When COVID-19 strikes the United States, Sheldon and Amy begin to socially distance themselves as instructed. However, they seem to have very different opinions about what, exactly, that means. A little bit of humor, a little bit of romance, a little bit of angst, and some very serious reminders. CANON

I'll take the unusual step of putting my author's note first to say that I realize a story about this topic may not be everyone's cup of tea, especially at this stressful time. And that's okay. If you find the topic distasteful, just don't read it. However, I believe that levity and distraction can help us process and deal with stressful circumstances.

I think this story makes it clear that I'm not mocking the seriousness of COVID-19 and its impact. Please, please be good citizens and follow the recommendations of the World Health Organization, The Centers for Disease Control, and your local civic authorities. Sheldon and Amy are social distancing and so should you.

The events in this story took place on Friday, March 13, 2020.

THE SOCIAL DISTANCING DISILLUSIONMENT

As Amy pressed the door to apartment 4B open, it suddenly stopped short with a soft thud. Her keys rattled in the lock as she grasped the edge and peered around it.

The door had struck the patterned chair, now in a new location, and that wasn't the only thing in disarray in their little apartment: several pieces of furniture were rearranged, boxes were stacked in various places, and the stench of bleach was so strong Amy's eyes watered.

"Sheldon, what's going on? Why did you move the furniture? What's all this stuff?" She didn't ask about the overwhelming smell of cleaners because she expected as much from her germaphobic husband.

For there was no doubt he was the cause of this change. In accordance with the Center for Disease Control's suggested guidelines - adopted as protocol by Caltech - Sheldon had been working exclusively from home since mid-day Wednesday. Amy herself was returning from her last day in the lab for at least the next two weeks. She had a few things that had to be completed in person first, but now she was set to practice social isolation along with the rest of the country in face of COVID-19.

"You'll be pleased to know I've fully prepared our home for social distancing. We should be able to isolate for weeks," he said the from the kitchen, where he was stirring something on the stove. With a mask and gloves on.

"So these are boxes of . . . food?"

"Yes. It's my understanding from social media that people are panicking and the availability of shelf-stable foodstuffs and cleaning products are severely limited in local stores, so I ordered from Amazon yesterday. It's a good thing the elevator is fixed; otherwise, I'd still be carrying boxes upstairs."

"Please tell you didn't buy a whole bunch of hand sanitizer and toilet paper to hoard it. Or the mask! You read the news. We've been instructed to leave them for the medical professionals. And it's not clear that they really help in the long-term, anyway."

"Of course not. What do you take me for?" He shook his head at the island. "I already had a year's supply of toilet paper and Purell in my storage unit. I hired movers to bring it over. The masks were already there, too. And I'm only wearing one while I cook."

"Well, I guess that makes some sense. Although I don't think we need a year's worth right here, right now," Amy said as she attempted to squeeze herself and her large work bag through the door and shut it behind her. "But the furniture?"

"I moved the sofa and the chair six feet part. That's the minimum recommended distance. I also thought one of us could eat at the table while one of use will eat at the counter."

"Umm . . ."

Amy didn't want to eat six feet away from Sheldon, but before she could order her objections, he continued, "I did a deep clean of the entire apartment today. I printed and posted bathroom cleaning instructions; as we have no choice but to share that space, please follow them to the letter after each visit."

"Cleaning instructions? I know how to properly wash my hands."

"It's not just sudsing up to the Star Trek theme song, you know. There are hard surfaces in there that need attention." He sighed. "I considered full terminal cleaning after every visit, but you're not tall enough to reach the cold air return to vacuum it out. Then I considered that I should go in and do it after you. But if you sanitize the vacuum handle and hose for me, will it have enough time to dry before I need to touch it? What about the doorknob? It was all so complicated, I settled for the plain old CDC guidelines. I hope I don't regret my decision."

"Since our bathroom isn't a surgical suite, that makes sense," Amy grumbled as she lowered her heavy bag to the floor.

"Put your keys on the tray on the coffee table and I'll put them in the autoclave later."

"Autoclave?"

"Yes. Do you know you can order a one-point-five liter surgical grade unit on Prime for only a hundred-and-twenty dollars? What a magical world we live in!" The parts of his face visible around the mask shone as though a whole group of koalas had just crossed through the apartment.

Her brow wrinkling, Amy tried to process what was happening. "So you bought an autoclave for our keys?"

"That's not all. I've already used it for our toothbrushes and several packs of eating utensils. You'd be impressed with what I accomplished in eight short hours. I've planned menus to minimize food waste and thus increase the longevity of our groceries, I developed the strictest cleaning and hygiene protocols, I made sure the television is properly set for Alexa so no one needs to touch the remote - oh! And the light switches, too! - and I've created a list of diversions we can enjoy without touching. Tonight, after dinner, I thought we'd play Battleship; we'll just yell our numbers back and forth between the living room and bedroom. I considered Pandemic to make a theme of it, but you have to trade cards, so that's out. You think a board game called Pandemic would know better."

"Wow . . . You really have . . . spent all day going above and beyond." Amy looked around again, but this time it seemed to sink in this may be her new normal.

"Wrong. I've been preparing my whole life for this. Voluntary quarantine? And all sports have been canceled? Pinch me, I must be dreaming!"

In her own way, Amy had been mentally preparing to make the best of their situation. She had several books she wanted to read. Perhaps she and Sheldon would finally have the time to create a wishlist and engage in some online house hunting. Some chores needed to be attended to. And, of course, she had several newly purchased skeins of especially soft wool that she was eager to knit into a few special things. But, in all her forced staycation fantasies, Sheldon would be right next to her, not six feet away.

Weaving past the chair and the television, Amy stumbled over something unexpected on the floor and she looked down. "Is this a swimming pool floaty?"

"Close. It's an air mattress."

Her head snapped up to look at Sheldon. "An air mattress?"

"The sofa is too short for either one of us to sleep comfortably on it, especially for weeks." He looked up from his spot at the stove. "Don't look so alarmed. I'll sleep on it, so you can have the bed. After all, your health is paramount, given your current status. I will socially distance from both of you."

Amy's hand flew to her stomach. The baby. Just an embryo, just a few weeks into gestation. They still hadn't told anyone yet, and, because she had so far been blessed with an absence of morning sickness, no one suspected. A small quiver went through her heart. Of course, she was worried about the baby and knew her continued good health was essential to both of them. But she was also a biologist who closely followed reputable scientific news sources, so she knew there was no extra risk posed to healthy pregnant women. She didn't want Sheldon to socially distance himself from her, from the baby. Ever since the test had been positive, he'd been so physically attentive, touching her, holding her closer, resting his hand on her stomach, even speaking to it despite the fact he admitted it was too early for his or her ears to have formed.

It had been a golden few weeks for Amy. Not just the very welcome news of a child, but also Sheldon's unexpected increased physical affection for both of them. Physical contact did not come easily for him in the best of times, so Amy relished the obvious manifestation of his joy. Honestly, she'd always been a bit worried about how Sheldon would react to fatherhood, both physically and emotionally. But every one of his gentle carcasses and words over her expanding uterus had reassured her. Every action had formed a delicate bubble of private shared happiness around them. But what if social and physical distancing led to emotional distancing? What if Sheldon lost the newly-formed and delicate connection with their child? What if their special bubble burst?

Reaching down and picking up the edge of the mattress, Amy struggled to move it due to its awkward size and shape. It was in her way and she wanted to be closer to her husband. The father of her child. "Sheldon, this is ridiculous," she said as she finally shoved it onto the rearranged sofa, only to find a stack of boxes blocking her path to the kitchen. "Social distancing is for those persons outside of one's home, not your immediate family members. I don't count."

"But you should," Sheldon protested, not budging from his spot by the stove to help her move anything at all. "The incubation period is up to fourteen days. Either one of us could already have it, lying dormant in our bodies, ready to strike at any minute. During that time, we could give it to each other."

"Exactly. Either one of us could have already given it to the other. All this -" she waved her hand around "- is pointless."

"Haven't you been paying attention? We may not be able to stop the spread of the virus, but we need to flatten the curve. The best way to do that is to slow the spread from one person to another. We need to avoid straining the capacity of our healthcare system. Don't you see what's happening in Italy? And they have more doctors and hospital beds per capita than we do. It's all about properly managing our time and resources."

"I know that." On instinct, Amy reached up to run her hand along her forehead. Sheldon made a strangled gasp and she murmured, "Damnit."

"There's a bottle of sanitizer on the table right next to you. Although you really should have already washed your hands. Immediately upon arriving home, remember?"

Amy threw her arms up in a hopeless gesture. "How can I get to the sink with all this stuff in the way?"

"Go to the bathroom! The path is clear. Besides, the kitchen sink is too close to me right now for you to use."

As she rubbed the cool alcohol-based goo over her hands and between her fingers, Amy took a deep breath and tried to rationalize with Sheldon. Staying cool and confident often won her the argument. "I'm not arguing the epidemiology of pandemics with you. I understand outbreak trajectories and containment measures. So I know you're overreacting. I can't live like this for two or more weeks."

Sheldon shook his head. "Well, I don't think the world can live without Tom Hanks. If Mr. Rogers, Forrest Gump, and Walt Disney himself can get it, we're all doomed!"

"This isn't about Tom Hanks!" Amy heard the tremor in her voice and tried to stop the tears. Crying wasn't a sign of a cooler head. "But you said it yourself: the goal is slow the spread of transmission. It's already possible we will get the virus in time. That's how a pandemic works. But we just need to contain it to the two of us."

"Why do I need to remind you there's three of us now?"

"I know that! How could I forget? I'm tired and my boobs hurt and I feel like I'm in a fog and I'm crying all the time and you won't even let me brush my tears away!" Amy sniffled and reached up to use her sleeve to blot off the falling tears.

She watched out of the corner of her eyes as Sheldon lowered the wooden spoon slowly and his eyes softened. "I'm sorry your elevated levels of estrogen and progesterone are making you cry."

"You're the one making me cry! All I want is my husband and, instead, I got an autoclave!"

"No, you have both. We're both right here, just outside of the range any saliva or mucus droplets can travel."

"You can't be serious!"

"I am." Sheldon sighed softly behind his mask. "Go lie down and take a nap. I made Spam and beans, but I can microwave it for you later. If you like, I'll sing you Softy Kitty from the doorway."

The only thing that kept Amy from killing Sheldon at that moment was a sudden wave of nausea. "Oh God, Spam and beans?"

"I found the recipe in an old Y2K chat room. It has canned pineapple."

Amy covered her mouth and raced through the pathway to the bathroom.

"If you vomit, don't forget the cleaning instructions! They're laminated in the binder on the counter!"

Soft knock, soft knock, soft knock. "Amy?" came a whisper.
Soft knock, soft knock, soft knock. "Amy?"
Soft knock, soft knock, soft knock. "Amy?"

Amy looked up from the page of her book toward the door. The nausea had been a bit of a false alarm, as she only had a couple of dry heaves before her stomach settled. But she'd put on her nightgown and crawled into bed anyway. Let Sheldon think she was sick; she couldn't deal with him and his craziness right now, not on top of the craziness of the world at large dealing with a pandemic and the craziness of her rapidly changing body.

"Are you awake? You should eat if you can; the baby needs you to keep your strength up. Fortunately, I had the foresight to order applesauce, plain white rice, and Gatorade."

"Go away, Sheldon."

"Oh, I plan to as soon as I set this tray down outside your door."

She heaved out a sigh so deep she wondered if Leonard and Penny could hear it across the hallway.

"Amy, I have a feeling you may be angry with me."

"You think?"

"Would you like to discuss it?"

Would she? Yes, but she also felt like it would be pointless with Sheldon in this state. Mostly, she was tired, physically and emotionally. Despite all her scientific knowledge and training, anxiety pressed against her chest. And, as much as she hated to admit it to Sheldon, hungry. She had at least two more weeks to discuss it. Maybe it wouldn't seem so bad in the morning.

"No, thank you," she called. A thought occurred to her. "Do you need to use the bathroom?"

"Oh, good!" The relief was palpable in Sheldon's voice. "I didn't want to unpack the chamber pot just yet."

"Chamber pot?" Amy cried. Even for Sheldon, that was alarming. She edged her way out of bed. "Why don't you just go to Leonard and Penny's?"

"Social distancing, remember! Also, you've seen what lax standards of personal hygiene they have. It's as though I taught Leonard nothing. Wait - I hear you. What are you doing?"

Amy stopped with her hand on the doorknob. "Opening the door for you."

"No. Go back to bed and stay there, I'll come around the edge of the room."

Shoulders sagging, Amy retreated to her side of the bed and then watched as Sheldon skirted along the walls to stay far away from her, stopping only to set the food tray down on the top of the dresser. He glanced over at her. At least he'd removed that silly mask. "I think I'll prepare for bed while I'm in the bathroom."

"Okay."

After the bathroom door was shut, Amy got up to retrieve the tray, taking it into the living room to sit at the table and eat. She wasn't locked in the bedroom yet - although who knows when Sheldon would suggest it - and she'd eat like a civilized person for now. Like she and Sheldon did, together, every evening, when they'd talk and recount their days and laugh and . . . She should stop; reminiscing wasn't improving her mood.

Her ears perked up at the sound of the shower, but then it occurred to her Sheldon probably wanted to bathe more than normal. She ate the rice and applesauce in sad silence and tried to think about the future and the hat, sweater, and baby bootie pattern she had planned for the soft white yarn. An autumn baby; maybe she'd make it a cable knit.

Finished with her bland meal, she carried the tray to the kitchen, trying to ignore the autoclave setting on the counter. Uncertain, though, whether or not she was supposed to put her dishes in the dishwasher, she sat them in the sink and then opened a Clorox wipe to disinfect the table.

"Amy?" Sheldon called from the bedroom.

"I'm just wiping down the table."

He appeared at the door, dressed in his pajamas. "I'll go to the chair."

Nodding, she tried not to watch as her husband stopped to arrange blankets and a pillow on the air mattress. He was determined to see his plans through.

"I think I'll take my knitting bag and go to bed," Amy said, wondering if he could hear the one last offer in her voice, an invitation to join her.

"Very well. Goodnight."

"Goodnight." Amy wiped away a tear. She'd worry about washing her hand in a moment.

The heat from the steam engine was blazing, but not nearly as hot as Sheldon's searing look as he unhooked the strap his overalls and let them fall. The train whistled just as Amy took in the sight of him, all of him, realizing he was naked underneath.

"Oh my," she murmured, fanning herself.

"It's so dirty out here, Amy. There's soot everywhere, on everything. I'm so dirty. Wash me. Everywhere." Engineer Sheldon untied his red bandana and handed it to her over another sharp whistle from the train. She reached out to touch him and -

Amy's eyes popped open and she took a moment to adjust to the dark of her bedroom, not the steamy cab of a locomotive. She heard a train whistle again, even now that she was awake; was that Sheldon's phone or something?

But when she rolled over, Sheldon wasn't there. She remembered and sat up. The whistle sounded once more, but now that she was more alert she realized it was coming from under the bed. Leaning down over the edge, she saw a toy on the floor with a bright headlamp. She lifted it to discover it was some kind of battery-operated train. Rolled up in the window of the compartment was a small piece of paper. She took it out and read it by the light of the locomotive headlamp.

I can't sleep. Can we discuss why you're angry with me?

Rubbing her sleepy eyes, Amy tried to find the positive in this little note. At least Sheldon recognized something was wrong in the situation, at least his conscience told him something was amiss in their interactions. The train whistled again from her lap.

"How do I turn it off?" she yelled into the darkness.

As she suspected, Sheldon's voice came through the now-open door to the living room. "There's a toggle on the bottom. Don't worry, I wore gloves."

Flipping off the toy plunged her into darkness, but then at least Sheldon wasn't able to see the face she made. She reached over to pull the cord on her bedside lamp, remembering too late that she was supposed to use Alexa.

Of course, Sheldon remembered as he ordered the living room lights on behind her. But at least he didn't say anything about her failure. He was sitting cross-legged on the air mattress, a small remote control in his hand.

"I'm sorry if I woke you."

"Of course you woke me, it's the middle of the night."

"It's only nine-thirty."

"Oh." The stress and anxiety and pregnancy must be making her more exhausted than she realized. She felt like she'd slept for hours.

"Can we talk?"

Amy bit back pointing out that they were already talking. That he'd already woken her up to do so. But maybe she could use this her advantage. "If we don't have to scream across the apartment to do so."

"We're not screaming. We're just speaking slightly louder than usual."

After exhaling slowly, Amy rephrased her request. "Come here, Sheldon. Let's sit together and talk."

"I don't think that's wise," he replied. But Amy heard the hesitation in his tone.

"How about," she offered equally softly, hoping to take advantage of that tiny fracture, "I sit on one side of the door and you sit on the other? We'll leave it cracked enough to hear, but it will keep us from touching and block any respiratory droplets?"

A pause. "Alright."

Amy got up, grabbing a pillow at the last moment and made her way to the doorway. She closed the door but did not allow it to latch, and then she lowered herself to sit on her pillow. The door crept open a couple of inches, stopping when it touched her bent knee. "How about this?"

She heard Sheldon arranging himself on the other side. "I think this will work."

The moment stretched between them and Amy listened to the sound of Sheldon's breathing, finally close enough she could hear it. She closed her eyes and imagined the fall and rise of his chest.

"I thought you were going to tell me why you're angry with me," Sheldon interrupted the peace.

"I'm not angry. Well, maybe. Mostly I'm frustrated with you."

"Why? Have I not spent the past two days fully preparing our home for this voluntary but strongly encouraged isolation?"

"Yes, but . . . I feel like your overreacting, Sheldon."

"But we're supposed to overreact! That will be the sign that all our collective efforts were successful, if we look back and think we overreacted because nothing happened. Better to overreact than to die. Or spread the virus too quickly for our healthcare system to cope."

"I know, I know." Amy tried to think of how to best explain it to him. "I don't think you've overacted in preparing the apartment. I mean, the autoclave is a bit much, but that's sort of your style. I just meant you overreacted with me. I don't want to be forced to jump through all these hoops to be isolated from you. I don't want to be isolated from you at all."

"I'm trying to protect you. And the baby."

Amy put her palm again the door, even though she knew Sheldon wasn't aware of it. She wished she could put in on his arm, to show she understood and appreciated his concern, but the wooden door and her words would have to do instead. "Thank you for your concern and your care. But we are well."

"But what if you don't stay that way? I shouldn't have let you go to work the past couple of days."

She tamped down the urge to snap at him, to remind him he couldn't let her or not let her do anything she wanted. And it wasn't as if she hadn't doubted her presence at work; had she not made a sign for her lab asking visitors to knock for entrance only if absolutely necessary? "Sheldon, I'm scared, too."

"You are? But you said I was being ridiculous."

"I'm scared because even I know everything will be fine, but I can't stop worrying about the baby. I've read and understood all the facts and figures about transmission rates, and those at greatest risk, and there's no evidence of increased concerns for pregnant women, but . . . It's hard to explain. What if there are long-term effects we don't know about yet, because this virus is just too new? I know we're doing all we think we can, but it makes me anxious. And I've never been anxious like this before, and I don't know if it's normal hormones or something else, and that makes me more anxious, too. I'm sorry if my pregnancy is causing me to overreact at times."

"At times? Try daily."

"Sheldon Cooper," she warned him.

"See, there you go again."

"I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you. About your fears. I know that some of your obsessive tenancies manifest because you're overwhelmed. I think talking about them might help."

"What is this, an episode of Dr. Phil?" Amy chose to ignore him, and, when she didn't come back with another admonishment, he started speaking again. "Alright. I'm scared that I won't be able to do enough. I'm scared I won't be able to protect you and the baby. It's my job to protect you. It's in our marriage contract. It was implied in our wedding vows. It was promised with actions if not words when I inseminated you. What kind of husband and father would I be if you get ill? What if . . . what if I get ill? I don't want my child to grow up without a father."

Amy curled her fingers around the edge of the door, hoping that he would see her fingertips and know what that meant. "You're trying to control everything you can now because there were things you couldn't in the past," she whispered.

"Yes." The strain in his voice told her what a weighty confession that single word had been.

"You're young and you're healthy. You haven't been abusing your body for years with alcohol. Even if you contract the virus, your chance of dying is extremely low."

"I know. But I - I also just like to clean."

Amy chuckled at him. "And that's okay. Cleaning is fine. Taking reasonable precautions is necessary. I know you need to control things, and I'm willing to let you control our cleaning measures. But I need things, too."

"I have the Purell with aloe vera so your hands don't dry out."

Even though he couldn't see her, Amy shook her head. "I need a hug. I need a shoulder to cry on. I need physical contact with you. And . . . and, Sheldon, I need you to stay in contact with the baby. I don't want you to distance yourself from it. I'm scared you'll . . . What if you forget to love it as much?"

"I could never do that!" He sounded genuinely hurt by her comment, and she couldn't blame him. The strange thing was that by saying it aloud to him, by revealing her darkest fear to him, she had somehow released its power to frighten her.

"I - I know that. I really do." She took a deep breath. "It's probably all hormones, but everything feels so close to the surface now, and sometimes I don't know why I feel or worry about the things I do. I guess I'm saying that I need you to protect me emotionally, too, Sheldon. And I think you need that from me, too."

Sheldon's fingertips appeared around the edge of the door as he grasped it, several inches above hers. "I do."

"Think of all we've been through before this. We can do this. We've always been our best when we're together, not apart."

She leaned forward and extended her entire hand through the gap, palm up. For just a second, she felt the brush of soft flannel against her thumb, but then it was gone. She waited in the silence, listening to Sheldon's breath, watching his fingertips still gripping the door tightly, knowing with a certainty that could only come from years of love that he understood her action and was weighing his response, fighting his fears and instincts for her.

His palm slipped across hers.

It was a surprise, as she had expected him to lower the hand she could see. Amy let out a relieved gargle as a happy tear fell down her face.

"There's no one else I'd rather quarantine with," Sheldon said.

"Me, too. Let me open this door." She hated to let go of his hand, but she had to get out of the way to give them egress. Sheldon stood up, too, and for a minute they just looked at each other. "Can I have a hug?" Amy asked.

"Will you wash your face first? Not - not because of the virus. Because you've got some snot running from your nose and you know I can never kiss you like that."

"Oh!" Amy's hand flew to her face and she laughed, suddenly euphoric at the turn of events. "Stupid pregnancy hormones," she grumbled but with a smile.

After she'd washed her face and her hands, lathering up as she hummed the Star Trek theme song, Amy returned to the bedroom to find Sheldon was lying on his side of the bed. She crawled under the covers, turned off the light, and let Sheldon pull her close. He was so warm and solid, and she leaned her forehead against his chest as he tucked her smaller frame under his chin with a kiss on her hair.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"You were trying to do the right thing. I love you."

"I love you, too."

Sheldon lowered a hand to rest in between then, his knuckles grazing and stopping over her lower abdomen. Amy relaxed into his hug, finding peace and strength in their connection amid all the turmoil around them. This was exactly the type of golden bubble she needed right now.

"Amy?"

"Hmmm?"

"If it's a boy, should we name in Covid?"

"No, it's not even a real name."

"Hmmm . . . Oh! I've got. Clovis!"

"Absolutely not. Go to sleep, Sheldon."

THE END

I tried to present accurate information here, at least as it was at the time of writing for those of us living in the United States. Of course, the situation worldwide is rapidly changing and some information contained herein regarding COVID-19 may turn out to be incorrect.

Remember to stay inside except for all necessary travel (more time to read and review fanfiction!), don't hoard products you don't need, virtually check on your neighbors and loved ones, and remember to wash your hands like Amelia washing Cooper.

Thank you in advance for your reviews! Stay safe!