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CHAPTER 20

After living in a building with a nonfunctional elevator for so many years, Sheldon is accustomed to climbing a lot of stairs. As he guides Amy back to her apartment, he finds himself grateful for the simple luxury of her building's well-maintained infrastructure.

The drive home was quite peaceable, and in contradiction to Penny's dire warnings, he didn't have any difficulty operating the clutch this time. With Amy dozing in the passenger seat, he wanted to avoid jostling her as much as possible. Fortunately, his mind and body were capable of acting more fluidly without the stress of her absence weighing him down.

They exit the elevator, and Amy takes slow steps down the hallway, leaning most of her weight into his side. Whether it is due to dizziness, sleepiness, or drug-induced intoxication, Sheldon isn't sure. He has his arm wrapped firmly around her midsection and has no intention of complaining about the contact. The warm press of her body against his is comforting, and after feeling helpless for so many days, the pride he feels at finally being able to do something for her is very welcome.

While they walk, she keeps up some kind of mumbling commentary about birds. Sheldon isn't entirely following along, but she seems content enough, and he's happy just to hear her voice. Her head lolls against his right shoulder while she holds on to his waist for balance. Every once in a while her uninjured hand slides down and accidentally grabs hold of his left buttock. He squeaks in a rather unmanly fashion every time she does it.

Once they make their way inside her apartment, he leads her over to the couch to sit. She is so bonelessly floppy from the drugs that it looks a lot like she's being poured into the seat. The weight of her head rests against the back of the sofa, and he lifts her injured ankle onto the coffee table to prop it up with a pillow. It's only eleven o'clock in the morning, but after so little sleep last night, he's already exhausted. He takes a seat next to her and mirrors her pose, leaning his head against the back couch cushion.

She slowly rotates her head to face him, and as she does so, he notices a gigantic smile growing on her face. "I'm gonna miss you," she says.

Sheldon lifts his head in alarm. "What? Are you planning to go somewhere?" She can't do that. He just got her back. And why does the idea make her so happy?

"No. You are."

That makes no sense. He squints at her grinning face and says, "I'm right here. Where is it that you think I'm going to go?"

"You're here now, but once I'm back to normal, I'm not gonna have dreamy Sheldon anymore. I really like having dreamy Sheldon around."

"Dreamy Sheldon?" Is she high?

"Mmm-hm. That's you. You're so warm an' snuggly, and you're gonna be here while I sleep. It's weird. Do you like Strawberry Quik just like real Sheldon?"

Before he can follow her rapidly bouncing thoughts, much less formulate an answer, she continues to prattle on, "Oh wait, that's stupid. You're a ghost, or an application… abolition… apparition! Yeah. Like a filament of my 'magination. Dream people don't gotta drink anything."

If he had any doubts before, it has now become apparent that Amy is experiencing some side effects from her drug injection. Maybe this is what she meant when she said she doesn't do well with narcotics. Her poor grammar and slurred speech patterns are starting to make him twitch, as does the fact that every time she pronounces his name, it sounds like Shellin'.

"Um, I think you mean figment."

"I dunno what I was thinkin'. Phantom people don't drink stuff. That's crazy. But you know, I bet they do like waffles."

"What?"

It takes her a moment to stop giggling long enough to say, "Yeah, 'cause ghosts are always waffling between realms." She slaps his knee. "Get it?"

Sheldon gets it, he's just not so sure that she does. Placing his hand on her cheek, he tries to gently nudge her drifting attention and glassy eyes to him so that he can clue her in to what's happening to her.

"Amy, it looks like you are experiencing some side effects from the painkillers they gave you when you left the hospital. Opioids can make you sleepy, but they can also cause euphoria, mild hallucinations, and make things around you feel surreal. I'm not a figment of your imagination, though. I'm real. I don't think the half-life on most of those injectable narcotics is very long, so you should be yourself again soon."

She lifts her head, squints her eyes at him, and then pokes him in the chest a few times. "You do seem pretty solid to be a ghost, and you sound so much like real, sexy Sheldon when you talk all sciency. I wish you were really him, but he wouldn't be here right now."

He can't think of any reason that she would doubt him like this. It's not easy to follow her drug-induced logical leaps, though. "Why do you say that the real Sheldon wouldn't be here?"

" 'Cause Tuesday's a work day. He doesn't miss work."

In most instances, she would be correct, but these are decidedly special circumstances. Maybe in her current state she can't figure out the full extent of how different everything is right now. "Actually, I took the rest of this week plus next week off to stay home with you while you're getting better."

"See? Now I know you're not real." She sighs wistfully before starting to giggle again. "If this is drugs, sign me up. I don't wanna be myself again soon, 'cause then you'll disappear."

She sounds giddy, but her words are full of pessimism. It makes him sad, but there's nothing for it other than to offer more reassurances. "I'm not going to disappear. I'll still be right here when the drugs wear off."

"It's okay, Dream Sheldon, I'm used to bein' alone. I spent most of my life that way. Ooh, I know! I'm gonna get a cat!" Her shift from elation to pessimism and back again is so rapid that Sheldon feels like he's going to get whiplash.

The ramble continues, "If I'm gonna become a crazy old cat lady, I gotta get started on my cat collection. First one's gonna be a smart, beautiful cat that I wanna cuddle lots. And I'm gonna name her Shelly. Then I won't be lonely 'cause my apartment won't be empty when I get home everyday. And 'cause she's a cat, she'll remind me of you."

"How would a cat remind you of me?"

"She'll be so cute and lovable but always runnin' away 'cause cats don't really do affection on anyone else's terms. Aloof Shelly will feel like an old friend right away, y'know?"

He wishes he didn't know what she's talking about, but he does. "That… that sounds sad."

She's still smiling about it anyway. "Yeah. It's better than bein' alone forever, though."

"I told you. You're not going to be alone."

For a brief instant, she looks like his normal Amy while she thinks about something. She sounds very serious when she says, "And I won't be able to eat salad anymore."

"What? That's a bit of a non sequitur." That's putting it mildly. Her current thought processes continue to baffle him.

The grin is back, and she bats her shiny, pupil-constricted eyes at him. "Say non sequitur again."

"Um, non sequitur?"

She picks up a pillow with her good hand and starts fanning herself with it. "Your voice is so smart and goofy and hot. But that's not a non senator, er, non semaphore, you know what I mean." It looks like her thoughts are starting to wander off on her again because she absentmindedly drops the pillow.

"No, it's definitely a non sequitur, and I'm sure that I have no idea what you mean. What's wrong with salad?"

"Oh! Yeah, that's 'cause I eat it with cucumbers, and cats hate cucumbers. Freaks 'em out. Did you know that, Dream Sheldon?"

He is tired of trying to argue that he is not Dream Sheldon. She'll figure it out after the high wears off. Instead he just answers her odd question.

"No, I didn't know that. I did acquire a number of cats years ago, though, if you'll recall. And I can tell you right now that cats can't replace the most important people in your life. For some people, there are never enough cats."

She shrugs. "Well, what else am I s'posed to do then? When you're gone—"

"I'm not going anywhere without you. Amy, I think what you should do is take a nap. When you wake up, you'll feel better."

"I don't wanna wake up. I feel great!"

Her adamant declaration is happy enough, but her grin soon fades. She leans in close to him with an intent, almost frightened look on her face. Her warm breath tickles his sensitive ear, and he can feel it more than hear it when she whispers, "Dream Sheldon vanishes when I wake up, and sometimes there's a scary guy around instead."

Sheldon knows that Amy is far from being in her right mind, but this is an irresistible opportunity to ask something that has been nagging at him. "Did… did the scary guy ever hurt you?"

He thinks that she has been completely honest, but he can't help wondering if she has tried to spare him from anything unpleasant. She looks up at him with her unnaturally constricted pupils and shivers a little when she whispers, "No. But he did wash me and change my clothes. I didn't like that. I still don't."

Sheldon swallows hard. He doesn't like that either. With as much confidence as he can muster, he promises, "Well, that guy is gone for good. I'm here now, and I'm not scary at all."

Her mouth transforms into another intoxicated grin, and he's glad that she must be taking at least some comfort in his reassurances—not that she's likely to remember any of this anyway. "Dream Sheldon saves the day," she slurs.

"Something like that. Now come on, let's get you to bed."

The grin morphs into a smirk. "Oh sure, now you're tryin' to get me into bed. You shoulda done that years ago. I don't think you mean that the right way here."

Emboldened by the fact that she's sure to forget everything, he declares, "I mean it quite a bit and in more ways than you think. When you're ready, I'll prove it."

It's the most forward thing that he has ever said to her, but Amy doesn't even seem to notice. Her mouth forms a gigantic 'O' while she yawns. Then she follows it up with an equally huge dose of irrationality. "I don't wanna go to sleep. I'm not tired."

She folds her arms over her chest and her lip pokes out in a pout. Even though she looks sad, her eyes are still shiny like they so often are when she laughs.

"You remind me of my nephew when I babysat him a couple of months ago. It's not good to be as unreasonably stubborn as a baby, Amy."

"They left you in charge of a baby? Really?"

"Yes. My mother took my sister to a holy rollers bingo and bake sale fundraiser at her church during my last visit. That's no place for us menfolk, so we stayed behind."

"How'd the babysitting go?"

Pleased to have a more normal conversation at last, Sheldon relaxes while he tells his story. "Not too bad. I started him on some basic experiments, Physics 101, if you will. He only seemed interested in gravity, though. No matter how many times we established that the Cheerios would, in fact, hit the ground when dropped from his highchair, he kept doing it over and over again. Repeatability is an important scientific principle, but it got to be a bit much."

"You're going to be such a great father someday, Sheldon."

This seems like the worst possible moment to delve into such a touchy subject. If he's going to talk with her about children, then he wants it to be at a time when she'll be capable of remembering the conversation. Still, he's going to speak to her honestly, whether she's drug-addled or not.

"That is yet to be determined. I would need you for that, so it's not up to me. Anyway, it's nap time."

He isn't all that surprised when her brain skips right over his careful response to the fatherhood thing. "I don't wanna sleep. It's morning."

He sighs. It sure feels like bedtime to him. "Very well. What is it that you want to do?"

"Take a shower. I feel yucky. I wouldn't let them help me at the hospital."

Sheldon wouldn't have let strangers help him with something like that either. "That's… I suppose we can do that. It will be a lot of movement around hard surfaces. But maybe it would be wise to take advantage of the painkillers while they're still in your system."

"Mmm, yeah. Take advantage, Dream Sheldon."

He scratches his head. "Um, okay. I'll just go run some water. I don't think you should try to stand for a shower. It's too slippery, so I'll run you a bath."

"Yup. It's definitely slippery."

Pleased that she's being reasonable on that front, he walks over to her bathroom and starts the bathwater running. There's no bath thermometer, of course, but he's got bigger problems than optimal temperature gauging. Having bathed Amy once before, he knows that the most important factor is to accumulate a critical mass of bubbles.

He rummages through her orderly cabinet and locates the bubble bath. The directions say to use a capful. Sheldon uses two. Thinking better of it, he adds a third. It's better to risk overflowing her tub with foam than to ogle her naked body when she is unable to agree to said ogling. The last time he did this for her she was quite shy about it, and he didn't see much of anything. He expects the same from her now. In any case, he's not going to be the one to violate her privacy, not ever, but certainly not after everything that's happened over the past week.

The sudsy water is rising fast, so Sheldon goes out to retrieve Amy. He freezes in an instant when he sees that she has gotten started without him. She has managed to remove the walking boot and her regular shoe, as well as her socks. Her skirt is in a ball on the floor next to her cardigan, and both her arms and head are currently tangled up in her pullover shirt, obscuring her entire face from his view.

She must hear him walk into the room because he hears her muffled voice call out, "I'm stuck."

He clears his throat. "I can see that." After rushing over and freeing her from the soft cotton, he notices her reach for her undergarments. So much for shyness.

"Amy, wait! We're—we're going to need to wash your hair in the sink, and I don't want you to get too cold."

That's a little bit true, but the much greater truth is that this behavior is so unlike her that he's not sure what he ought to do. He runs one hand through his hair and dries his sweaty palms on his pants. In the meantime, his words seem to have been enough to convince Amy to stop stripping.

She continues to smile her goofy grin at him while he takes one of her dining chairs and starts moving towards the bathroom. The chair takes a small chunk out of her drywall when he bumps one of its legs against the wall. It's difficult to navigate down the hallway while his eyes are fixed on Amy's form instead of the chair's.

In the bathroom, she is out of his view, freeing his eyes to notice the rest of his surroundings once again. The water in the tub is plenty deep, so he twists the tap to stop the flow. Anxious to get back to her, he still pauses for a moment to take a few deep breaths and to rearrange the drape of his pants. It doesn't help. There's no way to hide his… situation. That's okay. She's probably too far gone to notice, and even if she does become aware, well, she needs to know anyway.

It's not something he's used to dealing with in her presence all that often. As their relationship grew, this kind of thing did tend to pop up from time to time, but he found that carefully scripted limits to their physical contact helped. Those restrictions, in conjunction with a proper schedule of self-abuse before date nights and emergency Kolinahr, were usually enough to avoid any untimely awakenings of the Kraken.

Now, of course, things are different. He can't afford for her to keep misunderstanding everything, and there is no longer any utility in denial. From the moment he got her letters and began to understand the full scope of her misconceptions, he has been determined to set things right.

Returning to the living room, he finds her sitting on the couch where he left her. During his brief absence she has put the boot back on, and she's in the middle of singing some weird song about phantoms. The song is bizarre, but the boot is a good idea. There's so much Amy skin showing that he wouldn't even begin to know where to put his hands to pick her up and carry her.

He holds her good hand while she stands, and they do the same awkward, shuffling walk that they did to get up to her apartment. She leans her floppy body into his side again, and this time he can feel the heat of her semi-naked body soaking through both layers of his shirts. His arm is wrapped around her, and he hopes she won't notice how sweaty his hand is where it rests on her elbow to support her. As they move, she continues to sing her happy tune.

Without her poofy armor of wool and cotton, her midsection is bare, making her look so much smaller than she usually does. The red underwear she is wearing seems incongruous to her typical style. He would've expected something far more practical, and it makes him wonder—

His shoulder slams into the doorframe, and the resulting bolt of pain jars him from his wandering thoughts, reminding him that he probably shouldn't be staring at her like that. The bump is also enough to bring Amy's strange serenade to a halt.

With his guidance, she takes a seat in the chair and leans back so that he can wet her hair. He does so gingerly, taking care not to get her stitches soaked any more than necessary. The act of shampooing and rinsing her hair is enough of a distraction to keep him from looking at her chest too often, and with the way her upper body juts out due to her arched position, it isn't exactly easy to ignore. He's used to her form being buried in layers of clothing, and this new sight of the curves of her body is fascinating. He can't resist stealing a peek or two.

Also helping to distract him from being overly licentious is Amy's nonstop chatter. She jabbers about the chemical composition of the shampoo, how weird the word 'shampoo' sounds, and her running theory that a lot of politicians may in fact be alien replicants because they so often seem like they're just pretending to be real people. Her alien theory reminds him a bit of an old Doctor Who episode that she watched with him last year, and it makes him feel better that her crazier moments are still grounded in something related to real life. Rather than try to keep up with her ever-shifting conversation, he nods at varying intervals. It seems to be enough to keep her satisfied.

"Let's sit you on the edge of the tub," he suggests once he finishes with her hair, interrupting her recitation of a good recipe for split-pea soup.

She's too zoned out to remember to strip off her remaining garments, but he figures that it's just as well. She can remove them once she's under cover of bubbles and not have to show him anything else that she wouldn't normally reveal.

Sheldon steadies her while she sits on the edge of the tub, and he removes the boot while she pulls off the wrist brace. After he helps her spin 180 degrees, he struggles to hold most of her weight while she slides the short distance into the water. With her floppy limbs and wobbly head, it's a lot like trying to maneuver a large sack of potatoes. The softness of her skin and the warmth of her body, however, are more than enough to remind him that she is very much a woman.

Kneeling next to the bathtub, Sheldon hovers over her movements and doesn't relax until he sees Amy's injured head resting safely against the side wall of the enclosure. It feels somewhat intrusive to stay and watch her, but he doesn't dare to leave her alone right now. In her current state, she might decide that she's a submarine and go diving, or she might decide she's a fish with gills that would allow her to breathe underwater. It's best not to chance it.

Once immersed in the safety of the bubbles, however, she behaves in a normal fashion, making use of the soap and running her hands over her own arms and legs. He enjoys the pleasant sight until Amy's smile turns to a frown and she starts wiggling and shimmying her body. He's not sure what's going on until she holds her soaked brassiere aloft like a trophy. She lets it drop to the floor with a wet plop and then goes through a slightly different series of gyrations to retrieve her lacy underwear. Victorious, she smiles at her success. It must be easier for her to move around with the buoyancy of the water.

His mind takes this moment to remind him that with her underthings removed, the woman he loves is now completely naked only an arms length away. Undressed, nude, bare, au naturel, it is difficult to think about much of anything else.

She runs her index finger through the bubbles and then dots his nose with foam. "Dream Sheldon usually comes in here with me."

That invitation fills his mind with the kind of visions that he is used to suppressing. Resolved to take their relationship down a new path, he resists his longstanding habit of turning to Kolinahr. His heart is already beating faster than normal, but it still manages to speed up even more in response to her words. Sadly, the blood flow doesn't seem to be reaching his brain. He can only manage to sputter out a short, stupid response that is unbefitting of his intellect.

"I… I don't think I'd fit."

She giggles. "Dream Sheldon always fits."

Sheldon gulps hard. He should stop this conversation, all of this really. She is not herself. He should help her get clean with detached efficiency and then bundle her up for sleep. But what he should do and what he wants to do are two very different things. He is accustomed to doing the right thing, the repressed thing, but set free, his long-denied libido seems to have a firm grip on his higher faculties. And isn't this conversation exactly the kind of thing that she has been wanting?

The curiosity is too great. He wants to know all of Amy's secrets, especially when it comes to a situation like this, so he leans over the lip of the tub, a few inches away from her face, and whispers, "What else does Dream Sheldon usually do?"

She raises an eyebrow and whispers back, "Everything."

As she speaks, she grabs a big wad of his shirt, including a chest hair or two, and pulls his face in for a kiss. The chest hair instantly gives way, and so does Sheldon. Her lips feel familiar, soft and inviting, and he cups her rosy cheek with the palm of his hand. Her wet fingers rub his chest through his shirt and then slide up to the back of his neck. He has missed her so much that he can't hold back a groan of carnal delight. She echoes the same sound right back between his lips.

Kissing her with an open mouth should seem unsanitary, but it doesn't, not at all. Instead, it simply feels natural. In a similar way, instinct compels him to barge forward with his tongue, and she gracefully sucks him right in. His hips press up against the side wall of the tub, a hopeless endeavor to try to reach her through layers of clothing and fiberglass.

For every action that he takes, Amy is right there with him, forging her way to a new frontier as well. While he explores her mouth, she slides her wet hand up underneath his shirts, caressing the skin of his chest directly. The sensation of her hand on his body is heightened with the barrier of his clothing pushed aside, and goosebumps rise on his skin when she runs her fingers through his sparse chest hair.

It makes him want to touch her, too. The curve of her shoulder is inviting, and Sheldon smooths his hand over it and down her arm under the water, stopping well short of her injured wrist.

When he slides his fingers back up her arm to her shoulder, Amy breaks the kiss. She stares into his eyes with the tip of her nose pressed to his. They share panting breaths while she pulls back her good hand from the tangle of his shirts and moves it to take a firm hold of his forearm instead. She guides his retreating hand back down into the foamy water to encounter the smooth surface of her naked belly.

Sheldon gulps hard, wishing that he had not used quite so much bubble bath. He would prefer to actually see his hand resting there on her skin rather than having to imagine it. They both continue to stare at each other, their movements frozen. After a moment or two, it is Amy who breaks the inertia, and she starts to nudge his hand northward.

He remembers her once bemoaning his inability to find second base. She would be so happy if she could see this now. Inches from the curve of her breast, he halts the motion.

If she could see this now? That's not right. None of this is right. Of course she's not seeing this now. She's not fully aware of her reality, and she probably isn't even going to remember this in a few hours. As much as it pains him to think about it, she doesn't even believe that she's his girlfriend at this point. And regardless, whether they are broken up or happily together, he can't continue to do this while she's in this state, while she can't decide anything for herself at all. There is no doubt in his mind that she would want this, but that's not good enough.

He closes his eyes and pulls his hand away. "I'm sorry, Amy. I—I can't."

His inner grammatical nit and points further south remind him that he most certainly can, he just ought not to do so. He corrects himself. "Well, I can, I just—I just shouldn't. With the drugs in your system, you're not yourself right now."

It's difficult to know how to handle this. He knows from his conversation with Leonard and Amy's subsequent letters that she has often felt rejected. With him pulling away now, he fears that she will feel that way once again, and that's so incredibly far from the truth that it hurts. But what choice does he have?

A chill begins to set into his damp skin, making him shiver, but when he opens his eyes and chances a look at Amy again, she remains pink-tinged, flushed from the warmth of her bath. And she is still smiling at him.

"That's okay. I get it. In fact, 'I can't' is exactly what the real Sheldon would say." She tilts her head and adds, "Hey, maybe you are the real Sheldon."

He nods. "Yes, I am." Feeling insecure, he continues, "But it sounds like Dream Sheldon might be preferable sometimes."

Her grin widens, and she shakes her head. "No. Never. That's not possible. No one is ever better than my real Sheldon."

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Note: I know this chapter is a little peculiar, as is the rest of the story. Whether you're liking it or hating it, I'm always happy to hear what you think.