an object at rest, tbbtfic, penny, sheldon, 1000 words
Title: an object at rest
Rating: G
Summary: Sheldon takes a job working with Penny at the Cheesecake Factory. It really is a shit job.
Word Count: 1000
Disclaimer: This was written for help_haiti and their awesome auction, off a lightning round prompt from weasleytook. This is maybe not what she was expecting, but: I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT ANYWAY, LADY. Thanks to sinstralpride for beta'ing this, and being awake, and giving it extra special love.
----
He’s almost dropped his third tray by the time he figures out that the physics behind wait service might be imprecise.
“Sheldon!” Penny screeches at him from across the bar, “you have to use your shoulder!” She rushes up to him and jerks his arms this way and that, and rests the heavy tray against his neck. “There. Better?”
Sheldon leans his head as far away from the tray as possible, but still manages to give Penny a withering gaze. “My mouth is far too close in proximity to the food other people will be eating than can possibly be allowed by any sort of governing or regulating entity.”
Penny sighs in exasperation and rests her hands on her hips, and levels him with a heavy stare. “Lean away, Sheldon. It’ll be fine.”
He strains his neck ridiculously and starts, “Penny, I don’t-”
“THE CHEESECAKE FACTORY POLICE WILL NOT COME AND ARREST YOU, SHELDON. DELIVER THE DAMN TRAY.”
So he hands out heaping dishes of pasta and chicken and potatoes, plates balances precariously in his large, fumbling hands. Penny watches him like a hawk, immediately interrupting him when he gets on a tear about appropriate portion sizes or the necessary daily caloric intake for the average American male.
He’s halfway through a rant on the fiber content of whole grain pasta when Penny grabs him by the elbow and drags him into the kitchen, along past the line and out the back door. They stop in the alley where all the waitstaff smoke and gossip on their breaks and lunches, empty now in the middle of the dinner rush and uncharacteristically quiet.
Penny finally lets go of him and turns away and sighs, hands drawn immediately to her hips. “Sheldon, are you trying to get me fired?”
It is a ridiculous question and he says as much. “Why would I desire to get you fired? What purpose would that hold for me? If anything you’d be even more troublesome without the scant funds you earn from this minimum wage job, and become an even bigger burden on our refrigerator space and internet bandwidth.”
Penny stands up straighter and stills, and he sees her knuckles whiten as her fingers dig into the denim on her hips. She leans her head back and breathes out slow. The night is quiet and unbearably still, and her hair hangs long and lank against the back of her neck, sticking to the skin above the collar of her shirt.
“This is a shit job.” She throws the words over her shoulder like they’re easy, but there’s an edge to them that even Sheldon cannot miss. “It’s just-” and she laughs to herself, a low, aching sound “-a really shit job.”
Sheldon narrows his eyes in confusion, and asks, “If this job is ‘shit,’ as you put it, then why do you continue to work here?”
It’s a straightforward question, he thinks, so there’s no reason why Penny should look at him with such a bewildered expression on her face, like he asked her for the square root of pi. (1.77245385, to begin.) She turns to face him and shakes her head, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I don’t know. I don’t really have any other options.”
It is one of life’s great mysteries, Sheldon occasionally muses, that Penny has wormed her way into his circle of friends. She shares very few of his interests, is not by rights a member of his social caste, and seems to genuinely care for the whole lot of them, despite Howard’s lecherousness, Raj’s persistent mutism, and Leonard’s continued transparently blind adoration and unmitigated failings as a romantic partner.
The social contract of friendship is one he has never taken lightly, so it’s with a certain weight of responsibility that he asks, “Penny, aren’t you an actress?”
She widens her eyes and looks up at him, and says, “I want to be. I mean. Someday, maybe.”
Sheldon clasps his hands behind his back and looks out over Penny’s shoulder, counting the bricks above the dumpster as he says, “I believe it is a binary state, Penny. You either are an actress, or you aren’t.”
“It’s not that easy,” she starts, and he tightens his hands behind his back.
“Part of our social contract requires that I believe in and encourage you in your times of despair and self-doubt,” he says. She raises an eyebrow at him and he adds, “Theoretically.” He finishes counting the bricks above the dumpster. He starts again as he asks, “When was your last audition?”
Penny breathes out a harsh sigh. “If this is your idea of a pep talk, we seriously need to work on your-”
“An object at rest will remain at rest unless acted upon by an outside force.” He lowers his gaze and meets her eyes, and she opens and closes her mouth a few times, but says nothing in response. “This really is a shit job.”
Penny clenches her jaw and looks down at her shoes. He’d say he could see the gears in her head spinning if it weren’t a ridiculous metaphor. He fights an urge to straighten her ponytail, fix her collar, smooth the parts of her that are disheveled and shake her until she understands. There is a whole world out there, he wants to say. Why are you wasting time?
There are 126 bricks above the dumpster, but Sheldon keeps his eyes on Penny’s face, on the way she tightens her jaw and shakes her head just slightly before she laughs again, brighter, easier, the sound escaping all in a rush and settling around her shoulders as they straighten. She reaches behind her and unties her apron, and presses it against his chest. He lifts a hand to grab it and his fingers close over hers, and her smile is wide and blinding as she turns her face up to his.
He hears a bus go by somewhere out past the alley, and Penny’s fingers close around his wrist for just a moment before she pulls her hand from his. She doesn’t say anything when she turns to go, but her hair flows out behind her as she walks away. When she throws him one last look, before she walks out into the night, into the city, into the whole wide, waiting world, she’s still smiling.
Rating: G
Summary: Sheldon takes a job working with Penny at the Cheesecake Factory. It really is a shit job.
Word Count: 1000
Disclaimer: This was written for help_haiti and their awesome auction, off a lightning round prompt from weasleytook. This is maybe not what she was expecting, but: I HOPE YOU ENJOY IT ANYWAY, LADY. Thanks to sinstralpride for beta'ing this, and being awake, and giving it extra special love.
----
He’s almost dropped his third tray by the time he figures out that the physics behind wait service might be imprecise.
“Sheldon!” Penny screeches at him from across the bar, “you have to use your shoulder!” She rushes up to him and jerks his arms this way and that, and rests the heavy tray against his neck. “There. Better?”
Sheldon leans his head as far away from the tray as possible, but still manages to give Penny a withering gaze. “My mouth is far too close in proximity to the food other people will be eating than can possibly be allowed by any sort of governing or regulating entity.”
Penny sighs in exasperation and rests her hands on her hips, and levels him with a heavy stare. “Lean away, Sheldon. It’ll be fine.”
He strains his neck ridiculously and starts, “Penny, I don’t-”
“THE CHEESECAKE FACTORY POLICE WILL NOT COME AND ARREST YOU, SHELDON. DELIVER THE DAMN TRAY.”
So he hands out heaping dishes of pasta and chicken and potatoes, plates balances precariously in his large, fumbling hands. Penny watches him like a hawk, immediately interrupting him when he gets on a tear about appropriate portion sizes or the necessary daily caloric intake for the average American male.
He’s halfway through a rant on the fiber content of whole grain pasta when Penny grabs him by the elbow and drags him into the kitchen, along past the line and out the back door. They stop in the alley where all the waitstaff smoke and gossip on their breaks and lunches, empty now in the middle of the dinner rush and uncharacteristically quiet.
Penny finally lets go of him and turns away and sighs, hands drawn immediately to her hips. “Sheldon, are you trying to get me fired?”
It is a ridiculous question and he says as much. “Why would I desire to get you fired? What purpose would that hold for me? If anything you’d be even more troublesome without the scant funds you earn from this minimum wage job, and become an even bigger burden on our refrigerator space and internet bandwidth.”
Penny stands up straighter and stills, and he sees her knuckles whiten as her fingers dig into the denim on her hips. She leans her head back and breathes out slow. The night is quiet and unbearably still, and her hair hangs long and lank against the back of her neck, sticking to the skin above the collar of her shirt.
“This is a shit job.” She throws the words over her shoulder like they’re easy, but there’s an edge to them that even Sheldon cannot miss. “It’s just-” and she laughs to herself, a low, aching sound “-a really shit job.”
Sheldon narrows his eyes in confusion, and asks, “If this job is ‘shit,’ as you put it, then why do you continue to work here?”
It’s a straightforward question, he thinks, so there’s no reason why Penny should look at him with such a bewildered expression on her face, like he asked her for the square root of pi. (1.77245385, to begin.) She turns to face him and shakes her head, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I don’t know. I don’t really have any other options.”
It is one of life’s great mysteries, Sheldon occasionally muses, that Penny has wormed her way into his circle of friends. She shares very few of his interests, is not by rights a member of his social caste, and seems to genuinely care for the whole lot of them, despite Howard’s lecherousness, Raj’s persistent mutism, and Leonard’s continued transparently blind adoration and unmitigated failings as a romantic partner.
The social contract of friendship is one he has never taken lightly, so it’s with a certain weight of responsibility that he asks, “Penny, aren’t you an actress?”
She widens her eyes and looks up at him, and says, “I want to be. I mean. Someday, maybe.”
Sheldon clasps his hands behind his back and looks out over Penny’s shoulder, counting the bricks above the dumpster as he says, “I believe it is a binary state, Penny. You either are an actress, or you aren’t.”
“It’s not that easy,” she starts, and he tightens his hands behind his back.
“Part of our social contract requires that I believe in and encourage you in your times of despair and self-doubt,” he says. She raises an eyebrow at him and he adds, “Theoretically.” He finishes counting the bricks above the dumpster. He starts again as he asks, “When was your last audition?”
Penny breathes out a harsh sigh. “If this is your idea of a pep talk, we seriously need to work on your-”
“An object at rest will remain at rest unless acted upon by an outside force.” He lowers his gaze and meets her eyes, and she opens and closes her mouth a few times, but says nothing in response. “This really is a shit job.”
Penny clenches her jaw and looks down at her shoes. He’d say he could see the gears in her head spinning if it weren’t a ridiculous metaphor. He fights an urge to straighten her ponytail, fix her collar, smooth the parts of her that are disheveled and shake her until she understands. There is a whole world out there, he wants to say. Why are you wasting time?
There are 126 bricks above the dumpster, but Sheldon keeps his eyes on Penny’s face, on the way she tightens her jaw and shakes her head just slightly before she laughs again, brighter, easier, the sound escaping all in a rush and settling around her shoulders as they straighten. She reaches behind her and unties her apron, and presses it against his chest. He lifts a hand to grab it and his fingers close over hers, and her smile is wide and blinding as she turns her face up to his.
He hears a bus go by somewhere out past the alley, and Penny’s fingers close around his wrist for just a moment before she pulls her hand from his. She doesn’t say anything when she turns to go, but her hair flows out behind her as she walks away. When she throws him one last look, before she walks out into the night, into the city, into the whole wide, waiting world, she’s still smiling.