The Almost-End (takes place significantly after Mosaic)
"The hours and the miles are not so much anymore. By twenty years in the future, they will be almost nothing. I have no doubt my two brainiacs will find a way to interact. Your words will be heard. Sometimes, you know, they aren't the words, exactly. Every time you sit at the table with her and draw shapes, you're saying it. There will be a moment, and she'll look at you, and you'll know that she knows."
It is not the end. But it is that moment, that tipping point near the end, when all becomes clear. All the things that have come before fall perfectly into place: hopes, dreams, sorrows, disappointments. If it were a story, it is the moment when everything is explained, the second the reader understands where it has been leading. All the various strands, the hints that have been placed before, are woven together and the design is now visible. It all crystalizes in one consummate moment: be it a sentence, a paragraph, a chapter, a day. It is not the end, not yet. There is still more, some dialogue, maybe some laughter or heartache, perhaps an epilogue. But it is the almost-end that is her favorite. Even the almost-ends that have not happened yet.
For Amy, the almost-end is still far in the future. It will take place in Stockholm.
They go out early, because it will be dark by the middle of the afternoon. But for now, it is a bright, sunny, crisp morning. There is snow on the ground, and they are huddled in coats and gloves. Their breath hangs in the air as it escapes their mouths. Amy doesn't mind the cold, although she enjoyed it more as a college student than as a senior citizen. Still, she wraps herself around Sheldon's arm, to warm them both.
Amy concentrates on the young couple walking in front of them. Such a mismatched pair, by looks. The woman is so much taller than the man, and her height is only accentuated by a massive braid looped around the very top of her head. Even though it is not blonde, Amy suspects it is a nod to this country in which they are walking. All she needs is candles on her head, and she will be Saint Lucia, lighting the way. It could seem silly, like a costume or an insult. But not on her.
They saw her yesterday, too, at her lecture. They have gone to all the lectures, of course. Sheldon has been recognized at most of them, not just physics as is expected. Amy was only recognized at the medical lecture; that, also, doesn't surprise her in the least. The woman was wearing a suit, then, with cat-eyed glasses, but not a modern suit. It was like something out of that ancient television show, Mad Men. Her hair was twisted up into a classic, if massive, French twist, and she wore a broach that was a golden steampunk robot. It was, oddly, perfect. She spoke evenly, with certainty.
The woman seems to glide with equal surety this morning, but the man beside her seems to bounce a little in his steps. He fidgets with his hands. Then the woman reaches out to take his hand, and they share a look of love. For there is no doubt this unusual couple is deeply in love. Amy wants to envy them, the certainty of finding one's soulmate at such a young age, but she cannot. Here, at the almost-end, she is walking with her soulmate, too, and that is all that matters.
The beautiful woman turns her face back, sunglasses shielding her eyes. She gives a tiny wave and smiles, before the young couple turns on to a side street.
"Where are they going?" Sheldon asks. She can hear the disappointment in his voice; he does not like to be left out, despite the years of protests that he is an island.
"I don't know. Weren't you ever young and in love once?"
"Not once," Sheldon grunts. "Still."
He doesn't look at her when he says it, but Amy looks up at him, anyway. She is uncertain if he is referencing the being young or the being in love. It could easily be the former. Only now is his hair starting to turn gray at the temples. It has taken long enough. For so long, she thought maybe Sheldon really had discovered the fountain of youth. She had not thought it possible, but the gray makes him look even more handsome. There are a few wrinkles on his face, of course, but all his years of rigorous sunscreen application has paid off, and they only add to how distinguished he looks. She shakes her head at it all, and her long, silver braid snaps behind her. For her hair has been silver for many years now. But she does not cut it. Because, one Book Club Night, Sheldon told her he liked it long.
"What's so funny?" he asks at her chuckles.
"I was just thinking how handsome you are. How much younger than me you have looked for years. How unfair it all is. In a funny sort of way."
Now he does slow and turn to look down at her. "But you're beautiful. You're more beautiful now than the day I met you."
Ah, it was the latter. Amy blushes in delight as they walk toward the harbor.
They are drinking tea at the window, warming themselves, overlooking Stockholm's oldest square, waiting for the Nobel Museum to open. Sheldon was adamant they go today, that it will be the only appropriate day of their journey to visit the vaunted museum. They have stood in the cold on the cobblestones to watch the changing of the guard, the snappy blue uniforms contrasting with the snow and the pale stone palace. Sheldon's hands are still freezing when Amy touches them. They wrap their palms around their respective cups.
Amy is thinking of that beautiful, confident woman in the street. "Sheldon? Do you ever think about what it would be like to win if you were young? What would you do with the rest of your life? Would the rest of your career be a comparison or a disappointment?"
He looks at her, his eyes pure. "You would work harder so that you would win again. Marie Curie did it."
It is a simple, straightforward answer; logical, but unexpected. This still happens. Amy asks him a question hoping to prod him into a philosophical conversation, and then he says something obvious in reply. Or, conversely, she asks him what she thinks is a basic question, and he replies with depths she did not expect. Even after all these years of practice, she cannot judge it perfect every time. But it is the attempt that draws her back, it is the endeavor that she loves.
"Yes, but -" She pauses. She does not want to ruin this week for anyone. "No one has won twice in some categories."
"So think how momentous the second win will be."
Amy smiles and takes a drink of her tea.
Just beyond the information desk, they are standing together on the medallion in the floor, a recreation of the medal itself. They are both looking up. They have been standing and craning their necks and straining their eyes for forty minutes now. But the time is meaningless. Today is the first day it can be seen, mixed in with the other placards moving on the cable above the museum crowds in random order, and they do not want to miss it.
"Excuse me? Are you Dr. Amy Farrah Fowler?" A voice forces Amy to look down.
"Yes, I am," she says to the gentlemen in front of her.
"It's so exciting to meet you! The discoverer of the Fowler-Bonnet neurotransmitter!" he enthuses. "And here on this day of all days!"
Not accustomed to being fawned over as a celebrity, Amy blushes as he continues to flatter her and even smiles when he holds up his wrist for them to take a selfie with his watch.
Wanting to wrap it up, wanting to get back to watching the moving placards with Sheldon, she says, "This is my husband, Dr. Sheldon Cooper."
"Of course, of course. How could I forget? Congratulations to you both, it's such a wonderful day for you! Together!"
"Yes, it is," Sheldon says tersely, his eyes never moving away from the ceiling. "If you'll excuse us, we're concentrating."
Relieved, Amy does not tell him he has been rude. She was counting on it, after all. Resuming her posture next to him, she smiles at the image of HRH Harry Windsor, winner of the Peace Prize all those years ago. Who would have ever seen that coming? A few more placards pass, and then it appears. Amy sucks in her breath, and she hears Sheldon do the same next to her. They watch it for as long as they can, pivoting in place as it snakes its way along the track, until it folds in with the ones that have come before.
She turns to look at her husband and he is grinning, big and wide, that smile with the little edges of his crooked teeth she still adores. Then he puts his hand out in front of him and says, "Dr. Fowler."
It takes her a second to remember because it was so very long ago, but then she grins back, just as wide, and puts her hand in his.
"Dr. Cooper," she says, as they give each other a hearty handshake.
Cold and sore from the morning actives, Amy takes a mild pain pill for her arthritis and a hot shower to soothe her joints. When she comes out, wrapped in a white, fluffy robe, he is standing at the window, watching the snow fall. Even without his eidetic memory, she remembers another day they were in a strange city, Sheldon watching the snow fall. So many years ago. She watches him for moment, appreciating that he is still as attractive as ever in his royal purple henley shirt. Because, one Book Club Night, he added solid colored henleys to his tee shirt rotation.
She turns and sees their dress clothes, hanging high upon the open closet door. So that's what the noise was while she was in the shower: a hotel employee bringing their clothes from the laundry. Sheldon's tuxedo (she cannot wait to see him in it, looking so handsome) and her dress. Sapphire blue, a lace top, and lots of layers to her floor length skirt. Because, one Book Club Night, Sheldon told her that was his fantasy for this day.
Ada had taken her shopping the day after Thanksgiving, appalled that her mother had waited until the last possible minute to buy this most important dress. The Black Friday crowds had not reached the evening wear department in Nordstrom, and Amy allowed Ada to pull dress after dress off the rack for her. The two she picked out herself had been promptly dismissed by Ada with a curt "absolutely not."
The dresses Ada suggested, although perhaps fashionable - no, certainly the height of fashion if Ada had chosen them - did not suit her, she thought.
"I need the skirt to have lots of layers," she informed her daughter.
"Why?" Ada narrowed her blue eyes and looked down at her mother.
"Because."
Although she sighed deeply, Ada had returned with the blue dress. It was the one, and Amy knew it when she stepped out of the dressing room to show it off. Ada had come to inspect it with her typical critical eye, and Amy said, "Look how blue your eyes look standing next to it."
Ada's smile met hers in the mirror. "Ah, I understand now. Don't worry, he'll love it."
Now, at the almost-end, Amy brushes her hand over the steamed and frothed layers of soft fabric. "Do you like it, Sheldon?"
He jumps slightly, as though his thoughts were elsewhere, and turns. "It will look better on you than the hanger."
Amy smiles and walks over to him, the snow falling heavily now. "I'm sorry you didn't get your wish. No summer solstice for you."
Sheldon grunts.
"Are you nervous already?" Amy asks.
"Aren't you?"
"I will be. It still doesn't seem real to me, somehow." A yawn escapes and Amy adds, "But now I'm going to take a nap. It's going to be a late night."
Slipping off her glasses to place them on the nightstand, Amy debates about getting out her nightgown. Deciding it is too much effort, she just shrugs off the robe and climbs naked into the luxurious hotel bed, pulling the white duvet up around her, closing her eyes. She is not yet asleep when she feels the weight on his side of the bed before Sheldon whispers, "Will it bother you if I read here?"
"Not at all." She opens her eyes to smile up at him.
About to drift off, she stirs when he gets off the bed and she hears him rummaging. She thinks it is for his electronic white board, that he has had an idea that he wants to scribble and send off to Ada while it is fresh. They have sent white boards back and forth across hundreds of miles for a few years now, or even if they're in the same building, debating various mathematical principles. Currently, it is whether the time fluctuations in a wormhole would change certain Euclid principles. Because, one Book Club Night, Amy had foretold that he and Ada would find a way to tell each other they were loved even when they were apart. Amy rarely gets involved, her phone calls to Ada being of the more prosaic mother-daughter sort, although she enjoys seeing Ada's responses on the board, often punctuated with little drawings of The Doctor stretched or squeezed to either prove her point or mock her father's. For Ada is the only one allowed to mock her father in such a way.
But instead of the sound of an electronic marker on the screen, it is the rush of cool air as the duvet is lifted up and Sheldon slides in next to her. She opens her eyes. "Sheldon?"
"My hands are cold," he says, as though that were the entirety of the explanation.
"Here." Amy ignores his lie of omission and takes his hands in hers and puts them between her saggy breasts to warm them, and Sheldon presses himself closer. "A nap will help you pass the time."
"I'll admit I considered that."
Smiling, Amy leans closer to him, resting her forehead along his collar bone, enjoying the comfort he has brought to the nap. She shifts slightly, removing her hands from between them so she can press even closer, and reaches to put her hand on Sheldon's waist, surprised to find it bare. Sensing her movement, Sheldon pulls one hand out from between her breasts to place it on her hip.
Comfortable, warm, held by her love, Amy closes her eyes again. Not long after she becomes aware of the soft but rhythmic circling on her hip by Sheldon's palm. She tips her head back, surprised. "Aren't we supposed to do that after? On a boat in the harbor?"
Sheldon's eyebrows flick in recognition of her reference. Because, one Book Club Night, that's what he told her. "Please, there's no way you getting me on a boat, especially in the middle of winter. You know that."
A soft chuckle escapes her lips as she stretches up to meet his. The kiss is gentle, harnessed. Then Sheldon asks, "Does your hip still hurt?"
"No, I took something for it before my shower." She places her other hand on his chest, above his graying patch of chest hair. "Did you take your heart medication?"
"My heart is always ready for sexual activity with you," he says softly.
Blushing slightly at implied compliment, Amy replies, "That's not what I asked."
"Yes. My heart is healthy enough for sexual activity, too," Sheldon whispers into another kiss.
Although it is slower than it was years ago, their love is no less passionate. Her breasts may not be as buoyant as they once were, but that does not stop Sheldon from fondling them, from rolling his thumbs in that way that always takes her breath away. His posterior may not be a taut as it once was, but that does not stop Amy from grasping it and squeezing it at the height of her pleasure. And, when he enters her, it is still an act of the greatest congruence and love. Yes, it only makes sense that this would be at the almost-end.
Later, after they have both reached satisfaction with the other, Sheldon collapses next to her again, and they press close to one another, their arms encircled, their breath calming, and they fall asleep on this day, the day of their greatest triumph. The day of their almost-end.
The concert hall is packed, of course. Sheldon holds her hand as they take their seats, because the crowd makes him even more nervous. She is nervous now, too, but not because of the crowd. They have waited to come in, as late as they dared, because they are both bundles of nerves. The young man from the street earlier is already there, seated next to Amy. His is fidgeting with his program, and Amy gives him what she hopes is an encouraging smile.
They do not have to wait long before the music starts. There is the pageantry, the Swedish King and Queen. Then the music swells again, and they all stand. Amy sees her as soon as she enters in the procession. The tall, slender woman they had seen around the city, in their hotel since their arrival. She is wearing a black gown. It has been made for her as a replica of the gown Grace Kelly wore in Rear Window. Perhaps an odd choice, but the angles it makes across her shoulders and near her throat are almost geometric. If you knew her, it would make perfect sense. Her eyes are an alarming shade of blue, and they are more noticeable here, tonight, because she is not wearing her glasses.
Sheldon squeezes Amy's hand tightly, as though he is trying to squeeze the lump out of her throat. She returns the favor. They sit. Amy cannot concentrate. She applauds and stands at the appropriate times, but she cannot tear her eyes away from the beautiful woman. Others around her on the stage belie their nervousness by shifting or picking at their clothes. They are an unusual group of people, people not accustomed to such finery and pomp. For they are all scientists.
But the woman sits in the middle of the row, still and calm, her hands with their lovely long fingers crossed lightly on her lap, her unusual and enormous engagement ring catching the light. She is far younger than everyone around her, but she seems older, wiser. It is a skill she has, has had since her childhood. She looks, it occurs to Amy, as though she has been expecting this her whole life. Perhaps she has.
It is not until the woman stands, and Sheldon pulls Amy up, that she realizes they have been talking about her. When she walks to the middle of the stage, to take the two boxes from the King of Sweden, her most stunning physical feature is on display. Her hair cascades down her back, to her waist, a copper waterfall, wavy from the earlier braid. It will be all over the Internet instantly: this woman, this intellectual, normally press shy, dazzling the world with her pose and her hair. It might be an insult to talk about her physical characteristics, if she had not already dazzled them with her mind and her art.
This is it: the almost-end.
It is certainly not the almost-end Sheldon imagined for himself, and it not the almost-end that Amy sometimes allowed herself to imagine, either. It is better than either one of them could have ever envisioned. It is more perfect, more fitting. It would not have been perfect if it had been either one of them first. Despite the outward joy, the other would be sad. It would be a disappointment. There would have been no way around that disappointment, for they could not have done it together. For all their similarities, this is something that does not intersect: there is no room for neuroscience in string theory and vice versa.
In this, the almost-end, though, they have both achieved their greatest wish. They have combined forces to make the impossible happen. The precision, the geometry, were his contribution. The story, the emotions, were hers. In that second, when Amy realizes there is a tear on her face, she wonders if perhaps Book Club had something to do with it all along. Just as the woman takes a deep curtsey to the audience, her eyes catch theirs. She smiles and lowers her eyes into her genuflection, and in that look Amy knows what she is telling them, just as she foretold one Book Club Night. Amy looks at Sheldon. He turns at the exact same moment, a matching tear on his cheek. They smile at each other. They have done it. They may still get their individual prizes; that is a secret for the genuine end. They no longer care, which suddenly feels the way it should have all along. Because this is their joint prize, one cold December day in Stockholm. They both know they could not have done it without the other.
This is their joint prize at the almost-end: She is the youngest winner in the history of this category. She is first author of graphic novels to win. Dr. Ada Fowler Cooper, Nobel Laureate for Literature.
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