this become the standard stuff of her life, having friends that go into space?) to work on the international space station. Penny and Amy stay the next two nights at Bernadette's (and Howards, they guess) apartment so the newlywed won't be too lonely on what should be her honeymoon.

Penny introduces Leonard to a move in bed that she learned with Zack and has deemed "The Rollercoaster Spin," and he, predictably, loves it but that's just fine because so does she. He seems to have picked up some new moves too, or at least a newfound respect for stamina during sex (gee, thanks, Priya), which Penny appreciates also.

It gets to be so the majority of her time off work (and, let's face it, quite a bit of her time while she's working, and occasionally sleeping too because how the hell did so many of them get keys to her apartment and why are they all determined to come visit her at 3:04 in the morning?!) is spent hanging out with them, adapting to their routines, fitting in her ideas of fun with theirs, and trying to come up with new things to do with them that don't require any of them to leave the fourth floor of their apartment complex.

This turns out to be its own problem, almost three years after the last major event on the night Howard is coming home from space and they all find themselves bored at home instead of welcoming him back at the airport.

Leonard suggests Pictionary. Penny agrees; she's practically a professional doodler, so she knows she and Amy will have a fighting chance, but what she doesn't suspect is the fact that Sheldon and Leonard (mostly Sheldon, though) will suck so bad at it.

It turns out to be sort of hysterical, beating Sheldon. His frustration, his offense. How can Penny and Amy be beating him at every single thing? (It's one of the main reasons she plays Halo, truth be told. It's always a little less fun when Sheldon's on her team, or when he's not playing for some reason. She likes beating him to a pulp.)

Amy turns out to be delightfully competitive as well, which makes the game even more fun because you gotta get some enjoyment out of the nyah nyahs of it. Penny even manages to beat Sheldon at math for goodness sake, something she never intends to let him live down—although she's sure he'll find a way to explain why it's not his fault he lost.

And then Leonard suggests wrestling and Penny and Sheldon are up first. Penny pins him in under a second and, grinning smugly down at his astonished expression, listens to the little devil on his shoulder. She gives him a sturdy little kiss on the tip of his nose, on his cheek, his forehead, dissolving into laughter as Amy (who Sheldon is obviously hoping will rescue him) joins in with kisses to his other cheek, his chin, ear and temple.

Amy reaches down past where Penny's arms are holding Sheldon to the floor and scratches a wiggling finger under his ribs and Sheldon bucks suddenly as he reacts from being tickled. Penny's heart feels fizzy, (the childlike sound of his laughter…) and she throws a leg over his hip to straddle him and keep him pinned. Amy kisses his head again, and Penny reaches down to give him another smack on the cheek.

Sheldon turns his head, struggling under her, outrage at this violation etched across his features when her lips come down not on his cheek or ear like she intended (she's sure), but on his lips.

The kiss doesn't linger; it's a moment of contact, pulled away quickly, even as she realizes that his mouth is moving against hers. Amy and Leonard don't seem to realize that anything strange has happened even as Penny is staring down at him with a fading smile, in seconds that seem frozen into hours as the prettiest pink flush stains his cheeks and she feels

(twisted up in sheets, limbs tangled together. She knows he wants to get up and shower, but stays him with a gentle hand. She lays her head on his chest and tries to catch her breath as the ceiling fan dissipates their sweat. She runs a loose hand through his hair and swallows. "That was—"

His smile is at once satisfied and smug. "It was indeed."

"I love you," Penny says softly, her words muffled against his skin.

There's a lengthy pause that makes her lift her head up; he's never had a problem with her saying that before and has even returned the sentiment on more than one occasion, so she's not sure what the problem is.

Sheldon looks thoughtful. "I love you too," he finally says.

"…But?"

"But I find myself searching for another way to express how I'm feeling in regards to you, Penny. That simple statement seems unsatisfactory."

She smiles. "I'm satisfied with it."

"Yes, you would be," he says sardonically and gives a little grunt as she punches him lightly in the stomach.

"Hey!"

"I just mean… When I was young—"

"How young?" she interrupts. She loves these stories.

"Six," Sheldon answers with an exasperated eye roll. "Now do you want to hear this or not?"

"Do proceed," Penny tells him, waving her hand grandly.

"Thank you. When I was young, I discovered physics. Obviously, as one of the greatest minds of our time—and quite frankly, I believe of any time—I had already had a working knowledge of science for a time. But physics spoke to me on another level. I…" he struggles for the right word and Penny places an open palm over his heart. "I connected with it. I wanted to learn more about it; I had to. It was integral to my being; it excited me, it challenged me. Physics became my world, because in it was the explanation for everything."

"Okay…" Penny says slowly, wanting to understand him. He catches her hand and lifts her fingers to his lips for a quick kiss.

"You are like physics to me," he says simply. "I want to understand everything about you, and I don't think I ever will."

Penny holds her breath, unsure how to process a compliment so massive. Unable to figure out the right way to respond, the right way to tell him that he's her physics, or acting, or jogging, or friendships or fuck it, there's never been anything she's loved as much as him and knows there never will be, she instead throws her leg over his hips and straddles him, pressing a breathless kiss to his mouth.

"I sense I'm going to have to postpone my shower a while longer," he says wryly, but with a smile lurking somewhere around the corners of his mouth.

"Just for a little bit," she responds. She kisses him again, opens her mouth, sweeping her tongue in. Sheldon's hands press gently on her back and she feels his erection begin again against the inside of her thigh. She presses down against him and grins as his fingers slide up the indentation of her spine, all the way up to the nape of her neck where he gathers her hair to sweep it off her face.

Her hips start a slow circular movement that he recognizes and he releases her hair to reach down with one of his long, elegant fingers to touch her clitoris lightly and as his fingers become more slick, warmer, deeper, so do their kisses until everything around Penny is blurry and bright, all one perfect moment blending into the next because that's the way it always is with)

the shocking heat of Sheldon's sudden arousal pressing against her center. Sheldon doesn't seem to know what to do (and Penny certainly doesn't; she still feels high off of the moment she was just in with him, and she realizes that no more than a few seconds have passed, not even long enough for Amy to have stopped tickling him yet), so Penny raises her arms in the air and declares "Victory is mine!" even as she's discreetly lifting her hips away from his to give them some much needed space in a move that—ironically enough—is similar to what she was doing in her head. He flexes up with the motion and then settles back against the carpet.

Sheldon releases the breath he was holding and moves his hands to her hips as though to push her off. However, they linger for a moment, fingertips tight and almost (not quite) painful before he pushes and rolls at the same time until he's on his stomach and Penny is at his side.

Amy is still laughing and Penny forces a panting sort of chuckle as Amy leans down and kisses the back of Sheldon's head once more for good measure.

"Stop that," he squawks one more time, face pressed to the carpet. "I wish I could understand why you women feel the need to torment me, but I don't think I ever will."

Penny lets go of a gasp that she turns into a cough as the echo of his words sound in her mind. Sheldon turns his head sideways and takes measure of her expression; her hand to her mouth. His eyes are narrowed somewhat dangerously, but she doesn't know if it's because of what he could have seen or because of the way she and Amy have so triumphantly violated his rules.

"There's water in the fridge if you need it," he says. "Please get me some while you're there."

They finish the night with a pie-eating contest. Penny's idea.

No touching required.

She and Amy win.

#

This is the year Penny's drinking starts to get away from her. The magic, (the curse) seems to be back in full force, every time she's around him.

She makes more meals at her apartment, to share with Leonard alone. She takes Amy shopping, far away from the apartments, and tries to give solid advice to get Amy's begrudging "love monkey" to "quench the fire in her loins." When she is around Sheldon, she notices a definite distance at his end, too; whether it's from embarrassment because she discovered he had working boy-parts or from confusion over this weird thing that keeps happening, Penny can't tell. She chooses to be grateful for what she has and works hard at not rocking the boat.

It's difficult. It seems, after that last time, that Penny only has to look at him and want and

(the shower pelts them as he pounds into her. His long arm is around her waist, forearm pressed to her stomach, bending her slightly as he stands behind her for—as he explains it—"maximum positioning" to hit her G-Spot. Penny huffs, placing her palms flat on the wall in front of her as Sheldon rocks forward, causing bursts of sensation to overwhelm her. She hears him mutter her name in time with his thrusts, "Penny. Penny. Pen)

she's visited by some new, fresh hell of desire or pain or

(they've been having this argument for days and it's the stupidest thing ever and it drives her nuts that he can't admit that it's not important. It's not like she's backing down either, but come on, it's just wallpaper! It's not even for his private space and excuse her, but she doesn't like the idea of a primary-colored geometric print in the kitchen; she wants a creamy yellow like a normal person. He's so frustrating and if he thinks he's going to be able to hold out longer than she is, then he's crazier than)

something, anything else that she doesn't want to see or know the possibilities of. She really loves Leonard. She loves Amy. She even loves Sheldon, really loves him, and mostly not in the way her head is telling her she does. She doesn't want to hurt anyone.

It starts to seem easier to finish off a bottle of wine. Or three. Every couple of nights.

Bernadette brings it up delicately one night when Penny asks who finished off the wine.

"Actually, Penny, I'm still working on my first glass."

"But weren't there two bottles?" Penny asks stupidly, the alcohol making her tired.

"Um, yes, there were."

Amy is more straight forward when they're out to lunch and Penny has three Long Island Iced Teas and is starting to get sloppy.

"Bestie, are either of your parents heavy drinkers?"

"Nooo," Penny draws out, looking through the make-up in her purse. "My dad will have a few beers watching a game or when he goes fishing. Why?"

"Because studies show alcoholism to be a genetic trait with a higher likelihood of becoming an alcoholic if someone in your direct line suffers from it," Amy says, and carefully sips her Bloody Mary.

"What are you talking about?" Penny asks, offended already. "I'm not an alcoholic!"

"Well, evidence suggests—"

"I'm not!"

"Oh. If you're sure."

"I am," Penny insists huffily, retouching her lip gloss.

"Okay then. Are you drinking so heavily to avoid a troubling situation?" Amy asks innocently.

Penny stops drinking so much the following day. She's surprised at how hard it is to limit herself to one or two glasses, to stay away from the hard stuff; she didn't realize how loose her limbs were staying, how easy it had become to stay in a lightly-buzzed haze every evening. The magic happens less when she drinks, but she doesn't like not being able to recognize herself.

Better then, maybe, not to drink. Better then to want something you can't have and aren't even sure you really want.

#

Penny doesn't look forward to Leonard leaving for a lot of reasons. First and foremost, she knows she's going to miss the hell out of her little homunculus. Since admitting out loud that she loves him, she's developed a deeper closeness with him than she ever has before (outside of her knowing), and once Penny starts really talking about her feelings and fears, it seems as though Leonard relaxes too.

She wonders, can it really be so simple? Earlier in the year, she started comparing her mental wanderings to her meandering present and started to feel listless. So she's astonished it eases, slowly, like a deflating tire. Love doesn't have to be particularly passionate or exciting

(and it doesn't have to resonate like a heavy bell that vibrates through your entire system)

to be real, and true, and worth it. She realizes that she's been looking for the drama that accompanies most of her relationships and that it's a good thing when it doesn't show up, because Leonard is a good man, who will do anything for her. She realizes that she's enjoying her life, and that's enough.

She's knows she's going to miss Leonard for his sense of humor (wry and observant and even surprisingly silly at times for someone so smart), for his presence (she lays pressed against him on the couch when they watch television, his feet on the floor; hers curled beneath her. His hands skim their way over her hair and every now and then he'll drop a thoughtless kiss at her temple that makes her feel special), and of course, for the sex.

This one is easy to admit—she's never been particularly good at going without. She just hopes that the video chat thingy that he set up on her laptop will be able to help relieve some of the tension.

She's also going to miss the hell out of him because she knows that if Leonard is gone, she is automatically his closest replacement with Sheldon. Who has never once offered to pay for gas, always assumes that her off-time should be spent catering to his crazy whims, and refuses to admit it, but hates to be alone for longer than a 24 hour stretch. Penny fears that being forced to spend that much time with him will be disastrous for her, for this beautiful balance that she's finally achieved with the status quo.

And yet, she's not sure how to avoid it. Sheldon isn't the type to let her.

It starts immediately, the day Leonard leaves, after he's gotten home. Raj is in her apartment babbling on—she's waiting for Amy and Bernadette to show up to give her a break from this constant stream of words—when she hears Sheldon's patent triple-knock at her door. She answers it and he hands her two sheets of paper, stapled together.

"Thank you, Penny," he says courteously before spinning on his heel and returning to his own apartment.

She scans the papers as Raj continues to ramble. The first sheet is his standard weekly schedule—8:40 AM, leave for work. (Please have your car suitably serviced.) 5:05 PM, pick up from work. (I will call to inform you of any changes to my schedule.) Monday, Tuesday, blah blah blah.—and the second sheet is a simple page for her to fill out and return to him with her work and prior commitments schedule so that he can make arrangements for those hours/days.

She silently hands it to Amy with raised eyebrows when she shows up and Amy gives a little grimace of understanding. "I'll take this upon myself as much as is possible," she assures Penny hastily, "although where I can't, I do hope you'll be able to step in; you know how lost Sheldon can get without a guiding hand."

Penny sighs; she does know. It's for this reason she finds herself carting Sheldon to the comic book store on Wednesday nights when she gets off work before seven, and picks up diced chicken, brown rice and spicy mustard for him (the dude can't drive and it's on her way home) on Mondays. But she's not stupid; she takes precautions whenever possible.

When Sheldon inquires about what play she's currently working on (Since when did he care?!) she makes sure to leave the complimentary tickets for Saturday, because Amy can't make it until then. She remembers to invite Raj and Howard and Bernadette to every apartment meal they have, whenever Amy mentions she won't be able to show. She makes so many plans away from the apartment and with other people that, usually, the only times she has to see him alone are the once-weekly grocery shopping excursions she takes him on, and Amy has (thankfully) taken him on at least half and the occasional ride she gives him to or from work.

This works well for the duration of Leonard's trip. There are very few emotionally confusing moments

(a lanky body coming up behind her with the barest of touches, fingers floating lightly down the outside of her arms to announce his presence. She leans back with a sigh as his arms slip down to encircle her waist and he cradles her, just for a moment, tucked in under his chin before)

so when they do occur, Penny can easily pretend they didn't happen, and if she happens to catch a puzzled expression on Sheldon's face, well—she's never understood his thought process, why try to figure them out now?

#

The change happens the way the best and worst of them do: without warning. A first kiss; a drought-breaking summer torrent that never seems to end; getting your period in the middle of social studies while wearing your white denim jean shorts… Losing a loved one.

Two days before Leonard is due to come home, Penny is opening her door after a long day at work, anticipating the moment in thirty seconds where she can kick off her shoes and flop down on the couch like a dead fish when she hears a series of small crashes coming from the boys' apartment. She hesitates, poised at the threshold.

She's so tired, and the very last thing she wants is to get drawn into some weird experiment Sheldon and Howard and Raj are doing, but the noises sounded like… glass or heavy plastic breaking with force. There's no other noise.

Just then, her phone buzzes and she automatically reaches down to check it. It's a text message, from Amy.

Sheldon's MeeMaw died today. I'm on my way but can't be there for—

Penny drops her phone and her bag and runs across the hall, swinging their apartment door open just as she hears another, bigger bang. She freezes, her heart racing, as she takes in the scene.

Sheldon is standing amidst several mangled action figures, broken glass from a table lamp, and a heap of books that have been knocked off the shelf. His DNA sculpture has been decimated, and the large marbles are still skittering across the floor, slowing down, finding their resting spots.

"Sheldon," Penny whispers.

He looks up at her numbly; his face is a mask and Penny never realized until this moment how truly expressive he usually is. "My Meemaw—"he says.

"I know." Penny walks toward him, takes his cold hands in hers and steps into him, crowding him. He shuffles closer to her like an old man, his spine curving, and he drops his forehead to rest against her shoulder as she lets go of his hands and brings her palms up to rest against his shoulder blades.

His pain for the moment is her pain, or the ghost of old hurts still haunting her and Penny feels helpless in her compassion, overwhelmed with the desire to fix this, make him better, make things right. Sheldon is the only person she's ever met who has ever received so much care from people and it occurs to her now that people take care of him because he just needs it so much.

He is not crying, or choking, or making any sounds of distress; just breathing evenly, in and out, and she can feel the moist heat of it through her uniform. Her hand slides up to cup the back of his neck and Sheldon lifts his head.

He looks at her thoughtfully, his eyebrows drawn in, and Penny realizes that tears are coursing down her cheeks. This man, so afraid of touching, so disgusted by body fluids and in so much pain, reaches up to wipe her tears away. He rubs his fingers together as if testing the salt content and Penny feels comforted.

"What can I do?" she begs to know quietly.

Sheldon opens his mouth, hesitates. And Penny is struck by a moment—not a vision, nothing magic-of simply… feeling loved by him, and wanting to know how to love him enough to take his pain away.

Sheldon looks around at the mess that has always been his pristine apartment. "I thought this would help, but… Amy is on her way," he says softly. "Can you find out when she'll be here?"

The words are strangely jarring. Penny swallows hard and nods, backing away slowly as he watches her. She squeezes his hand again and hurries to retrieve her cell phone, pausing to take a moment as she reads Amy's text. Because now she knows something she didn't understand before—she loves Sheldon more deeply than she knew; the Sheldon that's in her mind, the Sheldon that she knows so differently. The man that's more relaxed, softer. The man that loves her back.

Whatever else this Sheldon feels—for her, and otherwise—he loves Amy. Amy is the one he called first. Amy is the one who will bring the most comfort to him, who will be able to console him in the dark days that are sure to follow. Penny can be his friend.

She feels sad, for so many reasons, but also a sense of… release. She doesn't have to wait. Their fates have been set, for the time being; they've both made their choices. She feels loss, which she chalks up to allowing herself to be on hold for six years, and she feels grief, for Sheldon's anguish.

Penny's on her way back to his apartment to tell him that Amy should be there any minute when Amy shows up, out of breath but calm; steady in the way that Sheldon—of all people—will surely need. She squeezes Penny's forearm as she passes, and then walks into the apartment.

Sheldon has moved to the couch. His head is cradled in his large hands, fingers extended. Amy quietly sits down next to him and slips her arm around his waist. Penny watches as his arm curls over Amy's shoulders and he holds her closer than Penny thinks he might have ever been to someone.

They love each other, Penny thinks, sees, and isn't hurt by it at all; she's glad for both of them.

She waits for a moment, and then heads toward his kitchen to make him some hot tea, because that's the custom he's taught her.