Chapter Text
The first time she enters his and Hofstadter’s apartment—due to Leonard selfishly informing him that he needs to widen his circle, which truthfully needed no widening at all—she asks if he’s one of those ‘beautiful mind genius guys,’ and Sheldon isn’t quite sure how to take it.
Beautiful mind genius guy; and while it’s entirely true to the utmost degree—his mind is in fact beautiful, his brain in particular, and the idea of having his most precious organ preserved and researched after his death has crossed his mind a dozen of times—he’s not a hundred percent sure that anyone as pretty as Penny had ever looked at him and said those words before. Really, he’s not sure anyone other than Meemaw had ever said words vaguely similar to him before.
He’s never done the whole dating thing—never gotten along with someone of the opposite sex that wasn’t related to him enough to form a bond like that. He’s fairly certain no girl has ever looked at him twice. Not on purpose, at least. Let alone one that.. pretty. Pretty. He’s never used that word to describe a girl before. Never gone out of his way to really categorize what he found attractive and what he didn’t.
Yet, somehow, he’s the one to convince her to come into his apartment—which baffles even him, considering he had been against it the moment Leonard had brought it up. It baffles him, Still, somehow, it’s his words that have her existing her own apartment room and dashing towards theirs.
He shelves it. The whole ‘wow, she kind of is pretty’ fanasco. He tries to forget about the way she looks up at him as she says it—beautiful mind. How her eyes are far too blue, that kind of natural-unnatural appearing blue. Like Cobalt, that isn’t actually blue at all, yet oftentimes will produce a rich blue pigment if compounded to make something else.
He’s not blind. Hofstadter clearly wants her. He’s showing off, expecting to get laid. And it isn’t like he himself would ever want to put his best foot forward and try giving the wild world of dating a go. While neither of them have a chance, he’s arguably got the shorter stick between them both—Leonard’s better with people. If anyone’s Penny’s Prince Charming, it’d be Hofstadter.
And sure, she’s attractive. Sheldon just shelves that as a fact. He isn’t quite sure what he finds most attractive about her–isn’t willing to spend that much time thinking away nonsense, stupid little fantasies that he’d never have an opportunity to chase. Penny is attractive, and if it weren’t for the fact that Leonard Hofstadter is clearly making attempts to befriend and pursue her, maybe Sheldon would mention it out loud. Let those asexual reproduction comments die and rest in the grave where they should’ve years ago.
The idea stays shelved for a good, long while. That little voice in the back of his brain that said, ‘oh, isn’t she nice to look at?’ stays on top of Sheldon’s makeshift brain shelf, untouched and collecting dust. It stays there with thousands of other shelved, mostly forgotten thoughts–like witnessing his father cheating, or that one time he saw Leonard Hofstadter naked.
Leonard ends up meeting a woman named Leslie. Sheldon finds this woman to be unbearable. The good old cycle continues. Loud and ravenous coitus on the weekends, of which he does not partake in–and unfortunately, sound proof headphones only tend to do so much.
On Monday He wakes up and eats oatmeal for breakfast, doesn’t do much for lunch other than pop by the work cafeteria–and for dinner, it’s Thai, which is always consistent. Him in his spot and all of his companions–friends, even–joining him while he watches Star-Trek reruns and eats his mee krob and chicken satay.
Penny drops by nearly every Tuesday after work, though Tuesday is also the night that everyone goes to the Cheesecake Factory–Sheldon gets the same old Barbeque, bacon and cheese burger, everything but the meat and the bun on the side. When Penny pops over, she sits on the couch next to Sheldon, right next to Sheldon’s spot, and if he’s lucky they’ll be able to have something of a battle of wits. Just the two of them, together–in a room with three other men. Leslie on occasion.
Every Wednesday is Halo night–every Thursday is Big Boy night. Friday is always chinese take-out and vintage game night, and normally he has a knack of bringing out old school Clue nowadays. After all, it’s one of the few vintage games he owns that Penny herself seems to enjoy–and though she isn’t a physicist, biologist or astrologist or someone with any sort of scientific degree; although she isn’t someone Sheldon would normally, willingly find himself hanging around, he can’t quite help but try and include her, anyways. After all, for years Sheldon was the one who went unincluded–and while he certainly has a backhanded way of showing it, he’s built up a certain admiration for the waitress next door.
A non-vocalized friendship, even. They just click together like two molecules looking to bond, some atoms forming an ionic bond. For some reason, they just work. It just makes sense. And in a way, Sheldon's never really believed in Christ or soulmates or any sort of nonsense like that—but he can't help but wonder.
And he can't help but think.
A brain ever so logical—of course he'd begin to start to question if fate and destiny exist.
On Saturday he always wakes up early, just in time to make a bowl of shredded wheat and sit in his spot to tune into Doctor Who on BBC America. It’s also laundry night, which he tends to get started at around eight fifteen at night–and on Sunday, he rests.
He doesn’t particularly enjoy breaking routines–so at eight fifteen am on a Saturday, laundry basket in hand, he once again feels nothing less than being some sort of fish out of water.
“I’m going to go do my laundry.” He announces, lanky long arm wrapped around the laundry basket, squeezing it like it's close and precious and rare. He feels like he's gone insane, like he's some sort of more charming looking version of Gollum, ready to wash his clothes when he should be washing his breakfast dishes.
Leonard Hofstadter looks at him like he's got three heads and two of them aren't even humanoid in nature. “At eight in the morning?” He questions, and Sheldon—is a smart man. He knows when the gig is up.
“I couldn’t sleep last night, through no fault of trying.” He admits, but doesn't go into explaining why. He won't indulge Leonard Hofstadter in his mind, not Today at least—because it was that stupid beautiful genius brain compliment keeping him up all night.
He can't tell his best friend that: not even if he's found some other more annoying broad to lay. He's well aware that Leonard Hofstadter thinks Penny is an option.
He wonders if Penny thinks Leonard Hofstadter is an option.
“Ah.” Hofstadter settles on, before crossing his arms like an overly concerned parent. “Have you had breakfast, Sheldon?” He asks.
Sheldon's never been good at lying—he hates keeping secrets. They're no good, tragic little things. Secrets are just lies you've got to cover up, especially when the rest of you is so open and on display.
Sheldon’s never been good at hiding himself, so at a certain point in his life he became mildly self aware. He's clever enough to be a Cooper, and he thinks clever is different from intelligence in a lot of ways. Being clever meant Sheldon knew how to survive, and what he had to do in order to make it in this world.
Being intelligent meant Sheldon had the skills to achieve what he wanted to, and have the ability to apply those survival techniques he was clever enough to shift through in younger years.
He figured, to hell with it—why hide, why hide at all?
So he can't lie. Especially not to his roommate who stares at him like he's some sort of junkie begging for cash. When all he really, logically wants to do is go and wash his laundry.
God, when did he move in with his mother?
“No.” Sheldon whispers. And watches as Leonard Hofstadter's face falls.
“Put down the laundry basket and pour yourself some Shredded wheat.” Spills out before Leonard can even really process what he seems to be saying. In fact, even he seems surprised by it. But—his face contorts in a way that Sheldon’s always understood as Hofstadter doubling down.
He really does feel like a fish out of water. Like a far too lanky being. Normally, Sheldon has half a mind to make sure he's not actively perceiving himself too hard, physically. He knows he's sore on the eyes, not quite like Penny or Leonard Hofstadter, but now, not everyone can be.
He scratches his left leg with his right foot, wool sock slowly giving him carpet burn. “But I missed the new episode of Doctor Who.” He claims, and he—fully understands it's weird.
He's weird.
He's not completely in denial.
It's just, he has a routine. And once that routine has been obstructed in major ways, Sheldon’s day seems to go astray. He's not great at holding it together, it seems, when his whole day is trying to fall apart.
He doesn't like that his mind wonders why, like maybe it's some obscure absent minded breath of fate—his Mother's obscure beliefs rattling around in his head for whatever reason.
Sheldon doesn't know when or how or where he starts to think like that—like maybe something guiding him. He likes to pretend like he doesn't really play into it at all. Yet it throws him off. God, does it always throw him off. And he's never been the most balanced man.
“It’ll be a rerun later tonight–,” Leonard Hofstadter says, as if that's even remotely the same thing as eating his Shredded wheat in the morning as it played. “And, hey, if you are going to insist on doing your laundry this early, maybe consider giving Penny back her sweatshirt–she left it here on, err.. Tuesday.” He says, and it- it takes him a second to remember the date.
Sheldon’s brain clearly doesn't like that—it begins firing at rapid fire speed. But then again.. It had been a long and weird week. Penny hadn't been here since Tuesday, since after work.. and she wasn't exactly looking so well.
Now it's Saturday, and he hasn't seen her all week. And really, he doesn't like thinking about that—his routine has been off for a whole five days now, and his lazy Sunday is just around the corner..
He's worried it'll be a day full of- taxes, or something. And while he'd normally adore that, really, he would, after this week all he wants to do is rest in bed and- maybe cry.
So, he grabs Penny’s obviously not from Harvard sweatshirt and walks out into the hall. A grown man who can make his own choices. Do laundry before it starts to get dark, despite the City always having a bright hue to it—abnormal compared to Sheldon’s once normal life.
“Penny—.” He knocks, fist hitting the wood with a rhythmic tone. At least he'll get satisfaction in this, the game they share-
Except, he doesn't, because a very- pained sounding voice calls out. Calls out loud. “Sheldon.”
He doesn't even fully register how much he's missed her voice, if he's being honest, when he takes into consideration how long it's been since he's heard it. Really, he's only—mildly disappointed. Yet, she's throwing off his day again.. but he can't help but sound a bit worried.
Why does she sound so.. pained?
He tries to remind her of their game, only because—he needs to fall back into something familiar. Something familiar other than her, or else he'll drive himself insane.
“You’re supposed to-.” He manages to get out, but she really does sound tired when she snaps at him, gentle and loud and- like a pained deer.
“Just get in here.” She hisses.
Yeah. Either—a white tailed deer or a cat.
He doesn't like opening other people's doors, not after catching his father cheating all those years ago. Yet he seems to manage when he's in this type of situation. After all, Penny gave him direct permission.
Though he's surprised when he finds her laying on the floor, pink juicy sweatpants on—white, stained shirt. Her long blond hair is tied into a ponytail and she looks two shades too white.
She looks like she's lost weight. How she- managed that in five days, well, Sheldon doesn't want to know.
“Penny, what’re you doing on the floor?” He asks, and hopes his concern sounds like that of a friend's.
“What are you doing knocking on my apartment door at nine in the morning?” Penny asks, eyes closed—which is probably for the better. She's spread her arms like a starfish, though her legs remain straight.
“Leonard wanted me to see if you were awake.” He—well, it's not fully a lie, is it? “Return your obviously-not-actually-from-Harvard sweater.” He counters. A cheat of the system, really.
Penny doesn't seem to buy it. “At nine in the morning? On a — weekend?” And on any other day, she'd be brilliant for suspecting him—and he'd probably praise her for catching on. Because sure he's obvious, but Penny doesn't quite seem to understand him yet.
“I got, well, restless—I don’t particularly like knowing I have to do something later.” He admits, and really, it isn't a lie. After all, he can't lie for long—not when Penny’s opening up her eyes to look into his. “You might as well get tasks done right away.” He claims, nervously.
Then asks: “Why are you laying on the floor?”
And he knows he walks a dangerous line in hiding a secret as big as this. The fact that he's head over heels infatuated with their next door neighbor, Penny. But she's — smart and witty, albeit blonde, but really that's what Sheldon likes the most about her.
That, and the fact that—she really is just a nerd in disguise. It's like she chooses to be a bit of an air head, which- isn't a bad thing, It's something that makes her interesting. Yet around Sheldon, she can't seem to turn that geek mode off. Around Sheldon’s apartment, she seems to be more herself than ever.
She seems to enjoy herself more than ever.
“My back—I think I pulled something at work yesterday, and..” She mumbles, and she sounds- out of breath and on the verge of tears.
“Your back? Laying on the—,” He says, because he swears she's smarter then this. “Penny, now even I know you’re smart enough to know that isn’t going to fix the pain..” He even- blurts it out before his brain works properly.
God, he can't help but wonder how she must perceive him.
“Well, sweetie.” She says, in that pissed off back off tone of hers. Forever a black cat in his mind- and, well, a white tailed deer. “It seems to alleviate some of the symptoms.” She claims. He's not quite sure about that.
But he gives her the benefit of the doubt as he watches her lay on the floor—and its not until she starts to get up, does he begin to question her out loud again.
“Why are you getting back up, then?” He says, and it's blunt. He can't help but be blunt. Doesn't quite know what else to rely on.
“I- have another shift at noon.” She stumbles out, her words not quite as smooth as she probably planned fro them to be. She's sitting up and wincing, and- rising up from the ground and, God does that look painful.
“Without seeing a doctor?” He asks, voice a bit too high pitched.
“Someone’s got to keep the lights on.” She claims.
And Sheldon doesn't quite like the sound of her voice.
***
“Sheldon, It should— I mean— Authorization to be added to someone else’s electricity bills would take.. wait— why are you trying to pay Penny’s bills again.. ?”
Leonard Hofstadter asks too many questions.
Really, Sheldon's starting to wonder if Leonard just likes the sound of his own voice. Though, he'll pardon it for now—because yeah, he probably sounds insane. But it's twelve in the afternoon on a Saturday where his day's already gone to shit, and his brain won't stop screaming at him about fixing poor Penny’s problems.
“Well, I returned the sweater.” He says, as if that's—as if it's anywhere near good enough of a start.
“And?” Leonard squints, adjusts his glasses—and Sheldon wants to impulsively mess them up. Nudge them sideways. He's already having a bad day. A bit of joy could- do him some good.
“She was laying on the floor! Stiff as a board.” He claims. Sounds like his mom. “Pulled something, apparently—though I'm not quite sure what she pulled.”
“So.. you’re trying to pay her..” Hofstadter starts. He doesn't get far.
“She’s going to work like this.” Sheldon points out, and—a simple response is all Hofstadter has to offer.
“Oh.”
“I could probably talk to the front desk..” He says. Bites the inside of his cheek. “I mean, Leonard, even if she does see the Doctor I advised her to see, her muscles are going to be inflamed—,” He had recommended her to his favorite cheap place to go to, after all, student examinations were by far cheaper..
He had even offered to pay.
She almost said yes. Sheldon swore he seen it in her beautiful blue eyes.
“She'll be in even more pain tomorrow.” He says, and hopes it doesn't sound love sick.
“Why don’t you just—,” Leonard says, waving his hand around. “Go and bring her pain medicine? Robax?” He asks, leaning against the kitchen counter, fresh apple in hand.
“And show up to her place of work?” He gawks. “On a Saturday?” He- points out. God, Is Leonard Hofstadter insane? Is- is he on to him? “Absolutely not.” Sheldon says sternly. And ends up following it up with: "Where's my check book?”
***
He’s always had a habit of being exorbitant when it comes to her.
You could make a clear point of Sheldon being too exorbitant in general. Really, any debater trying to oppose that fact–Sheldon included–would easily lose that battle of quote on quote witts. He was a smart and a very successful man who never quite learned what ‘too much’ was. After all, ‘too much’ could be anything at all. It was a scary thought, too much. So Sheldon Cooper decided to avoid that thought entirely.
Instead he lived life by his own set of rules. After all, anyone truly successful in any scientific profession had not become successful through confidently knowing a baseline of ‘too much, not enough’ when it came to relationships. Minds are vast and capable of holding plenty of knowledge–but everyone has to specialize in something. So what if Sheldon was socially inept and constantly feeling like a fish out of water?
He’s always felt a bit like a fish out of water. Too much oxygen in his lungs. Dangling by a thin string of synthetic polymers–a hook sticking through his upper lip.
Too much, not enough–in a way, that was the story of Sheldon Cooper's life.
In the end, he couldn’t quite blame himself for being exorbitant when it came to her. After all, Sheldon had long since learned to live by his own set of rules, undefined and in his head. A regulation on whether or not an eye for an eye was justified–it always was justified, in Sheldon’s humble opinion–or whether or not to break into an apartment at three in the morning, just for his own piece of mind. It was natural. In the same natural way he found himself able to constantly disturb Leonard. He couldn’t blame himself for living exorbitantly.
He knows the way his first truly exorbitant gesture could’ve been taken–after all, Penny calling him a creep was nothing reminiscent of his former academic glories. Creep. Freak. Geek. Nerd. He had heard it all plenty of times, cruel little phrases that kids say at each other to strike a nerve. In turn, he had always retaliated by making weaponry of sorts–that’d be damn near instantly confinstated the moment he turned around. After all, he didn’t have any mean names to yell back–not any that those former bullies would’ve understood, at least. Nowadays, Sheldon resolves a majority of his conflicts by simply avoiding them. After all, that’s always the less exorbitant resort.
When it came to her, that less exorbitant resort never seemed to be an option.
“Sheldon.” Penny's voice is as loud as her knocks—and Sheldon's curled up in his couch spot, snug as a bug. “Sheldon.” It's.. two in the afternoon on the strangest Saturday of his life. He finished his laundry hours ago. It's been folded. “Sheldon.”
She opens his door, clearly having no issue with privacy. Or, relying on the fact he's in the living room.
“Penny.” He says—and he tries to say it sweetly.
“Did you pay my power bill?” She asks, in a ‘please be honest’ kind of tone.
“Our mail could’ve possibly gotten itself switched, and–.” He replies, because he knows he can't. And she probably can see it on his face, the fact that he can't—because she's still standing, and he's still sitting.
Though she fixes that by joining him on the couch. Wincing in pain as she sits down. “The lady at the front desk told me.” She mumbles, leaning back—relaxing into the soft couch cushions.
Penny's couch always made his own back throb. And he was rarely in her apartment for more than mere minutes.
“They sent you home early. You worked–.” He points out, avoiding- avoiding, because maybe this time it'll work. After all, she's distracted by pain. He's always been a logical man.
A beautiful minded, genius guy.
“Yeah, yeah, three hours.” She says, eyes closed. “They’re paying me for four.” Her blonde hair looks like gold against her pale toned skin.
“Well, that’s good, at least.” He says, because it's certainly a start. “I’ll go grab you an Ice pack.” He adds—because he can get a head start on things, too, can't he? He's always been capable. Surely, he can be capable at this, too.
He remembers stuff Georgie taught him growing up. Stuff Meemaw would've told him, showed him, helped him learn. He's not great, no, not by any means.
Yet he wonders if he'd be better at it then any guy Penny's ever dated before—that whole love thing, as obnoxious as it sounds.
“Ice pack?” She questions—that deer in headlights look, like she's shocked—like he's gone and said something wrong.
“It’ll help the inflamed muscle. Err.. Hoftstadner suggested Robax, if you’re interested.” He says. Blinks. Rubs the back of his neck. He stands up, as if he's remembered he's—offered himself up for service.
She just looks all the more surprised.
“Already taking it, sweetie.” She replies sarcastically—with a slight bitter tone. But it's not towards him, he knows fully well it isn't. It's the same tone Misty used to give him all the time. A fond, ‘you're kind of annoying’ type of tone. He'll take it. It's better than nothing.
“Hasn’t been helping.” She claims—and, Sheldon wonders if she'd let him bring her to a chiropractor.
“When did the pain start?” He asks instead. It's productive enough.
“I think it was Thursday night.” She answers, and he makes good use of himself, walking across the room and to his fridge. He pulls out a blue gel ice pack. Grabs a clean tea towel from off the counter they had yet to use. Wonders if that'll be enough.
“Explains why you weren’t at Vintage Game night.” He says, instead. It's the right thing to do.
“How’d that go?” She asks, and when Sheldon looks over his shoulder, as he closes the freezer door, he sees her face contort in pain. He sees her body writh. “Shit–,” She whispers. He hears it anyway.
In seconds he's across the room again, leaning over top her from far enough away it's probably deemed appropriate. “Lay down, elevate your shoulders.” He says. Because that's where she seems to be the most tender. He pauses, before passing her the iced pack.
“Lay down? In your spot?” She says—
But he's already off, racing down the hall, grabbing his pillows and blankets from out of his room, because what else is he supposed to do? His brain is still screaming at him, and it doesn't help having her here, not when—
Well. Maybe fate had a role in all of this.
He doesn't like when his brain starts to go there. He shuts it up by rushing out of his room.
“Well, you insisted on barging in and making yourself at home.” He claims, dumps his arm load of comfort onto his couch. The other one—but he pushes the coffee table out of the way, rolls up the carpet and tucks it aside, just so he can push the other couch into the larger one.
“And, you’re injured.” He grunts, shoving a couch towards Penny.
Who's laying on the couch, just laying for now, shoulder not elevated because she doesn't yet have his pillows to elevate it with—but she seems content in knowing she will, ice pack on the shoulder that seems to be bothering her the most (the right one, Sheldon notes) before she speaks.
Sheldon really does like the sound of her voice.
“You’re the one who paid my power bill–,” She blurts out, and he can't help but look- flabbergasted. That's the only word for it. He tries to cover it up by silently handing her three pillows to elevate herself up with. Handing her a clean blanket, because after all, it was laundry day—and he got it all done early.
“You’re lucky I know for a fact that you didn’t phone in and get my shift canceled midway through.” She says, but takes his supplies anyway. Starts to get the idea Sheldon is trying to lay down with the double couch thing.
“I was struggling to carry glasses and I got sent home because of it.. I’ve got the next two days off, at least.” She says—it's music to Sheldon’s ears.
“Vintage game night was dull without you.” He finally says, because if he says anything else his dark, dark secret would be revealed. “We played Monopoly and Koothrapalli won.”
“Exciting.” She says, and looks—better. He's going delusional. He swears there's color back in her cheeks. “No round of clue?”
“I lost the vote, one to three.” He admits. Of course he does. Of course he did.
And- out of the blue, she asks.. “Indian food?”
Like this is something they do often.
“Err. Actually, I have a – a steak dethawing.” He admits. And she looks at him like Leonard Hofstadter did at eight am this morning. “On Saturdays it’s meat and potato night.”
He says, and his voice is so soft and so fragile, because yeah—it's a soft and tender part of him that Penny doesn't quite know yet.
But, it's not like he can get around it. Not, fully. Not when he tries to still cling to some form of routine.
Not when Penny throws his routine away. Makes him act like he's got no brain and only a heart—no muscle.
“You cook?” She asks. Her voice is soft.
“Meemaw taught me the basics.” He says, sounds- giddy. Tries to shrug it off. “I’m a better cook than Hoftstander.” He semi-brags. But it's the truth. He can't lie, after all. Not really, not if he wants to get away with it for long.
And he knows, God does he know that it's only a matter of time—but he can't help himself. Penny is like the fig from the tree in the Garden of Eden, and Sheldon is a stupid kid again who desperately wants to indulge in the fruit to get answers to life like Eve did.
Even when he knows it's risky. Even when he knows he walks a thin line.
“Really?” She asks—sounds unsure of herself. But she seems comfortable. In the moment, at least.
It's more than Sheldon could ever ask for.
“I mean, we could order take out, but–the schedule has been off all week, and dinner for.. lunch doesn’t sound all that bad.” He admits. Licks his lips. By now, the steak is usually thawed- he throws it in the fridge. Waits for Leonard to get home from work.
Well, Leonard doesn't have a thrown out back. So Sheldon, sure of himself, makes his choice. “You stay here.” He says—because there's nothing that deep fried potatoes and a nice juicy steak can't cure.
God, he really is starting to sound like his mother.
“Are you sure?” Penny asks, wide eyed and- not sure of herself, no, not sure of herself at all. It's almost like no one's ever been this caring before.
It's almost like Sheldon suddenly feels sick—with.. rage? It's. Not something he's going to be fond of.
But he doesn't really mind that Penny makes him feel it.
“Of course.” He says, like it's simple and expected. Like it's something just friends would do. “Iced for five minutes on, fifteen off. Until it, uh, feels less like hell fire.” He adds, and she nods, and maybe Saturday will end up being alright.