A/N: This is the last chapter of my short story. I just wanted to issue that particular warning because I've been told I must do so. I was also told to warn you all that awesomeness lies ahead. However, as I believe I am neither conceited enough nor gifted enough to be able to tout such things—I'm no Jane Austen, after all—I will leave the judgment of awesomeness of this chapter and this story overall in your capable hands. (Personally, it's a little fluffy for my tastes, but oh well!) Long live the legendary Eric Clapton, and long live the equally legendary Shamy!

FOUR

Logic dictated that Sheldon should be having a panic attack about now. The situation certainly called for it. But he didn't. He also didn't have an answer for Amy's question. Do I love her? I care about her. I need her. Is that the same thing? There was too much to think about, too much to process before he would ever be able to know what he really felt and much more than that before he would ever be able to put his emotions into words.

So, instead of explaining any of that, he decided to take her earlier advice and just stop analyzing it all. There would be time enough for all of that tomorrow and the day after tomorrow and the day after that. But there is something I can do for her. He pulled out his phone. After a few clicks, he had what he wanted. Next, he went over to the radio and turned it off.

Sheldon looked up he heard the door open. What? She was leaving. His beloved Amy was leaving him. What did I do?

What did you do? She loves you and asks how you feel and you say … nothing. How did you expect her to react?

The little voice badgering him from the back of his mind returned with a vengeance. Worse, it was right. I should have said something … anything. What must she be thinking?

She thinks you don't love her. What do you expect?

"Amy, wait," he said, rushing to her.

She kept her back to him. "I'm a coward. I know. I'm sorry. But I can't bear it if the answer is that you don't love me, Sheldon. I thought I could, but I was wrong. I'm not strong enough."

"You're not a coward. I am," he said, swallowing painfully. He reached up to push the door closed. "Don't leave."

"Why?" she asked, slowly turning around. Her wide eyes were wary and afraid. They were also full of unshed tears. "If you don't love me, what is the point of my staying?"

Sheldon paused, unsure how to proceed. He usually avoided weeping females with the same rigidity as he did hospitals. No. This isn't just a weeping woman. This is Amy. Leaving her right now would only make all this worse. I should tell her I love her. It will soothe her. The tears will stop. She'll stay. But, even as he thought that, he knew it was the wrong thing to do. He didn't know what he felt. Do I love her? What if I say it to placate her but realize later it isn't true? I would have lied to her then. Isn't that worse? He softly groaned in frustration. I need to be alone, to think, but she needs me, too.

He didn't know what to do. That made him feel all the more helpless and unsure.

One tear welled over the rim of her eye and fell down her cheek. That was all it took for him to close the few steps' distance between them. He tucked his finger under her chin and gently nudged her to look up at him. Her vulnerability was bare before him. With one wrong word, one wrong look, he could utterly destroy her. The weight of the power he held bore heavily on him, it humbled him.

With great power comes great responsibility.

Sheldon nodded to himself. She's my responsibility. She's … mine. To hurt her is to destroy myself.

Admitting that was a shock. But, even as he thought it, he knew it was true. And, with that, he also knew what he had to do. He wasn't ready to spout his feelings to her like some kind of hippie—even though he was fairly confident what those particular feelings were. No, that would take careful thought, careful planning, practice, and more courage than he presently had. Her voice from the night of The Conversation rang in his head.

I belong with Sheldon. I know it—just like I know I belong in neurobiology. If we're physical, it would be wonderful. However, if he can't ever be intimate with me, I will accept what affection he can give.

Even though he wasn't ready to declare himself, there was something he was willing to give her, something equally dangerous. Hopefully, it would be enough until he could give her more.

Wrapping his free arm around her waist, he tugged her closer. She stumbled over to him. The hand under her chin moved up, pushing away the curtain of brown hair from her face. Then, when he'd hooked the hair around her ear, his fingers wandered down to lightly caress her cheek. Odd. He was touching her, and the last thing on his mind was germs. He was captivated with the supple texture of her skin beneath his fingertips and how the tingles he'd previously experienced didn't just come from having his lips on hers anymore. They raced from her skin through his fingers, zinging up his wrists like a currents of electricity through water. Fascinated, he stared down at her. She kept his gaze, ratcheting up the voltage. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but romantic words weren't his forte. He was facts, equations, theories, and proofs. What he was feeling right now didn't even begin to fit into anything like that. So, he decided to keep it simple.

"I'm going to kiss you," he hoarsely said.

"Yes," she agreed.

That was all Sheldon needed. He leaned forward. There was a light pressing of their mouths together before she began to move her lips. He tried to mimic these movements, but his efforts were clumsy at best. Still, this was for Amy. For her, he would try harder. Their faces weren't perfectly aligned. He knew that had to be the problem with why he couldn't seem to—

Amy shifted and tilted her head. Then, opening her mouth, she massaged his lips with hers, nibbling along his lower lip. He groaned, yanked her closer, stopped thinking, and just kissed her. All thoughts of alignment, symmetry and the right and the wrong way to kiss flew out of his head. This was his woman. He was her man. This was their kiss. It was perfect simply because it was them.

Better, it was just like he'd imagined in his head all those weeks ago, but it was better. Sheldon had always thought his imagination was one of the true gifts of his brain. It allowed him to see things few people could, but he would never have been able to fully imagine how much better truly kissing his girlfriend was.

Amy reached to cup his face as his arms moved wound around her waist to lock her against his body. He angled his head to the side, trading a dizzying amount of kisses with the woman in his arms. Their lips met; intertwined with each other; and moved away, only to do it all over again and again and again until time seemed to stand still around them.

When Amy pulled back from him—yes, she had to pull back from him—he had two handfuls of her sweater and was panting like he'd been underwater for a long time. He buried his face in the natural crook of her neck and tried to remember his name. The only thoughts his brain could conjure was that Penny had been right. What they had shared before hadn't really been kisses. This. Yes. This was a kiss.

"Our first kiss," Amy said, her throat vibrating lightly against his ear.

He wrenched his head up. "It won't be our last," he vowed as he looked at her. Licking his lower lip, he tasted her again. She was sweet, like red vines and cherry Kool-Aid, but so much better. Sheldon felt strange. There were emotions he could place, of course, like arousal and fear, but there was also an overwhelming sense of contentment like he'd finally arrived home from a long journey.

"You dropped your phone."

"Huh?" Sheldon asked, blinking disorientedly at her.

She reached down to pick it up off the floor and handed it to him. "Your phone. You dropped it."

His eyes darted down. Her cheeks were flushed. Her pupils were dilated. Her lips were swollen. I did that. He felt powerful and drugged at the same time. I want to do it again.

He'd made up his mind to do just that when she shoved his phone at him. He had no choice but to accept it, looked down at the electronic device in his hands as if he'd never seen it before. Then, with a flash, he remembered why he'd had in the first place. I can't give Amy the romantic words she needs tonight, but I can still do something romantic for her. After a few well-placed clicks, a melody started playing in the room. After setting the phone on the coffee table, Sheldon turned back to Amy, who was standing at the door gaping at him in amazement.

He held out a hand and executed a bow that would make his cotillion instructor proud. "Dance with me."

"You've already had your punishment."

He frowned. "I told you before. Dancing with you is never a punishment."

"Sheldon, you don't have to—"

"I owe you an answer to your question. I know that." He held her gaze a long time so she would realize how serious he was. "But I'm not ready. I need more time. I need to be sure. I'm sorry that—"

She smiled gently. "I'll give you as much time as you need."

He sighed. I'll never find another one like her.

You were damn lucky to get her in the first time, the little voice nagged.

I don't believe in luck, but I do believe in her.

"There are things I can do," he explained, "things I am ready for. I want to dance with you again, Amy. I want hold you in my arms until you have to go home. Is that all right?"

She let out a little, shallow exhale that he recognized from his days spent with her in her lab. She's excited. Amy walked over to him. "Always," she said, stepping into his embrace.

It took the barest of seconds to get acclimated to her being this close to him. He was amazed at how fast it was, how much he wasn't overthinking his physical touches with her. Somehow, the second she had put her head on his shoulder tonight, things had changed between them. Now, anything seemed possible. I want to kiss her again. I'm told some kissing involves tongues. Maybe I can experiment with—

Whoa. Slow down there. Major saliva exchange? Putting your tongue in her mouth? Having her put her tongue in yours? Are you nuts?, his logical side argued. His tongue ran out to taste her on his lips again. The sweet residue of her kiss exploding in his mouth was enough to quell any arguments. Yeah, I am. I'm nuts about her.

He held Amy to him, not even bothering to worry about frames this time. No, he wanted her closer than that. They swayed to and fro as Eric Clapton sang of his love for a beautiful lady who cared for him enough to love him just as he was. As far as Sheldon was concerned, it was the perfect expression of his relationship with Amy.

Clearing his throat, he said, "It's my understanding that it usual for most pair-bonded couples to have a song which exhibits their feelings and commitment to each other. Is this correct?"

"Yes."

He nodded. "Then this can be our song." There was a long pause. "If that's all right with you."

She squeezed him tightly to her. "Yes. It's all right with me."

They danced until the song ended. Then, when it played again on a loop, they kept dancing. Sheldon wasn't ready to let go of her yet. I should tell her, but I don't know—

"Stop overanalyzing, Sheldon," she murmured against his chest. "Just let it be."

He smiled. She knew him so well. There was a comfort in that this time instead of frustration or annoyance. "I owe you an answer," he pointed out.

"I already know the answer."

She did? Of course she did. "I should say it out loud."

"You will. When you're ready."

His throat worked, keeping him silent. He gripped her tightly as a wave of heavy emotion coursed through him.

Amy sighed and relaxed against him. Sheldon held her in his arms and rocked back and forth to their song. Could I say it? Is it true? He concentrated, considering every facet. There was so much to consider, so much to weigh. His imagination bloomed. Then, suddenly he knew. Sheldon could see it all before him until everything around him was gone except for him and Amy. The day wasn't that far off. There he was. He was holding her hand. She was smiling. His mouth was moving. He was telling her how much she meant to him, how necessary she was to his happiness. Then, the three hardest words in the English language came tumbling out of his mouth with the ease of reciting Pi.

I love you, Amy Farrah Fowler.

It was Sheldon's turn to sigh.

"You're right, Amy," he said, relaxing against her as Eric Clapton started over again. "I will tell you … when I'm ready."

Somehow, saying that aloud and seeing it in his mind made the concept all the more real. And, the more real it got, the less frightened he was.

"Fascinating."

THE END

A/N: No major drama. Just lots of cheesy romance. SIGH … just the way I likes it. Forgive me. I know. I'm a hopeless romantic. All the therapy in the world couldn't help me. :D Don't worry. I've got a few other stories rolling around in my head. Scenes I see in my head, questions I need answered, wrongs I need righted. (You know, if I wasn't a writer, I might think I was crazy. Hmmm…)