all the chances we took, tbbtfic, s/p, 1800 words [bandverse]
Title: all the chances we took
Author: allthingsholy
Rating: PG
Notes: This is a continuation of the BBT Bandverse, and takes place during every chorus was your name, on the road between Dayton and Indianapolis. It was written for the Paradox-O-Rama Friday Fiction Challenge #1. The title's from Metric's "Gimme Sympathy," which is from the Bandverse OST, found here.
Prompt:
bandfic
every chorus was your name | my love like a voice | make a record of my heart | all the chances we took
----
On the road, they’re pretty much limited to eating the things that you can buy at a gas station: jerky and Funyuns, or those 12-hour hot dogs that are as likely to kill you as fill you up. Penny eats her weight in McNuggets and Raj revels in the splendor of the McRib. It’s not the healthiest six-week stretch of their lives, but they’ll survive it.
There’s one purchase they never fail to make when they stop to fill-up: Skittles. They’re not for anything so trivial as eating, though. Instead they are the all-important legal tender of the Jupiter Logic tour bus: Skittles are currency.
“I’m in for four green,” Penny says, fingers drumming against the table where her cards lay face-down.
Howard sits beside her, leaning all the way back, hands braced behind his head. He’s wearing the smug expression of pocket aces on his face, but Penny’d guess he’s got a low pair, not even face cards. “Five red,” he says, a light in his eyes that makes Penny laugh and kick his foot under the table.
Raj lets out a low whistle. He clears his throat and takes a swig of his beer, and then nudges five red Skittles to the center of the table. “I call,” he says simply, checking Howard’s face for any signs of weakness.
Leonard checks and re-checks his cards, then eyes his not-so-slowly dwindling pile of candy. “I fold,” he says, tossing his cards to the center of the table and dropping his chin onto his palm.
“A wise decision,” Sheldon says, adding his Skittles to the pot. “The odds of you recouping your losses when you still haven’t mastered the ability to bluff are quite slim.” He sets his cards on the table and folds his hands over them neatly. “Bet’s to you, Penny.
The value system for the different colors was hard to keep track of at first, but Sheldon had worked out the system and ensured them all it was fair. When they’d complained enough about just taking his word for it, he’d written out a chart, and Penny squints at it from where it hangs on the mini-fridge before tossing three red Skittles to the center of the table. “I call.”
Sheldon burns the top card, then deals the flop, and Penny tries to keep her reaction to herself. She’s never been the best actress, but she’s getting better, and she manages to keep her face calm as she eyes the straight draw laid out on the table. All she needs is a four or a nine, and she narrows her eyes and considers her bet. She figures she’s due for a win, but she decides to slow-play instead of show her hand too soon and she raps her knuckle on the table. “Check.”
Howard looks like a little bit of his bravado has fallen by the wayside and he pulls his hands from behind his head to beat out a stilted rhythm against the table. He was on a hot streak from Madison to Detroit, but his luck seems to have changed since they left Michigan and his hands falter a little as he double-checks his cards. Just as she’s wondering if he’s got enough sense not to get in over his head, he picks three red from his pile and says, “I raise.”
Raj shakes his head. “Dude, bad move. When are you going to learn?”
“I’ll never learn,” Howard counters.
Leonard chuckles. “You can say that again.”
Penny smiles, watching the boys and their easy exchanges. The tour’s been good for them, for all of them. It’s not like they ever really fought before, but there’s a bond now, a closeness, a sense of camaraderie that wasn’t there before. It’s been a month of rest stations and gas stations and too firm hotel beds, but Penny’s glad to have made the trip, and to have made it with this group of guys, no matter how immature or ridiculous they can sometimes be.
She listens to Leonard and Raj launch into their usual bit about Howard and the girl he met in Denver who turned out to be sixteen, but even as she’s laughing she feels a sudden prickling in her chest, and a weight settle into her stomach. She doesn’t turn to look, but out of the corner of her eye she can just see Sheldon watching her.
It’s been like this for the past week, since they left Detroit. She doesn’t say anything when she notices, but she does notice: his eyes linger on her face a lot more than they used to, and she can feel him watching her when she moves through the bus or a club. She’s extra conscious of his gaze when they’re on stage too. She’d worried it would change the atmosphere of their performances, interrupt their rhythm or mess with their flow, but if anything it’s made the shows stronger, tighter, the tension putting her on edge in a way that pushes her harder.
Their first show after Detroit was a little place in Toledo, and Penny had commanded the stage with a white hot heat, aware of Sheldon’s eyes on her hips and her shoulders and her face. She hadn’t quite managed to meet his gaze the way she usually did, but she stayed around him in tight, tense circles, the music and the weight of his gaze thrumming through her like a pulse. In Dayton, she’d pushed it farther, coming up behind him during the bridge in “Will You? Would You?” and pressing her hand between his shoulder blades, leaning into him just slightly as she sang out the tail end of the song. It’s something she’d done a hundred times before, felt the rock and sway of him as his fingers spun out their melody, her palm sure against the straight of his spine, but when she pulled away this time, he met her eyes over his shoulder and her heart beat soundly in her chest, harder than it had even when she’d kissed him.
She feels the same flutter and frenzy in her ribcage as he watches her slide her hair behind her ear, as she feels his eyes on the line of her jaw when she laughs at Howard’s sullen pout. She swallows hard, lifts her shoulders, and says as calmly as she can, “Raj, it’s your bet.”
Raj and Sheldon both call, and Penny meets their bet with ease. On the next round, Sheldon deals an ace and Penny checks again, watches Howard fold and Raj and Sheldon go back and forth until it’s her turn to call one of the highest pots they’ve played: three yellow, five red.
She doesn’t falter as she drops the candy onto the pile, and the rest of the boys give her proud if disbelieving looks when she leans back into her seat and folds her arms jauntily. When Sheldon flips the last card, Penny’s stomach twists, her competitive side never very far beneath the surface. His hands pull away from the nine he’s just dealt, and everyone turns to Penny for her first bet. She looks hard at Raj, spares Sheldon a quick glance, and then pushes four yellow Skittles toward the center of the table. Raj laughs to himself and throws his cards in, leaning back and taking a long draw from his beer. “Too rich for my blood.”
Penny wets her lips and widens her eyes, then turns to face Sheldon, expression innocent and sweet. She’s playing dirty and she knows it, but there’s not much she won’t do to win. Sheldon taps a finger against his cards, eyeing her, his brows just slightly narrowed. He glances at his candy, doing a quick count of how much he stands to lose, then eyes the pot, seeing how much he stands to win. He meets Penny’s eyes and then leans back, slouching slightly in his seat.
“You have a straight,” he says, tone even.
She cocks her chin and shrugs a little. “Maybe.”
“No, you have a straight,” he says. “And I know when I’m beat.”
He lifts his hand over his cards, just ready to fold, and she sits up, suddenly straight in her seat. Her eyes are almost needy when they meet his, her expression plain enough for him to read: don’t stop, don’t quit, don’t fold. He clenches his jaw and breathes out slow. A year ago, he wouldn’t have known what the set of her eyes meant, or the meaning behind the sudden stiffness in her spine, but there are too many late-night writing sessions, too many shows and songs between them for him to misinterpret now. They’ve spent too many miles with their shoulders pressed together for him not to know what she’s asking of him, and her knuckles whiten as she presses her palm harder against the table and watches the lines of his face.
His expression shifts just slightly, just subtly enough for no one to notice but her, and there’s a quiet, steady light in his eyes as he moves his hand suddenly and tosses four pieces of candy onto the pot. “I’ll call,” he says, his voice low.
They flip their cards, and both smile at the same time: he has a low straight, she has the high. Raj, Leonard and Howard all let out shouts and laughs, high-fiving Penny and ribbing Sheldon good-naturedly. She leans forward to collect her winnings, sorts the yellows from the reds from the greens, and as her fingers move she can feel Sheldon’s eyes on her again. They have four more shows until they head back to California, and Penny can’t shake the sense that there is something important about the miles they have left, something large and life-changing, and it’s so close Penny can almost taste it.
Leonard, Raj, and Howard are still laughing and joking as Leonard shuffles the cards for the next round, and they pay no attention to Penny as she leans closer to Sheldon and says, “Well played.”
Sheldon’s re-ordering his candy into straight, neat lines, and he doesn’t stop when he looks up at her and says, “And to you.” His eyes are warm, lips quirked just slightly, and his shoulders sway with the movement of the bus. Penny’s breath catches for a moment in her throat, and she resists the urge to wind her fingers around his wrist and tug him closer.
She looks back at her hands and smiles instead. There are still four more shows and a thousand miles to go, time enough for their whole lives in change. The tires beat beneath her, and she knows there is no rush, no hurry, that they’ll get there on their own. She knows where they’re headed and is confident that they will get there in time.
She hums a little to herself, a line of notes and melody that seem to spring into her head fully formed. It’s a little lilting, but catchy. Hopeful, she’d call it. She feels Sheldon listening in, tilting his head toward her just barely, and she starts to hum it again just as Leonard shuffles the cards one last time and starts to deal.
Author: allthingsholy
Rating: PG
Notes: This is a continuation of the BBT Bandverse, and takes place during every chorus was your name, on the road between Dayton and Indianapolis. It was written for the Paradox-O-Rama Friday Fiction Challenge #1. The title's from Metric's "Gimme Sympathy," which is from the Bandverse OST, found here.
Prompt:
bandfic
every chorus was your name | my love like a voice | make a record of my heart | all the chances we took
----
On the road, they’re pretty much limited to eating the things that you can buy at a gas station: jerky and Funyuns, or those 12-hour hot dogs that are as likely to kill you as fill you up. Penny eats her weight in McNuggets and Raj revels in the splendor of the McRib. It’s not the healthiest six-week stretch of their lives, but they’ll survive it.
There’s one purchase they never fail to make when they stop to fill-up: Skittles. They’re not for anything so trivial as eating, though. Instead they are the all-important legal tender of the Jupiter Logic tour bus: Skittles are currency.
“I’m in for four green,” Penny says, fingers drumming against the table where her cards lay face-down.
Howard sits beside her, leaning all the way back, hands braced behind his head. He’s wearing the smug expression of pocket aces on his face, but Penny’d guess he’s got a low pair, not even face cards. “Five red,” he says, a light in his eyes that makes Penny laugh and kick his foot under the table.
Raj lets out a low whistle. He clears his throat and takes a swig of his beer, and then nudges five red Skittles to the center of the table. “I call,” he says simply, checking Howard’s face for any signs of weakness.
Leonard checks and re-checks his cards, then eyes his not-so-slowly dwindling pile of candy. “I fold,” he says, tossing his cards to the center of the table and dropping his chin onto his palm.
“A wise decision,” Sheldon says, adding his Skittles to the pot. “The odds of you recouping your losses when you still haven’t mastered the ability to bluff are quite slim.” He sets his cards on the table and folds his hands over them neatly. “Bet’s to you, Penny.
The value system for the different colors was hard to keep track of at first, but Sheldon had worked out the system and ensured them all it was fair. When they’d complained enough about just taking his word for it, he’d written out a chart, and Penny squints at it from where it hangs on the mini-fridge before tossing three red Skittles to the center of the table. “I call.”
Sheldon burns the top card, then deals the flop, and Penny tries to keep her reaction to herself. She’s never been the best actress, but she’s getting better, and she manages to keep her face calm as she eyes the straight draw laid out on the table. All she needs is a four or a nine, and she narrows her eyes and considers her bet. She figures she’s due for a win, but she decides to slow-play instead of show her hand too soon and she raps her knuckle on the table. “Check.”
Howard looks like a little bit of his bravado has fallen by the wayside and he pulls his hands from behind his head to beat out a stilted rhythm against the table. He was on a hot streak from Madison to Detroit, but his luck seems to have changed since they left Michigan and his hands falter a little as he double-checks his cards. Just as she’s wondering if he’s got enough sense not to get in over his head, he picks three red from his pile and says, “I raise.”
Raj shakes his head. “Dude, bad move. When are you going to learn?”
“I’ll never learn,” Howard counters.
Leonard chuckles. “You can say that again.”
Penny smiles, watching the boys and their easy exchanges. The tour’s been good for them, for all of them. It’s not like they ever really fought before, but there’s a bond now, a closeness, a sense of camaraderie that wasn’t there before. It’s been a month of rest stations and gas stations and too firm hotel beds, but Penny’s glad to have made the trip, and to have made it with this group of guys, no matter how immature or ridiculous they can sometimes be.
She listens to Leonard and Raj launch into their usual bit about Howard and the girl he met in Denver who turned out to be sixteen, but even as she’s laughing she feels a sudden prickling in her chest, and a weight settle into her stomach. She doesn’t turn to look, but out of the corner of her eye she can just see Sheldon watching her.
It’s been like this for the past week, since they left Detroit. She doesn’t say anything when she notices, but she does notice: his eyes linger on her face a lot more than they used to, and she can feel him watching her when she moves through the bus or a club. She’s extra conscious of his gaze when they’re on stage too. She’d worried it would change the atmosphere of their performances, interrupt their rhythm or mess with their flow, but if anything it’s made the shows stronger, tighter, the tension putting her on edge in a way that pushes her harder.
Their first show after Detroit was a little place in Toledo, and Penny had commanded the stage with a white hot heat, aware of Sheldon’s eyes on her hips and her shoulders and her face. She hadn’t quite managed to meet his gaze the way she usually did, but she stayed around him in tight, tense circles, the music and the weight of his gaze thrumming through her like a pulse. In Dayton, she’d pushed it farther, coming up behind him during the bridge in “Will You? Would You?” and pressing her hand between his shoulder blades, leaning into him just slightly as she sang out the tail end of the song. It’s something she’d done a hundred times before, felt the rock and sway of him as his fingers spun out their melody, her palm sure against the straight of his spine, but when she pulled away this time, he met her eyes over his shoulder and her heart beat soundly in her chest, harder than it had even when she’d kissed him.
She feels the same flutter and frenzy in her ribcage as he watches her slide her hair behind her ear, as she feels his eyes on the line of her jaw when she laughs at Howard’s sullen pout. She swallows hard, lifts her shoulders, and says as calmly as she can, “Raj, it’s your bet.”
Raj and Sheldon both call, and Penny meets their bet with ease. On the next round, Sheldon deals an ace and Penny checks again, watches Howard fold and Raj and Sheldon go back and forth until it’s her turn to call one of the highest pots they’ve played: three yellow, five red.
She doesn’t falter as she drops the candy onto the pile, and the rest of the boys give her proud if disbelieving looks when she leans back into her seat and folds her arms jauntily. When Sheldon flips the last card, Penny’s stomach twists, her competitive side never very far beneath the surface. His hands pull away from the nine he’s just dealt, and everyone turns to Penny for her first bet. She looks hard at Raj, spares Sheldon a quick glance, and then pushes four yellow Skittles toward the center of the table. Raj laughs to himself and throws his cards in, leaning back and taking a long draw from his beer. “Too rich for my blood.”
Penny wets her lips and widens her eyes, then turns to face Sheldon, expression innocent and sweet. She’s playing dirty and she knows it, but there’s not much she won’t do to win. Sheldon taps a finger against his cards, eyeing her, his brows just slightly narrowed. He glances at his candy, doing a quick count of how much he stands to lose, then eyes the pot, seeing how much he stands to win. He meets Penny’s eyes and then leans back, slouching slightly in his seat.
“You have a straight,” he says, tone even.
She cocks her chin and shrugs a little. “Maybe.”
“No, you have a straight,” he says. “And I know when I’m beat.”
He lifts his hand over his cards, just ready to fold, and she sits up, suddenly straight in her seat. Her eyes are almost needy when they meet his, her expression plain enough for him to read: don’t stop, don’t quit, don’t fold. He clenches his jaw and breathes out slow. A year ago, he wouldn’t have known what the set of her eyes meant, or the meaning behind the sudden stiffness in her spine, but there are too many late-night writing sessions, too many shows and songs between them for him to misinterpret now. They’ve spent too many miles with their shoulders pressed together for him not to know what she’s asking of him, and her knuckles whiten as she presses her palm harder against the table and watches the lines of his face.
His expression shifts just slightly, just subtly enough for no one to notice but her, and there’s a quiet, steady light in his eyes as he moves his hand suddenly and tosses four pieces of candy onto the pot. “I’ll call,” he says, his voice low.
They flip their cards, and both smile at the same time: he has a low straight, she has the high. Raj, Leonard and Howard all let out shouts and laughs, high-fiving Penny and ribbing Sheldon good-naturedly. She leans forward to collect her winnings, sorts the yellows from the reds from the greens, and as her fingers move she can feel Sheldon’s eyes on her again. They have four more shows until they head back to California, and Penny can’t shake the sense that there is something important about the miles they have left, something large and life-changing, and it’s so close Penny can almost taste it.
Leonard, Raj, and Howard are still laughing and joking as Leonard shuffles the cards for the next round, and they pay no attention to Penny as she leans closer to Sheldon and says, “Well played.”
Sheldon’s re-ordering his candy into straight, neat lines, and he doesn’t stop when he looks up at her and says, “And to you.” His eyes are warm, lips quirked just slightly, and his shoulders sway with the movement of the bus. Penny’s breath catches for a moment in her throat, and she resists the urge to wind her fingers around his wrist and tug him closer.
She looks back at her hands and smiles instead. There are still four more shows and a thousand miles to go, time enough for their whole lives in change. The tires beat beneath her, and she knows there is no rush, no hurry, that they’ll get there on their own. She knows where they’re headed and is confident that they will get there in time.
She hums a little to herself, a line of notes and melody that seem to spring into her head fully formed. It’s a little lilting, but catchy. Hopeful, she’d call it. She feels Sheldon listening in, tilting his head toward her just barely, and she starts to hum it again just as Leonard shuffles the cards one last time and starts to deal.