This is written differently to the other chapters. I was about three-quarters through when I realised—I'm going to fix it tomorrow-ish. (Meaning next week.)

Penny knew her own reputation. She wasn't stupid.

She knew what would happen if Leonard got too close—the only reason it hadn't before was because Priya was always there, or Sheldon was, rambling on in his psychotic fashion and disabling her from thinking about anything but his high-strung voice.

But now he was coming over to her apartment, one on one, and staying there.

She raked a hand through her hair, thinking about all these things whilst digging through her drawers for (clean) underwear.

It wasn't like she didn't enjoy Leonard's company. She did. Oh, she did. It was that he was happy. That did hurt her sometimes, she'd admit, but she still wanted him to be able to see exactly what he had with Priya, and right now she seemed to be blinding him to it.

She slammed her fist against her dresser. She hated when she felt like this. Hated it, so much. Half of her heart was giddy whenever she so much as heard Leonard's footsteps. Half of it told her she wasn't a total bitch.

Now she was just pulling the drawers out in frustration—when she accidentally yanked out the bottom one. She blinked at the full cupboard, brimming with all of Leonard's inhalers back from when they'd been together.

She threw one at the wall.

He'd wanted to take them back, saying it might be strange, but she'd insisted on it, saying it was better to have them for "emergency purposes."

She threw another.

She'd had help from Sheldon, and the fact that she hadn't mentioned that he still had some of her tanks was probably helpful.

Another, and another.

She suggested he take them back when he got a new girlfriend, thinking that was a long time coming.

The bangs continued, now a small heap of inhalers puddling on her carpet, and she no longer cared whether or not she made dents.

But it wasn't. He could take them back any day now.

Bang, bang, bang.

But he hadn't. He hadn't.

There was another bang, but this time it wasn't made by her, and instead of at her wall, it was at her door.

Maybe that was him to take them back now.

She pulled herself up, trying to dodge her reflection in the mirror—tight, dry lips, mussed hair, and bright eyes that were bright in the wrong way.

She sniffed and patted herself down in anticipation of Leonard's gaze.

She opened the door, and sure enough, there he was. Brow knotted, face pulled down, and a less-than-pleased-looking Sheldon standing behind him.

"Penny?" he said, his voice light, like spiderwebs.

That alone made her heart squirm free of her ribcage just to get a better view.

She nodded at him, bringing her hand across her face. "Oh, hey, Leonard," she said, pasting on a smile, trying to fall back into that "giggling, ditzy blonde," persona of hers. She nodded to Sheldon. "'Sup Shelborg. What's happening?"

He looked her up and down, taking a step closer, and she felt like slapping him upside the head with the way he was still able to slice past her coating, and frown at the blurred person beneath. Seeming to ignore social standpoints, he enclosed his fingers around her wrists and held tightly. "Are you alright? We heard banging."

Sheldon edged around Leonard to scowl at Penny. "She is evidently not having a seizure, as was the likeliest explanation. She seems fine. May we go now?"

Leonard glared back at him, fierce and cutting, as strong as she'd ever seen him do—anything, really. "No, Sheldon. You do whatever you want. I'm staying here."

"But—"

"Leave."

Sheldon scuttled away, throwing them glares in his own special brand of "you-are-of-no-concern-and-when-I-rise-as-overlord-you-will-be-the-first-to-be-publicly-flogged."

Leonard blinked at her, rubbing her arms as if she needed warming up. "Tell me what it is."

"There's nothing to tell," she said, trying to fake like his touch didn't make her intestines knot. "I'm fine. Seriously, Leonard."

He didn't move his hands, his fingers twitching on her bicep, like he had been sure of himself but was so no longer. "Then what was all that banging?"

She looked down, at her bright jandals and his flat sneakers, only an inch or so from touching. "Nothing. You know me, so clumsy—I knocked a couple lamps."

"Oh." His small voice made her look up again, sounding like he'd just been denied access to something holy and spectacular. His eyes widened, slightly, and he said in a stronger voice, "Is there glass? If there's glass, you should keep away from it. Let me take a look at it—"

She held her hand against his chest as he was about to bustle inside. "No, Leonard. No glass. It's fine."

His eyebrows rose and his voice snuffed out for a moment, before sparking up again. His hands were still on her arms, even after the entire conversation, and she tried to fog out how bizarre and out of control that made her feel. "Are you sure? Can I come in?"

She felt like she needed to be drunk to be able to talk to him—or maybe she already was, drunk on him, drunk on his nervous smile, and the curve of his jaw, and his sweaters, and his small hands fitting into her big ones and the way his deep eyes flashed into hers so she felt like the fibres of her being were splitting apart, one by one.

"No." She said, slowly. "No, you can't. Goodbye, Leonard."

She didn't know how, but she managed to pull away and out of his arms, and shut the door without ever giving a reason why.

This thing needs to be happier. I should be writing happy things. Does anybody know a fluff-serum for gloomy writers? (I think about half the writers on here need a shot of that one time or another.)