The Knot (take places after Le Petit Prince)

Early in the morning, Sheldon found Amy again and tied himself to her.

Amy rose up slowly, her mind still in the violet haze where everything is both possible and impossible, but her body already opening to the kisses on her face and the fingertips circling over her stomach. Mmmmm, Sheldon. It all felt so familiar and comforting and yet, every time, it made her heart race. Yessss, Sheldon. His kisses became more urgent, and she felt her nipples harden beneath his touch. Ohhhh, Sheldon, why does it feel like it has been so long?

Sheldon. Her eyes popped open. She knew he didn't notice, as his face was deep in her neck and collarbones. It had been exactly thirty-two days. She knew the date as surely as she knew her birthday, as surely as she knew the date she met him, as surely as she knew the date she finally become his. Sheldon had not even tried to kiss her in thirty-two days.

Her mind, now fully awake, began to fight her body. No, we shouldn't do this. Yes, let's. No, we need to talk first. We'll talk later. No, I should not give myself over to desire. Desire feels so good. This is not healthy, this is not a healthy way to rescue a relationship. Sexually active people generally enjoy better health. Her mind was winning, as her body had given up to her knowledge and logic. Despite their faults, they had never once used sex as a weapon or an excuse or a bandage; their living room floor sex was a game and they both knew it. And she was not going to allow it to start now.

Before she could speak, though, the kissing stopped.

"I"m sorry, Amy. I can't. I want to, but I can't. You deserve -" The last word came out as a sob. She pulled him in closer, and he slumped into her and let her hold him, soothing his hair while he cried. Fortunately, his tears did not last long that morning, unlike the night before. She heard his blubbering die away, leaving only raspy breathes.

"This is what we are going to do," she whispered into his ear, trying to convey both solace and certainty. "We are both going to take a personal day. Let's go back to sleep now since it's still so early and we'll sleep in. You've not been sleeping well. Once we're awake, I'm going to make you a huge breakfast of whatever you want, and you're going to eat it. All of it. You've lost too much weight. And then we're going to talk. Very seriously and for a long time."

She did not phrase it as a question or an optional plan. It was what they were going to do. She had come to concede Penny's point, at some point the prior evening, when Sheldon cried so long and hard in her arms that she was afraid he might become ill or hyperventilate, that she had let this, whatever this was, go on too long. It was her fault; she knew even that first week after MeeMaw died that something was very wrong with Sheldon. It was grief, she knew, but it was the deepest, darkest grief she had even seen; it had seemed to traverse through grief and into pathos.

Nothing happened for several minutes, and then Sheldon said, "Yes."

"Do you want me to leave the message for you?" she asked, letting go of him.

"No, I'll do it." They both reached for their phones, and they both called and left messages with their respective departments that they would not be in that day.

"I'm turning my phone off," Sheldon volunteered.

"Good idea." Amy did the same. Then she lay back down. She waited for the Sheldon to relax next to her, but he didn't. He was still sitting up, looking at her.

"Amy, do you mind - I think - can we talk now? At least for a little while?"

A tiny bubble of hope rose in her. She tried to keep her voice calm, afraid of breaking it. "Of course. Would you rather go to the living room? Have some tea?"

"No. I want to do it here." Then he laid down next to her, but she noticed that his movements seemed stiff. Neither of them moved to turn on a light; Amy hoped he would relax more in the dark, as he often did.

But now that she had finally broached this painful subject, she had no idea what to say, how to start the conversation. He didn't speak, either. But she knew she should not, they could not, ignore this one more hour.

"Sheldon -"

"Amy -"

She turned her head to look at him; he did the same. She curled up close to him and gingerly laid her head on his shoulder, tucking her arms in close to her chest. Despite the way the morning had started, it had been thirty-two days since Sheldon had allowed her touch him. He had cringed away from her attempts at comforting hugs, shimmied just out of reach of every attempt at a smallest, gentlest touch.

This time, though, he did not move away from her. Instead, he reached over and placed just his fingertips on her shoulder. It gave her the courage she needed.

"Sheldon," she started again, "I honestly don't know what to say. But I know something has to be said. I know it's going to be talking about your emotions, and you hate that, but . . ."

"I don't hate it with you."

"Then why didn't you talk to me for so long?" She regretted the sharpness as soon as it was out of her mouth. This was not the best approach. She should not make it sound like she was blaming him. "I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I'm not angry with you."

"It didn't come out wrong. It came out exactly right."

Hearing him say it, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, without a single hint of judgement, she experienced a reprieve for which she didn't even know she was waiting.

"Fine," she said, this time honestly, "I am angry with you. I am hurt. I am confused. I don't understand what I did wrong, I don't understand why you wouldn't talk to me, wouldn't let me help you, support you."

"I don't know. I wish I did. Please believe me, Amy, it's the truth. You didn't do anything wrong, but I know I treated you like you did. I don't know. I understand if you feel that's not good enough for you, because it's not. I was - I don't know how to describe it."

"Please try."

He sighed softly. "I will. It won't make any sense. It doesn't even make sense to me." He sighed again. "It was like I was in a dream. I knew everything that was happening, I felt like I was thinking clearly - maybe you'll disagree - but I felt like I was there. I remember having conversations, doing things I always do, but it was like I didn't . . . care. I felt like I wasn't myself, trapped in this uncertain, empty state. Even though I knew it wasn't like me, I couldn't get out of it. I was treading water. But . . . I think I felt like no one cared about me. Even though I knew it wasn't true. You've taught me so many things, Amy, and one of those things is how much you care. And not just you, my friends, too. But . . . I don't know. It was like MeeMaw was dead and I was sad, but after everyone said all these nice, sympathetic things, everything in their lives just went on like normal. But I don't have my MeeMaw to call every week. . . It's so illogical."

Amy reached up to wipe a tear off her cheek. "I don't just care. I love you."

"I know. You love me more than . . . Before I met you, I always thought this kind of love was a social construct, a delusion that people told themselves to make their lives easier or justify sex. That I was strong enough without it. But then I met you and I -" His voice broke, and he lifted his hand off of her to wipe his own face. She lay there, silently, letting him gather himself. "I don't understand what any of this has to do with MeeMaw. I loved her, too, but it was different, of course. I'm meandering and it's beneath me."

"I like it when you meander."

"You would."

Unbidden, a hint of a smile played on the edges of her mind. There was something in his voice that she had missed like mad. There was hauteur, to be sure, but there was mostly love. Love. She let the word melt in her brain. This was how the Sheldon of thirty-days ago would have teased her. The more recent Sheldon, the shell of a Sheldon, didn't have any interest in teasing her. He lacked spark. He was so distant, too far away to put any emotion into his words.

"Sheldon, I'm sure you understand that just because your friends move on with their lives, it doesn't mean they don't love you anymore or care about your loss. And I happen to know they've all been very worried about you."

"I do. I know. I feel foolish. MeeMaw was an elderly woman and her health has been poor recently. She still lived in Texas, I didn't see her every day or even every month. I shouldn't have been surprised."

"You can still feel sad and mourn someone even if you are prepared for their death. There's nothing wrong with that. And I'm not blameless. I let you go for too long, without trying to intervene. I'm sorry, Sheldon. I don't why I did that. I should have been honest with you sooner and stood up to you, made you face your feelings."

He shifted beneath her, and she moved off of him. He rolled on his side to look at her, and brought a hand up to her cheek. "Amy? Will we be okay? Have I ruined us?"

"Oh, Sheldon, you could never ruin us. It's my fault, too. We're always best when we just talk about things, and you were too sad or lost to talk and I was too afraid to make you talk and somehow we both lost sight of that. . ." She took a deep breath. "We'll be okay. We'll make sure of it. We'll be better than okay."

He nodded. "I want to say something. It's the most important thing I've ever said, and I'm so angry that I let myself go so long without saying it to you."

"Okay."

"I love you, Amy Farrah Fowler." He took her hand, kissed her palm and placed it on his stomach. Her thumb grazed his tenth rib, more exposed now that he was too thin. This is bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh; the words flitted across Amy's brain. Sheldon continued, "You hold the weak parts of me together. I'm sorry I forgot that."

Then he smiled at her, a sweet, sad, lovely smile. Slowly, he leaned toward her and kissed her very gently, his lips barely pressing against hers. "I'm so sorry, Amy."

"Oh, Sheldon, I'm so sorry, too." Amy batted back a tear, and it occurred to her she did not want to wallow in self-pity. "Listen, today, we can say that to each other. We probably ought to say it several times. But, beginning tomorrow, we won't say it again. Not about this. Tomorrow, we move forward."

He nodded. She took his hand in hers, and curled completely into him. They fell asleep. They would sleep in and eat a huge breakfast. They would sit on the sofa together, talking, for hours. In the dark again, she would fully open her body for him. But, that morning, with dawn just breaking over the horizon, she wove her fingers through his, feeling their rings touching, and they knotted themselves together while they slept.