A/N: *sneaks in, drops off this chapter, sneaks out*

Four years ago.

The club was on the corner of a cobblestone street that was nearly deserted at the midnight hour. It was a freezing Thursday night in mid-December and snow was sticking to the ground as Bernadette Rostenkowski bustled towards the entrance, her breath visible in the air. The neon lights of the sign buzzed on and off, but she paid no attention to the name of the little dive as she hurried in. Trembling tenderly, she shook the flakes of snow off her blonde tresses of wavy hair and adjusted her glasses on her dainty nose. She hoped she was in the right place.

The bar was a long, wooden plank dotted with sticky moisture rings from lack of coasters and forgotten highball glasses with watered down whiskey. The stools were littered with sleazy looking men and their weathered female dates who stared her down haughtily as she waltzed in with her turquoise evening gown and black fur coat. She avoided the women's gazes, as well as the long side glances down her backside of the drunken men, and walked further in to get a view of the open floor beneath the small stage in the center of the joint. She noticed that the stage was still empty and she sighed a breath of relief; she was not late after all.

She found an empty booth with tattered, red leather seats and slid in slowly just as a young waitress with blue mascara and shifty eyes came around to take her order.

"Dirty martini, vodka not gin," Bernadette chimed and the waitress walked away without a word.

She picked this booth because it was just ten feet away from the empty stage, save for a tall mic stand that waited to be used. Peering around as the stale, yet warm atmosphere of the club seeped into her cold bones, she counted about 20 patrons, none of which were paying any attention to the stage or who was about to come on.

There had been talk of Howard Wolowitz and his unconventional act along the Pacific Northwest for weeks now, and this would be his first stop in Evergreen Falls. It wasn't until she could get away for a little while from taking care of her terminally ill mother that she found the time to come see what the fuss was about. If what Bernadette had heard was true, Mr. Wolowitz would be instrumental to achieving her goal.

She didn't know what she had expected for him to look like; maybe some old guy with a bad comb over and a pot belly badly disguised by a cheap suit and cape, perhaps. Or an old, creepy, stick-thin pale man with a monocle and top hat that smelled of dead roses. Her imagination was doing cartwheels in the midst of the possibilities when she saw movement on the stage.

A figure scrambled onto the stage from the corner and walked quickly to the center, dragging a pair of metal folding chairs behind him. His face was hidden by the shadows but just the outline of his boyish features gave her the impression that he was young, too young to be the Howard Wolowitz. Just then, the waitress returned with her martini and she accepted it with a nod of thanks, and then immediately put the rim to her lips as she watched the man, who she assumed was the stage hand or an assistant, unfold the chairs carefully and adjust them.

He avoided the audience just as much as they were avoiding him. Bernadette could only see his back but she could tell the charcoal gray suit he was wearing was tailored perfectly to his form; short in stature and scrawny features with a slight hunch in his shoulders, onset by a life of bowing sheepishly before others, she assumed.

A handful of metal clangs sounded above the stage and she watched as one by one, the spotlights turned on and shone down brightly on the stage, sending tiny mites of dust flying into the atmosphere. Finally, the man turned around and winced under the harsh lighting, burning bright above his head.

She wasn't expecting the thick, yet trimmed brown beard that tickled his young, fresh face. He had angular features, a large nose and pink, playful lips hosted by a pointy jaw. His round, aqua colored eyes were wide and intense, and his thick, brown waves of hair were slicked back in a stylish fashion on his head.

In spite of herself, Bernadette placed her martini down on the table and leaned forward, her attention on the little man center stage. He stared straight ahead and remained quiet as the patrons in the club reluctantly put their glasses down and their chairs squeaked as they turned to give the new addition in the room attention. Bernadette was situated to the right of the stage and he was facing straight ahead, but some small part of her wished he would turn to look at her.

"I," he began in a loud, commanding voice, "am Howard Wolowitz."

Suddenly, the hunch in the shoulders and uneasy stance she had seen him come on stage with had disappeared into thin air. He wore a black crisp shirt beneath his gray blazer and beneath that, a black turtle neck. His elbows bent slightly at his sides and he joined his hands together in front of him by touching the tips of his fingers together. His shoulders were squared and he wore a devilish smirk. Her martini long forgotten, Bernadette had become helplessly intrigued by the sharply-dressed man.

A few people cleared their throats while a rash of claps sounded from the back. The applause was short-lived, but Mr. Wolowitz seemed pleased anyway and gave a very curt bow, bending his frame at the waist.

"First, are there any volunteers who are brave enough to take a trip to the deepest recesses of your mind and come on stage?" He reached into his pocket and fumbled with an object that immediately slipped out and clattered to the ground. It was gold and had a chain, and Bernadette watched as Mr. Wolowitz fell to his knees to pick it up. He turned it over in his hands as a few people chortled and went back to their drinks and conversation. Scrambling back to his feet, Mr. Wolowitz held up the golden object and began to swing it back and forth in his fingers. Squinting her eyes, Bernadette saw that the object was a pocket watch. She pursed her lips; this did not look very promising.

"No volunteers?" Mr. Wolowitz squeaked, suddenly not as commanding as he had been a moment ago. The microphone nearly tipped over as he brushed against it with his arm then he awkwardly reached out to grab it before it fell, causing the mic to boom and screech. Bernadette sighed and took another sip from her martini.

"I volunteer to boot your ass off the stage, twinkle toes!" a voice sounded in the back, immediately followed by sporadic laughter.

Mr. Wolowitz took a deep breath and swallowed hard, but weakly smiled as he squinted out at the audience. He motioned with his arm at the two metal chairs behind him then spoke loudly into the microphone. "I need two volunteers to come up here and witness the magic of serenity at the hands of hypnosis."

A few more laughs and hoots, and Bernadette finished her martini. Mr. Wolowitz was attractive, but clearly not the man she had hoped he was. She gathered her fur coat as a few other people began to boo in a clear attempt to bully the man off the stage. Before she could slip out of the booth, she heard him speak again.

"How many of you love to be in control?" he queried, his booming voice loud enough to carry through walls. Bernadette thought it peculiar coming from such a small figure. It took her a second to snap out of her reverie and realize that no one had answered him. He couldn't truly expect such a lifeless crowd to speak to him at will, could he? He was the last act on a dank stage in a hole-in-the-wall bar on the bad side of town. Surely everyone here was drunk already, or on their way to be.

She peered over her shoulders as Mr. Wolowitz continued to scrutinize the crowd past the spotlight, demanding an answer. A few more chairs squeaked in protest of the weight on top of them, but other than that, no noise, save for the occasional glass clinking and small talk between the uninterested patrons at the bar.

"Nobody?" he finally asked, bringing her attention back to him. "I find that hard to believe. How many of you men are here with your mistresses tonight?"

She gave a small gasp as this question garnered a few uneasy chuckles and a hoot in the back. Mr. Wolowitz's smile grew coy.

"You, sir," he called with a purposeful point to the center of the room. "The man who volunteered to boot me off the stage—what's your name?" He had singled out an odd couple; young woman and older man, both equally as sleazy.

"Larry Richards!" the man hooted again, obviously under the influence.

"You're a man of about fifty, am I right, Larry?"

She looked over her shoulder again to get a better look as whoever was working the lights on stage moved the spot light to shine on a fat, squat man growing red beneath the glare. He stared right back at the man on stage.

"What of it?" He hiccupped then took a swig from his amber bottle of beer.

"Who are here with tonight, sir?" Mr. Wolowitz continued. "I see a beautiful red head on your arm and you've been sweet on her all night, but I'm willing to bet a grand that she's not the wife that managed to shove that golden band on your chubby, left ring finger.

"Give me two guesses as to who she is, but I'll only need one."

"Fuck off!" the accused man growled as the red head beside him balked.

Bernadette couldn't help but giggle, a giddy rumble that began in the pit of her stomach as she reveled in the growing discomfort of the man. A few other patrons laughed as well.

"Hey, I don't blame you, man," Mr. Wolowitz continued, finally relaxing from his regal stance and began to pace back and forth as he spoke, using the length of the stage to his advantage. "Infidelity is the pinnacle of control. Things only fall apart when you get caught. And in a small town like this, you could get caught, you know. What if one of your wife's bingo pals is in here right now?"

Mr. Wolowitz continued to pace, the eyes of the increasingly hostile crowd following him. A few men booed again, a few people had begun to heckle, but neither distracted him. "What if someone you know is in here right now, Larry? Small towns like to gossip." He stopped pacing and craned his neck to look at the couple, a sly smile on his face. "Still feel in control, big guy?"

Bernadette sighed in absolute pleasure. Mr. Wolowitz was showing extreme gall and it excited her for reasons she could not readily explain. But before she could process another thought, she watched Larry rise from his seat, his fists balled and his face narrowed towards the young man who stared haughtily from the stage.

"Shut your mouth," he spat, but Mr. Wolowitz only smiled wider. Bernadette gasped as he took one step down and was off the stage, meeting Larry halfway as the spotlight followed him.

"You want to hit me, Larry?" Mr. Wolowitz said in a teasing voice. He pulled out the pocket watch once again and began to swing it like a pendulum, nice and easy, back and forth, right in front of Larry's face. It was almost like a taunt, like some sort of cheap distraction, but Larry's eyes followed the watch for a few seconds before he averted his eyes. He turned to leave before Mr. Wolowitz spoke again.

"Want to take back a little bit of control?"

Larry was considering it, Bernadette knew. He was wary of Mr. Wolowitz suddenly closing the gap on the proximity, afraid that he would have to follow through and make a scene after being insulted by this little punk in a room full of strangers. Instead, he whirled round and roughly grabbed the slender arm of his red-headed date.

"Come on!" he barked at her. "Let's go."

The patrons in the bar were chattering away, continuing to heckle Mr. Wolowitz, but only Bernadette caught the glint of excitement in the short man's sea-blue eyes. "I'll tell your wife hi for you, Larry," he offered, his voice high enough to carry from corner to corner of the bar.

It happened so fast that Bernadette had wished, not for the first time in her life, that she had a time machine to go back and study the seconds over and over again.

Larry ripped his hand away from his girlfriend's arm and balled his fat fist before rearing it back and rushing it towards Mr. Wolowitz's face. But her attention wasn't on how quickly his hand traveled, how closely it was coming to making contact with poor Mr. Wolowitz's beak, no, instead, she focused on the serene, demure expression on his face as he pocketed his watch and began to move his lips quickly, softly, and at once she thought she knew what was going to happen.

The larger man's fist stopped in midair, almost as if it had hit an invisible brick wall, and his face crumpled, the once angry, fierce expression immediately going placid. The man's beady eyes went vacant and a hush fell on the crowd as Mr. Wolowitz joined his hands behind his back and casually began to circle around Larry, whose fist was still in the air. He was still as a statue as the performer walked around him once and then addressed the audience.

"Forget everything you knew about control. Because I alone possess it. With a few mere words, I, Howard Wolowitz, can have any of you at my disposal."

Bernadette's blood raced in her veins and it was everything she could do not to jump up from her seat. She watched in complete awe as the red head clapped her hands in front of Larry's face, attempting to get his attention, and Mr. Wolowitz just chuckled.

"Larry," he said loudly, making sure everyone could hear him. "When I snap my fingers, you're going to come to. Then you're going to get down on all fours and your girlfriend is going to walk you out of here by your tie like a leash, just like the dog that you are." He was sneering as he walked back to the stage, the crowd following him with widened eyes and the red head staring in disbelief. When Mr. Wolowitz reached the stage, he faced the audience once more and snapped his fingers once.

Like clockwork, every pair of eyes in the house, even the bartenders who had stopped serving mid-drink to get a load of what was happening, darted to Larry Richards, who blinked once, twice, then licked his thin lips, sweat slicking his forehead under the spotlight.

At first, Bernadette felt a trickle of disappointment; maybe it wouldn't work. Maybe Mr. Wolowitz was just pulling all of their legs.

But if Howard Wolowitz wasn't who they said he was, Bernadette wouldn't have traveled here tonight. So she shook off the doubt and her lips curled into a grin as evil as the performer's as she waited, and sure enough…

"What the hell!?"

"What's he doing? What's happening?"

"Well, would you look at that…"

"Larry! Get up!" was the shriek that came from the red head. "Stop that this instant!"

Larry's round body was rolling on the ground, his legs kicking and his tongue out, panting and barking up at his mistress.

"Arf!" he proclaimed, like the dog that he was. The red head tried to pull him up by his arms to no avail.

"His tie," Mr. Wolowitz said with a gleeful chuckle. "You'll have to guide him by his tie." He pointed and the red head huffed angrily as she clawed at the fat man's tie and yanked on it, pulling him out of the bar as quickly as she could to the chorus of chattering, uneasy laughter, and disbelieving gasps.

"Thank you all for your time," he said with a generous bow. "I'm Howard Wolowitz. Goodnight."

Ten minutes later, Bernadette had bought Mr. Wolowitz a drink. Two hours later, he had convinced her to stop calling him Mr. Wolowitz and start referring to him as Howard. Three days later, they had made love for the first time in the backseat of his white Jaguar coupe in the driveway of her mother's home.

Bernadette gave her whole self, every fear, every ounce of pain, every secret to Howard. And he understood. He knew what it was like to be abandoned by a man who was supposed to be your father as Robbie Fowler had done to her. To be left to take care of your mother, to be depended upon as Bernadette's mother depended on her. And he made his first promise to Bernadette, a promise that said he would do anything to make her pain go away. He would make the ones who hurt her pay and he would use his extraordinary gift, the gift Bernadette had bared witness to that first night, to do it.

Two months later, they were married. She introduced him to the theater in the woods and to Sheldon Cooper, the man who owned it all. The man who had the money, the looks, the holier-than-thou attitude to boot. The man who had everything Howard had ever wanted but had been depraved of. And so they waited.

One year later, Penelope came into Howard and Bernadette's lives by happenstance. Finally, their plan to get back control, to right the wrongs in their life, to make them pay, went into motion.

Four years later, Amy Farrah Fowler arrived at River Road Manor.

Present day.

A hint of cinnamon mixed with the scent of wine clouded the air as warm breath furled around the side of Amy's neck.

"I heard you were looking for me."

She stared straight ahead and watched Priya's wicked grin grow wider as whoever was just over Amy's shoulder let out a soft giggle.

She did not want to turn around. Part of Amy wondered if it was just another delusion, if here in the middle of the woods, the Penelope in her mind had surfaced to make a mockery of her in front of the entire crowd at the theater. But she turned anyhow, knowing that if she did see Penelope behind her, not only would this prove she was not losing her mind, but that the elusive woman who had gone missing was safe and sound.

"Yes, Penelope," Amy said weakly as she spun around and took a step back to put some space between them. "We were looking for you." She searched her face for any sign of distress but found very little emotion beyond her high, rotund cheekbones and defiant emerald eyes. Her dress tonight had a plunging neckline, a tight, black little number, which gave Amy cause for relief—at least she wasn't dressed in her signature red gown that she wore every time she popped up in a hallucination. "Are you well, Penelope?" she heard herself ask, unsure of how to proceed.

Before the blonde siren could answer, Amy felt a cold whoosh of air by her side and looked up in time to see Sheldon step in front of her. He wasted no time firing off a furious line of questioning of his own.

"Where have you been?" he demanded from Penelope, his eyebrows high and his mouth thin and taut. Amy watched him as he advanced on the woman and was quite aware that they were quickly becoming the center of attention from the quieting crowd. "Why haven't you returned my calls? What have you been doing, Penny?"

At the sound of her nickname, Penelope's lip curled and she flipped her straight, silky hair over her shoulder. "Where's all this concern about me coming from, Sheldon?" Though her tone was snarky as she said his name, Penelope's eyes avoided the tall, lanky man in front of her and they fell to the leaves beneath their feet. "I didn't know I had to check in with you every night."

"This isn't so much as concern for you as it is for what kind of hijinks you've gotten yourself into and how they're affecting Amy," Sheldon whispered fiercely, craning his neck to get directly into Penelope's face. At the sound of her own name, Amy immediately reddened. She cleared her throat and tried to interrupt but Sheldon ignored her as he continued, taking another step towards Penelope. "I don't know what the hell you've gotten yourself into, but it stops now. Do you understand me?"

Penelope looked bored, but Amy noticed that her eyes still had not left the forest floor. She refused to look Sheldon in the eye as she spoke. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Sheldon," Amy finally said, placing a tentative hand on his bicep to try and get his attention. She looked around nervously as every eye in the woods, from the performers in their swanky gowns and tuxes, to the owls perched upon their branches, rested on them three. "Please, let's talk about this at another time."

"There's nothing to talk about," Penelope suddenly said, her eyes zoning in on Amy's. "I just have one thing to say: stop snooping around my life. Stay away from me," she jutted her chin in Sheldon's direction, but still refused to look at him before continuing, "the both of you."

"Is there a problem here?"

The timid, nasally voice that Amy immediately recognized as Howard's interrupted the stare off between Amy and Penelope.

"No, not at all," Amy insisted, her grip on Sheldon's arm growing tighter as she tried to pull him towards her. His body had gone rigid and his face was bright red as he continued to stare down Penelope. She turned to face Howard and gave him a look of desperation. She needed to get Sheldon and Penelope to calm down, as this conversation was getting them absolutely nowhere. Amy needed answers, answers only Penelope could give.

Where had she been these past few days? And why had she been haunting Amy's mind? She had been relieved that Penelope was obviously alive and well, but the insolent look on her face, the way she refused to look at Sheldon when he addressed her, it all gave Amy reason to believe what she had been thinking all along—Penelope might be in trouble.

Howard had gotten the hint and stepped slightly in front of Sheldon. "Hey, let's go get ready for performances. Come on, everybody's watching."

It didn't seem as though Sheldon had heard a word of what he said until Bernadette suddenly appeared at Penelope's side. She looped her arm through the taller woman's and attempted to guide her away. Amy's eyebrows furrowed as Penelope's face suddenly went from hard and fierce, to…fearful?

"Come on," Bernadette said softly, leading her towards the woods. "Let's go, Penelope." Without a fight, Penelope retreated with Bernadette and left Amy more curious than ever. She returned her attention to Sheldon again and saw that his face was just as puzzled at Penelope's change in demeanor.

The crowd dispersed and a few other people, including Priya and Leonard, stood nearby, attempting to change the subject as Howard spoke in hushed tones to Sheldon. "What's going on, man? What's with the scene?"

"I have reason to believe that Penny is messing with Amy," he answered in a heartbeat. He thawed out and finally acknowledged Amy's tiny hand on his arm. He covered it with his warm hand and finally looked down at her, his blue eyes wide and imploring. "I'm sorry, Amy. Seeing her alive and well angered me. You have been worried sick about her and with all the…you know…" He paused and looked over at the people around them who were no longer paying them any mind before giving Amy a knowing look. She understood he was talking about her hallucinations but did not want to reveal this in front of mixed company, and for that, she was grateful. Sheldon sighed before he spoke again. "I just want you to be alright."

Amy smiled at Sheldon and nodded before finally looking at Howard. He was dressed in his a black button-up shirt and tight white pants, with his signature turtle neck along with a gold chain around his neck. As her eyes traveled down, they stopped when at the end of the chain, Amy saw the top curve of a golden circle with the face of a clock. Suddenly, Howard's hand shot up to his neck and he tucked the curved trinket deeper into his shirt, aware that Amy had been studying it. She thought the behavior odd, but said nothing.

"What's going on?" Howard asked Sheldon. "Why have you been worried sick about Penelope?"

"You know Penelope," Sheldon answered him before putting an arm around Amy's shoulders. "Always has something up her sleeve."

"She isn't becoming a problem again, is she?"

Amy's eyes flitted to Howard's face. Again? she thought to herself. She remembered Sheldon admitting a few nights ago that Penelope had become obsessed with him romantically and that he had enlisted the help of Bernadette and Howard to handle her, make her see reason. Just what had the Wolowitz's done to suppress the 'problem' the first time? Her heart had begun to beat faster when she realized Penelope and Bernadette were nowhere to be found after the latter had led the former into the woods away from the confrontation.

Amy had seen the married couple as her friends, the couple that had taken her in and tried to get to know her, but a cold shudder down her spine suddenly had her racking her brain for any signs of alarm, any reason to not trust them.

Had they been the reason for the fear in Penelope's eyes that night in the bathroom? Sure, it had only been a hallucination, but there was something so tangent, so urgent in those green eyes that had stopped causing Amy to feel afraid of Penelope, and instead start feeling afraid for her.

Could the man in front of her, the man who was engaging Sheldon and Leonard in casual conversation, be the reason why?

A/N pt. 2: The second part of this chapter is nearly completed, just needs to be edited and tweaked. Even though I've been gone for so long, I did not include it with this update because you all deserve more than unedited drivel that does not make sense. So I wanted to get this up to you because I needed to update! Hopefully some pieces are now falling into place, and if it brought up more questions than answers, hopefully next chapter will answer them for you ;) Thanks for being so patient with me!