Author's Note: Truth be told, this was going to be a nice exercise in plotless smut. But I felt like I couldn't do this to the quirkiest and sweetest (not to mention my favourite) TV OTP, since they deserve a long and torturous development, and since I find the fact that they are slower than slugs on pot utterly adorable. Not to mention that awkward is the word when it comes to potential hanky-panky between these two.
This is my first publication. I did try to proof-read it, but my attention span betrayed me half-way through. Do have mercy on my soul, but constructive criticism is more than welcome!

I.

"You know ours is a relationship of the mind."

The words echoed through her brilliant mind as if it were an empty dome; though seemingly vacant, it was as if that mere resonance had filled it without escape, and there was no space for thoughts that did not include that smooth droning, the clearly articulated words spoken with the slightest hint of a southern accent. It was rare an occurrence for the logic-minded Amy Farrah Fowler, to give into the sweet derailment of distraction, and she felt extremely unsettled by that; but what unnerved her even more was the frequency with which such a state of mind visited her lately, making it impossible for her to continue her work.

As she heaved an audible sigh she set down her scalpel with a clink, distracted by the thoughts that were chasing each other and had nothing to do with neurobiology or the chimpanzee brain she had just been carefully dissecting up until she'd sliced right through it, irreparably ruining a perfectly good specimen and an entire day's work.

"I guess that's it." she exclaimed out loud, fleetingly considering whether she should stop talking to herself, something her bestie, Penny, had thoughtfully brought up a few days before on one of their notorious girly nights, which she'd spent consuming copious amounts of alcohol and pouring her heart out concerning her so-called 'relationship of the mind' with Sheldon and the not-so-platonic fantasies she often found herself entertaining – which were, at least, all in her mind.
Such a tempting angel, she is; with hair spun from gold and a smile that could rival a string of pearls-stop it, Amy Farrah Fowler, she commanded sternly to the little voice in her head. She was going off on a tangent, something that Bernadette had tactfully described as 'socially undesirable', and she could feel herself doing it – which meant that she was at least improving on the attention span front, just like the self-help book had described. Awareness is key, Amy Farrah Fowler. Try harder and you'll see, they will like you more.

So she took a small pause to think upon it, coming to the logical conclusion that she needed to start liking her voice more in order to gain the confidence necessary to stun and sway Sheldon with her irresistible femininity, and that it was therefore a perfectly reasonable thing to do even though Penny seemed to imply that it was the death penalty of social acceptance. Sheldon didn't seem to mind it all that much, at least.
She dismissed it with a shrug and proceeded to slip her lab coat off, getting ready to leave her laboratory and take her weary limbs home, then maybe engage in a pleasant Skype conversation with her sort-of-a-boyfriend; those new orthopaedic shoes were proving to be a blister factory, and she really wasn't looking forward to an evening of unnecessarily painful fluid draining, so the distraction was more than welcome.

Something's not right, she thought. She felt slightly chilled. Exposed, even. It took her a few moments of confusion, but eventually her gaze dropped to the dip of her cleavage.

And exposed she was.

Her eyes widened to the size of saucers, and her jaw dropped to hang slack as no sound came out, shocked into baffled silence.

Outrageous.

She was completely naked underneath her lab coat. And the worst thing was, she had no idea as to how that could have possibly happened without her realising it. Had she finally gone insane? Had she inadvertently ingested one of those test pills to cure insomnia, the ones with disturbing side effects? Had she been so hungover as to forget a grand total of four layers of clothing? Were carnal thoughts about Sheldon helplessly addling her brainpower?

Curious.

It's perfectly fine, Amy Farrah Fowler, she told herself. Repeatedly. As long as you keep the lab coat on, no one will notice. It was after-hours, fortunately, so the only possible encounter she could make was with the janitor, a rather amicable fellow who liked to spend a lot of time emptying the bins in Amy's laboratory in complete and slightly unsettling silence before muttering something about her 'badonka-donk'.

She quickly buttoned it up and smoothed out the front, taking a deep breath before slinging the strap of her bag over her shoulder. It was a good thing she'd specifically requested for it to be a couple of extra sizes in order to accommodate possible weight fluctuations, something she was prone to whenever the winter season approached, or one of her favourite tv series ended.
Let no one be heard saying that Amy Farrah Fowler is unprepared.

With determination in her stride she swung the door open and ran straight into a tall, lanky figure that sent her reeling backwards with a yelp, unable to distinguish much other than a blurry haze of red and yellow through the glasses that hung askew from her nose.

"Amy Farrah Fowler!" a voice laced with mild surprise and indignation erupted from the beneath the threshold, revealing the identity of the unexpected visitor. "What did I tell you about rushing headfirst into hallways without paying mind to your surroundings?

"That you could collide with some germ ridden biologist, or worse—"
"That I could collide with some germ ridden biologist, or worse—"
They ended the sentence abruptly together as Amy finally repositioned her glasses in an optimal position, and her lips twitched into a brief semblance of a sheepish smile before they pursed nervously.

"Hello, Sheldooh—"she cleared her throat, frowning gravely at the involuntarily high-pitched sound that just fled her lips. "Ahem. Sheldon." she punctuated the name with a lower timbre, sounding more like herself, earning a questioning eyebrow raise from the infallibly observant scientist.
"S-so … what's up?" she inquired tentatively, immediately cursing herself for lingering a little more than necessary on that 'so' and thoughtlessly resorting to what Sheldon called 'entirely unnecessary and mindless distortions of the English language', also known as slang. Penny was really rubbing off on her.
The eyebrow did not fall back into a reassuringly neutral arch.
Amy shifted on the balls of her feet, wringing her hands nervously as she waited for Sheldon to say something – quite possibly reprimand her for this or the other, she rarely paid attention these days, lost in contemplation of that sensually pale complexion and those big blue eyes that draw you in and oh—

"Amy."

"Yes, Sheldon?"

"You're distracted."

She made a small, mousy noise, possibly apologetic, rolling her hunched shoulders in a shrug in pretence of nonchalance. She really needed to get out of there and his sights quickly, because she could feel herself grow increasingly uncomfortable in Sheldon's vicinity when there was but a thin layer of cotton between her bare naked body and his tall, spindly limbs. And really, Sheldon had been far too gracious in describing her alarming symptoms with an euphemism such as 'distracted'.

Don't tell him you're naked. Don't tell him you're naked. Oh God, what if he knows? What if he's onto me? What will he say? Will he think of me as a floozy? "I just had a long day, and my shoes are hurting- "great job, Amy Farrah Fowler. Steer his attention toward your magnificently naked body, will you? She inwardly chided herself harshly, causing her to shake her head frantically before she bit her lip, frowning at a very perplexed Sheldon.

"Why are you having trouble finishing sentences, and twitching like that?" a sudden realisation seemed to dawn on him as he asked the question, lips parting to let free a gasp. "Oh, Lord! Are you having a seizure? We must call 911 at once!"

"What— no no no! That will not be necessary. I'm fine, I'm just a little overworked." she shook her head firmly, cutting across the air with a sweeping, definite gesture of her arm.

"Overworked?" he seemed incredulous at the very notion of it, but Amy quickly interjected;
"Had very little sleep last night." Perfectly plausible explanation, and not too far from the truth.

Gerard had a busy night. And possibly another one ahead.

"I-in fact, I was just about to go back home, have an early night." she quickly added before he could question her as to the reason why she hadn't gotten much rest, unable to be rid of that traitorous stammer. Sheldon didn't seem particularly fazed, but he did raise that eyebrow again; it was as if it was taunting her with its questioning arch, doubting each and every word that spilt from her quivering lips.

"Oh." he seemed mildly disappointed, sporting the expression typical of a child who has been denied ice-cream. "That's a shame. You see, since it's anything-can-happen-Thursday, I thought I'd drop by without the customary announcement of my coming." a boyish, lopsided smirk then tugged at the corners of his lips, giving him an irresistibly impish look. "I thought this small exception to the Relationship Agreement would titillate the rebel in you."

And titillate her it did.
A strangled noise tried to erupt from her throat, barely stifled by her biting her lip savagely.
That arch raised ever higher over the line of his forehead.
"O-oh! Of course. Yes, it is very … titillating." no doubt about it. Damnit, Amy Farrah Fowler. You are a woman with needs, don't forget nor belittle that.
"I propose you escort me home, where we can dine together and enjoy a movie night." she finally gathered enough wits to string a coherent sentence together, pleased with how casual she sounded despite her growing discomfort.

"Delightful." was Sheldon's immediate answer, followed by a form nod of the head, seemingly relieved at the fairly tranquil deviation from his schedule; he'd probably been dreading some preposterous proposition that involved entering those breeding grounds of germs where people gathered to exchange bodily fluids and flail like monkeys on crack to the deafening strains of that cacophony they dared to call music – quite frankly entirely distasteful, but Amy had become more accepting of and eager for such social gatherings due to Penny's overly plebeian influence. "Shall we, then?" he urged, inclining his head in the general direction of the open door, and Amy was more than happy to oblige, immediately scurrying past him as he held it open for her.

"Wait. Are you not going to take off that receptacle of germs?"

Amy stopped dead in her tracks.
Damnit.

A relentless high-pitched beeping pulsed in her sluggish ears until she was brutally thrown into consciousness.
Amy's palm landed flat onto the snooze button of the alarm-clock with frightening precision and a sleep-laced groan.

These dreams were getting worse.
The thrilling fear of being caught naked beneath her lab coat had in fact quite the inconveniently titillating effect between her thighs.

End of Chapter I.