[The Big Bang Theory] Sheldon Cooper/Amy Farrah Fowler, #7 (Restless)
Title: The Heart and Mind Complexity
Author: x_lostinthesun
Fandom: The Big Bang Theory
Pairing: Sheldon Cooper/Amy Farrah Fowler
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Chuck Lorre, Bill Prady and co own the series. I only own my Shamy obsession.
Restless. Ever since he's been a kid, that's how he's always felt. His mind is grand, his vision infinite, more than anyone else's, and he can never take a break - he always has to know. About everything - the universe, the planets, the atmosphere - it doesn't matter what - he has to know. It's made his mother dizzy - she would always beg him to stop for a minute, but he's learnt to live with it - actually, he really couldn't live without it, because if he stops for a minute, he thinks about the few things he really doesn't want to know.
(The hollow of her throat.)
Knowledge is Sheldon's defence. Never forget what you are - the rest of the world will not. Wear it like armour, and it can never be used to hurt you. He is a genius, and unlike Leonard who tends to forget his own intelligence way too often - that damn blonde waitress - he takes pride of it. Forgotten are the times when the neighbourhood children would chase after him - his mind is now a weapon. He wears his brain on his sleeve, his IQ embroided on his chest, his beautiful mind visible to all. It's all that matters - when you have the whole universe inside your head, nothing else matters.
(Her sparkling green eyes.)
There are times when it gets too much, though. Restlessness is tiring, even for the greatest minds of the world - and as much as it bothers him to admit it, Sheldon is no exception. There are times when it all gets too much, and even knowledge isn't enough - knowledge gets too much. It all gets confused in there, string theory and social anxiety battling to get to the front of his mind, and there's a storm in him, and he feels like his breath his coming short and his heart stops in his throat. That's why he gets down to the basement, once a day - he shuts his mind close, puts the key in the hacky sack, and makes it bounce. It's the only thing that really soothes his mind.
(The sound of her voice when she talks about her work.)
There is something fascinating in watching the ball bounce on his leg. His twenty minutes a day in the basement are the only moments he gets to really toy with his mind - even his video game playing time is tiring as winning requires strategy - and Sheldon never misses to marvel at how liberating it is to get your guards down, sometimes. Those are the only moments in a day when he ponders that Leonard may be onto something - sometimes forgetting that you're a genius might be a good thing.
(How his mind went blank when she kissed him.)
When he's done playing hacky sack, he feels like up to shouldering once more all the weight that waits for him by the door. All the mysteries of the universe, string theory and atoms in a molecule, black holes and holographic principle - his mind is rested, and he can waltz with them again. The rest of the day at work always goes well - he solves equations and theorises on the universe and he feels at ease - that's what he does best, and that's what he was born to do.
(Impressing her.)
Leaving Caltech is never easy. Oh, of course, going home is also a pleasure - he only has to deal with Leonard and Penny there, which is always ten times better than having to deal with Kripke - but there is something about being in the very place in which his mind is celebrated on a daily basis that never quite compares. When he's home, he usually has to sit through Leonard and Penny's public displays of affection - although these days, it's mostly Penny weeping and whining over Leonard's absence - and if he tries to talk about the things that matter - about physics - he gets shot down because "sweetie, no one cares - let's talk about how much I miss Leonard instead."
(She does care. She always listen to him.)
But the hardest thing about going home is Amy. Tonight is their first Date Night since they had coitus for the first time - since they roleplayed it, really, but for Sheldon, it's emotionally very much the same thing - and the truth is, he doesn't know what to do. Amy is the one thing in the world that doesn't make any sense to him. One second he knows her by heart, like she's the back of his hand, and then the next she becomes this delightfully mysterious creature that both amazes and scares him.
(Leonard is wrong - the Shamy isn't a paradox, it's Amy alone who is the paradox.)
Penny drives him to Amy's - "She'll have to bring you home, too, because I'm too tired to go out again later - and Sheldon walks the stairs up to her appartment with the apprehension of a knight opening reaching the entrance to an unknown dungeon - behind the door could be an amazing treasure, but it could also be a terrible dragon. When he knocks, knocks, knocks, calls her name, three times in a row, he can feel his chest get too tight, and once more, he gets annoyed at the realisation that when it comes to Amy, it's not his brain that he wears on his sleeve.
(He's been reliably informed that he doesn't have a heart, but they both know it's not quite true.)
She opens the door with a smile and Sheldon's eye is caught by her white shirt. He fleetingly wonders if she realises the irony of her wearing something so innocently virginal, but it doesn't really matter, because she invites him in and procedes to tell him about her day. They fall into an easy conversation about science and all the dread that was resting on his shoulder is gone, drifting away into the purple sky, laced with Amy's words and her simple command of the conversation of the day. Lord, he loves her brain.
(And everything else, really.)
She drives him home later that night, but instead of just dropping him off at the door of his building, she parks and turns to him.
"Sheldon," she says. "I'd love to go upstairs and have a tea with you."
Her voice is steady and confident, and he would have missed the faint blush on her cheenks and the biting of her lips if he hadn't known her so well. She's got something on her mind.
"I..." he starts, and a few weeks ago, he would have said "I don't want to" because he would have been too afraid that she'd see this as an encouragement to hug him, but they're way past this point now, so he just nods.
(He's been taking every single shot in their relationship until now. Maybe it's time to let her choose.)
They drink their tea in silence, one of the magical ones he only ever shares with Amy - silences with anyone else are just awkward, except maybe with Leonard, but Leonard isn't here now.
"Leonard's not here," Amy remarks, and Sheldon raises an eyebrow. That was a pretty obvious thing to point out, since they threw his going away party only twelve days ago.
Amy blushes and asks "Do you mind if... if we play Dungeons & Dragons?"
His face reddens, his breath shortens, his hands moistens. "Follow me."
(It really is him following her, actually.)
As he puts the book on his bed and the die on ths book, Sheldon feels his heart in his throat and it's like he's slipping away, so he tries to think back on what he did at work today - knowledge is his defence, his armour, knowledge even is his weapon. And it works, for a few seconds - string theory appeases against the little red cube on his bed - but Amy talks again, and all his intelligent thoughts flow out of the window - she's the only real thing in the world.
And it's scary, God knows it's scary, but she's smiling, albeit tentatively, and a warmth spread through his chest, and he grabs the die with one hand and Amy's hand with the other.
(She really is no bear and he really is no trash can full of sweets.)
It's the first time she sleeps over. In Leonard's bed, of course, but she's really tired, he saw it when she yawned and rubbed her eyes underneath her glasses when she requested they cuddled after their characters reached climax, and he interjected she shouldn't be driving.
He would never have thought he would suggest something like this one day - asking his girlfriend to spend the night at his place - but there he did, and it surprisingly wasn't even that hard.
(She's the most pleasant surprise he's ever had. He's known it from that blind date at the coffee shop.)
It's only when he's alone in his bed - the bed on which they had figurative sex not even an hour earlier - that Sheldon starts to feel restless again. The feeling has been here by intermittence since the beginning of their date, but now that he's on his own again, his mind is free to drift to the things he doesn't want to think about.
Amy's soft hands, Amy's pale shoulders, Amy's rosy cheeks, Amy's pink lips.
A warm feeling in his abdomen, both terribly familiar and terrifyingly foreign.
He tries to think about other things instead. String theory. Lasers. Equations.
It's spreading - oh Lord, not again.
Amy's green eyes, fixed on him as she murmurs "I kiss your stomach."
No. No. No.
He gets out of his bed as fast as he can - the sheets are burning his skin, just like they did the first time. The realisation of what Amy and he did on this very bed is hitting him with force, and suddenly, everything is exploding. His breathing quickens as his mind is filled with images of Amy and he tries to fight them back with science. His heart and his brain are battling on his sleeve.
(They've been battling for three years. He simply preferred to ignore it.)
A few seconds later, he's in the living room, diving into his messenger bag and getting the hacky sack out of its box. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven... drat! Amy's hands and... no! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, ni... come on!
He bounces the ball over and over again, and he's progressively getting better. He watches the ball jump and dive and it's all that matters, for now. The ball, and nothing else...
"Sheldon, what are you doing?"
The hacky sack falls to the ground as Sheldon jumps towards the corridor leading to the rooms. A very sleepy Amy is looking at him without understanding.
"I just couldn't sleep. Sorry if I woke you up."
"'S alright."
Sheldon puts the ball away and joins her on the platform.
"Go back to bed, Amy," he says, and she nods before standing on her tiptoes. He realises it a second too late, and she's kissed him on the lips without even registering her own actions. For half a second maybe, but it's already enough. She retreats into Leonard's room, and Sheldon knows he won't get much sleep.
But then a sudden thought comes out of nowhere - his lips are tingling and warm, and somehow, it makes it worth it.
(Maybe there's enough room for both his brain and his heart.)