Fears (takes place after The First Four Years)

"Oh, Sheldon!" she attacked him then, jumping on the bed, pulling him in so tightly it made it even harder to breathe. "I'm pregnant! I can't believe it happened so soon. I'm so happy."

It had been a glorious, if surprising, day. Amy felt like her feet had never touched the ground. She had almost everything she had ever wanted. True, she didn't have a home, per se, but she had a roof over her head. And Sheldon. And now Sheldon's baby. Baby. She found herself rolling the word around in her head. This was really happening.

Poor, sweet Sheldon. He had been so shocked this morning, she knew. Honestly, she was in shock herself. She let him have his shock. She had expected it; she would have been concerned if he had done something so out of character as to jump up and down with glee. Then there was work, and, although each text from Sheldon ended with "Are you well?," nothing else out of the ordinary was said or happened. After work, they went to their appointment with the developer of yet another condominium complex, which took hours, as usual, because Sheldon had a list of over one hundred questions.

Quickly, it was bedtime again, and Amy crawled in next to him. "I was thinking, Sheldon, that we have found the best place to live. It had everything we wanted: a great room, a kitchen island, and we can use the sunroom as a sort of office for our computers. And there's a washer dryer hook-up! Heaven is doing laundry whenever we want. What did you think?"

"If you liked it, it's fine."

Hmmmm. "I know you prefer to think about these things for a while, but I don't think we should wait. Not only are places going quickly, but we're in a bit of a time crunch now."

"Yes, you're right. We'll call tomorrow."

"Sheldon?"

"Yes?"

"I think we should talk about the . . . baby." I just said it! Aloud! This is really happening!

"Yes, you're right."

"First, I think we need to decide when to tell people, now or wait until after the first trimester. With our friends, we either had to tell everyone or no one. Maybe our mothers are different."

"Whatever you think is best."

Amy heart had gradually sped up. She had expected initial paralysis from Sheldon, even if they had planned this; it was a huge life change for him, for them, and he would need a few hours to adjust. But this, this! Sheldon was never irresolute about anything, and it worried her.

"Sheldon, are you . . . are you unhappy?" She heard her voice almost break. Please, Sheldon, don't regret this, please.

He turned toward her then, and he brought his hand up to her cheek. "I'm not unhappy."

"But are you happy?"

He dropped his hand, and it felt like her heart dropped like a stone along with it. "I don't know. I'm overwhelmed. I'm frightened."

The vulnerability in his voice was so palpable, Amy softened. "I'm sorry. We should have waited. I don't what we were thinking, starting to try this even before we had a home of our own. It's too much stress."

"Yes, that's part of it. But please don't apologize. I . . . I wanted it, too."

Now it was Amy's turn to touch his face. "Sheldon, please tell me. Tell me what is worrying you."

"Lots of things."

"Tell me all of them."

"All of them? I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Please." Amy took his hand and kissed it. "Here." Then she turned off the bedside lamp. Darkness fell in the room. Sheldon always talked more in the dark.

He took a deep breath. "Are you sure? I don't want to upset you."

"I'm sure."

Another deep breath. "Okay. Yes, I'm worried about if we'll have somewhere to live before the baby comes. I'm worried about you, physically. You could - there could be a miscarriage. I'm worried about the money. We have all the insurance money, of course, but with the housing shortage and prices and then a baby. Honestly, I'm worried about your mother; what if she wants to come around all the time now?" (This worry made Amy worry, too; she hadn't thought of it.) "I'm terrified of . . . childbirth. It was awful when my nephew was born. I had nightmares. I'm worried I don't know anything, anything, about babies other than they are loud and messy and full of germs. Diapers! I'm worried you'll love the baby more than me. I'm worried I'll drop the baby. I'm worried you'll spend eighteen years angry at me because I'm not doing anything correctly. I'm worried that we made love last night and you were pregnant, even though I know I shouldn't be because I've read What to Expect When You're Expecting twice now." (This worry caused Amy to raise her eyebrows.) "That makes we worry about why I worry about something when I know there is absolutely no scientific basis for me to worry. I'm worried the baby will be a boy and want to play sports. I'm worried the baby will be a girl and want to play with princesses all the time. I'm worried the baby will turn out like one of my siblings, with a below average IQ. I'm worried the baby will grow up to a be a hippy and refuse to go to college." (This worry made Amy smile.) "I'm worried the baby won't be anything like you, and that makes me sad. I'm worried I'll die when the baby is fourteen. I'm worried the baby won't like superheroes and Star Wars and math. And . . . never mind."

"What, Sheldon, what?"

"It's something Kirpke said today."

"What?" Amy had not expected that name to come up. "Did you tell Kripke I was pregnant?"

"No, of course not." He sighed softly. "We working together on an equation. And he asked me if I would consider doing a favor for him. He met a new faculty member in the mathematics department last week, and this person is have trouble adjusting, he said. He asked if I would be willing to meet him and talk to him, help him adjust to academia."

"Okay, well, I think it's nice that Kripke thinks you would be the person to do that, but I don't understand what this has to do with our baby."

Sheldon didn't answer right way. She waited, as she had long ago learned to do. Finally, he said, his voice barely audible, "Kripke said, 'I thought you could help him adjust because you're both on the spectrum.'"

Amy took a sharp breath. "What? But I thought you two were friends, sort of, now. Why would someone just assume that about someone else! I should-"

"I'm not mad, Amy," Sheldon interrupted. "Really. Barry wasn't trying to be mean, I don't think. That's not it. I've . . . it's been said before. It's what the specialist in Houston was for. Mom thinks I don't know, but I do. And do you remember that movie Rain Man? I was eight when it came out. I was still in public school." He paused again, and Amy filled in the rest of the details with her mind. Her heart broke for him. "But today, when he said it . . ." his voice dropped to a whisper again ". . . it can be genetic, you know."

Amy pulled him into her, squeezing him tight. "Oh, Sheldon."

"I worry," he whispered. "I'm worried about that. I worry about why I didn't think of it before."

"Sheldon." Amy grabbed grab both sides of his face. She wished she had not turned the light off, now, so that he would see her eyes, would know how much she meant what she was saying."We are both very intelligent people. We both know we are . . . I prefer to think better, but the word different has been used. Maybe if we were born today, someone would eagerly slap a label on us. We both display -"

She stopped. Her first instinct had been to react with facts and figures. However, as she was speaking, she remembered that often what Sheldon said he wanted to hear was not always what he needed to hear. "Please listen very carefully to what I'm about to say. There are many labels for you. Brilliant. Imaginative. Precise. Tall. Handsome. But do you know what labels matter to me? Husband. Father of my child. Loved. And do you know what labels I want applied to this baby? Ours. And loved. That's it."

"What if that's not enough?"

"Well, physically, of course, it's not. One cannot live on love alone. But, metaphysically, it's enough. Think about how much your mother loves you; even when she drives you crazy talking about religion, you know how loved you are. And even though I know it was difficult for her, and she has never been good hiding that I am a permanent reminder of a mistake she cannot unmake, I know my mother loved me the best she possibly could. And we both turned out okay."

"As you just pointed out, we are better than okay."

Amy smiled. "Yes, we are. Now let's talk about the rest of your concerns. You remember them all, of course?"

"Of course." He paused, and Amy looked at him expectantly, even though he maybe couldn't see that in the dim room. He swallowed. "I'm worried about if we'll have somewhere to live before the baby comes."

"It's a semi-valid concern. All we can do is hope for the best. And we're not homeless; Penny and Leonard will let us stay here as long as we need to."

"But I miss our own home. Being alone with you."

Amy's heart pittered-pattered and she smiled at him. "Me too. Next?"

"I'm worried about you physically."

"I'll take the best possible care of myself. I promise. I'm sure you'll help me. That's all we can do."

"I don't like that the answers to all of my concerns include the phrase 'all we can do.'"

Amy shrugged. "Go on."

Sheldon sighed at her non-answer. "I'm worried about the money."

"Please, Sheldon, if the Titanic was as water-tight as our budgeting skills it would not have sunk. We have always lived within our means. That is not a valid concern."

"Okay, maybe you're right about that. Next - oh," he looked down, "your mother. Sorry."

"Don't be. I don't think she will be a concern. She loathes children." Amy paused, feeling a little guilty for talking about her mother like this. Even though they had never been close, her mother had offered that she and Sheldon could go live with her. They begged off, referencing the commute time, which, while true, was not the whole truth. "I could be wrong, but I doubt it. Next."

"Childbirth. Nightmares."

"I'll think about it. Childbirth, I mean. Some sort of plan to help you, to take pressure from you. The nightmares, well, I have some experience with those." Sheldon squeezed her hand. She did not need to tell him what he already knew. She had not had any night terrors since she had Sheldon in her bed, until after the earthquake; then they had started again, two solid weeks of terrible nights. But they were lessening again. Actually, she hadn't had one all month, she realized.

"Babies. Diapers. Germs. Dropping it. I'll do everything wrong."

"We'll take a class. We'll put hand sanitizer in every room. You won't drop it." She remembered what he said the first time, the rest of the sentence that he had left out here. "And I won't spend eighteen years hating you. I won't spend eighteen minutes hating you. Never." It was her turn to squeeze his hand. She said, "Better? Do we need to go on?"

"Yes. No. Not unless you want to."

"The rest of your concerns about who the baby would turn out to be, correct?"

"Yes."

"It will be who it will be. Maybe he'll be just as tall and brilliant as you. Maybe she'll turn out to be a boy-crazed cheerleader -" she felt Sheldon shudder beside her. "I don't want that, I'm just saying that genetics are a gamble. Whoever he or she is, I'm sure we'll love it regardless. All we can do is take it one day at a time and cross each bridge as we come to it."

"Why do I get the feeling having a baby will involve a lot clichés?" Sheldon sighed softly.

"Just wait until my pregnancy brain kicks in. Who knows what I'll say."

"How can you be so calm about this? You don't seem worried at all."

"You're wrong. I'm terrified. I have many of the same worries as you. I also have worries about myself, how I'm going to handle all the changes to my body. I suspect your fears of labor do not compare to mine. But I know there is nothing to be gained by worrying too much. And I have faith."

"Faith?" Sheldon started. "Like religion?"

"No, not religious. Just a strong sense that it will all turn out okay." She paused and took a deep breath. "I'm going to tell you something. Let me finish before you interrupt, okay?"

Sheldon nodded.

"I always knew it was going to be a long road with you, but I also always knew we were in it together. I had faith in you, I had faith in us. I'm not doing a good job of explaining this, I think, but my point is we've always been in this together, and we'll continue to be in this, whatever this is, whatever it brings us, together."

Silence filled the room. Amy was certain he probably thought that was the most ridiculous, hippy-dippy thing she could say.

Sheldon leaned over and kissed her cheek. "You always say exactly the right thing."

Then, in a role reversal, he curled up next to her and put his head on her chest. She stroked his hair.

"Then I have faith in us, too. I still don't think I'm ready, I thought we'd have more time, but I'm getting used the idea," he said whispered into her nightgown.

"I think not feeling ready is a sign you are ready. I don't feel ready, either. Remember when we first met, and we were both so eager to have a test tube baby for the sake of science, we were absolutely certain?"

"Yes."

"Those two kids were so naïve and overconfident, don't you think? They would have been horrible parents."

She felt Sheldon grin, the way his face moved on her chest. "I wish I could go back in time and tell them how wonderful it is to make a baby the old-fashioned way."

AN: Thank you in advance for your reviews. I know I've completely broken with any semblance of the status quo, but, hey, isn't life about the journey?