A/N: I'm back 3

After witnessing a horrific event, the UK military honorably discharges Lance Corporal Sheldon Lee Cooper. He is battle scarred, traumatized, and depressed. That is, until he meets a woman who is studying the effects of shell shock working at the same university he does.

September, 1939

Sheldon drummed his fingers anxiously on the kitchen table. His head rested on his other hand as his eyes wandered to the doctorates he possessed, hanging adjacent to his mother's crucifix. He had graduated at the top of his class almost 3 years prior. He was a highly valued theoretical physics student, and this was reflected in his position at one of the top universities in the country. As a freshly turned 18 year old, he still resided at home with his mother. This meant participating in her idiosyncratic rituals, up to and including praying to a deity before every meal. Usually hypersensitive, he barely noticed the discordant clang of pots and plates as his mother, Mary, meandered around the kitchen. His sister Missy had dropped in for breakfast, taking the short train ride from her dorm. Sheldon's gaze remained fixated on his diploma as he mentally recalled each element of the Periodic Table. How else does one remain calm?

Missy greeted him cheerfully and attempted to initiate a hug. He flinched, retreating from her touch. Only mildly annoyed, Missy rolled her eyes and joined him across the table. She started making small talk with her mother. Sheldon's mind drifted, he didn't quite care about the latest gossip Missy had from a mediocre ranked university. When Mary Cooper cleared her throat, he outstretched his hands to both her and his sister. "Thank you, God, for the food we are about to receive and for the nourishment of our bodies and bless the hands that prepared it. Amen," she said.

He jumped at the sound of static- his mother had turned on the miniature television set she kept in the crook of the kitchen counter. His eyes flickered to the greyscale image of the Prime Minister.. He halfheartedly tuned in as his mother put his toast and butter in front of him. Picking it up, he nibbled on a corner, his attention growing at the Prime Minister's speech. "...as of today, the National Service Act is in effect, conscripting every healthy man between the ages 18-41, must register for military service."

Sheldon froze, toast falling to the tablecloth. The air, frigid, as Mary Cooper gripped the back of his chair. Mary, silent mid-sentence, could only stare at her twin brother. He was too surprised to object when Missy grabbed his hand, squeezing uncomfortably too tight. The silence untenable, the lump in Sheldon's throat similar. He could feel his pulse rising, the erratic beating of his heart quickening. No longer comforted by the consistent thump, thump, thump, everything began to feel off kilter. Eyes, his gaze became unfocused. His slender shoulders hunched under the immeasurable pressure building in the room. The Prime Minister carried on, with no consideration to the shock waving through the nation. "Men who are medically unable to enlist must be cleared by a physician."

Sheldon let his eyes flutter shut, his eidetic memory fast at work. He had broken his collarbone as a boy, as well as his arm and nose, but none of those were chronic health conditions that would rescue him from this conscription. Being the wunderkind he was, he had been keeping a close eye on global politics since he was a toddler. He knew what was going on in Germany, and he knew, no matter what his mother said, it would not be over with simple Christian kindness. The unjust treatment and attitude against the Jewish community grew at an accelerating and irrational pace. He attempted to calm himself, reviewing the rationalizations that Germany's attempt on world domination would be met with plenty of resistance. It worked, but only in the slightest.

He turned to face his mother, her face scrunched up in concentration, a stream of prayers passing from her lips. Sheldon had excellent hearing, and could make out phrases like "Lord almighty, please don't take my son" or "Jesus Christ keep my baby boy safe." A pang of pity lit through Sheldon at the thought of leaving his mother all alone. His father had died four years ago, and after that, George Jr decided to backpack around America after his girlfriend broke his heart. As distant as he was from either of them, in that moment he yearned for their presence, knowing that their mother would struggle deeply being all alone in their Oxford home. Despite his aversion to others touching him, he allowed his mother to further encumber his personal bubble, as she encircled him in her warm arms.

The day dragged on, engulfed in a shroud of gloom. Having lost his appetite, he cleared his plate. Mary and Missy no longer wished to eat, so Mary began cleaning the half prepared meals. The house was silent as each member moved in smooth routine. It was a surprisingly regular day, minus the jarring announcement. After breakfast, Sheldon insisted on going down to the local military office and register right away. Missy and Mary protested, pleading with him to give it a few days, to stall so they could search for a loophole that simply did not exist. "It's the rule, how can you expect me to ignore it," he told them.

To him, this was a crystal clear rationalization. He did not understand why the coveted ritual of following the rules did not assuage his mother and sister. He collected all the necessary paperwork required for his enlistment before throwing on his grey topcoat, he kissed his mother on the cheek and gave Missy's shoulder a gentle squeeze. He was about to leave before grimacing at how much personal contact he had that day, so he washed his hands thoroughly before leaving their small Tudor styled home. The military office was only several miles away, and Sheldon really needed the walk. Walking was always a peaceful time for him, but this time, his brain was addled with anxiety and disorganized thoughts. He spent the majority of the time trying to regulate his breathing so it was in harmony with his swift pace.

With his mind miles away, Sheldon almost walked straight into a man walking his dog. His eyes set forward, he winced as the barking drew his attention to the creature on the cement. A young Indian man with a thick accent apologized profusely, his hold on the leash tightening as the tiny puppy yapped and lunged towards Sheldon's shins. Sheldon barely registered the apology and merely took a sharp step to the side, face scrunched in annoyance. He continued down the street, resuming the rhythmic counting of his breaths. Fifteen minutes later, he nearly passed the gleaming stone edifice that housed military coordinators and officials. He heaved a sigh as he began the journey up the stairs. His wing tipped shoes shone in the sun, Opening the heavy wooden door, he entered the building.

Every step sounded louder than the last. There were a half dozen other men, sitting in the waiting area. The security guard eyed him warily as he gave him a numbered ticket, like Sheldon was waiting for deli meat at the local grocer. The guard waved his hand, dismissing him to the same benches. Sheldon made a face at the close proximity of the enlistees. He chose to lean against the wall, a safe 2 meters from everyone else. His eyes scanned the room, admiring the fluidity of the workers as they mechanically sifted through paperwork. He did love order and organization. Contrary to his belief, it wasn't long before a lady called out his name in a grating whine. "NUMBER EIGHT?" she bellowed.

He hesitated before moving towards her window. However his slow pace was quickened as the lady repeated herself, louder and more shrill. Sheldon flinched at her voice, picking up his pace. At her window, he wordlessly slid over the ticket with his number printed on it in dark ink. The lady did not look up from the blank form she had pulled out. She was slender with dark brown hair that was neatly pulled back into a bun. Her french collared blouse was pressed and stiff. A nameplate was situated in front of her, Debbie Wolowitz inscribed neatly. He admired how neat her cubicle was before she startled him with her voice."Name?' she asked sharply, glancing up to give Sheldon a sharp look.

He swallowed the lump that was in his throat since breakfast. His voice, a hoarse whisper. "Sheldon Lee Cooper, born February 26th, 1921."

Debbie wrote at a swift pace, with alarmingly neat penmanship. "Address and birth certificate, please."

Sheldon reached for the packet of papers he tucked neatly inside his topcoat. He recited his address as he gingerly peeled away his birth certificate from the bundle. Debbie glanced at it before returning to her paperwork. "Do you have any medical conditions that would exempt you from conscription?"

Sheldon shook his head. "I am fit for duty ma'am," he said softly, but surely.

She nodded, glancing at him briefly. "What is your profession and place of work?"

Sheldon pulled out his university ID. "I am a theoretical physicist at Oxford."

Stopping in her tracks, she stared at his ID. "My son goes there," she said, her tone softening.

Sheldon stared blankly, unsure what to do next. After a long pause, he decided on, "It's a wonderful university, unless he's studying to be an actor or geologist, then it's a waste of money."

To his surprise, she laughed. "No, my Howie is studying to be an engineer."

He refrained from wincing, his sister's voice echoing in his head. Remember Shelly, just because you're right all the time doesn't mean other people don't have the right to be wrong. And even though this statement had baffled him to that very day, under the unusually tender gaze of this civil servant, he finally figured out what Missy had meant. "That's an admirable trade," he slowly responded.

Debbie glanced at his birthday before frowning. "You're only eighteen."

It didn't sound like a question, and it always annoyed him when people stated the obvious. "Yes, as my birthday indicates."

His tone was mildly annoyed but Debbie Wolowitz gave him one of her rare smiles. "So young...these tensions in other countries are the problems of the older generation. Certainly not issues that should be placed on the shoulders of our young men."

Now Sheldon was entirely too uncomfortable to find the socially acceptable reply, so he just stood there, shoving his hands into his coat pockets so Mrs. Wolowitz couldn't see him clenching his fists. She did not noticed, but rather continued her monologue. "Howie turned 17 this year, we were so proud of him."

Sheldon held back a snort. Seventeen and still a student. An undergrad student at that. But after this morning, he had a unique understanding to this mother lauding her son when he might not deserve it. "Do you think maybe, this might be solved before they need to call him to conscription?" she asked softly.

Sheldon opened his mouth to admonish her. How would he know? When did her son turn 17? Why did she ask him this unique question he was not qualified to answer? Did she think he and her son had a pair bond because they studied at the same university? His mind raced through the variables. Did she truly think the world would come to a global understanding in under a year. Before that day, he would lay these determinants out, pointing out the lack of logic and the idiocy behind her question. But he simply couldn't get the Prime Minister's voice out of his head. All men between the ages of 18-41… He searched Mrs. Wolowitz's face, her desperation for some type of comfort and closure. He inhaled deeply, before saying, "I do hope so ma'am."

She nodded, relieved at his words. Her shoulders relaxed, the immense tension lifting. She turned the form she was filling out upside down. "Please sign here Dr. Cooper."

Sheldon had a slight smile. Even though he had been a doctor for months, he felt he would never get used to people addressing him with that noble honorific. He took the fountain pen from Mrs. Wolowitz's hand, cringing at the thought of how many germs were crawling all over it. He scribbled his name at the bottom of the paper. Mrs. Wolowitz took it, folded it neatly, and stuffed it in an envelope clearly addressed to the British Military headquarters. "Thank you Dr. Cooper, your assignment details will be mailed to you within the next 2-4 weeks."

He nodded curtly before turning on his heel, exiting the bright and cold building. He nearly jogged home, trying to comfort the inner calamity that wreaked havoc in his usually neat and orderly brain. His father, George Sr, served as a lieutenant during the first Great War. He was discharged, dishonorably after he developed an alcoholic dependency and shot his own foot during shooting drills. George came home with his tail between his legs, turning to a career in teaching elementary students. Sheldon recalls all the moments growing up in which his peers or their parents disparaged his father right in front of him. But that wasn't what bothered him. His mother would regale tales of how warm, affectionate, even romantic, his father was. Despite how extensive and particular his memory was, he could never recall his father in such a way. As a man who loved uniformity, routine, constants, he was terrified of this happening to him.

Days flew by, and with skillful repression, Sheldon resumed his routine, wishing he could forget his impending doom like anyone else could. One day, as he was returning from the university, he walked into his kitchen. The tension was palpable. His mother sat at the head of the kitchen table. A taupe envelope laying in the center, Sheldon's eyes snapped from Mary to the offending paper. "Is that-?" he faltered, unable to finish his sentence.

Mary nodded her head shakily. "It's addressed to you," she said stiffly.

Sheldon's own fingers trembled as he picked up the envelope. The official government wax seal kept the contents a mystery. His nimble fingers picked it off, admiring the color and austerity of it. Setting it aside, he took the contents and slowly unfolded them. He looked at the letter for an agonizingly long time before turning it over, placing it on his lap, and facing his mother. "I've...received my assignment as per the British government," he said finally.

Mary gasped, hurrying to his side. "Where are they taking my baby boy?" she demanded, snatching the letter from his hands

Sheldon cleared his throat, turning to his mother who was frantically scanning the letter. She started to shake, nearly falling before Sheldon steadied her. "They...want you to report for your duties in three days," she said faintly.

Sheldon nodded. "I suppose I better pack," he said, smiling. He plucked the packing list from the letter, setting off to his room, leaving Mary in a stunned silence.

A/N: Thank ya'll for reading! Please let me know if you want more!