As Bernadette brings her a freshly-blended peanut butter smoothie (she needs the protein, and the iron, Bernadette points out) and Howard and Raj are out procuring her favorite movies, and Leonard sits at the opposite end of the couch, rubbing her feet, Penny wonders why she doesn't feel better.

It's probably a really rare thing, she reflects, to have some of the smartest minds in the state (maybe the country. Maybe the world) at your beck, willing to drop whatever world-changing research they're doing to make you some tea or a peanut butter and banana smoothie.

And, okay, granted, it's not like they ever take vacation time. Penny's just finished filming her second season of Partners In Divorce and she wouldn't have needed any excuse to dive into the time off that hiatus brought—she was so tired at the end of her week, it almost made her reconsider acting now that she'd caught her big (at least medium-large) break.

So it's not like she's (probably) hurting any of her friends by allowing them to take time off to help her now that she's on restricted bed-rest for the next few weeks. It's just sort of—annoying. And exhausting, being the one everyone fusses over. And disturbing, in Amy's case, as Penny tries not to contemplate what that email link Amy had sent over means, about the healing rituals of some native tribe Penny can't pronounce where the women gather together for naked massage and dancing, painting symbols on each other's faces in menstrual blood.

But now when Raj comes over to have a "gab session," as he so endearingly refers to them, still, or when Bernadette notices that she's rubbing her gently rounded stomach and guiltily drops her hand, or when Leonard looks at her with those wide eyes, almost hurt

(and so disappointed)

that she can't confide in him how she's feeling, all Penny wants to do is roll over and go to sleep.

Remarkably, Sheldon's natural insensitivity is the only thing that has helped the situation, even in the smallest ways. When he visited her in the hospital with an "obligatory" bouquet of daisies and found her puzzling over what the doctor had said, he'd explained in a completely unruffled voice, "An ectopic pregnancy is when the ovum attaches itself outside of the uterus; most usually inside one of the fallopian tubes—"

"I know that, Sheldon," she'd responded, exasperated.

"Well, then, I'm sure I don't understand your state of confusion. Although I do want it on record that Amy told me specifically I'm not supposed to talk about this."

"It's on the record," Penny noted dryly. "But it's okay to talk about if I ask you."

"All right then." He inclined his head slightly. "Proceed."

"I just don't get why—I mean, that doctor said that I wasn't going to be able to…" there her voice wobbled only slightly. She took a deep breath and was proud when her words came out steady. "He said that because of trauma, I wouldn't be able to have children?"

Sheldon looked at her blankly for several seconds before swooping down to pick up the chart clipped to the end of her bed. After scanning it quickly, he explained, "Apparently, you had appendicitis as a child and this created a blockage in one of your fallopian tubes."

"How?"

"Scarring," he said briefly, glancing up from the paperwork. "Your working fallopian tube was where the pregnancy occurred and you were hemorrhaging so badly by the time you got to the hospital, it was necessary to remove the whole tube rather than try simply removing the problem, to save your life."

Penny noticed that his face had paled considerably while he talked, and she remembered him sitting with her in the backseat, while she cried pitifully into Leonard's shoulder, unable to take the pain. Amy, stoic in the driver's seat, had figured out the cause almost immediately when Penny groaned out her symptoms, and didn't hesitate to press her foot to the floor in an effort to get them to the hospital faster, even as blood soaked through the towel Penny was sitting on.

"So, basically, I had one bad tube to begin with—"

"Not to begin with," Sheldon interrupted. "Like I said, it was likely caused by your bout of appendicitis at the age of seven."

Penny looked at him with reproof and continued. "One bad tube and then they had to take this one out, right?"

"To save your life," Sheldon confirmed.

"Okay," she said softly. "I guess that makes sense, then. I don't know why the doctor didn't just say that."

Penny thinks about this exchange frequently and wishes there was some way to just tell them all to back the fuck off and give her a little space, but she can't think of a nice way to say it.

It's not even that she ever wanted kids, really. Whenever she thought about it growing up, she basically never pictured herself with any. Okay, sometimes she played with baby dolls, and she really loved her nephew. Kids were really cool. And she never was in want of people to take care of. She wasn't even like Bernadette who, for so many years, emphatically didn't want children. It just wasn't a subject that really ever called to Penny, in one way or another.

She thinks maybe she should be sadder about everything, but the most she feels beyond exhaustion and pain is this knot of bitter anger. She knows it's not normal to want to yell at everyone you love, especially when they're doing nice things for you, it's just, well, when you're on your way to the hospital, gasping in pain and trying not to pass out,

("Wait, wait! Did you feel her hair? It's so light, but I think it's going to be really curly, like yours!"

Leonard smiles like the sunshine at her. "I did. It might. Lucky she's a girl—they don't have so much trouble not being tall."

Penny laughs and carefully opens the front of her gown; the baby is rooting around listlessly and it takes her a minute to latch on. Leonard reaches out a fingertip and delicately strokes the arch of an eyebrow.

"I just love her so much," he whispers.

Penny's heart feels too full and she doesn't quite understand how she's suddenly become such a crier in the past few days when she's always hated crying before. Her throat is hot, swollen with so much love. She never knew loved lived there before, always thought it was in the heart, but really it's in the throat, the breast, the eyes. Even her feet. Even her shaky legs and throbbing groin and sore nipples and tired mind loves this little girl in her arms.

"Me too," she says, after clearing her throat. "What if we called her—")

and you're given a chance to see the one thing that could have made you happy forever, and are taunted with the knowledge that it will never, ever happen, it's sometimes hard to cope.

That is the only time the magic ever shows her Leonard.

#

The holidays after Sheldon's Meemaw passed away seemed to bring changes to everyone.

Although he had asked for the whole fireworks, Penny ended up proposing to Leonard simply, and with only a small amount of fanfare, getting down on one knee on Christmas Eve beside the tree, with all of their friends watching.

She had rehearsed it over and over in her mind, trying to find the right words to show him what he meant to her and when she saw the tears glimmering in his eyes, Penny knew that she had—for once— gotten something exactly right.

"Leonard, my whole life I've been waiting for something, or someone, that would make me happy. And every time I seem to get close, I ran away from it. But I don't want to do that with you, not anymore," she said softly, hearing Bernadette gasp in the background (and Howard's less touching, "What the hell?") as she got to one knee. "I love you so much. You make me happy. It doesn't seem that complicated after all. Will you marry me?"

Leonard gave a muffled sob and fell to his knees in front of her, kissing her hard on the mouth. He hugged her close. "Oh, god, oh, god," he whispered into her hair. "I love you so much."

Penny pulled away to grin at him as their friends started clapping. "Is that a yes?"

"Yes! Of course!" He stood abruptly. "Wait right there."

Penny watched after him as he skittered out of the room like the floor was hot. Amy and Bernadette were already surrounding her with cries of "That was so romantic!" and "I will, of course, be in this wedding, too, right?"

After assuring both of them that they were going to be co-Maids of Honor, allowing Howard to give her a half hug and thanking Raj for his offer of back issues of Bride magazine, Penny glanced up at Sheldon to find him watching her from a few feet away, blue eyes dark.

She shivered as her world tilted momentarily and then gave him a tentative smile. Sheldon raised one lazy eyebrow as his lips curved sardonically. "I suppose congratulations are in order. Although I've never understood the concept of committing to one partner for the rest of your life," he says, and the words sound so serious and forbidding, laughter bubbles up out of Penny's throat as he continues. "However. I do want you and Leonard to be happy. And perhaps this will thin out the constant morning traffic in our apartment. As you know, since receiving tenure, I can more than afford the rent here, so… I lift the proverbial glass to you. Congratulations."

Her unease faded and her world righted itself. She exchanged an amused glance with Amy as Amy muttered under her breath, "He'll understand the concept of marriage soon enough," and Penny thanked him, her voice heavy with irony.

Leonard returned, practically skipping. He held out a small jewelry box that Penny took, glancing at him with a smile. "And how long have you had this waiting in….?"

"Back of my closet," Leonard supplied smugly. "For longer than I care to admit."

She opened it. On a bed of black satin, the ring glittered up at her, a heart-shaped diamond stone with small baguettes leading away from the center. She slipped it on her ring finger, and found it a perfect fit. She held it up to admire it on her hand and pushed the disconnected feeling away.

It was a lovely ring. She didn't know if it was exactly her, but it was certainly Leonard, and wasn't the point of having a ring to show that she had decided to belong with another person? And she wanted to be with him, she'd made her choice

(like Sheldon had made his)

so it was okay. Better, even; perfect. Her life had finally started falling into place; her degree in theatre was on the horizon and the man she loved had just agreed to marry her. Um, hey, best Christmas present ever, right?

All of this made it easier to forgive a few private tears when Amy told her a week later that Sheldon had finally succumbed (or, well, written out a contract that dictated what was okay and what wasn't—and most of it wasn't, yet) to her feminine wiles, culminating in the "loss of the last vestige of my virginity, bestie, and all of Sheldon's."

Penny listened with one ear, trying not to looked shocked

(dismayed. Hurt. He wasn't yours to begin with, remember? And that thing about him finally giving in a week after you get engaged to someone else doesn't. mean. anything.)

and asked, "The last vestige?"

"Well, of course, my hymen was ruptured several years ago due to a horse riding accident, which is fine because it really does make tampons more comfortable—"

Penny held up a hand. "Got it."

"Anyway, my virginity after that was only theoretical." She gave one of her dry chuckles. "Which makes it perfectly fitting that it was taken by a theoretical physicist."

"Wow, Ames. I don't know what to say."

"There's not much to say. Now we're bonded into the sisterhood of sexually active women. We can share stories, tips, naughty suggestions…"

Penny coughed. "Well, sure, there's that. But… it was good? Nice, and everything? He didn't get too… Sheldon-y on you?"

"There was a certain amount of germaphobia," Amy recognized, "but I expect that to dissipate in time. God knows, it's only been four years, and we've finally taken the plunge."

"Well, good. I'm glad for you," Penny said.

Amy's voice grew solemn. "I love him, Penny. And I think he loves me too, although he's not the sort to go around saying it."

Penny tried to keep the wistfulness off her face (no, that's not right, there was nothing she had to feel wistful about…) as she smiled. "I've been pretty sure that's true for a while, now. Congratulations."

And then, after Amy left, those tears (just a few, and that hardly matters), never to be acknowledged again.

It wasn't too hard to move on, despite Amy's insistence on telling her every detail, whether appropriate or welcome or… not. She had a wedding to plan—far, far in advance, as she'd gotten Leonard to agree to a ceremony in the distant future—and, break of all breaks, had one, two, three callbacks for a new sitcom pilot set.

Penny never read anything before like she read that script. She knew her lines, the main characters lines, the extra's lines, what angle the director would probably be shooting from, everything. It was sharply written, a comedy about a couple lawyers who had recently divorced each other, but who owned a small law firm together that specialized in (oh, the irony!) divorce proceedings.

Penny was reading for the part of the main character's best friend, an associate lawyer named Jules, who had a steamy crush on a lawyer from a rival firm. It was like Grey's Anatomy, only shorter, funnier, and with lawyers. (The same amount of sex, though. God, she had it nailed.)

For the first time, she was completely unsurprised when she got the part. Pieces of her life were falling like dominos. Even Sheldon's congratulations seemed sincere this time, served as it was with a home-made plate of cookies with no favor-requests attached.

And then the pilot was picked up. And then her show found a solid audience among viewers (especially women) aged 18-34. And then she was getting stopped on the street, only occasionally at first, but soon with such frequency that she had to start wearing a baseball cap when going out. She took Amy and Bernadette to clubs they could never have gotten into before. She paid back her parents for all of their financial help. She bought Leonard expensive comic books (and, when Sheldon pouted, she bought them for him, too) and sailed comfortably into her new life.

She had just started planning her wedding (Vale, she was thinking, in the winter—she'd always loved the snow) when Bernadette announced her pregnancy. Penny was extremely happy for her and Howard (and Howard was poignantly tender toward Bernadette), but for the first time, Penny wondered if that might not be what life had planned for her.

She talked about it with Leonard, who admitted to wanting children ("Really, Penny, with parents like mine, how could I not be driven to do a better job?"), but also claimed that it would be okay if they waited. Or if they never had them.

Well. Now they never would.

#

The apartment, for once, seems quiet around Penny as she flips lethargically through the channels. Wandering past an episode of her own show brings the ghost of a smile to her face, but finally she settles on some new reality cooking show—nothing too taxing for her head; not that she's really going to watch it anyway.

Leonard, thank goodness, had to stay late at CalTech (telling her anxiously, like she was going to burst into tears at his absence, even though all she's wanted for over a week is some time to herself.) to finish some research he'd been putting aside since she'd had to go to the hospital.

("Sheldon is here for anything you need; he'll take care of you if you need to get up," he'd said, glancing doubtfully toward the hallway. "Um, just in case, you have my beeper number. I can make it back in less than ten minutes if I have to.")

Strict bed rest sucked ass.

So far, she hadn't had to ask Sheldon for anything. At some point, he'd wandered out from his room to work on his laptop at his desk, not bothering even to scold her for her position, stretched out on the couch and completely hogging his spot while she watched television. But after a while an uncomfortable pressing on her bladder makes itself known and although Penny holds out for as long as she can, she finally forces herself to speak up.

"Sheldon?"

His head comes up. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry to bother you. I just. You know, have to go to the bathroom. Kind of really bad."

"You're not bothering me overly. I did, in fact, agree to help when Leonard had to work late. I found myself distressed when you became symptomatic and had to go to the hospital," he says calmly, and then looks surprised when he realizes what he's just admitted to.

Penny is more than surprised; she's downright floored. Didn't like waiting for you in the place-filled-with-germs and Taking you the bathroom will only take a minute away from my super-important work is more in line with what she'd expected rather than a declaration of actual feelings of worry for her. She's unaccountably touched that he's even admitted to volunteering to look after her in Leonard's absence. And she also still really has to pee.

"Thanks, sweetie. So, if you could—" Penny gestures, and Sheldon walks over to her and awkwardly kneels by her side. "I'll just brace myself on you and if you could support me on the way, when we get there, I can go in alone."

Sheldon shifts uncomfortably as Penny reaches an arm over his shoulders and then takes a fortifying breath before saying, "Perhaps it would be easier if I simply carried you."

For years now, Penny has successfully been ignoring the pull of—whatever this is. She looks at him evenly for a long moment and finally says, "No, I don't think it would."

A faint stain of pink colors Sheldon's cheeks and he nods mutely as she lifts herself up, leaning heavily on him. His arm steadies her at the waist, hand splayed at her opposite hip to keep her from sagging, and Penny gasps involuntarily as her laparotomy scar burns. They shuffle slowly to the bathroom, where Penny leaves the door unlocked and makes short work of peeing, flushing, and washing her hands.

She glances up at her reflection as she's about to open the door and is shaken by her appearance. Her eyes have dark purple shadows under them, like bruises; her normally sun-kissed skin is sallow and pale from the blood loss

(the baby loss)

and her hair hangs, lank and greasy, around her face. But the most shocking thing is her expression. She's known without a doubt, this whole time, that she's been holding it together—that she's bothered by this the way any normal person would be, but definitely not traumatized, definitely not heartbroken. So why does her face look so—so sad, so miserable? Is this why no one will leave her alone? Why everyone seems so worried?

She contemplates a moment and takes her own deep breath before deciding enough is enough. She's moved on plenty, she can do it again. So what if everything

(stomach, scar, heart lungs, empty arms, everything.)

hurts? It's not the first time and won't be the last.

Penny sighs, biting her lip, and then opens the door to find Sheldon waiting patiently right in front of it. He silently slips that long arm around her waist again, his hand warm on her hip through her pajama bottoms, and leads her back to the couch.

After settling her gently in his spot, feet up, he stands to leave and unbidden, Penny reaches out to grab his hand.

"Wait."

Sheldon pauses, looking down at their clasped hands with confusion. 'Do you need something else? A drink? Something to eat?"

Penny wants to say so many things. She wants to ask him to help her wash her hair with the foamy no-wash shampoo the hospital supplied when she was discharged. She wants to ask him why so many bad things seem to happen to her, to them; why are they the ones who have to learn how to manage heartbreak so often? She wants to ask him for a grilled cheese sandwich, or why he doesn't love her, or if he would mind just sitting with her for a few minutes.

His hand tightens on hers briefly

(kiss, under her jaw. Kiss on her cheek. Corner of her mouth. The scent of him, surrounding her, so clean and masculine. A kiss on each of her eyelids as hot tears slip out from underneath them.

"I'm so sorry you're hurting. I wish I could express sympathy better; say the right things in the right ways," he murmurs.

"I know. I hear you anyway," she says, letting him hold)

and then releases. Sheldon takes a step back and instead of asking any of the questions in her mind, Penny blurts out, "Do you believe in magic?"

His shoulders stiffen. "No."

She immediately feels stupid, but at least he's not laughing at her. "Why not?"

Sheldon swallows convulsively. "Because I possess an IQ that makes it impossible to. Because I believe there is a scientific explanation for everything."

"Then explain… Explain—" Penny falters helplessly. What if she's wrong? What if he's never seen it? And why now, after everything in her life has gotten to where it should be, is she even trying to discover why things aren't the way she still sometimes sees them?

Sheldon sits in Leonard's chair and places his hands on his knees. He measures her for a moment and then nods briefly. "Penny. Shakespeare once wrote, 'There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' This means, obviously, that some things just cannot be quantified precisely. Whether that's true or we just haven't reached our full scientific potential, I do think that everything has an answer."

Penny nods, encouraged by the fact that he isn't smirking at her and giving her his version of a backhanded insult (which is really just a plain 'ole insult.). "Like—like your comic books?" she poses tentatively. "Why can you believe in superheroes, then, but not something… magical?"

"Because theoretical physics, if not the proven sciences, support the idea that humans can be capable of great accomplishments. They also support the evolution of the species into something other, stronger and more capable. There's no reason to assume that can't involve invisibility, time travel, or human flight, just to name a few. Even… clairvoyance, telepathy, and the more obviously deceitful 'psychic powers.'"

Penny sighs, and settles deeper into the couch, watching as Sheldon leans back into the chair. Just as she's about to open her mouth again, he continues.

"Moreover… I subscribe to the multi universe theory, or the many-worlds interpretation, if you prefer. I base a large part of my work on it," he says and for a moment he seems to flounder, unsure how to proceed.

"Like when Spock had the beard and everyone was evil on the first show," Penny supplies, and is proud of herself for no longer being weirded out that she knows this kind of stuff.

Sheldon raises his eyebrows and his lips curl up in approval. "Indeed. The theory asserts the objective reality of the universal wave function and denies the actuality of wave function collapse. Many-worlds implies that all possible alternative histories and futures are real."

"Which means?" Penny is grasping, feeling as though she's on the verge of something important, and can't quite follow. It doesn't help that Sheldon is leaning forward seriously now, piercing her with his eyes as though trying to get something urgent through to her.

"Essentially, it means that every time we make a choice, be it small or large, to put on our shoes five minutes early or to eat Thai instead of pizza, reality splits off into something different. In each of these worlds, you carry on, and your life is very similar, or completely different. You've died young, died at age 97, won a Nobel prize at 28 or 37, never been born or—"

"Or?"

"Or never had children," he finally says gently, clearing his throat. "And each of these realities is always happening. Every day. Somewhere, right now, you and I are not talking about this because you are uninterested in the subject, or we've never met, or you didn't make it to the hospital on time."

"A clown made of candy?" Penny ventures, and Sheldon gives her what passes as—for him—a proud smile.

"Exactly."

"So this would mean that every choice I've ever made has lead me—this Penny, this time—to where I am. And other Penny's might have made other choices. To not come to LA, or even not be an actress?" Sheldon is nodding and she continues, more to herself than to him. "In some of them, I might have kids, even lots of them, right? Like a little girl with curly hair? Or I might even—be with somebody else, if I had made different choices, or if Leonard had, or if…"

Sheldon freezes and Penny's throat dries up as she gazes at him.

"Everything that happens, as well as everything that doesn't happen, leads us to exactly where we are. In every reality," Sheldon says finally, breaking the long silence.

"What you said about the other stuff—telepathy, and psychic-y stuff…"

"Balderdash," Sheldon says with a funny little quirk of his lips. "Although I would never rule out the possibility of someone evolving to the point where they were able to recognize energy better than other humans. Everyone gives off energy, a personal mark if you will. People may eventually become more recognizing of it, as though it were an allergy, and it was a really strong odor they couldn't ignore. And I'm sure some people will find themselves sensitive to another person sneezing in front of them."

"Romantic," Penny mumbles dryly and Sheldon chuffs out his absurd laugh.

"It is, isn't it?" he agrees, and looks at her closely.

She feels panicked and strangely touched. Uncertain whether moving will create another universe, wanting to go back and erase all of them. At the same time, she feels reassured by the idea that for every world she's understood pain, there's another one where everything has been beautiful.

"I guess it is," she says softly. Wants to say more, but doesn't, although it doesn't matter. Sheldon seems to hear her anyway.

They won't speak of it again for a long time.

#

*Part of the many-world theory was taken directly from wikepedia. Also, I got a pretty serious flame about this story—someone who was incredibly mad that I had the talent of neither Chuck Lorre or Bill Prady and I just wanted to extend my most sincere apologies. I really wish I had their talent too. LOL. Unfortunately, all I'm able to do at this point is "pilfer these characters names for my abysmal story." (Um, Chuck and Bill? Please don't sue me for doing that…)

Enjoy! (Or don't. Your choice. )