The Theory of Everything Replication Endeavor

Amy has the perfect plan for Valentine's Day: she will recreate the carousel scene from the movie The Theory of Everything. And it was perfect. Everything went exactly according to plan. It was everything she hoped for, everything she wanted to give to Sheldon. Wasn't it? (Not a part of my Shamyverse, 'canon' Shamy - whatever that means).

They were sitting in the white chair, making out like teenagers when he got home. There was no doubt they knew he had entered, and they didn't stop. He threw his keys into the bowl, satisfied with the extra loud clanging they made. His friends didn't stop pawing at each other. He sighed very loudly. They didn't stop.

"Must you commence foreplay in the living room?" Sheldon asked tartly.

Finally they broke apart and turned to look at him, Penny still perched on Leonard's lap with her arms around his neck.

"You were out late," Leonard said. "We thought maybe you were commencing some foreplay of your own."

Sheldon sighed again.

"So, how was it?" Penny asked. "Amy has been planning this for weeks."

"It was -" Perfect. Sheldon swallowed. He did not want Leonard to think he being overly emotional about a stupid Hallmark holiday. "It was cold and windy, especially when we walked on the beach. The music of the carousel was too loud. The whole place was filled with raging teenage hormones; much like this living room, I might add. The chocolate soda tasted nothing like YooHoo."

"It's good to see old-fashioned romance isn't lost on you," Leonard said.

"You better not have said any of those things to Amy," Penny scolded.

Shamed, Sheldon shook his head.

"Good." She turned back to Leonard. "Well, since we're apparently engaging in foreplay . . ."

"My bed is closest . . ." They got up, and Leonard took Penny's hand.

"Oh, please take it across the hall tonight," Sheldon grumbled.

"Hey, what's going on?" Penny asked. "Did something happen between you and Amy? You better not have ruined her Valentine's Day!"

"I'm fine. Nothing happened," Sheldon answered truthfully. "I'm sure Amy will tell you in salacious detail how everything went exactly according to plan and that it was exactly what she hoped for."

"Humph." Penny narrowed her eyes slightly but then looked back at Leonard. "Maybe we should go to my place."

"Anywhere is fine with me . . ." They scurried out of the apartment without a backward glance, and Sheldon was relieved. But not completely.

Even though it was past his usual bedtime, he found he had no desire to go to bed. I need to do something to ease my mind. Why his mind felt churned, he could not say, but it did. He removed his jacket and tie and decided to set up his whiteboard and get some work done. However, instead of applying himself to his new field of dark matter, he found himself writing the beginning of an already solved equation. One of Stephen Hawking's. Well, he supposed it was on his mind tonight.

He hadn't lied. The night had been perfect. He was certain it had gone exactly according to Amy's plan. But was it everything she had hoped for? And why did he feel so melancholy about it?

It all started the second time they saw The Theory of Everything at the movies. No, that wasn't true. That is when a firm plan began to form in Amy's mind. It had, in fact, she realized, all started the weekend of the prom.

Prom. Wow, what a weekend. She had been so excited but also nervous, especially after Sheldon proposed they pretend to be aliens. And then when he ran away and hid in his bedroom, she thought all her worst fears were coming true. Sheldon couldn't man up and give her one night of happiness. All the progress she thought they had made since his return was an illusion. Never mind, she was going to go have fun with her friends, if nothing else.

But, but!, then something amazing happened. Sheldon thought she was pretty! He seemed, at least on some level, to have considered, what was the phrase he used?, making whoopee with her. Most importantly, he loved her. And not casually, not flippantly, not because it was expected of him, not because she was going to say it first, not because social convention dictated he should love her, but because he had studied it, tested it, considered all the possibilities, and all his mental experiments had led to only one conclusion: love.

After she had recovered her breath and they had made it the roof, he surprised her again. He wasn't just enduring prom for her, wasting time going through the motions, he had decided to embrace the whole experience. She had expected their dancing would be all those strictly defined dances they both knew, like the rumba and the cha-cha, and, at most, a perfect waltz. She would not have minded that, she loved dancing with Sheldon. But when he took her hand in the middle of the dance floor and pulled her in close and wrapped his arms all the way around her, she momentarily lost her breath once more.

"What's wrong? Are we too close? Am I suffocating you?" Sheldon asked. "According to my research, this how most teenagers dance. Seems a bit handsy to me, but," he gave that same adorable shrug he had given standing in the doorway of his bedroom earlier, "when in Rome."

She smiled and oxygen flooded back into her lungs and she leaned her head against his chest. "No, it's perfect."

And it was. The whole night was perfect. The wrist corsage he bought her was beautiful, the punch tasted better with pomegranate juice, Sheldon's goofy close-eyed face in the photo was so full of joy, and, at the literal crowning of the evening, Amy finally got to be prom queen and her boyfriend had been at her side, as her king. Sheldon was so very romantic. It was everything she could have hoped for.

The next afternoon, she and Sheldon had gone to see The Theory of Everything. It was his choice, although she was not opposed. Afterwards, Sheldon, despite his grumbling that it didn't have enough science, that it was really a chic flick disguised as a biopic, said he enjoyed it. But Amy, perhaps still riding a high from the night before, thought it was the most romantic movie she had seen in a very long time.

They hadn't planned on seeing The Theory of Everything at the theater a second time; but when they arrived at the movie theater the first Date Night in January, they discovered the app had given the wrong time, and The Imitation Game wouldn't start for another hour and a half.

"It's fine, Sheldon," Amy had said, trying to defuse the situation in the line. "We'll just watch something else."

"But you wanted to see The Imitation Game. Alan Turing building arguably the world's first computer!"

Amy did not tell him that even more exciting than Benedict Cumberbatch on screen for two hours was the idea of sitting next to him for two hours. "Really, it's fine, we'll see it another time. Look! The Theory of Everything starts in ten minutes. Let's watch that again. We both enjoyed it. And we'll get extra Red Vines."

Holding hands in the dark, sharing Red Vines, even if it wasn't the movie they had planned on seeing, it was wonderful. As she had already seen the movie once, Amy noticed details she had missed the first time, including new romantic nuances to the scene at the carousel. The perfect plan started to form in her mind.

She had stayed up too late that night, after their date, doing research. And when she found exactly what she was looking for, so close to home, she was thrilled. The next day she enlisted Bernadette's help on finding the perfect dress, emailing her a still from the movie. Valentine's Day couldn't come soon enough. Penny had done her hair, putting it up in a French twist, and, even though Amy couldn't think of an excuse to make Sheldon wear a tuxedo again, he had looked so handsome in his dark gray suit. She put a Wagner CD in the car for the drive to their destination.

The Santa Monica Pier was so beautiful, lit up at night, the ferris wheel glowing and revolving.

"This is where you wanted us to go for Valentine's Day? A tourist trap?" Sheldon asked when she parked the car. "And all dressed up?"

"I forgot! I have a clue. I meant to give it to you before we left." Amy felt flustered. She was so looking forward to this, she had planned it so carefully, but now she wasn't sure Sheldon would get it or like it. She reached into the purse Bernadette had helped her find at a vintage store and handed him the small orange package.

"A sample of Tide?" he asked, wrinkling his brow.

"The washing powder. Well, they don't make it with phosphates anymore," she explained.

He looked up at her and grinned. "But aren't I supposed to give this to you tomorrow morning, instead?"

Amy laughed. He got it! She had wondered if perhaps he did when she knocked on his door, and he conspicuously looked her up and down, taking in her entire outfit; but he hadn't said anything, so she wasn't sure. They got out of the car and walked together toward the pier. Looking around, she felt slightly silly being so overdressed, but when Sheldon took her hand just as they approached the carousel she realized it didn't matter in the least.

"I think this is the part where I explain how UV light interacts with phosphates and you quote William Blake," he leaned down to whisper in her ear as they stood in line.

"Do you think it's too corny? Do you hate it?" she asked on impulse and then immediately wished she hadn't.

"In order: Yes. No." Then he gave her that look she saw only occasionally, like after he kissed her on the train and after he told her that he loved her, the look that instantly made her feel weak.

They rode the carousel three times, and Amy laughed like a child watching Sheldon drape his long frame over the painted horse. He grinned back at her, and, on their last spin around, he reached across the narrow aisle and took her hand one more, stretching their arms between them.

Amy had timed it perfectly, and the special Valentine's Day fireworks lit up the sky as they exited the carousel house. Just like the movie. And, just like the movie, Sheldon had hugged her and spun her around gently before kissing her. Right there, in the middle of the crowed pier, the fireworks above them.

Afterwards, having fulfilled the movie recreation, they had gotten old-fashioned chocolate sodas at Soda Jerks. They played games at the arcade, which Sheldon seemed to enjoy immensely, not the least because he won a silly bobblehead prize. Even though there were more teenagers and families with young children than Amy had anticipated, she was enjoying the romance of being with Sheldon, just having a good time. She timidly suggested, since they had seen all they were interested in on the Pier itself, that maybe they could walk along the beach. He would say no; Sheldon hated the ocean, hated the beach. And, yet, there she was walking hand in hand with him in the sand, passing other strolling couples, the glow and the happy sounds of Pier behind them. It was colder than she expected, and Sheldon, ever the gentleman, had wrapped his suit jacket around her shivering shoulders.

But something had seemed to descend upon Sheldon on the car ride back. She assumed he was tired as it was past his bedtime. She thought maybe he was feeling every particle of sand that had clung to him and couldn't wait to get home and shower the outdoors off of him. Maybe he was still disappointed the chocolate soda hadn't tasted like YooHoo.

He had asked if she was coming up for the usual post-Date cup of tea, but she declined citing the time. They had kissed in the car, which didn't provide a clue as to his mental state as it was so difficult when sitting like that, anyway.

It had been perfect. It had been everything she hoped for. Wasn't it? Then why did Sheldon seem so melancholy? And why was she starting to feel that way, too?

He wrote the equations quickly, from muscle memory, even though he wasn't really paying attention. Instead, he was paying closer attention to every detail of the evening he was replaying in his mind.

Had it been perfect? Amy had looked beautiful and perfect in the pale blue lace dress and matching cardigan. The second he saw her new dress, he knew exactly what she was doing. He was too flummoxed by how pretty she looked to point it out then; he hadn't said anything until she had given him the Tide. In fact, he never told her she was pretty. He had never thanked her, he had never told her that he had a wonderful time, no matter how corny it was. Those were mistakes, after she'd put all her effort into it. Is that why he felt strange?

Had he been too brusque when he was discussing the chocolate soda? He thought it should taste better than YooHoo, shouldn't it, being a real chocolate soda from a fountain? Maybe he shouldn't have bought the bobblehead with his arcade winnings. A normal boyfriend would have bought something for Amy, like a stuffed animal or that cheap plastic seashell bracelet. Maybe he had complained too much about the sand in his shoes on the beach.

He didn't understand how he could have such a wonderful time with Amy, obviously making her happy, and then have all these doubts. Why couldn't it be like Christmas, when she made him so happy with something so simple as cookies? Or why couldn't it be like prom? He had had reservations then, reservations so serious he had a panic attack, but Amy had soothed them away and the night ended up being wonderful. He had no doubts about that night afterwards. For the first time in a long time, it had felt like everything in the universe had aligned.

Thinking about the prom invariably lead to another thought he had been turning over in his mind lately. Amy had used a new expression that night, one that she had not used with him before. "Spend the night together." She was talking about coitus, of course, at least he had confidently presumed so at the time; so much so he repeated it back to her. But the phrasing of it had stuck with him. He wondered what that would be like, to have her so close to him all night, to feel her warmth. Often when they kissed now, he found their arms wrapped around each other. He wondered what it would be like to sleep that way, with her arms around him or his arms around her. Would he be able to sleep like that, with someone else so close to him? Somehow, he knew that with Amy it would be profoundly comforting. Once, last month, when it was raining when she left, he almost asked her to stay . . .

. . . but there was the risk that so much closeness could to lead to other things. He sighed softly at his whiteboard. There was no doubt now, in his mind, that he would have coitus with Amy. Some day. And not because she wanted it, although that was important to him. Yes, she was the catalyst, but . . . well, he'd been having urges lately. A lot more than he cared to admit. They showed up at the oddest time. One minute he was peacefully at work, thinking only of dark matter, and the next he would receive a text from Amy, asking about his day. Now I'm thinking about how my day is going, now I'm thinking about how Amy's day is going, now I'm thinking about Amy, now I'm thinking about the fact that I love Amy, now I'm thinking about kissing Amy, now I'm thinking about touching Amy, now I'm thinking about coitus with Amy. All that sexting was making it hard to concentrate.

And this evening! It had been perfect. As perfect as it had been, it had been frightening. By refracting their relationship through the prism of Steven Hawking's, she had unconsciously (he thought, although he was never certain with Amy) hinted that she wanted and expected everything with him. She wanted to make love to him, she wanted to marry him, she wanted the white picket fence, she wanted 2.5 children, probably even a Subaru wagon. That movie, that stupid movie he had mistakenly admitted he enjoyed, had shown her that it was possible, that he could still be the great Sheldon Copper, Nobel Laureate, and he could give everything to her.

He finished another equation and shook his head. The smell of these dry erase markers must be going to my brain. He capped the marker and looked at the equation, wanting the numbers and sequences to soothe him, just as Amy so frequently did.

He shook his head again, this time with a sigh. He was lying to himself. It wasn't the movie that had shown Amy everything was possible. It wasn't Amy that was hinting to him. He wanted to give Amy everything. But it was so very frightening, he didn't know if he could.

Taking one last look at the equation, he stood up a little straighter. Well, I can try to give her something.

Most women would probably be alarmed and confused by the sound of bongos outside their apartment door in the middle of the night. Most women were not dating Sheldon Cooper. This was not, Amy thought as she blinked her eyes open and glanced at the clock, her first rodeo. And is he singing? she thought as she sat up and rubbed her eyes. She got out of bed and grabbed her robe. Yes, singing.

"It's poetry in motion
She turned her tender eyes to me
As deep as any ocean
As sweet as any harmony
But she blinded me with science
And failed me in biology"

Is Sheldon serenading me with a love song? Sort of, she thought as she crossed the living room. She wanted to stand on the other side of the door as long as it took for him to finish the song, but she thought her neighbors would kill her.

"When I'm dancing close to her
I can smell the chemicals"

"Sheldon!" she whispered yelled as she opened the door. "Get in here! You'll wake everyone up!" She grabbed the sleeve of his windbreaker and pulled him into her apartment. "What's wrong?"

He seemed genuinely surprised by the question. "Why should anything be wrong?"

"Because you showed up here unannounced at one in the morning, playing bongos and singing a song -"

"A love song," he interrupted. "For you. After I got home, I realized I never gave you anything for Valentine's Day."

"Oh . . . it was a love song," she whispered.

"Of course it's a love song. It's about how much I love dancing with you and how pretty your eyes are and how much I love your scientific mind and -"

She reached up for the sides of his face and pulled him down to her lips. He resisted at first, just had he had when they went Christmas tree shopping, but in a only a couple of seconds he was returning her kiss, leaning into her, moving his lips gently against hers. The only thing that would have made it better would have been his arms around her, but he was still holding his bongos.

"Thank you," she said when they broke apart. "But I thought you learned at Christmas that there is no obligation to return gifts between us."

He nodded. "I just wanted to give you . . . something."

Amy smiled at him. "It was perfect."

"Amy, may I sleep here tonight?" he asked. He blushed slightly. "I brought pajamas."

She wasn't surprised by the question. The last time he had shown up in the middle of the night with his bongos, he had ended up sleeping on her couch. But he brought pajamas! He had planned on staying the night with her! Her heart trilled. "Let me get you some blankets." She started to turn away from him, when his hand caught her, pulling her back.

"Do you remember the night of the prom?" he asked suddenly.

"Of course," she wrinkled her brow.

"When you said you always hoped we would spend the night together were you talking about coitus?"

Amy took a sharp breath. "Yeeessss. I thought we both were."

He nodded again. "I've been thinking about that. Especially after tonight, when you worked so hard to give me . . . everything."

"Sheldon, I didn't work so hard on Valentine's Day so that you would have sex with me. Please tell me you know that."

"I do." He sighed softly. "Now I realize I've started this conversation all wrong. It's that I've been thinking a lot about the phrase 'spending the night together' lately, the literal meaning. I think I'd like to try sleeping next to you. I know it's not everything, but maybe it's something." He looked down sheepishly at his feet.

Amy raised her eyebrows and put her palm on her chest, feeling the familiar squeeze of her lungs. "I'd - I'd like that very much," she somehow managed to stammer out.

She was already sitting up on one side of the bed when he came in. Sheldon could barely make eye contact with her, as he felt his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He untied his robe and held it in mid-air, looking around.

"There's an extra hook on the back of the door," Amy volunteered.

"Thank you," he said, still not looking at her. He hung up his plaid robe, next to her pink fluffy one. Seeing the two robes there, side-by-side, made the whole experience even more surreal. He walked over to the bed and looked down at the side she had left for him. The blankets were perfectly smooth, the top sheet folded down. She had clearly remade the bed while he was in the bathroom. There she goes again, making everything perfect.

"Is that side okay with you?" she asked. "I always put my glasses on this end table."

She had moved her legs under the blankets as she spoke, and Sheldon saw the faint ripples in the bed. Oddly, he had completely forgotten that Amy had a waterbed.

"What happens if your mattress is punctured? Where does the water go?" he asked.

"Sheldon, you won't drown. The cover is made of polyvinyl chloride, and, as long as you don't sleep with anything sharp in your non-existent pajama pockets we'll be fine. It's quite comfortable."

There was a terseness in Amy's voice Sheldon know well, so he lifted the blankets and sat on the edge of the bed. How strange. Feeling Amy's eyes boring into him, he swung his legs in and covered them. The bed had moved beneath him, although not as much as he expected. He looked over at Amy, still sitting neatly beside him.

"Is it possible to get motion sick?" he asked. "Or what if you make a sudden, large movement in the night? Will the wave catapult me off the bed?"

Amy sighed loudly. "And you call yourself a physicist! I have a wave-reducing waterbed with interconnected water compartments." She sighed again, softer. "Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe we should plan it ahead of time, at your apartment."

"No!" Sheldon had not meant to yell it, but the disappointment in Amy's voice had worried him. He did not want to let her down. "It's fine. Let's go to sleep."

Amy nodded at him and turned off the light next to her, leaving them in the dark. They both lay down, each firmly on their own side of the bed. He felt her roll on her side, but no waves came and catapulted Sheldon off the bed. He shifted a few times, experimentally, to get used to the strange sensation of sleeping on water.

"Amy?" he whispered.

"Yes?" she replied.

"Maybe we should coordinate our movements."

She sighed again. "How do you purpose we do that? This is sleeping, not synchronized swimming. No two REM cycles are exactly the same. The inhibition of our voluntary actions -"

"Like this." He rolled quickly and put his arm around her waist.

"Oh," she whispered. She sighed once more, but he realized this was a sigh of contentment. Then she relaxed back into him and aligned her legs with his.

The sensory overload was almost too much, and Sheldon fought not to pull away and run out of the room. No, no, no, I must stay here. I want to give her something. He concentrated on the things he did like: how warm she was, the softness of her nightgown under his palm, the smell of her hair so close to his face. He started to relax, and his eyelids started to close. Until Amy shifted her legs once more, and one of her feet brushed his calf before coming to rest behind it. Then his worst fear was realized, and he wondered if Amy noticed it. Surely she did, he didn't see how she could not feel it. What should I do? What if she says something? Oh, please, make it go away soon.

"Go to sleep, Sheldon," Amy whispered. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he whispered back.

Amy took a deep breath and before long he heard her breathing change. Lying there, holding her, his urge passing, he wondered why he had put this off for so long. This was even more comforting than he imagined it. He brought his face even closer to her hair and closed his eyes. He was so glad he had remembered to bring the package of Tide with him, to give to her in the morning. Yes, I will give the Tide. I will give her . . . everything.

THE END