Title: The Apocalyptic Presumptions

Author: RJ1013

Summary: After Amy receives unfortunate news, her life continues to unravel. As she navigates through the rough spots, Sheldon faces trials of his own.

Shamy. Drama/Romance/Adventure/Suspense

Rating: M

Spoilers: Up to and including 9.01. We begin in the days before the season 8 finale and diverge after 9.01.

Disclaimer: I still don't own anything, certainly nothing from TBBT.

Notes:

Many, many thanks to QBMaja for beta reading every single chapter in this story! Her comments helped me tidy the timelines, fix logical errors, expand on the ambiguous bits, and most importantly, keep these characters in line.

This story is fully written, and new chapters will go up 3-4 times a week as I give them a final edit.

CHAPTER 1

May 4, 2015

Amy scoffs as she scans the information intake form for her annual gynecological exam. Could they possibly think of more personal questions to ask that she doesn't want to answer?

She ticks through the boxes of her medical history as well as that of her immediate family members. Her paternal side is left blank, as it always is. It's never been her favorite thing to have to explain, but it's far from being the sorest spot that these questions pick at.

The level of invasiveness seems to increase as she works her way down the page. Employment information is easy enough, but then Amy writes down 'no one' next to the question of who she lives with. Never been married. No kids. She does get to write down Sheldon as her significant other, though. While her drug history is non-existent, Amy feels oddly proud to fill in her alcohol usage. Thanks be to Penny, at least something on here won't be pathetic.

Her pride is short lived, however, when she gets down to the questions about sexual history. For number of current sexual partners, Amy writes the number '0'. When she gets to 'age of first sexual activity', Amy grips the pen more firmly and scribbles, 'still waiting'. In a brief snit of immaturity, she crosses out the question about the number of lifetime sexual partners altogether.

Next comes prescription information. Amy writes down her seasonal allergy medicine and her multivitamin. She leaves the space next to the birth control question empty, though she is sorely tempted to write 'why bother?'.

Objectively speaking, Amy knows that gathering her history is important for appropriate medical care. Subjectively speaking, she wants to tell them exactly where they can shove this stupid form—and to do so in great anatomical detail.

Amy fans her warming face before tossing the clipboard onto the nearby chair. She shouldn't feel so hot, given that she is only wrapped in a thin hospital gown. Her feet dangle off the end of the examination table, and she tries not to think about the impending pap smear. Hell, maybe she should just be happy that someone wants to put something into her vagina.

Frustrated with her own poor attitude, Amy scrubs her hands down her face. She didn't used to be like this. Never before has she experienced this constant barrage of negative feelings. It isn't Sheldon's fault that he hasn't been ready to progress their relationship. She has always known how he is. Lately, however, she has felt the final threads of her patience wearing thin.

It's not even just with Sheldon. Her moods have been all over the place. When dealing with colleagues at work, she has had almost no tolerance for incompetence. She can barely speak to her mother civilly for five minutes at a time. Even Bernadette and Penny have seemed to notice a change in her.

She wishes that this was the only thing wrong. Unfortunately, other symptoms have been present for some time. Along with her irritable moods, she has also experienced irregular periods, hot flashes, and night sweats.

Like playing Clue with only two suspects, the scope of this mystery is not wide. She's too smart to be able to lie to herself about it. Her time is running out. If Sheldon hopes to someday gift humanity with his progeny, then it will almost certainly not be with her.

—

After twenty years of practicing obstetrics and gynecology, Dr. Robert Welch is no stranger to giving patients bad news. He takes a deep breath to steady himself and knocks on the door for his 1:00.

"Come in," answers a flat voice from the other side.

He pulls back the curtain and holds out his hand in greeting. "Good afternoon, Miss Fowler. Or I suppose I should say Dr. Fowler."

The young woman offers a stilted smile as she returns the handshake. "You have performed both breast and pelvic exams on me for many years now. That's more than I can say for any other man. You've more than earned the right to address me on a first name basis. Amy is fine."

Her voice is brusque and businesslike, but that isn't unusual for this patient. Her extreme level of oversharing is not unusual either.

"Of course. Amy it is." He clears his throat before continuing, "Perhaps we should begin with your exam."

"No," she interjects. Her harsh tone softens into something that sounds more like a plea when she adds, "First, I want to know the results."

Typically, Dr. Welch prefers to go over these matters in his office after a patient has gotten dressed. They always seem so vulnerable when wearing nothing more than a hospital gown. Her initial stony facade is starting to crumble, and Amy sits before him now looking small and sad, hugging herself with her arms wrapped around her midsection. Having spoken with Amy on a prior visit, he knows that she already suspects what the results will be.

"Well, as you'll recall, we did a full panel of the hormone levels in your blood three months ago, but the results were diagnostically inconclusive. It did, however, provide us with a baseline for comparison."

Most patients aren't as proactive as Dr. Fowler. When her symptoms did not abate, she called ahead and requested a subsequent series of blood tests all on her own. He would compliment her on taking this initiative, but he sees that she is staring at her knees, absentmindedly picking at a small hole in the vinyl covering the table, and he knows that it wouldn't help.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you that the trend inherent in these new levels indicates a high likelihood of premature ovarian aging."

She does not respond verbally, but he sees a brief, half-hearted nod of acknowledgement.

"From our previous discussions, I know that this was already a suspicion of yours. I wish that I had better news."

He also wishes that she would say something, anything at all, so that he would know how to direct the conversation. Everyone reacts to bad news a bit differently, and it's difficult to know what he should say with no feedback from her. With nothing to go on, he decides that he might as well go over the technical details. As a fellow scientist, she will surely appreciate the hard facts.

"Your FSH levels remain elevated, and your estradiol levels low. In conjunction with your continuing irregular menses, the probability of this diagnosis being correct is quite high. At this time your FSH levels do not quite cross the threshold into complete ovarian failure, but this condition is likely to progress to that point quite soon."

Finally, he hears her speak, and she asks him the most impossible question of all. "Why is this happening?"

"Well, the good news is that your karyotype came back normal. You have no chromosomal defects whatsoever. You also tested negative for fragile X syndrome. Sometimes chemotherapy or radiation can cause this condition, but obviously neither are relevant in this case. I'm afraid the simple truth of the matter is that more often than not, we don't know what causes it."

She sighs. "What are my options now? I am well aware that there is no way to reverse this process."

"The primary consequence is, of course, infertility. It may be possible for you to become pregnant, but the probability will continue to decrease very quickly. If you and your significant other are considering having children, then I will refer you to a reproductive endocrinologist. IVF is still a viable option, but you will need to decide sooner rather than later, assuming that you wish to try to harvest your own ova."

He sees Amy's eyes widen at being faced with a decision of this magnitude. "I've always considered having children, but right now? I… I'm not ready for that. And Sheldon? He definitely isn't."

"I understand. I just want to be clear that time is of the essence. If your significant other is not amenable, there is always the option of donor sperm. If it is a question of pregnancy timing, then the two of you may opt to simply freeze embryos and go through the implantation process at a later date. And donor eggs may also be worth considering. A specialist will be able to tell you more. I'll fill out a referral form for you before you leave."

That seems to reassure her a bit, so he moves on to other matters. "Aside from infertility, secondary symptoms like hot flashes, mood swings, and potential bone loss are significant concerns. Estrogen therapy is a good option, and I recommend that you continue to take calcium and vitamin D supplements. Some women also find that they have a decrease in libido—"

"What use do I have for a sex drive anyway?" she interjects, the words coming out sharp and bitter.

Robert spends enough time around hormonal women that he isn't foolish enough to try to answer her. He is speechless for a moment before he decides how best to continue.

"It's normal to go through a grieving process for something like this. If you'd like to reschedule today's routine exam, that's fine."

She sniffles, but her voice sounds determined when she answers, "No. We might as well be done with it."

He nods and gestures for her to lie down. "Okay. Let's begin with the breast exam."

She lies back, and he shifts her gown aside. It's never awkward to do this procedure after so many years, but it is becoming uncomfortable right now. As close to her face as he is, he can't help but notice the first tears that fall from the corners of her eyes. During most procedures of this sort, he tries to distract a patient with some aimless chatter about local news, their job, or the weather. In the face of her obvious distress, however, he knows that doing so would be inappropriate.

He professionally goes about his routine, but as she sits back up after the pap smear and pelvic exam, he feels compelled to speak to her one last time. "I really am very sorry, Amy."

He sees her wipe the twin tear tracts from her face and fail at trying to keep her lower lip from quivering. She sounds incredibly lost when she answers him, "So am I."

—

Sheldon expects nothing but great things from the month of May. Game of Thrones season five is in full swing, The Avengers: Age of Ultron has just premiered, and every day gets him one day closer to the Star Wars: Episode VII release date.

There is, of course, no better way to start the month of May than by celebrating May the fourth. It should be even more exciting than usual with the impending new addition to the franchise.

Sheldon smiles to himself as he sets out the silverware for this evening's party. He has labeled the box helpfully: 'use the forks.' Howard is supposed to bring Yoda soda, whatever that is. Raj is set to bring chocolate covered pretzels that look like little light sabers. Leonard volunteered to make Wookie cookies. Hopefully, Penny will not have eaten them all in advance.

He wonders what Amy will contribute this year. She hasn't told him her plan in advance, but the Death Star cake that she and Bernadette constructed last year was an absolute masterpiece.

Thoughts of Amy remind him of their upcoming anniversary, which is also occurring later this month. After a careful series of negotiations, Sheldon has amended the relationship agreement to allow for a 'make-out session' on that special day. Kissing on the couch will commence, accompanied by touching limited to the arms and lower legs. Ample space between torsos, of course. Amy had lobbied for less restrictions and greater spontaneity, but Sheldon filibustered. Everything is better when it is carefully planned. They aren't hippies, after all.

He still isn't sure of what he has gotten himself into, but Amy seems to be pleased with the general idea. Their anniversary date might also be a good time to broach the subject of long term commitment. The ring in his desk drawer continues to weigh on his mind. He knows that he wants her to wear it some day, but he's not sure he's ready for everything that a marriage would entail just yet. There's no one else whose opinion he trusts more than Amy's. Maybe he can think of a way to find out how she feels about the idea without actually proposing.

A knock on the front door interrupts his musings. Leonard is back in his bedroom, and it can't be Penny because he knows that she would barge in unannounced. He swings open the door to reveal Howard and Bernadette. Howard holds up a bottle labeled 'Yoda Soda', but it just looks like Mountain Dew to Sheldon.

"Be with you, May the fourth," Howard greets in his Yoda voice.

Bernadette rolls her eyes and barks, "Get out of the way Howard, I want to put down these cocktail weenies."

"How many times do I have to tell you? Those aren't cocktail weenies, they're Jar Jar Links," Howard whines.

Bernadette doesn't continue the exchange, but instead marches over to the kitchen to deposit her load.

"I thought we agreed to never, ever mention… you-know-who," Sheldon chastises Howard. Surely he hasn't forgotten Sheldon's many rants on the subject of Jar Jar Binks. "That ridiculous character has already blemished the franchise enough, don't you think?"

Howard shrugs. "What can I say? Bernadette really has a hankering for those little mini hot dogs. And when your woman demands weenie, you don't turn her down. Well, I don't, anyway."

"Yeah, we all know how Bernadette loves tiny versions of things," Penny slurs from just inside the front door, having arrived in the midst of the conversation. She pats Howard on the head.

For some reason, both Howard and Bernadette look a bit angry. "Are you drunk already?" Bernadette growls.

"I'm here for a Star Wars movie marathon. That's six sci-fi movies that will have intermissions filled with Sheldon commentary. It calls for a little pre-gaming, don't you think?"

Any further discourse is interrupted by Raj and Emily tapping on the open front door.

"Mini light sabers!" Raj announces, sounding proud of his contribution.

"Ooh!" Penny exclaims, snagging one right off his carefully arranged plate. Sheldon hopes that she won't get crumbs all over the floor.

"And look, Emily had time to make us some Obi-Wan Kabobies," Raj adds.

Sure enough, Sheldon can see through the plastic wrap covering the serving platter she carries. Brightly colored fruit has been cut into cubes and skewered onto long sticks. Sheldon admires the perfect symmetry of the arranged fruit pieces. Her knife skills must be flawless to cut every piece into the same exact size like that.

Penny heads off towards Leonard's room, presumably to gather him for the start of movie number one. Sheldon wrinkles his nose at the trail of pretzel crumbs she leaves in her wake.

He is surprised that Amy hasn't arrived yet. Maybe she has decided to skip out on part of Episode I. He wouldn't blame her, knowing that her distaste for Jar Jar rivals his own. Still, it is unusual for her to be late, and even more so for her to have not made contact to explain her tardiness.

Leonard and Penny reappear from the other room, and everyone takes a moment to fill up their plates with food and their cups with Yoda soda.

As they all settle down to begin the viewing, Leonard turns to him and asks, "Where's Amy?"

Before Sheldon can answer, Bernadette offers an explanation. "Oh, Amy texted that she isn't feeling well. Her message said she is feeling sick to her stomach."

"Lucky girl. If only my own illnesses could be so perfectly timed." Penny's joke sounds half-serious to Sheldon. Perhaps it is sarcasm.

It is peculiar, though. Sheldon didn't hear his phone alert him to any new messages. He wiggles the device out of his pocket and checks the screen, but he doesn't find anything new from Amy.

"She didn't say anything to me. Do you think she's okay?" he asks no one in particular.

"I'm sure she's fine. In fact, an argument could be made that she will be having a better evening than the rest of us," Bernadette answers.

"You could send her a message to check in with her and see how she's doing. If she needs anything, I'll drive you over," Leonard offers.

His roommate sure does have a tendency to state the obvious. Of course Sheldon is going to check on Amy. He turns his attention to the screen and thumbs out a quick query as to the state of her health. Her response comes within seconds, which Sheldon figures is a good sign. A serious stomach virus wouldn't allow time for texting.

Her reply states that she is not feeling well but that she hopes he will still have a great time at the party. Sheldon sets down his phone and picks up the remote control. He skips innumerable previews before the screen lights up blue with the FBI anti-piracy warning. Though Amy's text has set his mind at ease, he would still prefer to have her here with him.

Setting down the remote, Sheldon reaches for his plate of food. He takes a bite of an Obi Wan Kabobie, but the ripe, colorful fruit is somehow not as sweet as he imagined it would be.

—