FIC; nothing stays together when you're making noise [part two]

[juniperlane]

Bernadette shows up five days into recording, parking her tiny Kia that’s missing most of a headlight in the fire lane and dispensing violent hugs to each of the boys as they crowd around the driver’s side door. Well, except Sheldon, who pats her pleasantly on the shoulder and then heads to the trunk and starts lifting out her stuff.

“OK, you guys need to actually, like, let me out here. I’ve come to rescue Penny from you guys, and this is really not part of my game plan.” Raj and Howard both look crestfallen, and she hastens to add, “As glad as I am to see you.”

Penny just stands there on the stoop, the last bit of her smoke burning down to the filter, smiling like a lunatic. Not that she doesn’t love the boys, but fucking A, it will be pleasant to have someone normal and female and sane to interact with, especially someone that she can bounce song ideas off of, but really has no ulterior motives in giving advice. Bernadette just wants the songs to be good. Or as she always says, “Accessible and, you know, not shit.” It’s a philosophy Penny needs right at the moment.

Bernadette walks up to her, drops her duffel bag and shades her eyes with one hand. “Brought you a present, even if I’m not sure you deserve it.”

“I always deserve it.”

“Yeah, sure.” But she reaches into her pocket anyway, and pulls out a rolled up ziplock bag. “I’m thinking a couple hours on the roof, a little of this, and we’ll have you sorted out in no time.”

Oh, Bernadette is the best.

Howard is tuning his drums before they record a chunk of his section on the railroad song (shit, they have really got to sit down and come up with decent working titles), and Leonard and Raj are down in the room with him, even though there’s no air conditioning. If she knows them, they’re probably endlessly amused that Howard’s down to his undershirt, and for a drummer, his arms are still those of an underdeveloped nine year old. Bernadette’s dropping her stuff off at the house, but Penny’s pretty sure she should be back soon, and maybe they can disappear for a little bit, since Penny’s contributions on drums days are typically reduced to nodding her approval while developing a killer headache from the endless thumping.

Sheldon finds her while she’s poking through the beer fridge. She’d bought herself iced tea yesterday, they can’t possibly all be gone already. Fucking boys.

“Howard drank the last one this morning. I thought you’d noticed.” His tone indicates an oncoming argument, although he’s obviously still trying to be at least slightly cordial before launching into it.

No, she had not. And it’s still too early for beer, even though it’s still at least a few days until she has to start singing. Water it is. She grabs a bottle, and stands up to properly face him.

“I think we should find a different studio.” Oh sweet Jesus and all that is holy, she thinks. Well, no point in wasting time Sheldon, tell me how you really feel.

“I will have a rebuttal, but tell me why. I told you I’d listen to you, and I’m going to, Sheldon. If it makes sense, I’ll seriously consider it.”

“I simply do not trust them with our songs.”

“You don’t trust anyone with our songs. Half the time I don’t even think you trust us with our songs.”

He gives her one of his looks that suggests she is being ridiculous, but she notices the way he doesn’t quite make eye contact with her. And there’s a certain hint of sadness when he tells her, “I trust you.”

She cut a bit too deeply there, without even meaning to. She softens a bit. He only means well, he’s just being Sheldon, and he doesn’t know any better. “No, I know you do. I just meant that at some point, you need to let go. You have to trust that all of us will protect them. They’re ours, and that includes Timmy and Colby, ok?”

“The songs aren’t theirs. We pay them to care about us.”

“They’re not evil, Sheldon. And they didn’t have to take us on. They picked us.”

He shakes his head a little at that.

“Look, Sheldon. I know that you’re freaking out and you want all of this to be perfect, but we’re only just getting started here. There’s plenty of time to fix things up, and there’s mixing too. And you’re great when we take it to mixing, you know that, I know that, the guys know that.”

“I think they fundamentally do not understand our songs. That they do not understand us as a band. I can’t reconcile those beliefs with continuing on here.”

“We write rock music, Sheldon. Pop songs. Not everything has to be a masterpiece. They’re good songs, Sheldon, probably some of our best and I want everything to sound great, but we don’t have to kid ourselves here. We’re not writing the next magnum opus, or whatever it is.”

“Don’t,” he starts. Like she’s going to suddenly veer into territory he’s strictly forbidden. Germany, Astrid, a past that she still doesn’t really know anything about. “Don’t.”

She ignores the familiar twinge of not-exactly-anger whenever he gets defensive over his background. “I’m just saying you need to start being a little more willing to compromise on some things. That’s all. Not even big ones. Just don’t take everything so personally.”

“Artists don’t compromise, Penny. Otherwise, we would not call them artists.”

Jesus Christ. That’s great, let’s start an argument about aesthetics, that’s exactly what the situation calls for. “Sheldon, get the stick out of your ass for one minute and think. These guys are the real deal. If they like us, they put in a good word for us with someone even more famous when we take it to mixing. Timmy got nominated for a Grammy, for Christsakes.”

“And lost to Katy Perry.”

“Well, OK, yes, not her actually-”

“Last year when we watched the Grammy’s, you swore at a rate that was at least 200% higher than your usual level of inevitable vulgarity.”

“I’m not saying that they’re the best awards, but they still carry a certain weight in this industry.”

“An industry we are increasingly likely to fail in, at least in terms of what is typically considered ‘success,’ i.e. considerable radio play, producing music videos that are played on television, or performing at venues of a certain size, such as arenas or stadiums.”

Oh, she’s getting a headache, all right. “I’m sorry, I was unaware that your ultimate goal was to become a massive fucking rock star.”

His mouth turns at the corner.

“And I was unaware that bringing my concerns to you would engender such casual indifference, especially after you vowed to listen to my misgivings about this entire thing.” He waves his hands in the air in some vague Sheldon approximation of nonchalance, and Penny is struck by how much she would like to punch her own boyfriend in the face.

“I don’t need a bunch of your ten-dollar words thrown in my face, Sheldon. I know this is important to you-”

“No, actually, I don’t think you do, Penny.”

And this is when something inside of her snaps, just a little. That small, dark place in her that still thinks she should be in Nebraska, on the farm, that all of this is still just a fluke and soon enough, she’ll be back, driving and drinking and dying back amongst the corn fields flares up into something that almost blinds her. It doesn’t help that it’s already been a week of Sheldon chipping away at the walls she’s built up around this belief.

Sheldon sees something change on her face, because suddenly he goes from fuming to a more contained and stiff sullenness. Like it’s back to being him against the world, rather than the two of them against the world. It’s almost as if he reverts to the Sheldon she met years ago.

So this bodes well for the rest of recording.

“I should head back upstairs. I won’t bother you with this again.”

“Sheldon,” she starts, but doesn’t finish. He doesn’t even flinch, and he certainly doesn’t look back as he heads up the stairs.

So this is going to be great.

She heads up to the roof that night, with Bernadette in tow. She’s still not really doing much of anything in the studio besides alternating between sitting around being bored, dicking around on her laptop, attempting to be deeply fascinated by her new research into merchandise options when Sheldon pretends to not be looking over at her from across the room, and blankly staring at Raj and Leonard while they argue over what pedal effect Raj should use in the chorus of what she thinks they’ll end up calling Singer Park. And she’s decidedly not thinking about Sheldon or the fight, or that they even had words that resembled an argument. So yeah, it’s been a really productive day. And Bernadette had ended up disappearing with Howard off to Stumptown for most of the afternoon once he had wrapped up the fill on the railroad song.. They had actually returned to the studio holding coffee cups, but still. It’s been a while since Penny’s really had to play the game, but she’s pretty sure grabbing a latte doesn’t take four hours. But to Bernadette’s credit, she shows up and gamely listens to the same eight measures of the chorus over and over with each different effect layered in on Raj’s bass line, and has actual advice to give. Even if it does come out in less than technical terms: “I like that one, but maybe if it was less thrummy? Sharper, but not like, sharp, but... pointed. Pointy. Something like that, oh you know what I mean.” Raj and Leonard nod seriously, and start fiddling with knobs all over again, while Timmy looks on in horror that he’s going to have to record the same part all over again.

The roof above Five Star has its fair share of pigeon shit and seagull shit and old beer cans, but Timmy’s stuck a few beach chairs up there and old milk crates for foot rests. It’s a nice night, and Portland stretches out into the distance, where the mountains take over. Penny slowly rolls a joint while Bernadette pops the caps on their beers.

“Did Sheldon say anything?”

“No, not really. He told me to wake him up when I got back to the hotel.”

“Wouldn’t you wake him up anyway?” Bernadette laughs. She knows what Penny’s like when she gets stoned. But Penny’s pretty sure Sheldon’s definitely not going to be in the mood tonight. Or for the next week. It seems like a larger fight than make-up sex can fix.

“Shut up. You gonna wake up Howard when you get back to the house?” It’s hard to see in this light, but Penny catches the way Bernadette flushes, the familiar posture of proud and defensive she used to wear all the time when her and Sheldon first started. “Oh come on, like I haven’t seen this coming for at least a year now. Whatever, good for you. He’s--well--Howard, but underneath it all, he’s a good guy. You just have to dig. With a full team of archaeologists and ten grand in grant money, but it’s in there.”

“He’s charming. Sometimes in a creepy way, but usually in a good one.”

“Hey, if it works, it works. Look at me. I can’t judge.” She licks the edge of the paper and carefully presses. Rolling joints has never been one of her strong suits, but Bernadette forgot her bowl and she was too lazy to track down the closest head shop.

“Lighter, please.”

Bernadette pushes it into her hand. “This stuff had better be good, the guy that hangs around at Stuart’s totally jacked the price on me.”

Penny touches the flame to the end of the joint and inhales, deep and even. She holds, then exhales. “It’s because I wasn’t there. I tend to flash him a bit more of my tits than I usually like to, but it gets the job done.” She takes another drag, then reaches across the space between the two chairs to pass it to Bernadette.

“Well fuck you, Jedi Master, you couldn’t tell me these things before you leave for fucking Oregon? You owe me an extra twenty bucks.”

“Uh huh, sure. I’ll cover you at the bar tomorrow. And what the hell, I’ll toss in a round of pool and a song on the jukebox.”

Bernadette sinks into her beach chair, which creaks a bit ominously. “I accept the terms.”

They sit in amiable silence, passing the joint back and forth. Between the two of them, it seems to last forever. Sometimes they’ll smoke with the boys, but Sheldon never does it. Penny wishes he would.

“You know, it would be pretty hot if you shotgunned Sheldon.”

Penny looks over at Bernadette, who’s smiling vaguely up at the night sky. She finally turns and looks back at Penny. “I’m just saying. It’s not like I’d want to watch or anything.”

Penny tries really hard to not imagine shotgunning Sheldon, since it’s the polite thing and all. But it’s weird, right? That Bernadette would say that right as she’s thinking about Sheldon? “Sometimes I worry you live in my brain.”

“No fair telling scary stories. Do you see a campfire? Don’t tell me things like that, Pen, I’ll have nightmares.”

“Shut up.”

They lapse into a familiar silence, and if it wasn’t for the edge of the milk crate digging into the back of her ankles, she’d almost be tempted to doze off for a bit. Recording isn’t exactly a nine to five sort of job, and most of it’s incredibly boring for her, but the days are still long in their own way and today has actually sort of sucked the big one.

“I‘m worried that Sheldon might-”

Bernadette puts a hand on her arm. “Be Sheldon? He’s used to the shitholes you guys usually record in, Penny. Give him a few days to trust these guys.”

“I know, but I can tell they’re already going crazy. They know what they’re doing. And he sat through how many meetings with Colby before we even got here?” She sighs. “I just thought I had him settled down, but it only gets worse every time I open my mouth around him.”

“They’re his songs.” She says it like it’s everything, like they’re his children or his legacy or everything he has left in the world.

Penny takes a swig of beer, and thinks about that. They’re actually their songs, but it’s a fair point.

“Give him a few days, Penny. He’ll get used to it.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Penny says, and tries to stop thinking about it for the night.

By the time she gets back to the hotel, she’s already pretty much back to normal, although there’s a lingering buzz she can feel in her fingers, and she still doesn’t quite have a full sensation that her nose is actually on her face. Other than that, she’s mostly just dreading that when she sees Sheldon, that they can be normal and either talk about what’s going on and hopefully resolve it like rational adults, or at the very least not ignore that there’s a massive fucking problem between the two of them, and actually between Sheldon and the entire band and their support network. It’s not like fights like this one haven’t happened before, but usually they were far easier to handle and much closer to home, and even Sheldon seemed a little more self-aware of how far he was taking things.

He’s set up a small music space over near the window of their room. Penny’s left all her equipment back at the studio, but Sheldon treks his favorite Nord back and forth every day, so he can come back and arrange at night before bed and in the morning before he heads over. He’s hunched over a notebook, writing with one hand and still playing notes with the other, and even she can hear the music coming from his headphones all the way across the room.

He’s still angry, then.

She listens a minute before she disturbs him, and if he’s noticed that she’s there, watching him, he certainly doesn’t indicate it. It’s a new part to one of the songs, or a new song entirely, but it’s definitely something she’s never heard before. She wonders if he’s been working on it long, or if it’s something that he wrote today, after their argument. It’s sad and lonely, until suddenly there’s a key change and his notes sound so full of broken hope she feels something in her chest give, just a little.

When his headphones finally fall silent, she calls out his name. He doesn’t actually seem mad when he turns around, but he still moves like he’s resigned.

She walks over to him, and hugs him around his neck from behind. She kisses his head, behind the band of his headphones, below the ear; she puts her hands over his heart and she presses. She feels like she’s regaining ground when his hands come up to cover hers, and his fingers overlap hers without any hesitation.

She doesn’t want to say anything, for fear of disturbing the moment. But she wants him to know that’s she’s on his side, she really is. That she’s the bridge to the rest of them, too, and she’s got to make sure that Sheldon doesn’t accidentally ruin exactly what he’s so determined to protect. That he doesn’t lose everything, not just the album. But she has to make sure that he knows he can’t lose her, no matter how much effort he seems like he’s putting into doing exactly that.

“I love you.”

“I know.” It’s the familiar routine, and no one even needs to be frozen in carbonite. She smiles into his neck, and she knows she’s won (at least for the night) when he drops his guard and relaxes his posture, to press back against the weight of her chest.

“Come to bed, Sheldon.”

“I should finish this.”

She doesn’t push too hard. She can be patient, and above all, she knows how to be patient with him. He gets to places in his own time, and it’s always been worth the wait. So she sits on the end of the bed, and watches him compose, the way he’ll suddenly stop and stare out the window for a minute, working out the next notes in his brain, then returning to the keys. Each time it comes faster, until finally his hands still and he turns to her.

“Would you like to hear it?” He holds the headphones out to her.

The song is sad, in its own way. She can hear the space he left her for the lyrics, the way they will wind around the piano, the space below for cello, for bass. There is an endless depth to this song. She can’t stop herself from wondering who he wrote it for.

When he stops, she doesn’t ask any of the questions on her mind, she doesn’t need to know if he wants to record it, if he wants to write the lyrics himself, or if they will sing it together. Maybe it is a song for them, maybe it’s a song for someone he once knew. Maybe it’s a song for himself. It’s still too rough and raw, and still aching under his fingertips for her to find out. Instead, she fits her knees beside his hips in his armchair, even though it’s a tight squeeze, and she kisses him.

His hands reach up to take the headphones from her ears, and he places them carefully on the keyboard. She brushes her fingers through his hair. It’s getting long again. She loves it when he’s so lost in band things he forgets to go get his hair cut, and it gets shaggy enough to sweep across his forehead.

“We should ask if we can arrange for a horn section for at least a day,” he says. “Maybe two.”

“You’re getting ambitious, Cooper.”

He shrugs a little. “The song needs it.” He hums a little of the middle 8. “There, and then the chorus. It adds something.”

“Catharsis. Like you’re letting go of something but getting something bigger in return.”

He nods, and she’s pretty sure that when his hands grip at her hips just a little tighter, that he’s not even aware that he’s doing it. It’s sweet, in his Sheldon way.

“I don’t disagree with you. Do you think we have the money for it?”

“I think we can. Especially if we can book a show up here one or two nights.”

“I can ask Colby tomorrow, if you want me to.” A peace offering, to be the go between. To take Sheldon’s ideas and make them theirs, and to execute them to his expectations. For him to trust her again.

“All right,” he says, and she thinks maybe this thing between them has finally healed itself. Or it’s on its way, as long as she doesn’t pick too hard at it.

“Come to bed, Sheldon,” she says again, and this time he agrees.

She feels like Sheldon’s the only thing holding her down, where his hands connect to her back, or wrapped around the curve of her neck under her hair, but in a good and familiar way, like gravity. Like it’s something inevitable and comforting. There’s a sea of pillows on the bed still, but they’ve pushed off all the extra blankets and shams and all the other crazy things hotels think to put on their beds, and it’s just the two of them tangling themselves up in the sheets. She can pretend they’re home, in their apartment, in a darkness that’s familiar and free of surprises, where her body can cut through the air like a knife and she can try to fold herself into the places under Sheldon’s skin.

She listens to him breathe, and keeps her hands on his chest to feel its rise and fall. He’s still breathing deep and even, although he’s got his head pushed back into the pillows and his eyes closed. He’s trying to keep it together, even now, every time they do this. She waits for him to gasp for air, for his chest to jerk under her hands, for him to finally break, like he always does. She loves to watch him, even though they’ve done this so many times she’s lost count.

They have to be all right, after today, after what’s been leading up to it. They won’t break apart at the seams, not when there’s still this between them, and the music.

They have to be.

Penny rolls into the studio the next morning feeling boneless and pliant and in desperate need of a strong cup of coffee. Sheldon’s like the Tin Man to her Scarecrow, stiff and all awkward angles when he sits in the chair at the board next to Timmy. She knows he’s trying, she can see it in the set of his shoulders and the way his finger fidget with the cord of his headphones. But it’s not even an hour before he’s back to making a laundry list of complaints to Timmy. So much for that, then. He asks to hear the same part four or five times, and Timmy plays along, but Penny can tell that Sheldon’s already pushing his luck. She knows he’s just doing his thing, and he tends to pick up on stuff all the time that she can’t even hear, but he always has problems figuring out when is enough. They don’t have the time to spend a week on each song, as much as she wishes they did. Some of it can get fixed while it’s getting mixed, when Sheldon’s complete anal-retentiveness not only comes in handy, but tends to impress people. Some of it really does need to be fixed right now, but Sheldon needs to learn to trust his initial judgement and move on, instead of listening multiple times to confirm what he already knows.

So it’s exactly the wrong move when Timmy asks Sheldon (incredibly politely, considering) to take a break downstairs while he edits something.

Sheldon doesn’t even move from his swivel chair at the mixing board. Penny watches him and knows he’s struggling not to snap.

Timmy glances at her, as if to ask for help. But he tries again, without her. “Sheldon, I know you want to be involved in the this. But sometimes, I have to be alone to find the thing that works best. It’s part of the creative process. I’m sure you understand. If you’d like, I’ll sit with you at the break for lunch and go over the track for as long as you need.”

It’s a dumb thing to say, because Sheldon could end up there the whole day, but Penny doubts Sheldon would take the compromise anyway.

“I’m under the impression that I am exchanging money for services rendered.”

Now Timmy’s definitely looking at her. It’s the look she’s seen plenty of times before, from bar owners and club promoters, and pretty much everyone that comes into contact with Sheldon for more than five minutes. Translate please. But she’s still trying to figure a way out of this that doesn’t end in bloodshed. And that’s not even entirely figurative.

“He’s trying to tell you that since he’s paying you, he wants it done his way.” Leonard sounds incredibly embarrassed.

Timmy, bless him, doesn’t look offended. Although he’s probably putting this one away for the next time he’s hired by a band, and he takes them out drinking and tells war stories about the crazy musicians that come through his studio. “Sheldon, no offense, but you can’t afford to work at your pace. You’d be here for three months, maybe longer.”

The shoulder blades draw together, and the line of his neck gets even straighter, and she’s got to step in before Sheldon fucks up everything. He’s already crossed the line, but Timmy’s a good guy, and she knows he likes them (even Sheldon, maybe, it’s not entirely outside the realm of possibility) and there’s still enough wiggle room for her to fix this.

“If you’ll just excuse the two of us for a moment,” she says, and spins Sheldon’s chair around before he can plant his feet. “It won’t take long. Go ahead without us, Timmy.”

She drags Sheldon into the little hallway between the main room and the vocal booth, and slides the door shut. It’s not going to be enough that the rest of the guys can’t hear them though, but she’s pretty sure that Timmy will miss most of it with his headphones on, and at this point she honestly doesn’t give a shit what the rest of the band hears.

“Sheldon, I thought we had, I don’t know, figured this out. Or at least agreed that we could work with them, right?”

“I’ve reconsidered.”

“No, see, you can’t just reconsider and not tell me about it. We’ve got two more weeks here, and then that’s it. Our money runs out, and we’ll have to start all over again to try and finish the record. Another round of cover shows, another delay that pushes us off the radar just a little more, for all those A&R guys that might be looking at us.”

“It’s just as much a failure to put out an album that isn’t good enough. Then instead of making them wait, they’ll dismiss us outright and that’s it. Our future as a wedding band has never looked brighter.”

“It’s only not good enough for you, Sheldon.”

“Why should I trust your opinion? We found you off a bulletin board. We could have picked anyone with an ability to stay in key.”

Jesus Christ, if he was hitting below the belt before, this is a two by four to the metaphorical nuts, and even he knows it. But it’s not in his nature to take things back, so instead he just stands there, hands clenched into fists, and he tries to look defiant, although not directly at her.

Now she does care that she’s only around the corner from the guys. So she has to consider her words carefully, and not let the hurt seep into her voice, even if at some level she knows he’s just lashing out. It’s his nature.

“Don’t do this, Sheldon,” she says. There, good. Calm. Rational.

“Do what, Penny? Voice my concerns? Tell the truth?”

“It’s not just you in this, you know. There’s five people in this band,” she says, but thinks, there’s the two of us. You made it so it was the two of us. You chose it when you kissed me back in Detroit, you signed an agreement without even knowing it, you did this to us, Sheldon Cooper, so don’t think you can undo it so easily, or that I will let you.

But it’s Sheldon that turns and walks silently through the main room, past the sofas where Raj and Leonard and Howard are sitting (and, oh god, Bernadette), and out the door.

She wasn’t expecting that.

She ignores the looks everyone gives her. It’s harder than she expects.

She digs in her purse for her wallet. Fortunately, for once she's actually got cash and not just a debit card, so she folds up a couple of twenties and presses them into Raj's hand, then drags him outside so Timmy can't hear them. "Go get him, take him to a bar, let him get it out of his system. I’m not going to get very far with him if I go." Raj starts to speak, but she rolls right over him. "Just make sure you get him home before he can't walk anymore. I'll clean things up here."

Sheldon's already down well down the block. Raj will have to run to catch him. He turns unhappily back to her. "Why is it always me?"

It's an easy answer, but one she doesn't like to bring attention to. Raj is the only one, well, besides her, that will actually listen to Sheldon, even at his most difficult. Howard and Leonard just tend to wait him out and then dismiss his concerns, which drives her crazy. Sheldon probably notices it too, but doesn't say anything. So Raj is the one she always relies on, when she can't be the one to calm him down.

She doesn't say any of that though, just smiles and punches Raj in the shoulder. "You're his friend. And you're the best. And I'll buy you dinner tonight." She glances up, and Sheldon's gone around the corner. "You'd better go before you lose him."

"Fine," Raj says. "But no fast food and no Indian."

"Deal."

She watches Raj jog down the street for a minute before she heads back in. She's going to need every ounce of charm she's got on her to smooth things over with Timmy. And then she’s going to have to deal with Bernadette and shut down Howard and Leonard’s horrible attempts at concern.

Raj and Sheldon don't show up in time for dinner. They order pizza and keep working, and she knows Timmy's glad to get things done without having a backseat engineer hovering over him all afternoon, even if the mood is still awkward and tense. Penny naps for a little bit on the sofa, listening to the same guitar lick over and over, and the heavy sounds of the boys walking around upstairs.

Raj and Sheldon don't show up for the rest of the night, either. They call it quits a little after midnight, and Penny turns down Leonard's offer to go back with her to the hotel. She does pull Bernadette aside, and asks her to call if the guys show up at the house during the night. Bernadette nods, and touches her on the elbow. She shakes her head. Sheldon just took her by surprise, is all. It’s not that she thinks he means what he said, but still. He hasn’t really meant any of it so far. And anyway, he’s with Raj, so she knows that he’s fine - he’ll come back, hopefully drunk and about as remorseful as he’s capable of, and she won’t say much but she’ll let him know she can forgive him. Even if it make take a little time. And it’s not like Sheldon and Raj are out at a strip club or anything. It’s Sheldon. And Raj. Naked women are the last thing either one of them want to see.

She’s tempted for a little bit to text Raj to to find out where they are, and maybe go help with Sheldon, but she knows Raj would have called her if he really needed it. And by now, it’s almost too late to go put herself in the middle of this one again, even if she really wanted to. Which, if she’s being honest, she doesn’t.

So, executive decision: back to the hotel for a bath, maybe a bottle of wine, and then curling up with her laptop and her DVD of You’ve Got Mail until Sheldon gets back.

She's still awake when the card reader on the door whines and beeps. Sheldon's quiet. The lights are off, and she's curled up on her side of the bed, and she doesn't move as Sheldon shuts the door and gets undressed. She knows he's drunk, wasted even, but knowing him and what he's like when he's a bottle in, he gets even more uptight and controlling of his own movements. It's why he's deadly at Wii Bowling on practice nights, but on the rare occasions she's ever seen him like this, it's like being in the eye of a hurricane sweeping in to shore.

He slips into his side of the bed and tucks the covers around himself. It’s the way he used to sleep back before they got together, when he’d wrap himself up like a mummy on the bus and sleep ramrod straight on his back. She pulls at the blankets a bit and puts her hand on his shoulder. If he’s startled by the fact that she’s awake, he doesn’t show it.

“Are we over?” she asks, not even knowing if she’s talking about them or the band.

He doesn’t reply.

She stays awake a while that night.

Sheldon doesn’t say anything in the morning either. He just showers, dresses, and waits for her to be ready.

She digs the aspirin out of the bottom of her suitcase, and tosses it at him. Maybe a little harder than she was originally intending. He catches it and avoids her eyes while he swallows two down with a swig from his water bottle.

So this is how he’s going to play it. Awesome.

masterpost | part one | part two | part three