{Leonard}

After unloading the car in the pouring rain, they stood in the lobby, still dripping wet when a woman of average height walked in.

"I assume you must be friends of Alison, in that case your rooms are on the fourth floor, the Elevator and stairs are located at the end of the hallway to the right," she stated motioning to the hallway, "The rainy night towel cart is right there in that corner, you can place the used towels in the bin to the left, or leave them in the bathrooms for maintenance to collect," she had clearly done this a million times, but she still had a sincere smile.

"She said you were a night owl…" Penny told her.

"Yeah, I suppose it's true," she looked a bit taken back; his best guess was that she was in a professional mode, not prepared to make personal replies. Penny clearly didn't see this.

"Well, it's great meeting you, maybe we will have the opportunity to get to know each other better at another time, but now I think it's best if we get up to our rooms, it is starting to get kind of late," he covered. It was getting late; it was almost 10:30 after they had gotten caught in terrible traffic.

They barely fit into the elevator in two loads, with the first load agreeing to wait for the second to arrive before moving. Sheldon had suggested rooms, but no one remembered what he had said. Plus they were assigned colors, they corresponded to room numbers, but no one care to remember them.

"Okay, so how are we going to do this?" Howard asked.

"We could all just randomly pick a door…" Penny suggested.

"Or we could-" Amy started, clearly about to start complicating things, and reminding everyone why she and Sheldon lasted as long as they did.

"Why don't we just draw room keys and go to whatever room we get…" he suggested, met with resounding agreement, and Amy quickly realized she was out numbered.

Numbers were drawn and the group separated, luggage in tow, off to the different rooms.

He and Penny headed off to room 411.

{Lucy}

402. They had taken room 402, the room farthest from the others. Their neighbors would all be total strangers. At least they were next to the ice and vending machines… And the Elevator was just around the corner.

She and Raj entered the room, only wanting to unpack and go to sleep. There were no words spoken, only the sounds of zippers, the opening and closing of drawers, rustling of fabric, and gentle taps of items being placed on counters and tables.

They slipped into the bed, only saying goodnight.

They were too tired from the trip up to stay up and think about anything. She fell straight to sleep without a second thought.

{Sheldon}

He woke up, slowly groggy, his headache roaring back to life. He realized how nauseated he was only moments after. Blinking he looked for the clock, trying to find out what time it was. It was 2:48. He knew there was no way he would get back to sleep. Not like this.

"Alison?" He mumbled, hardly aware that he had said it. He pushed himself to his feet and stepped over to the chair. He lightly touched her leg. "Alison, I feel terrible," he managed to say loud enough for her to wake up.

She opened her eyes slowly and, clearly not having heard the words that woke her up enough to understand them, asked "What?"

"I feel awful, I can't sleep," He repeated, whispering now.

He saw her draw a quick breath and take on an upset, sympathetic look.

She stood up, and fetched the formerly cold cloth and tossed it into the freezer.

"Do you want some toast or something?" she offered. She sounded like she was hardly awake.

He assumed that he looked startled, or upset that she had offered to make him toast, when she defended herself, "What I just thought, maybe… bread is a starch." Clearly she was thinking fully coherent thoughts despite the lack of sleep. It was cute how she jumped to defend herself. A bit childish, but cute, how her voice switched from half asleep to sheepish, shrill, and defensive over a half second pause.

He shook his head. Sure, he was pleased that she had identified the purpose of having toast when you are sick, rather than pinning it on tradition and moving on, but that didn't change his state. "I couldn't eat," he tried to assure her; she needed to believe in herself. She was smart, but not confident enough to use it, while idiots think they are right all the time.

"Do I want toast?" She asked him, looking at him, expecting an answer. She could apply facts to a situation, but she didn't know if she wanted toast. So that is how her brain works…

"Why would I know that?" He asked bluntly.

"Is hungry an emotion?" she asked him in return. He readied himself for the usual attack about how he was apathetic and a terrible judge of feelings.

"In some respects I would say yes…" he told her.

"Well, it is the brain's reaction to a physical need for food. And emotions are supposedly reactions to physical stimuli, but considering I seem to manage to screw up knowing if I'm hungry, I must say sort of," she was thinking out loud. But her use of supposedly, he smiled at that. Of course she doubted herself, again, she was thinking, finding an unexplored piece of her mind and setting it free.

"Okay, I'm going to have toast on the assumption that I might need food…" she smiled putting a piece of bread in the toaster, "food, there are too many conflicting social rules about food, eat and you are fat, don't and you're anorexic… Really America, coming from a person who can remember too many pointless details, but can't even remember if she ate dinner, can we have some more straightforward rules!"

"Do you really care about all that?" He inquired.

"I have to, I hate to, but I must. You know how if sea turtles eat plastic bags they feel full and don't eat, I'm kind of like that, only with everything. Now sea turtles don't have an irritating, yet so vital social structure like humans, so they don't eat and they die. I'm not like you. I don't have a perfect memory. Compared to you I have the memory of a goldfish. I stretch it to the max and force myself to remember everything. I could be a great normal person, or a stress laden genius-league girl, and I clearly chose the second one," she started, "I have so little inside myself that tells me to react. If it weren't for society, I would be like the turtle that ate the bag. If I didn't have to adhere to social standards, I wouldn't know anything about emotion. They haven't found a way to make robots feel emotion the way people do, but they can react to stimuli based on a set of rules. I know upset, frustration, and excitement, that's about it."

"I guess I'm saying that I need to reprogram myself," she replied. He smiled, that was perfect, and she had no idea how perfect that sounded. !111 "I need to stop fighting so hard to blend in, I have to stop being afraid to stand out," she continued, then grinned, before saying, "I need a new code, my own set of rules."

The toast popped up, and she looked at it for a moment before asking, "Care to explain the, umm, robot mask?"

"Cylon, It's a cylon," he tried not to laugh.

{Amy}

Amy woke up, and not trying to go back to sleep right away, she decided to have some tea. She had to use hot tap water, not ideal, but at this moment not a big enough to complain about. She didn't want to eliminate going back to sleep as an option, so she grabbed the tea bag labeled DECAF in large yellow print.

The tea steeped, but weakly. She didn't care; it was starting to hit her, the full implications of the break up. And of Alison. It didn't bother her so much that she lost Sheldon as how hard she tried to make it work to begin with. And the shocking implications that two people who knew so little about love could just trip over it by random chance.

Sheldon didn't understand love, she knew firsthand. They were just good friends at the best. To him that was all there was, but considering his anti-social tendencies, good friends was a huge victory. Except he seemed to be reaching good friends with Alison very fast, and she was charming, pretty and awkward, yet in the cute way, like a kitten that trips over its own paws. Amy had heard of the plans to watch Star Trek, if she liked it she would instantly be closer to Sheldon than she ever was.

It hurt to think it, however true it was. He was a bit obsessed, she would never understand why, but if it mattered so intensely to him and she agreed, she would have something Amy never stood a chance at. Sure this was hardly the makings of a real relationship, but Sheldon wasn't like that. She had clearly been trying to force something that wasn't there. Sheldon didn't know about love, and neither did Alison.

Penny had said that she didn't consider herself any more than a girl. That explained her perky smiles, the way she so often stood with one arm at her side and the other holding the elbow of the first arm nervously. At least Amy could honestly say that she was much more self-confident than that. And if that was what it took to get Sheldon's attention then she could consider herself way too good for him, in a roundabout sort of way.

She set the empty tea cup down, hardly aware that she had finished it and slipped back into bed.

"Amy?" Stewart asked rolling over.

"I couldn't sleep so I had some tea, I'm fine now, just go back to sleep," she muttered sleepily ready to go back to sleep.

{Sheldon}

"Okay, so to summarize it's pretty much a villainous robot from BattleStar Galactica?" She asked.

"Well," he cut himself off, "you could say that…"

"So why is it on toast?" she inquired.

Valid questions all valid questions, but he couldn't answer them. He could feel this moment starting to come crashing down. He wanted it to last, he wanted to stand here talking about battlestar, or anything really, he just wanted to hear her say something. Her replies were intelligent, no matter how little she knew. That was something he didn't find in Leonard, or anyone else.

She fought to remember everything, she said it was hard for her, but she did a better job than she thought. No one else tried like she did. It felt good to talk to her, knowing that she would remember it, almost as perfectly as he did. He didn't think it mean to be tired of all of the forgetful people, to find it refreshing to know someone who he could converse with naturally. He didn't want this to crash to a close just yet.

"I think I need to sit down…" he mumbled, pushing himself away from the counter and heading to the chair.

"Or not…" he gasped, changing directions his meaning couldn't have been clearer. And judging by the look on her face she understood.

The moment rushed by, his headache becoming a distracting factor, still clinging to the last fragments of their conversation, looking into her teal-y blue eyes, finding a little brown ring around her pupil, central heterochromia… He threw up.

Shock, not anger was all he saw on Alison's face when the world stopped spinning long enough for him to look up at her.

"Well, if I wasn't already infected, I am now," she finally said. And it was more than certainly true. Her chest and neck splattered with vomit. "I am going to take a shower," her tone was flat. Too flat, he wanted desperately for her to how some hint of emotion, usually he would never wish for such a thing but he needed it now. He had to know what she really thought.

"I," He squeaked.

"I'm not angry. At all. My anger is sulky and catlike, it falls somewhere between total apathy and holding a grudge. You would know," she assured him sweetly, as she picked up a pink towel and a teal one from her suitcase.

"So much for sleeping…" she mumbled leaving the room.