Author's Note: This is Chapter 6 in the Five Ways Sheldon and Amy Didn't Meet... (...And One Way They Did) series inspired by a fantastic idea Lio came up with during a discussion in the Shamy thread at Fanforum. This fic is part of a collaboration between fanfic writers FoxPhile, Lionne6, LostInTheSun, Musickat18, WeBuiltThePyramids, and XMarisolX. Each author has written a chapter that, together, make up the collection. Each chapter is posted under the author's individual name, with the same title. Links to each chapter can be found on my profile page.

Chapters are best read in the order intended:

Chapter 1 - By xmarisolx
Chapter 2 - By WeBuiltThePyramids
Chapter 3 - By Musikat18
Chapter 4 - By xLostInTheSun
Chapter 5 - By Lionne6
Chapter 6 - By FoxPhile

Disclaimer: The Big Bang Theory is an American sitcom created by Chuck Lorre and Bill Prady, and is produced by them along with Steve Molaro. It is a Warner Brothers production and airs on CBS. All characters, plots and creative elements derived from the source material belong exclusively to their respective owners. The authors of this fan fiction, do not, in any way, profit monetarily from the story.

"There are moments in one's life - be one human or Homo Novus or even, I suppose, a homunculus like my dear friend, former roommate and yes, treasured colleague, Leonard Hofstadter, when one is suddenly struck by the vagaries of life. One does not have to give credence to the concept of fate to be aware that one's assumptions about how one's life will transpire do not always resemble actual events. Thus it was as I was waiting to retrieve baggage from the carousel at the Los Angeles International Airport that I found myself pondering how different my life had turned out compared to what I envisioned when I enrolled in University at the tender age of eleven. Or, for that matter, when I became the youngest winner of the Stevenson award at the age of fourteen, or when I won any of a number of awards leading up to the Nobel Prize in Physics. All of this I will recount for you, dear reader in fascinating detail."

I grin, pleased at how exciting that sounded. My autobiography is shaping up to be the riveting read I always knew it would be. It sounds even better when read out loud than it does in my head.

"Seriously, Sheldon? That's your opening paragraph?"

I am seated across from Amy Farrah Fowler, my girlfriend of many years, and now, in witness of the vagaries of which I'd written, my fiancé. We are just returning from Stockholm where, in another of those whimsical coincidences Life hands us, we both received a Nobel Prize in our respective fields, in the same year, but for wholly separate achievements. I don't mind sharing the spotlight with Amy. Really, I don't. After all, if it's good enough for Pierre and Marie Curie, it's good enough for Sheldon Lee Cooper and the soon to be Mrs. Cooper. Although I assume she will opt for Dr. Amy Farrah Fowler-Cooper, or at the very least, Ms. Fowler-Cooper.

In yet another example of what some might term kismet, Amy and I are enjoying cups of tea in the very coffee shop where we met. Of course, it's not really kismet. We were riding in a taxi on our way home from the airport when Amy nearly caused the taxi driver to have an accident. As we rode down the street, she screamed that we had to stop "at the place where it all began."

I can be as spontaneous and whimsical as the next guy, but this little detour means we'll be walking the four remaining blocks to 2311 North Los Robles, dragging our luggage. However, I've learned that occasionally indulging Amy's flights of fancy is often the better part of valor, so I acquiesce to her impulse. The majority of the time, she is my perfect mate. She is the lone woman who comes close to matching my intellect. It's sad, really that she's expending her marvelous brain on something as trivial as the study of…well…brains, but I enjoy her company and I enjoy our engaging intellectual games and discussions, so I enjoy keeping her happy.

"Sheldon!"

I realize that is the third time Amy has said my name, and she is saying it somewhat stridently. My momentary daydream has distracted me from attending her, which, as I have come to learn, is socially unacceptable. The correct social convention is, therefore, to apologize for my lapse.

"I'm sorry, Amy. I was distracted for a moment when I should have been paying attention to you. Please forgive my lapse. You were saying?"

Amy sighs. She seems to do that quite frequently, especially when she is fatigued, as she no doubt is from the nearly sixteen hours we've spent travelling. It's entirely illogical that she wants to extend that time with this capricious stopover, but again, I often find it wiser to indulge than to argue.

"Sheldon," she continues, "your opening paragraph is incredibly self-centered and you insult Leonard by calling him a homunculus. You might want to tone down the self-aggrandizement a bit and remember how much Leonard hates that term. He won't be happy if you include that in your book."

"But Amy," I counter, "an autobiography is, by definition, self-centered. If I'm writing a book about my life, how can I be otherwise? As to the term homunculus, not only is it accurate, but Penny uses it all the time."

Amy sips her tea and shakes her head. I can see another lecture coming on, and while I appreciate that Amy has been incredibly helpful in advancing my understanding of appropriate human social interactions, I'm tired as well and I don't really have the energy for a lesson right now. I need to come up with a diversionary gambit.

"We've discussed this before, Sheldon. When Penny uses the term, it's an endearment; a word or name that takes on special meaning between pair-bonded adults. Coming from his girlfriend, Leonard finds it cute. He does not have those feelings if anyone else uses the term. He will not appreciate your application of the term to him in your opening paragraph. He'll be humiliated and insulted."

"I see." I respond in a conciliatory manner. "Amy," I continue, launching my diversion, "Based on your earlier excitement, it is obvious you recall our first meeting here. I wonder, looking back, if you see us as the same two people who were thrust into a date that was not of our own choosing?"

I've learned that recalling significant milestones in our relationship is considered romantic, and will nearly always cause Amy to relinquish whatever bone she is chewing. Once again, it works like a charm.

"Of course I remember our first meeting, Sheldon!" Amy's eyes glisten a bit. She can become quite emotional when pondering such events. "But to answer your question, when I think back on that day, I can't help but wonder at how far we've both come. We were a real couple of stick-in-the-muds, weren't we?"

I smile. I'm supposed to do that when recalling such moments, although I'm finding more often now that it's a sincere reaction. I do, in fact, recall our meeting with fondness. So much has changed since then, and while I would not have believed it at the time, I acknowledge that the change is for the better. My life is fuller and I am more content. And I have my Nobel Prize. Of course, I cannot directly correlate that accomplishment to my relationship with Amy, but neither can I dispute that her stimulating presence in my life improved my productivity in other areas. Perhaps one day I should thank her.

"If, by that comment, you mean that we were socially awkward," I reply, "I would have to agree with you Amy. In my defense, I must remind you that the event was not my idea. It was those two loons, Howard and Raj, who contrived to enroll me in that ridiculous online dating site." I sip my tea as I recall the exact sequence of events. "Although I believe they were somewhat chagrined at the outcome. Howard's exact words were 'Good God, what have we done?'"

Amy laughs, and I laugh with her. "They later told me," I continue, "that had our date not worked out, they were prepared to fashion a mate for me out of spare body parts, a reference to the Frankenstein mythos, of course." I laugh again.

"That's disgusting!" Amy exclaims, her nose crinkling up in a way that, surprisingly, I find absolutely adorable. "Well, you must be doubly glad that it worked out. Otherwise you would be sitting here with a woman with multiple visible surgery scars and bright streaks of white hair."

She grins and I laugh again, delighted that she is able to extend the reference so well. I am not the only one who has learned valuable lessons from this relationship.

"I can't believe we sat here for four hours that day," Amy says. "We were so engrossed in conversation until you realized it was after 8 o'clock and you were going to be late for Laundry Night." Amy took another sip of her beverage and looked around the small shop. "It was so cute; you practically knocked your chair over because you wanted to get out of here so fast. But then you stopped just outside the door, turned around very deliberately and came back in to ask me for my e-mail address and phone number. I think I knew then that we were meant to be together."

I can't help it, I snort a bit derisively. I can take a bit of fancy, but this is too much. "Really, Amy! I'm surprised at you. You cannot possibly mean that you had some sort of precognition about our relationship. You're a scientist. You know that psychic abilities are nothing but a lot of hooey. Why, we didn't even sign the Relationship Agreement until a year and a half later. How could you possibly have 'known' anything about a relationship that, as yet, did not exist?"

Amy is holding her teacup and smiling that grin that always makes me feel warm all over. I recognize now that the feeling is, in part, sexual arousal. I glance away a moment because it's simply not appropriate here and when we get home, I'll be too tired to engage in coitus. I want nothing more this evening than to unpack my luggage, sort things into the appropriate laundry bins, and then retire to our own bed. Somehow while packing for our return trip, I came across a single clean sock with no partner. I packed it, on the chance that its mate may still be at home or may somehow have found its way into Amy's luggage. I make a mental note to set it aside while unpacking to remind myself to search for the other sock. Returning to thoughts of bed, I decide I may snuggle a bit with Amy in my arms, but that's really all I have energy for tonight. When I look back, the grin is still there, but I have myself under control.

"I'm not suggesting I had a psychic vision or some sort of precognitive knowledge, Sheldon," Amy replies. "I'm simply saying I had a feeling that something momentous and potentially life-changing had occurred. Haven't you ever had that sort of feeling? When you sense that something might hold a greater importance than it appears to on the surface?"

"I see." Again, I smile in response. On some level I suppose I felt a similar sense of importance in my meeting with Amy. After all, I allowed myself to be late for Laundry Night in order to be assured of communicating with her further. "I believe I also had a sense that our friendship would be… satisfying. I cannot imagine that my life would be the same had I been subjected, instead, to Howard and Raj's backup plan. I'm sure I much prefer your company to the Bride of Frankenstein."

"I'll take that as a compliment, Sheldon." She's still grinning, and my control is slipping.

"It was meant as such, Sweetie."

Amy's jaw drops open and I cannot believe I let that slip. Although the shop is nearly empty, we are, after all, in a public place. I must be really fatigued.

"I'm sorry," I say. I can feel warm blood rising into my face and I realize that my embarrassment is visible.

"Don't be, Sheldon." Amy extends a hand across the table, and lightly caresses my wrist before withdrawing her hand to wrap it back around her empty cup. "While I understand you are still uncomfortable with public displays of affection, I have no difficulties with them - within reason, of course. I'm not offended. Although, I admit I would like you to come up with another term. I know you learned 'Sweetie' from Penny, and of course, 'MoonPie' would not be appropriate. Don't you know any other terms of endearment?"

"As you know, Amy, I learned much in the early days of our relationship from Penny. For example, I learned that most women are obsessed with shiny trinkets. Shortly before you and I met, Penny made quite a fuss when Leonard gave her a ring that she wasn't allowed to keep! However, 'Sweetie' is the only applicable term of affection that I know."

Amy holds up her left hand, obviously admiring her own new ring. "Yes," she agrees, "many of my sex are overly impressed by simple carbon allotropes that have been faceted and set in rare metals with a low reactive quality."

I do so love how she thinks. And I'm pleased that she likes the symbolic representation I chose to substantiate our engagement. "Ah…you mean diamonds are a girl's best friend?" I said, paraphrasing her statement using a popular cultural reference.

"Precisely. But, let us return to the prior topic. I think I would like for you to find a term of endearment that is unique to us, Sheldon, rather than simply recycling Penny's standard term."

I ponder this for a moment. Remembering what Amy said about Penny's term for Leonard, I decide to try something out. "I don't say it out loud very often, but there is a term I often apply when I think of you." I pause. Some might consider the term insulting. But when I think of it, it is affectionately. Hopefully Amy will take it as intended. "I think of you as my 'vixen'."

Amy's broad grin tells me that I chose well. "I like it!" She exclaims, "I remember you called me that, years ago, when we engaged in that first social experiment about gossip. I didn't realize you still think of me that way."

"You like the term?" I confess I'm a bit surprised. A vixen is, after all, a female fox, and the term denotes a certain sly, sneaky manner when applied to a human female. On its face, it is far from complimentary.

"Of course I like it! It means you think I'm 'foxy'."

"Oh." I respond; then a figurative light bulb flashes in my brain. "Oh! You see it as an indication of sexual attraction!"

"Yes, of course I do." Amy replies, but her tone leads me to think she is becoming unsure. "Isn't that how you mean it?"

"Absolutely." I'm nothing if not a good student. I decide I need to think more about this later. Amy's studies in neurobiology often cross over into neuroscience and even psychology. Perhaps my subconscious attaches a sexual innuendo to the term of which I'm not aware, however; I'm determined to navigate our discussion away from areas that may result in me exhausting myself later this evening. Such activity, while undeniably pleasurable, is much better when approached with a full level of physical stamina. I scan my memories of our original date for something suitable.

"Amy," I begin, "Do you recall we engaged in our first debate on the relative importance of Physics over Neurobiology here?"

Amy's eyes narrow. I may have jumped from the proverbial frying pan into the notorious fire.

"I recall that I made a strong case that applied Neurobiology outweighs theoretical Physics in its immediate value to mankind," she replies. "You, as per usual, countered with the ridiculous assertion that Physics, as the study of all things in nature and the universe, encompasses and therefore supersedes all other disciplines."

Then she smiles, and I realize she is only teasing. This is a subject on which we long ago amicably agreed to disagree.

"I suppose if I had not excused myself at that moment to go to the Ladies Room," she continues, "things might have been very different."

"Indeed," I respond, "When you got up I was concerned that the argument had convinced you to terminate the date. I was prepared to follow you and attempt to convince you otherwise. I suppose I should be happy that you did not engage in the same sort of escape artistry that Lucy so frequently employed on her dates with Raj."

Amy laughs nervously. "To be honest, Sheldon," she hesitates a moment, her eyes glancing down at her hands, which are absently tearing bits of paper off the protective sleeve of her cup, "I nearly did leave after that." She looks up again, her eyes focusing on mine. "When I told you that coitus was off the table and you didn't run off like every other man, I decided that you were either my soul-mate or some sort of perverted weirdo. After that first argument, I was concerned, however, that we would not find common ground. But while I was in the Ladies, my mother called."

"Really?" I query when she pauses. "What did your mother say to convince you to stay?"

"Nothing." Amy says, "I didn't answer. My mother always called precisely 30 minutes after the start of my annual dates. She assumed, usually correctly, that by that time I was on my way home again. I wanted the chance to show her that I could successfully interact socially with a member of the opposite sex, so I determined to move past the disagreement and continue to pursue our potential similarities instead of our differences."

"Oh my," I reflect, "Do you mean to say that, had your mother not called at that precise moment…"

"…we would not now be seated here." She finishes for me.

I find that I am stunned by this revelation and memories flash in my brain, flickering like an old-fashioned silent film. A drunken Amy kissing me impulsively, initiating my first fascinating sensation of arousal stimulated by physical contact; the unfamiliar feelings of jealousy brought on by her brief dalliance with Stuart; my concern over her lingering illness, followed by a mixture of chagrin and intrigue when I found out she was, in fact, cured but continued to feign ill health in order to extend our growing intimacy; the first of many evenings spent engaging in increasingly passionate fantasy sex under the guise of a D&D love spell and the night several months later when the fantasy became wholly real. All these memories might have never been. The thought disturbs and distresses me. I realize I am holding Amy's hand, toying with the ring that I might never have placed there.

"Sheldon?" Amy brings me back to the present and I force myself to smile. "It's okay, Sheldon." She squeezes my hand and moves to intertwine our fingers. The intimacy of such contact in this setting would normally make me uncomfortable, but I find that at the moment I'm grateful for the physical reassurance it provides. "It all worked out okay," Amy continues. "I didn't leave and we found that our similarities far outweigh our differences."

I nod and squeeze back before relinquishing the grip and drawing my hand back to my own empty cup. "I thought you were the most interesting female I'd ever met. I think I sensed immediately that your intelligence was on par with my own. Moreover I… I thought your eyes and your hair were quite aesthetically pleasing while your choice of attire was refreshingly modest. I wanted to know so much more about you. I don't know what I would have done if you disappeared." I attempt a laugh but even I recognize that it sounds forced. "I suppose I might still be sitting here, awaiting your return."

"I doubt that, Sheldon." Amy nods toward a young couple sitting two tables over. "For one thing, we weren't sitting at this table; we were closer to where those two are sitting. Do you think maybe they are on a first date as well?"

I take a moment to study them. It gives me time to compose myself and I realize, once again, how well this woman knows me. "It's probable," I respond, "The young lady is toying with her hair while the gentleman is sitting with his legs slightly apart. Both are indications of attraction and an open response to potential mating." I turn back and smile sincerely. "Perhaps in ten years, those two will be sitting where we are."

"Sheldon Lee Cooper!" Amy exclaims, "You've turned into a big romantic; do you know that?"

"I beg to differ, Amy Farrah Fowler," I counter, "I've always been a romantic. I just needed the right person to allow me to express it."

At that moment Amy's phone begins to ring. I recognize the tone. "Amy? Did you neglect to inform your mother of our safe arrival?"

Amy rummages in her bag and retrieves the phone, unnecessarily confirming that the caller is, indeed her mother.

"Of course I informed her, Sheldon. I sent her a text as soon as the plane landed." She lightly swipes the face and holds the phone to her ear. "Hello, Mother."

I tune out the conversation, lost in my own thoughts. I wonder where Amy and I will be in another ten years. The thought of potential progeny crosses my mind and I realize it is a topic we need to discuss soon. If Amy is willing, as I hope she is, we will need to begin the attempt right away as her fertile years will soon be drawing to a close. I resolve to broach the topic with her over breakfast tomorrow.

She ends the call and tucks her phone back into its place in her bag. "Mother wanted to know if we would be coming to visit her tomorrow. I reminded her that we promised to attend the pre-screening of Rajesh's documentary on the Jupiter expedition in the evening, but I think we'll be able to stop by for a bit before we go." Amy begins to gather our used cups and napkins so they can be disposed of properly. "It's too bad Mother can't go with us. Apparently the narrator is an actor from an old sitcom that she's a big fan of. She's hoping we can get an autograph for her. He played someone with the odd name of Chandler Bing. Can you imagine that?"

I shake my head. Taking Amy's cue, I rise and begin collecting my luggage. "Well," I decide to make a one-time exception and try on my new term of endearment, "my little vixen," I wink and continue, "shall we get going? It's been a very long day and I feel our bed calling."

I realize my mistake when Amy's sly grin returns. The grin works its usual magic, however, and I begin to think that, just maybe, I have a reserve of energy I might call upon. Perhaps I can introduce the topic of children on our walk home. I find the idea of conceiving the next generation of Nobel Laureate Coopers tonight quite compelling.

"Someone seems in a hurry to get home," Amy replies suggestively with a wink of her own as she stands and begins to gather her luggage. "Sheldon," she says as we walk out the door. "When we first met, did you get the feeling we'd met sometime before? I remember having such a strong sense that I knew you from somewhere, but I've never quite been able to put my finger on it."

Gathering my own luggage, I give her my most indulgent grin. "Amy, don't be preposterous." I tap the side of my head. "Eidetic memory, remember? I can assure you, if we had met before, I would remember it. Therefore, it never happened."

As we begin our long trek down the street towards home, Amy comments, "Well, I'm certainly glad we did meet, Sheldon. I can't imagine my life without you in it."

I decide that another one-time exception can't hurt. Releasing my luggage, I stop, turn, and gently grasp Amy's arm. Leaning down, I kiss her on the lips, right there on the street in Pasadena, California. "I'm glad we met, too, Amy," I say. I grin as she looks up at me with surprise and something close to shock. "And now I've kissed you where you've never been kissed before!"

A/N: Thanks again to Rae and Marisol for excellent beta. And thanks to Lio for advice on the graphic. Thank you ALL for reading. And special thanks to a terrific group of collaborators - XmarixolX, WeBuiltThePyramids, Musickat18, xLostInTheSun and Lionne6. It's been a blast!

FF_1807614_ 6/6/2013