Sobriety (takes place after First Impressions)

"I'm just surprised. I thought I knew everything about you." She smiled, softly, and put her hand on his leg. "As I'm unlikely to have a pillow fight with Penny anytime soon, I'll just have to pry more of your secrets out of her at dinner tonight."

"There are no more secrets from you. I promise."

After his animated Malcolm Reynolds Lego minifigure fell off the walkway and into the cargo bay for the third time, Sheldon realized he was too distracted to beat Niska's henchmen. He paused the video game and looked at his watch. 8:47 p.m. He thought Amy would be home by now.

He wasn't worried, per se. He knew where she was and what she was doing. Sighing, he knew he should have expected this. The ladies had rescheduled this particular pedicures-followed-by-Mexican-food outing at least three times already, so they would probably want to make the most of it while they could. And he had been so excited to finally get to sit down and play his new Lego Firefly game without interruption. Ada had been put to bed, Amy was out, but . . .

Keys in the door! He lunged upright as the door swung open.

"Is everything all right?" he practically yelled.

Amy furrowed her brow. "Why are you shouting? Everything is fine."

"It's just that I thought you'd be home before now," he mumbled, chastised. Amy had every right to stay out at late as she liked. "Did you have a good time?"

Turning from sitting down her purse, she replied, "Oh yes! Except I had to endure Bernadette's road rage on the way back. I hope she has that baby soon, it's getting worse."

"You're the one who said you might need a designated driver. As you once explained to me, the pregnant female is socially obligated to fulfill that role." He watched her walk closer to him, and he was surprised at how quickly she had entered his personal space.

Just as he was about to hug her, which he assumed is what she wanted to sooth away the road rage, she put a palm on his chest and blurted out, "Sheldon Cooper, you lied today! There is a secret you've kept from me!"

Sheldon started. How much alcohol did he smell on her breathe? And he successfully lied about something?

"Do you know what Penny told me?" Amy continued. "She told me you once had a goatee! Dr. Cooper, you've been holding out on me."

Hmmmmm. Did some form of alcohol make Amy angry? Usually it was horny. This was new. "It was before I met you, when I went to the Arctic to do research. I never brought it up because I don't see the value of facial hair to science."

She strained on her tiptoes to get closer to his ear. "Ohhhh, Dr. Cooper you're going to grow it again. Just think of where it will tickle." And then she purred. Purred?

Yes, definitely alcohol. Lots of alcohol. Sheldon frowned. Angry or horny? And how did that happen? She had gone out with a pregnant woman and a breastfeeding woman! It had been a long time since Amy had come home drunk. He assumed that motherhood had mellowed her.

"Amy, are you drunk? And how are you drunk? You went out with two woman who aren't drinking. Or, wait!, was Penny drinking? This seems like her doing. Did she pump and dump, as you like to call it?"

"I'm not drunk!" She protested by putting her hands on her hips. "It was a margarita or two. Sheldon, have you ever been out alone with one breastfeeding woman and one pregnant woman?"

"No. You know that."

"It's all mucus plugs and cervical ripening and hooter hiders. I needed some alcohol to get through it, to get my mind off of it."

"Uh . . . uh . . ." Sheldon was amazed to discover that just that single sentence made him want an alcoholic beverage, too.

Before he could formulate a reply, Amy started using her fingers to walk up his stomach and chest. "You know, Dr. Cooper, you could take my mind off anything you want tonight."

Definitely horny. So not new. "I think -"

"Come on. You know you want to," she purred (purred!) again.

Sheldon gulped. Sex with tipsy Amy could be a lot of fun. A lot. Sometimes she did this thing . . . Sex with drunk Amy, though, was completely off the table. He refused to make love to her in that condition; he wanted her to knowingly consent and to enjoy every moment of it. Tipsy or drunk? There was only one way to find out.

"Okay, little lady, I think it's time for Dr. Sheldon Cooper's 21-Step Sobriety Test." Then he mumbled, "Patent pending."

"Ohhhhh, I've missed Dr. Sheldon Cooper's 21-Step Sobriety Test," Amy said, stepping away from him.

Did her eyes just twinkle? Sheldon shook his head. Surely not. It's just the false brightness from the alcohol.

"Okay, step one," he said. "Turn 70 degrees toward your right and walk on the line created by the joint on the floor for three feet. Heel to toe."

Amy pivoted on her right foot and slowly but ably walked the seam in the wooden floor, heel to toe. It was only when she finished that she wobbled. Hmmmm, what an odd time to wobble, when the hardest part was done.

"Step two: touch the tip of your nose first with your left index finger and then your right index finger."

She accomplished this task smoothly.

"Step three: stand on only your left leg for ten seconds."

Raising her arms for balance, Amy brought her right foot up to her left knee. Her back was to him, but he swore he heard her giggle slightly.

"Okay, walk over to me -"

"Heel to toe?" He thought he heard the giggle again.

"No, standard gait." She turned and complied, returning to stand in front of him again.

"Step four: follow my finger with your eyes while keeping your head still."

Sheldon raised his index finger and slowly moved it toward his right. Amy's eyes followed. He watched her pursuits carefully, how smoothly her eyes moved. He paused slightly at fifty degrees from her nose, but there was no tell-tale shudder in their movements. Even at this angle, her eyes are so beautiful.

Suddenly, Amy glanced at him. "Yes, Dr. Cooper?"

"Nothing. Look back at my finger."

"Of course." She looked back at his finger and followed it in the opposite direction, but there was a grin playing at her mouth.

"Step five: how many fingers am I holding up?" Sheldon asked.

"Three." She giggled again, but it seemed . . . what?

"Step six: recite Ada's birth statistics."

Amy raised her eyebrows. "That's new."

"It's my test, I can change it whenever I want. In fact, I change it all the time so you won't memorize the correct responses."

"But I'm tipsy, remember?" Amy batted her eyelashes.

"Answer the question." Sheldon crossed his arms. Drat! Her and those eyelashes!

"Fine. Ada Fowler Cooper. Female. Born February 1, 2018 at 11:34 a.m. Eight pounds, ten ounces. Twenty-two and half inches long. All entirely your fault." She crossed her own arms.

"Amy, there is no room for commentary in the Sobriety Test. Besides, when you chose to procreate with this tall drink of Texan water, you knew exactly what you were going to be pushing down your birth canal. Step seven: recite pi to the tenth decimal point, backwards."

Amy's eyes went upwards as she thought. "Five. Three. Five. Six. Two. Nine. Five. One. Four. One. Point. Three."

Sheldon grunted in appreciation."Step eight: what are the titles of the two non-fiction travelogues that Charles Dickens wrote?"

"American Notes and Pictures from Italy."

"Step nine: and they are . . .?"

"Overly wordy and the basis of a strongly worded letter to the president of your undergraduate college on what the foundation of a non-fiction language arts class should be. Namely, science texts."

Sheldon smiled softly at the memory. What a charming eleven-year old he had been! "Step ten: name the major elements in the visual pathway in humans, anterior to posterior."

"I presume you want me to start with when light is turned into electrical impulses?"

"Of course." She is so sexy when she asks questions like that! He shook the thought away. No, this was about whether or not Amy was mentally capable of making the decision to be intimate, not whether or not her responses were turning him on.

"That neuro-chemical reaction takes place in the retina. From there, the impulses travel through the optic nerve, meet and cross in the optic chiasm before continuing to travel down the optic tract to the lateral geniculate nucleus, then the optic radiations to the visual cortex located in the occipital lobe."

"Step eleven: In the board game Star Trek Catan, what resource cards are required to built a Federation outpost?"

"Sheldon, that's not fair, I've only played it twice!" She put her hands on her hips.

"Well, if you're too drunk to pass the test and reap the rewards, then-"

"One food, one dilithium, one tritanium, and one oxygen," she practically screamed it.

Feeling warmer than he'd care to admit, Sheldon took a step back and sat down in his spot.

"May I join you and sit also?" Amy asked.

Sheldon waved his hand over her empty cushion. Amy paused and then flopped down next to him, not in her usual lady-like fashion. It seemed . . . deliberate? No, surely not. "And that was step twelve."

Amy raised her eyebrows.

"It was a test to rule out tuberosity of the ischium or ischial bursitis."

"Neither of which is caused by or impacted by the consumption of alcoholic drinks alone. Perhaps if I were inebriated - which I'm not - I could possibly develop coccydynia by sitting down too quickly, perhaps a falter from a decrease in my motor skills."

"Hmmph," Sheldon crossed his arms. "It seems you discovered the hidden step thirteen."

She turned her head so sharply away from him that he was startled. It almost sounded like she was trying to squash a laugh. Sheldon cleared his throat. "Step fourteen: What occupation was Chaucer engaged in when he wrote his major works, including The Canterbury Tales?"

Amy turned back around, the brightness in her eyes almost dancing. "That's easy. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you just want this to be over."

He shifted uncomfortably in his spot. "If that's your method of forfeiture, it could stand to be more explicit."

No! Wrong word choice, wrong word choice! Amy's lips curled up in a devilish smile, and she reached for the top button of her blouse. "You want it explicit, do you?"

"No, not like that." Yes, exactly like that. He croaked, "Just answer the question."

Amy dropped her hands but narrowed her eyes slightly. "Customs comptroller for London."

"Step fifteen: how many strings are on a traditional orchestral harp?"

"Forty-seven." The smirk returned. "I have to say, Sheldon, it's seems that you're losing your touch. This particular test seems awfully simple . . . "

Drat. It was just that her twinkling eyes and pleasantly flushed cheeks were making it so difficult to be . . . difficult. Maybe If I ask her something that only I should know? "Step sixteen: what is Spock's mother's maiden name?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "Easy. Amanda."

"Ah ha!" he thrust his index finger up in triumph. "Her full name! You got it wrong!"

"You never said her full name," Amy snapped back.

"Yes, I di - oh." Sheldon's shoulders deflated. What was wrong with him? Why did he forget such an important detail? Because of what exactly what was wrong with him. He shifted once again. "Okay, step seventeen: what was I wearing the day we met?"

"A gray tee shirt with superheroes over a purple long sleeve tee shirt and plaid pants."

"Superheroes? Just superheroes? It was Justice League 2 shirt with the rarely-seen superheroes Red Tornado, Martian Manhunter, Firestorm, and -"

"Dr. Fate. The irony is not lost on me."

Sheldon licked his lips. Amy knew the names the superheroes on an old tee shirt he lost in the fire. Amy knew the names of the rarely-seen members of Justice League 2. Amy knew about Dr. Fate. Amy knew -

"Oh! I remember! Grayson!" She actually clapped at glee with this statement, and Sheldon jerked in his spot.

"What?" he asked.

"Spock's mother's maiden name." Amy furrowed her brow. "Hmmm, you seem distracted . . ."

"Not at all. But since you came up with her last name, I suppose I'll give that to you as step eighteen."

Amy covered her mouth, but Sheldon knew she was grinning, maybe even on the verge of laughter. Well, he'd show her that he knew just how to tax her memory! "Step nineteen: recite our Book Club specifics."

"Really?" The smile had disappeared. "That's a little vague, don't you think?"

Sheldon shrugged. "If it's too vague for your inebriated brain, then I guess . . ."

"The full name of the Book Club is the Fowler Cooper Publication Federation. The first meeting was on September 30, 2014. We read A Natural History of Dragons by Marie Brennan. To date, there have been twenty-nine Books Clubs. Is that what you want?"

"Just keep talking. I'll tell you when you've passed." Because I like watching your lips move. He shook his head sharply to dislodge that thought.

"Hmmmph. Fine. You didn't want to discuss the first book because you thought it was too much like discussing your own feelings, and you thought there weren't enough dragons. I thought the book's strongest point was its excellent use of tone and syntax." She paused and Sheldon made a turning motion with his hand to imply she should continue. He knew he was in trouble the minute the smirk returned. "You also attempted to flirt with me by raising one eyebrow. You thought it would get you out of discussing the book. Instead, it back fired and you became so focused on your physical action that you inadvertently agreed to a bimonthly book club."

"I wasn't flirting!"

"Oh really?" Amy raised one her own eyebrows. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I have an IQ of 187. I am perfectly aware of when I'm flirting."

"Tell that to your eyebrow."

Sheldon smacked his hand against his forehead to push the unruly ridge of hairs back into place. Amy grinned at him without subterfuge this time. I need to save this test. He blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. "Step twenty: recite pi to the tenth decimal point, backwards!"

Her eyes widened slightly, but the grin stayed in place. "You're repeating yourself, Dr. Cooper."

"Good. That was the correct response to my trick question. Now, the final step, step twenty-one: actually do it. Recite pi to the tenth decimal point, backwards."

Her grin settled into the naughtiest of smirks. "Five." But is came out as fiivvveee, all hot air and humidity. "Three." Her over enunciation led to the tip of her pink tongue flashing at him. "Fiivvveee." Like she was singing a sultry song at a summer garden party. "Six." Hissing and leaning closer to him. "Two." Her lips pouting as they encircled the strong T sound. "Nine." She left her mouth gapping a bit at the end, and she leaned even closer. "Fiiivvveee." Closer. "One." Sharp and fast, a staccato sound. And closer. "Four." She put a palm on his chest to steady herself as she inched ever nearer. "One." Almost a whine this time. Closer. "Point." The end was a sharp barb. He had to lean back now, she was so close to him. "Three." It came out with an almost-moan, her mouth so near to his he could taste her hot breath.

He gulped and barely whispered "Tipsy" before her mouth was on his. It was on her lips: the alcohol, the salt from the tortilla chips, the desire. Oh, the desire.

Amy attacked him over and over again with rapid, eager, smacking kisses. He could barely keep up with her, his lips in a constant state of puckering, pressing, falling back. "Amy," he at last managed, "should we move this into the bedroom?"

"We could," kiss, "but then," kiss, "this may be," kiss, "one of the," kiss, "last times," kiss, "we can," kiss, "have sex," kiss, "in your spot." Kiss.

Oh, God, she is so sexy when she is so logical. He grabbed the sides her head, burying his hands in her hair, stopping her from kissing him again. "Wait, I have a confession to make. I knew you weren't drunk after the horizontal nystagmus test. I just like to listen to you recite all those random facts."

"I purposely wobbled at the end of the straight line test so you'd keep asking." Amy slipped her hands under his tee shirts and raked her fingers through his patch of spare chest hair. "I know what turns you on. Fiivvveee . . ."

AN: Thank you for your patience; I hope it was worth the wait. And, as always, thank you in advance for your reviews!