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CHAPTER 21

Scary dream images dart into the shadows of her mind when Amy jerks awake. She takes a deep, relieved breath as soon as she comes to recognize the familiarity of her surroundings. The lavender walls, wicker laundry basket, and old-fashioned quilt remind her that she is no longer in the hospital, and certainly no longer in the confines of the bedroom in that abandoned home.

Plenty of light pours in through the gaps at the edges of the curtains in her window, and a glance to the digital clock on her bedside table shows a time of 5:43 PM. She can hear sounds coming from her kitchen—the clink of glass, the rattle of silverware and plates, and the buzzing whir of her electric can opener. The welcome smell of baking bread wafts her way, making her stomach rumble with anticipation. Sheldon must be making dinner.

Amy remembers his insistence on being the one to take her home. She remains uncertain about whether it's a good idea to allow herself to be so close to him now that they're broken up, but after everything that she has been through, she could not deny herself the opportunity to spend some time in his presence. Thoughts and dreams of Sheldon were her greatest source of comfort during her frightening ordeal, and she has wanted nothing more than the simple joy of waking up to find him nearby instead of that peculiar stranger.

She is tucked tightly into her bedding like a mummy, and she has to wiggle her good arm and loosen the covers before she can reach out for her glasses. With improved vision, she begins the arduous process of trying to sit up. Coordinating her good limbs is tricky, and her head gives her a few jolts of pain to remind her to take it slow, but in time she manages to scoot herself up to lean against her headboard. Unfortunately, the sliding movement has pulled loose the towel that she is wearing, and Amy looks down to the sight of her bare chest. She yanks up the towel along with the comforter and wonders how she ended up napping the afternoon away wrapped in nothing more than a towel.

Before she has a chance to puzzle it out, she hears a familiar series of knocks on her bedroom door. "Amy, Amy, Amy?"

She tucks the soft terrycloth back around her body, clears her throat, and answers, "Um, what is it, Sheldon?"

His voice sounds muffled through the solid wood of her door. "May I come in?"

Amy careens her head from her left to her right and spots a nightgown and underwear atop the end table on the far side of the bed. It will be difficult, time consuming, and sure to make her injuries throb, but she can probably get those on by herself. Still, she needs to answer him right now. "I… I'm not dressed."

He's quiet for a few seconds and then offers, "I can help you. It would be easier for you, if you'll let me."

This offer is not out of line. She knows how helpless these injuries have left her and has known all along that anyone who volunteered to help might be faced with some rather delicate tasks. Agreeing to let Sheldon take care of her was a decision made in a moment of great weakness, but hearing his beloved voice right now, she can't even begin to make herself regret it. While she's uncertain about the best way to handle the current situation, she knows that she's going to have to face him one way or another and that she can't hide away forever. Besides, her mind is also swirling with questions about this morning and her unusual napping attire.

"Okay, come in," she says, giving in to the inevitable.

He enters the room and only looks at her briefly before his eyes flit away to the clothes nearby. She watches him shift his weight from foot to foot, and scratch at the back of his neck. "Dinner is almost ready. The bread is just finishing up, and the stew is staying warm on the stove. The nurse this morning said that you should walk with someone by your side during these early days while you are still woozy and unsteady on your feet."

His eyes meet hers again before he finishes, "But maybe we should get you dressed first."

She looks at his flushed face and sees him gulp. His awkwardness is familiar, but there is something different about the way that he is looking at her that she can't quite put her finger on. Maybe it has something to do with the earlier part of the day. Speaking of which, she might as well ask the natural question.

"Why am I asleep in bed wearing a towel?"

He takes a few steps and sits gingerly on the end of the bed near her feet. "I'm not sure what you remember about your trip home this morning."

Amy remembers Sheldon's bold offer of assistance and his subsequent deft handling of her mother's protestations. Before that, Penny had helped her get ready to leave. The last thing she remembers clearly is both the nurse and Penny convincing her to accept the offer of a shot of painkillers for the hour-plus commute home. Uh-oh.

She sighs. "The nurse gave me some narcotics. I don't remember the drive home, and things are kind of hazy after that."

Sheldon squirms. "Well, you were correct when you said that you don't handle narcotics very well. You slept in the car and seemed comfortable when we walked from the car to here, but you were a little out of sorts."

Try as she might, Amy can't bring it to mind. All she can remember are some of the fuzzy recollections of the dreams from her nap this afternoon. There were the pleasant, familiar dreams of Sheldon taking care of her, bathing her, and kissing her sweetly. Then there were the more nightmarish visions from just before she awoke.

"What happened?"

"The good news is that you didn't seem to be in any pain. The less good news is that you didn't seem fully aware of what was going on around you."

She nods, and he continues, "I suggested that you take a nap, but you insisted you weren't sleepy. When you expressed a desire for a bath, I thought it seemed prudent to take care of that while you were comfortable from the drugs."

"Oh," she says, unable to come up with a more suitable response. His recitation of the morning's events is starting to make her wonder whether pieces of her dreams might have any basis in reality.

"We washed your hair in the sink, and then you had a bubble bath. It was a lot like the time I cared for you when you had the flu," he explains.

She remembers the incident when she had been sick a few years ago. She'd been able to slip into the bath while Sheldon politely averted his gaze. Of course, she'd been able to undress and move by herself at that time. Thinking back to this morning, she has a vague recollection of being immersed in bubbles and then stripping off her underwear. Perhaps Sheldon once again found a way to bathe her while still respecting her privacy.

"I'm sorry I asked you do that," she says.

"What? No, you don't need to apologize. It was smart to want to do it then," he insists. Despite the strength of his words, when he continues, he still sounds uncomfortable. "I wrapped you in a towel and carried you out here after you were done. We put your wrist brace and boot back on. Since you weren't in any pain, I stepped out so that you could try to dress yourself, but…"

Amy tilts her head at him. "But what?"

He smiles and pokes her good foot through the layers of bedding. "You were apparently flabbergasted by your garments. When I came in to check on you after a few minutes, you had one leg through the arm of your nightgown, and you were wearing your underwear on your head."

Heat rushes to her cheeks, and unfortunately, she can almost remember what he's talking about. Sheldon continues, "While you were attempting to dress yourself, you were loudly belting out a song. Again. It's not a tune I'm familiar with, but I thought it seemed to be a fine enough rendition. The old lady who lives in the next apartment over did not agree."

"I did not…" she whispers.

Sheldon's grin widens as he nods. "You did."

Amy stares at him, aghast at her behavior. He reassures her, "It's okay. I explained that you were a bit out of it due to heavy narcotic usage, but that you would be sober again soon. She didn't have much to say after that, so I suppose she must have some degree of sympathy."

Burying her face in her hands, she groans. "I'm so sorry, Sheldon. You should never have had to deal with all of this, especially now."

The bed jiggles, and she soon feels him sitting near her hip. When she feels him touch her arm, Amy pulls her hands away from her face.

"I wanted to be here. I still do," he says.

His earnest expression and the bright blue of his irises has an almost hypnotizing affect on her, but she still feels humiliated by her actions. It makes her wonder what else she might have done. This close to him, she feels an almost magnetic pull to his lips.

She jerks her head back at the sudden flood of recollection. "I kissed you, didn't I? You helped me into the bathwater, and I grabbed your shirt."

Sheldon's already pink cheeks darken even further. He glances away and bites his lip. "Something like that," he admits.

Amy opens and closes her mouth a few times, trying to find the right words. When she speaks, she can hear the frantic apology in her own voice. "This was a mistake. Help me find my phone and I can call my mother, or Penny and Bernadette."

He remains calm, despite her distress, and shakes his head. "Mistakes have been made, but that wasn't one of them."

"How can you say that? We aren't together anymore, but you are kind enough to agree to help me out, and what did I do? I threw myself at you like some pathetic fool."

She tries to look away, but he puts his hand on her cheek and gently redirects her focus. "I need to tell you something. You did initiate that kiss, but…"

He lets go of her face and tips his head down towards the floor. Embarrassment floods both his expression and his tone, and it looks like it's almost enough to match her own feelings on the subject.

He continues, "I'm the one who allowed that kiss to go too far. Tongues were involved. I'm to blame for initiating that. Well, the French are too, I suppose."

His admission causes Amy's heart to pound and her head to swirl with hopes and questions. Why would he have done that? What does it mean? Did he want to kiss her like that? He has been oddly affectionate since her return, staying with her in the hospital all night and touching her with atypical frequency. Is it possible that he does harbor some kind of sexual feelings for her and that he finally got lost in a haze of desire? If so, does he want to do it again?

When the shock dies down enough for her to regain control of her vocal chords, one question wins out over all of the others. "How—how was it?"

He meets her eyes again, and she can see vulnerability and innocence in those blue depths, but there are hints of some other emotion at work, something that she can't quite decipher.

"Overwhelming," he whispers, while glancing down at her lips. Then he swallows hard, licks his own tempting lips, and adds, "Wrong."

Oh. Of course. It's no longer difficult for her to figure out what emotion is at play in him. Clearly, Sheldon has regrets. She should have anticipated that because she knows all too well that physical intimacy of that sort is not what he wants with her. Even though she should have known better, her chest squeezes tight with disappointment.

She wishes that he wouldn't, but he must feel the need to explain himself. "I'm sorry, Amy. That has to be one of worst things that I have ever done in my life. I hope you can forgive me."

When he looks at her with sad eyes, she has to force herself not to cry. Something this obvious should not crush her. It's not his fault that he doesn't feel desire for her. He is still a tremendous friend and the very best man that she has ever known. Focusing on how thoughtful and kind he has been since her return, she tries to put some strength into her voice.

"It's okay, Sheldon. I understand. You've gone above and beyond anyone's expectations by being here for me. Thank you for taking care of me."

Amy is proud of herself for being mature enough to choke that out. There is a frustrated, angry part of her that wants to throw a childlike tantrum. But flinging pillows, crying, and whining will do nothing to change her reality. It feels awful to be forgiving him for something that she has wanted so badly. Hell, she'd give just about anything to be able to remember the feeling of his tongue in her mouth.

When she hears his sigh of relief and sees a small smile grace his beautiful face, she is glad that she chose to accept his unwanted apology. He gently pokes her knee. "Of course I would be here to take care of you. There's nowhere else I'd rather be. But I must say, I was quite surprised at how many takers you had, at how many other people were willing to come here and deal with all of your nonsense."

That is both sweet and insulting, and Amy can't resist returning his smile. It's crazy to feel touched by a sentiment phrased that way, but she knows that she'll never stop enjoying the way his magnificent brain works.

The timer on the stove dings, interrupting her thoughts.

"The bread will be done in five minutes. Here, let's get you dressed."

Sheldon reaches for her nightgown and has managed to pull it over her head and poke her arms through the short sleeves before she even has a chance to consider objecting. He tugs the loose, bulky material down her torso to cover her before pulling the towel away from her body. It's tempting to offer to go commando, but he is already tucking her feet through the leg holes of her underwear with brusque efficiency. He has it up over her knees only a few seconds later, and then he stands and offers her a hand to help her out of the bed.

It all happens so fast that she doesn't have time to feel embarrassed at the fact that he is helping her with such a personal task. But perhaps she shouldn't be bothered anyway. The only one who would feel any sort of prurient response would be her. He would be more than capable of assisting her with clinical detachment.

The world spins as she comes to her feet with his steadying assistance, and she has to rest her hands on his strong shoulders to keep her balance. Ever the gentleman, Sheldon looks at her face while he stoops down to pull her undergarment the rest of the way up over her hips.

Finished with his task, he smiles and takes her elbow to guide the way. "Come on, let's go eat. You're finally about to have the extreme privilege of learning the precise differences between a soup and a stew."

—-

After the unfortunate conversation in her bedroom and an even more awkward discussion about using the restroom, Amy has made it clear that she intends to do as many things for herself as possible. For his part, Sheldon has insisted on hovering over her while she walks, but has acquiesced to her demand that he 'get the heck out and go away' in the moments when she actually sits to relieve her bladder.

Anyway, with those hurdles cleared, he is pleased to find that the dinner conversation flows much more smoothly. As well she should, Amy listens with rapt attention to his lecture about stew. She takes her ibuprofen and eats heartily, which seems like a great sign for her recovery. Eating well and sleeping well are important factors that should aid her in healing.

"You're quite the talented homemaker here, Sheldon," she says as she finishes her final spoonful of stew. "You're even outdoing Raj, making dinner with homemade bread, not to mention the full bath and dressing services. If I find potpourri sachets in my drawers after laundry day, then I'm going to have to check you for signs of alien replacement."

Her joke makes him feel more at ease than he has in weeks. "I'm a man of many talents, Amy Farrah Fowler. That you haven't experienced them all yet does not mean that they don't exist. And I'll take this moment to remind you that I anticipate a similar level of care the next time I'm out of commission. I expect your homemade chicken soup when I'm sick—no skimping with that stuff in a can."

"That's funny. I could've sworn I heard you using my can opener a little while ago when you were making stew."

Busted, Sheldon tries to shift the conversation. "Perhaps it would be best to have a relaxing evening of television viewing."

Amy tilts her head at him and narrows her eyes, but her face soon contorts when she tries to stifle a yawn. "I suppose that would be best," she concedes. "Harp playing, writing, and knitting are certainly not viable options. In fact, I guess I'm not able to do much of anything right now."

"We'll have you healed back to normal in no time," he assures her.

"Yes, everything will be back to normal soon."

Her quiet response sounds sad, but that can't be right. Getting better should make her happy, so maybe it is just tiredness that he hears in her voice. Sheldon hustles to clean up their simple meal and then leads her over to the sofa to rest, shoving aside a few blanket in the process.

"Did you fold yourself onto this couch to nap out here today?" she asks.

"No. Actually, I slept on the floor of your room for a bit. I hope you don't mind, but I needed to be able to hear you if you needed me. There are too many hard surfaces around here to have you traipsing about the place on your own."

He can't read the expression on her face when she says, "Oh. That must have been a very uncomfortable place to rest."

Sheldon wants to show her his calculations. He has done the math of how much square footage her small body takes up as a percentage of the total area of her bed. Perhaps that would make it easier for her to see that she has plenty of space for one six-foot, one-inch tall man at her side. Pulling his phone out from his pocket, he intends to bring up the notes file where he has put together the necessary data.

Before he is able to speak, she repeats herself. "Sheldon, I suppose all of this must be uncomfortable for you."

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Even carpeted, the floor is a bit firm for a mattress, and my vertebrae did make a rather unique cacophony of sound when I got up, but I have a plan that I think we should go over to remedy that."

Often one to gesticulate with her hands while talking, it's strange to see Amy waving about with only her left hand. "I'm not talking about the floor or your back. I mean that this entire situation is uncomfortable. You aren't my boyfriend anymore, and I wasn't even sure you would want to be my friend after the way I broke things off and then left without a proper explanation. Doesn't it feel weird for you to be here taking care of me like this after all of that?"

He doesn't even have to think about it. "No, it doesn't feel weird at all. I wasn't intending on getting into that subject tonight. You're tired and need your rest, but I can give you the simple rundown."

Amy wrinkles her eyebrows. "I can't fathom it being simple, but okay, sure."

"First of all, there's nothing you would ever do that would make me stop being your friend. As for the romantic aspects, I understand your confusion, but as I see it, we aren't broken up. Rather, we're in the midst of an ongoing, pesky misunderstanding."

Her eyebrows shoot up. "What? How do you figure that we aren't broken up? I even signed the termination notice in the Relationship Agreement and faxed it to you in triplicate."

"Yes, that was unfortunate, as was your decision to run away from the situation. You did, however, explain in your own time."

She doesn't say anything, so he continues, "I got your letters. Your explanations are thorough and compelling, but they are also incorrect the vast majority of the time. There's far too much conjecture and false information therein, so I've had to render your ultimate conclusions null and void, seeing as how those conclusions have been built upon faulty premises."

Her mouth opens and closes a few times before she answers him. "A relationship can only exist while both parties agree to it. You can't just declare my feelings null and void."

"Not your feelings, Amy, I'm referring to the unassailable facts of the situation. Your logic is sound, but your axioms are not. Your chosen method of communication didn't leave me with a chance to explain, but I did begin my rebuttal while you were gone by writing you a letter of my own. In fact, I have a considerable amount of other evidence to present to further my case."

"Your case?"

"Yes. I believe that together we are greater than the sum of our parts. As such, our relationship deserves due process. Before you unilaterally sentence it to death, or otherwise restrict its freedoms, I think you should hear all of the relevant facts. Don't you?"

"You know very well that I'm fond of collecting data. I've been assimilating the facts of our relationship over the past five years, and I can't deny that I'm curious about how you could possibly believe that I've got anything at all incorrect, much less the majority. After all, I've been a firsthand witness this entire time." Tilting her head at him, she finishes by urging him, "But by all means, set me straight."

"Well, not right now!" he objects, slightly perturbed at how squeaky his voice sounds. "I need time to prepare my exhibits, gather evidence, prepare my testimony, and consult with some experts."

He can see her eyebrows turn down while she considers his words. When she leans her head back against the couch cushions and buries her eyes in the crook of her elbow, he starts to suspect that it might be time to let it go for the moment. It becomes even more obvious that she has had enough when she mumbles, "Sheldon, did I take the good drugs again and not notice?"

"No, you did not. I'm quite serious about this, but maybe we ought to get back to it when we are both better prepared. At this point in time, however, you should be resting."

Leaning forward to scoop up the remote control, he continues, "I searched on Google for recommendations for chick flicks. If you'd like, I can turn on The Notebook, and that should render us both unconscious within minutes. The Twilight series is on as well, but I think we've both suffered enough recently."

She removes her arm from her face and rotates her head to look at him. Her position reminds him of the drugged pose she took on this morning, but her pupils are properly sized this time. "You'd sit through watching a chick flick for me?"

He shrugs. "I believe I said that I would sleep through a chick flick with you, but yes, that's close enough. I've made it through a few of those old French movies of yours, so don't act so surprised."

"Every time I have ever looked over at you during those French movies, you were never paying any attention to the screen whatsoever," she points out. "More often than not, you were browsing Reddit on your phone screen, and the rest of the time you were looking at me because you got caught."

That's partially accurate, except for her guess about why he would be looking at her. He didn't do that because he got caught; he did that because it was far more interesting to watch her than those boring old movies. It seems that she never figured that out, and he doesn't entirely want to mention it now. It wouldn't do for him to be so sentimental and sappy, especially when he might already have to make it through The Notebook. A man can only be expected to handle so much girly drivel in one evening. How Raj manages to endure such things of his own volition is a mystery. Sheldon can almost feel his Y chromosomes cringing.

"Perhaps it would be best if we skip the movie, and I tuck you into bed instead," he suggests.

She blinks slowly at him, her eyelids growing more droopy with every passing moment. "It's not even eight o'clock at night. I shouldn't feel this tired after napping through most of the afternoon."

"Sleeping more frequently and for longer lengths of time is a natural part of the recovery process for a concussion. Additionally, neither of us got much sleep at the hospital last night. I don't intend to be awake for long either."

When she closes her eyes for a few seconds, he starts to wonder if she's already nodding off. He's about to poke her to find out, but she opens her eyes and beats him to it, tapping his knee with her index finger.

"I don't want you to sleep on the floor," she says.

He doesn't want that either. Still, he must insist on being in the same room with her. Picking up his phone again, he taps a few buttons and begins to recite the plan that he had put together earlier. "I have some information that you might find helpful in this regard. You see, a typical queen sized bed has a surface area of 4800 square inches. If we approximate your sleeping form as a rectangle, then a 64 inch tall woman with a maximum body width of 14 inches at the shoulders takes up an area of only 896 square inches. This means that you take up only 18.67% of the space on your bed."

Amy chuffs out a tired laugh. "I see. Well gee, Sheldon, it sounds like that would leave plenty of room for a man your size."

He nods, "Indeed. To be precise, a man of my height with an average shoulder width would take up only 1095 square inches, or 22.8% of your bed's surface area. Even if you want to be stubborn for now and consider me as merely your friend, surely you could spare less than a quarter of your mattress for the sake of a friend's postural health."

She smirks at him with her half-closed eyes. "Are you asking to sleep with me?"

"Obviously."

They've had a sleepover in the same room before. It was in a blanket fort in his living room, and they didn't share a bed, but he's not sure why she sounds so amused by the idea. It's not that implausible.

Her smile widens, and she manages a sleepy chuckle. "I never thought I'd see the day when Sheldon Cooper would ask to sleep with me in my very own bed."

He hopes that she's kidding but suspects that she's not. With a straight, serious face, he says, "Sheldon Cooper most definitely wants to sleep with you."

Her smile fades, and her eyes open to their normal size. She licks her lips and says, "Are you sure? I snore, and I, um, I don't have any Star Wars bedsheets or superhero night lights to help you sleep."

He's not sure if she's genuinely trying to put him off or if that is some kind of sarcasm. At any rate, he makes a mental note to gift her some proper sheets and a Wonder Woman night light on the next appropriate holiday.

There is no reason to answer her with anything less than honesty. "I'm sure. You snore softly, and the sound makes me sleepy."

Then, for additional reassurance, he tacks on, "As for the rest, Penny already packed my Luke Skywalker action figure and my Superman night light."

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