Something Borrowed

Disclaimer: I may *be* Sheldon Cooper but I do not *own* Sheldon Cooper, or anything else for that matter.

Summary: "A tiara?" Daughter looked at mother, circlet of crystals in her hand. "Your powers of observation are astounding." One-shot, future fic, children.

Useful Background: In my head I have a full length story about Amy and Sheldon having a child together. It is started but not remotely complete. In short, I plan that there will be two Shamy Homo sapiens novus – Rosalind Jane Fowler-Cooper, named after Rosalind Franklin who helped discover the structure of DNA, and Robert Stephen Fowler-Cooper named after J. Robert Oppenheimer and Stephen Hawkins.

Author's Note: This scene is one that has been nagging me like a loose thread in my collar for some time. It's not so much a fluff moment as it is both a prediction on my part as to what life is like in the future for the scientists and a commentary about relationships between partners and parents. I hope it is reasonably in character although the situation is not.

*Knock, knock, knock* "Rosalind."

*Knock, knock, knock* "Rosalind."

For a moment Rosalind contemplated not allowing her mother into the apartment. She thought about pretending she was not home. Ultimately however, she decided against the rouse. The longer the door was closed, the longer the knocking would continue, and it would be followed by calling, and that would culminate in a larger headache than she currently had. So at the third round of knocking Rosalind crossed her small living room, mumbling;

"Who's annoyed?"

"Rosalind." With a heavy sigh she opened the door.

"Yes, Mother?" From behind her thick frames Amy Farrah Fowler blinked at her daughter's tone.

"Most young women about to spend an excessive amount of money on a dress they will only wear once are excited to see their mother. They wish to share the experience of trying on gowns thousands of other women have worn; sometimes they even invite their fathers." She observed. "May I come in?"

Wordlessly Rosalind stepped back, allowing the distinguished neurobiologist into her flat, silently debating which observation to present first: The fact that just because a television program was billed as 'Reality TV' did not make the show a documentary; or the fact that her mother had little personal knowledge of the dynamic between mother and child in the event of a wedding. What knowledge she had was contradictory at best. Aunt Penny and her mother had been very amicable in planning the actress' nuptials, but if stories were to be believed, the same thing was far from true regarding Aunt Bernadette and her mother.

In the end Rosalind concluded both statements would result in yet another argument, and so she rejected both remarks and asked instead:

"Where are Aunt Penny and Aunt Bernie? I did not un-invite them." Amy did not look up as she absently adjusted the framed pictures atop Rosalind's piano so they were perfectly parallel to one another, her hand lingering on Rosalind's engagement photo.

"I asked them to meet you at the salon. I wish to speak with you and clear up some things you misunderstood your father and me to be saying last night."

"I have a superior understanding of five languages, Mother; I think I understood you and Dad perfectly." Amy's gaze lifted from the photographs to meet her daughter's squarely - this was her little girl; the baby she had wanted so badly and tried so hard for. She was now a grown woman. A beautiful, accomplished Homo sapiens novus.

"Yes, well, even geniuses have breakdowns in communication, Rosalind, and I would like to apologize for your father's and my part in that failure. To that end, I have something we would like you to wear on your wedding day. That is if you would like to, it is your choice, as you pointed out less than eloquently last night you have been a legal adult for the last eight years which entitles you to make your own decisions." Rosalind examined the silver bag her mother handed her. It was worn with age and smelled vaguely of closet, cigarette smoke, and primate. Inside the small jewelry store sack, wrapped carefully in tissue paper was,

"A tiara?" Daughter looked at mother, circlet of crystals in her hand.

"Your powers of observation are astounding."

"I will rephrase my question then, why did you give me a tiara?" Amy sat on the sofa, directly in the center and patted the cushion to her right. For as long as Rosalind could remember this was her mother's spot. As they faced the television her father always sat to the left, mom was directly next to him, she was next to her, and Bertie was on the other end. In nearly thirty years there had been little to no variation in the arrangement.

"Your father gave me that tiara when we were first dating, after our second fight of significance. I had been angry with him because I felt your father had not been appropriately proud of one of my professional accomplishments. Penny sought to end our disagreement by dragging your father to a jewelry store. He bought me this tiara as an apology gift." For a moment Amy simply stared at the shiny trinket in her daughter's hand, the smile on her face alluding to a memory Rosalind wasn't entirely sure she wished to hear about. The twinkling passed and mother's eyes were serious as they met her daughter's.

"I kept this tiara because well, let's be honest I'm a princess. But also because it reminds me of a step in my relationship with your father. He realized that while my work is not of interest to him, it is very important to me and because I am of value to him he has to care a little about my work and successes- and vice versa. I could care less about the theorem that won your father the Nobel Prize but there was no prouder woman in the entire room when he won. Your father and I love you very much Rosalind. We want the best for you and we want you to be happy. We might not always agree with the choices you have made, your decisions are not always the ones we would have decided – a career in music over mathematics, your engagement to a historian. However you are right - you are in charge of your own life."

Amy took the tiara and carefully placed it on her daughter's head. Centering it just so on Rosalind's dark crown before allowing her hands to drop down and cradle her cheeks.

"Even though we have disagreed in the past your Father and I want you to know that we love you, and we respect you and that we are so very, very proud of you."

Gently Amy wiped the tears that escaped Rosalind's eyes away with the pads of her thumbs. She kissed her daughter's brown and pulled her into a hug. For a long moment both women were silent.

"Thank you for the tiara Mom." Rosalind said softly into Amy's shoulder.

"Don't get too attached to it, after the wedding I get it back."

"Seriously?"

"I'm a Princess and that is my tiara."

Author's Note, the Second: I would like to expand a little bit on Rosalind having a musical career. I picture the adult female Fowler-Cooper child being a pianist and composer. Her PhD, however, is in abstract algebra and musical set theory. There is a strong connection between music and math. I latched on to the idea that something so Humanities and Arts based could be introduced into the Fowler-Cooper household through something they know and understand - namely their daughter and math. Art versus science is also an excellent growing experience for Sheldon Cooper, et al.