Word Count: 2793
Summary: A gift is a gift even if it's full of cracks and the color is worn out.
Disclaimer: I don't own The Big Bang Theory or the characters.

I find the yellow, worn-out mug from the back of the cabinet the day we go out on a date again, drinking tea from it as I sit on the couch, pondering what will happen from now on. I remember why it ended, why I ended it. I remember why I regretted it. Scratch that, why I regret it.

Present tense.

As I sip on the tea, my eyes roam the room, the fridge being the place where they freeze. Even from this distance, I can see the pictures I have in it, though by now I don't need to see them to know who is in them.

Pictures taken in Nebraska, as a teenager and also from when I went there for the holidays – the only reason I was able to go was because you gave me the money to go, and I don't think you will ever be able to understand just how much that meant to me.

There are pictures of me and the girls on the very couch I'm sitting on, pictures of all of the gang together – one of them being the one we took just before that conference you all spoke in, where we almost did it.

And there are some pictures of you, pictures I considered thousands of times – if not more – to take down and hide somewhere I couldn't find. I never found the courage to do it, and I'm glad I didn't. Even if it hurt to look at them when you were dating Raj's sister or every single time between the moment I arrived at my apartment after that bowling night and the moment you decided to be brave for the both of us and asked me on a date.

I sip the rest of the tea before getting up from the couch. I stop at the fridge, finding myself hoping that I never have to consider removing them ever again.

The yellow mug is rinsed and carefully put upside down to dry.

I didn't even think much of it when I grabbed the yellow mug and poured some wine into it.

I didn't feel like dealing with the pile of dishes I had piling up, and I needed wine. Learned a while ago that drinking from the bottle was too much of a hassle. I sit on the couch with the bottle in one hand and the mug in the other. Glasses of wine should have handles on them. Maybe whenever I decide how I feel about you and me, I'll tell you that you should invent those.

Or maybe I'll just break up with you – again – and then hate whoever you end up with. She'll probably be pretty, and super smart, and she'll make you happy. I won't have a reason to be jealous because I was the one breaking up with you and you have the right to move on.

It was probably a mistake to try again. Especially because we were getting back to a place where we weren't just neighbors and friends that once dated, but some weird option that I never saw in any of those files where I will apparently mark single for the rest of my life.

I take a sip of the wine, finding the mug nearly empty even though I didn't think I drank that much.

I'm blaming my brain for the lack of commitment; I'm blaming all the jerks I've dated in the past that made me feel like this – even though you're not like them at all – and I guess I blame you for proposing.

We were doing so well. Why did you have to do this?

I fill the mug with more wine. The picture we all took on the roof after Bernadette and Howard got married is on top of the coffee table, and I pick it up. I don't even remember if having the newlyweds in between us was done purposely or without thinking about it. Though now as I look at it, not seeing us together in the picture seems weird.

Years from now, when we all sit together, I'll probably stare at this picture and wonder why we aren't side by side, hopefully not remembering the feeling of wanting to break up with you once more.

I look at the empty mug in my hands and the half-empty bottle of wine on the table. I frown at the negativity I'm going through thinking of it as half-empty. I look at the door and then back at the bottle.

I could be in bed with you right now, instead of alone in my apartment. But going across the hall would mean seeing you, and even if it's all I can think of right now, I know I need to sort my feelings about our relationship before that happens. Before going across the hall and sharing a bed with you becomes our normal again.

Getting up from the couch, I walk to the sink. The bottle is left on the coffee table and I'm too lazy to get it back. The mug is properly washed and dried before being placed on the cabinet.

As I force my feet to move in the direction of my bedroom – while every fiber of my being seems to push me towards the door that leads to the hallway – I realize that I want to go across the hall and share a bed with you to become our normal again.

The yellow mug finds its way to my hands, given to me by Amy as she and Bernie are discussing something I'm not really paying attention to.

Amy is still mad at Leonard for allowing Sheldon to leave, even after I told her I was the one who told him to let Sheldon go. Nevertheless, she's mad at my fiancé.

It's still weird to say that word, though I don't think I was ever this happy in my life.

Bernadette says something to Amy about my interview tomorrow, and I smile and pretend that I'm not more nervous about that interview than I usually am about taking a pregnancy test. I find myself sipping on whatever Amy had put on the mug and let my mind wander to wedding plans and whatnot. We aren't in a rush, not with having to wait for Randall to get out of prison and not knowing when Sheldon would be back.

But I'd be lying if I said I didn't look at wedding dresses when Leonard left the apartment in the morning or look at the things Amy sent via email even if I always told her I didn't – I'm starting to think she knows I'm lying.

As the night progresses, the liquid in our glasses starts to evaporate, the bottles find their way to the trash can, and the guys find their way to the apartment to get their ladies – Raj just stands outside the apartment with his hands in his pockets while a drunk Bernadette starts hitting on her husband who just keeps attempting to get her to get to their apartment.

Amy has an angry stare towards Leonard, though he no longer seems bothered by it after over a month of being on the receiving end of that particular stare. I'll admit that my hands around his neck and the words about what I was about to do to him probably didn't help the lack of fear my fiancé was having.

Everything was cleaned the next day before the interview, though the mug seemed to have found itself on the cabinet of the apartment across the hall.

Married life seemed so much like the one we were living before that if it wasn't for the new ring around my finger and the one on his, I would almost forget we ever did it.

And sure, telling people this is my husband, he's a genius was something I enjoy immensely, though not much different from when we were dating or engaged, where I would tell people all about my boyfriend, and later fiancé.

Seeing his ring, a physical reminder of our love and that we are bonded by law is an exhilarating feeling, one that even after all this time I wonder if it ever goes away.

And even if we are not living together alone, even if we have to constantly go from apartment to apartment, taking things from one and the other, I find myself too excited about living with my husband.

The yellow mug is now the one I use every morning to drink my coffee, finding its permanent residence in the cabinet of their – our? – apartment since the day before Sheldon had decided to return.

Though it sometimes went back to my apartment, it went back to the other soon after, as if it knew that its place was where my husband was living. He had made fun of me for still owning it, but even with all its cracks and the faded color that comes with so many uses and washes, it happen to still be my favorite mug.

It reminds me of breakfasts in bed, from back when we were dating the first time, and those lazy days cuddling on the couch watching movies with the guys cuddling with him as Sheldon explained all the things that were wrong with the movie.

When I tell him this, he seems to have a newer love for this object, almost as much as me, because he too sees it as a part of our story.

Interestingly, the mug was in the apartment across the hall when we finally started living alone. I only noticed it when I went to the kitchen that morning, Leonard was still in bed complaining about his groin and I swear I couldn't roll my eyes any louder.

And I go to the kitchen, expecting the mug to be in its spot, only to find all the other mugs there except for my yellow fading mug. I find myself having my morning coffee in some other mug like I always do when it's across the hall. It's not the same, and I should be drinking from my mug on the first day I live alone with my husband.

He notices it after Sheldon and Amy leave our apartment, and I can only shrug and tell him I hope it's across the hall.

I finally got it back a few days later, when I moved some of my things out of the apartment, I used to call my own, and I moved them to the apartment I was finally sharing alone with my husband.

I don't find it surprising when it breaks. It's on the same morning he takes the final box out of the apartment and puts it in the car, essentially marking it the end of an era. No one really saw it coming, though somehow, at the same time, everyone saw it coming.

It was upsetting seeing that apartment so empty, now only with the couch – Sheldon had called it his property the moment he was able to – and the cabinets and desks. Everything else had been packed and out in the moving truck, waiting for their next destination.

It had been such a busy and eventful morning, with everyone pitching in with putting things in the boxes, practically packing up what had been – for some of them – their entire adult life. The mug had been on top of the kitchen island, and when I went and grabbed a box that was next to it, the worst happened.

It falls on the floor and shatters into pieces.

Everyone had looked up from what they were doing for a moment, before realizing what had happened and carried on.

Only he keeps staring at me.

I find myself just grabbing all the pieces and putting them in the trash can, not able to deal with even more of a flood of emotions. What was going on was already enough.

Suddenly, a cry is heard, and a smile comes to my lips despite it all, and I go tend to my daughter.

I spent some time getting her to calm down, the baby probably picking up all the anxiety and stress everyone was feeling. Seeing what had once been Sheldon's room with my daughter's things all packed up was almost as complicated as the living room being unpacked. The entire room was now packed too, with boxes everywhere. Cleaning it yesterday had been a turmoil, even if I knew it was for the best.

"New chapter" he had told me. "We'll create new memories there."

I know he said that not only for me but for himself too. If it was hard for me to pack everything and move, I can't even begin to imagine how hard it must be for him. Most of his adult life had been spent living there, except for some of the nights he spent across the hall with me and the months he spent at the North Pole and then at the North Sea, I rather not think about.

Our daughter is calming down now, probably because I'm also calming down about the entire moving away thing. It's not like we are moving too far away, and it's not like the apartment is going to a complete stranger.

Sheldon and Amy would move to this apartment, allowing Raj to move across the hall. This way, the fourth floor would still belong to us all, even if the occupants were slightly different. We are moving to a street that is literally halfway between Howard and Bernadette's and the old apartment – Sheldon had pointed it out and showed it in pictures.

I kiss her forehead before putting her back in the crib. I stand there for a while, wanting to have this image burned in my mind, of my daughter's last day in this apartment. I hear the door moving slightly and I look up.

"Sorry to interrupt." He tells me, and I look at him with the same bittersweet smile I've had on my lips for a few days now. "You okay?"

I take a deep breath before shaking my head. "It's weird, you know. Leaving."

"Look, about the mug- "

"It's fine," I say, interrupting him. "It's just a mug." He looks at me concerned because he knows how I feel about that mug.

"Penny- "

"I made a big deal about it. It's just- "I look back to my daughter peacefully sleeping in her crib before looking back to my husband. "You gave me that mug." I laughed, though what I was saying wasn't funny. He looks at me, the wheels in his brain trying to remember buying the mug, his not remembering evident on his face. "You called it a housewarming gift. I came here to ask for coffee, and you gave me that mug. And then you left to go to work, and I took the mug with me and forgot about it for a while in the cabinet. Until a few days later I remembered and gave it back."

"I'm sorry, I don't remember that." He looks sincerely sorry for that, and then he looks at the ground realizing he had once again said sorry. I laugh at that.

"I tried to give it back, but you said you had a lot of mugs. And I said- "

"You can never have too many mugs." He tells me, and I swear I can almost see a lightbulb lighting up above his head.

"And then you said that I could have it as a housewarming present. A late one." I sigh. "I've had it ever since. It makes sense it breaks now, you know. We're moving away from the building we first met, and we got together and engaged. The end of an era."

Only then did I realize his hands were behind him, and the look of suspicion on my face and years of knowing each other made him grin, producing the yellow mug from behind his back. I only stand there shocked.

"I know it's noticeably broken, the glue we found wasn't the best one, but Howard says he can- "

"I love it," I tell him, stopping his anxious rambling. I grab the mug and move it around for a little bit before looking at him. "Thank you. I know I overreacted. It's just a mug to you guys, but- Thank you. It's perfect."

"I don't think it'll hold any liquid. But maybe it will work as a vase. You know, for our new house."

I can only nod as some tears from the emotions I've holding for a few days finally come out. He smiles at me before his arms are around me, the yellow worn-out mug between us.

The End

During my rewatches I noticed that Penny actually drinks mostly in a yellow mug, though not always. This story was written because I seemed to choose episodes to watch where Penny drank through a yellow mug. So let's pretend it's in every episode. Or not, I just had a lot of fun writing this. I just hope everyone enjoys reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)