Title: Twelve

Disclaimer: I do not own BBT or its characters and I make no profit from this. It's just for fun.

Spoilers: None

Pairing: Sheldon/Penny, (mentions of Leonard/Penny)

Warnings: Underage drinking, alcoholism, minor original character death, grief/mourning, domestic violence

Author's note: I made up a lot of details for Penny's background, so much of it won't match what we later learned from canon. (But who needs canon anyways...am I right? ;)

[Edited & updated 7/17/24]

XXXXXX

"I don't know, Pen," her cousin said, skeptically. "It takes a lot of work to be an actress."

"Like what?" Penny asked, catching sight of Ellie every time she spun in a circle. She didn't go to ballet lessons anymore (not since her father had been laid off, because they cost too much money) but she still practiced the basic moves. "You just stand there and read lines and pretend. I can pretend."

Pretending was an area in which Penny excelled.

"Sure, it's easy, but there are thousands of people who want to be actresses," Ellie pointed out, never looking away from the TV where Molly Ringwald was verbally sparring with Judd Nelson in one of their favorite movies, made the year they were born. They'd seen it dozens of times. At 12, Penny could recite all the lines by heart (she liked to imagine she was playing Molly's part—the starring role).

"So what?" Penny felt annoyed, almost losing her balance when she spun too fast. "You think I couldn't do it?"

"I'm saying you have to be really good to get famous," Ellie shrugged, with an air of, why would you bother trying?

Penny stopped her unofficial practice so she could turn and stare at her cousin, trying to determine if her words were purposefully mean. But Ellie said nothing else, didn't check for a reaction like she always did when she threw a teasing insult Penny's way. Ellie wasn't trying to be mean, she'd simply stated a fact—the world how Ellie saw it, where Penny had virtually no chance of becoming a star. That made it sting all the more.

"Yeah, well, I'm going to do it," Penny said under her breath, returning to that place in her mind where her instructor demonstrated pliés and pirouettes.

Before, she'd always thought of acting as a far-fetched dream, but now she might have something to prove.

"But I don't want to move," Penny told her mother, resisting the urge to cry. She was too old to cry.

"I know, honey," her mother sighed. Penny had never before thought of her mother as 'old', but in that moment, she wore every one of her 47 years. "But your dad was laid off again, you know that, and he's been offered a job, but it's—"

"200 miles away!" Penny interrupted, feeling like a brat, but unable to help it. "What about my friends? What about school? What about…" her life? Her parents still saw her as a kid, but just because she was 14, it didn't mean she didn't have a real life here.

Her mother sat on the end of her bed, pulling at some threads on the worn afghan Penny's grandmother had knitted for her when she was a baby. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, shakily.

"Your father and I talked to Mabel," she revealed, referring to her sister, Ellie's mother. "She's willing to let you live with them to finish out high school. I don't want to take you away from what matters to you, Pen."

Penny studied her mother's face and realized, with an insight beyond her years, that it had nearly broken her mother to make that offer.

Yet she'd made it, anyways.

For the first time, Penny considered that loving someone might mean allowing your own heart to break, in the desperate hope that another's could stay whole.

Her anger dissipated as quickly as it had come. "No," she said, voice strengthening as she went on. "I'm not staying here if you and daddy are leaving."

Her mother glanced up, joyful relief filtering across her face. "Really?"

Penny nodded. She knew it was within her mother's power to force her to go—she was still a minor, she had to do what her parents said, unless she ran away or something equally drastic. The fact that her parents wouldn't make her leave, that they only wanted her to be happy…that was the reason Penny wanted to stay with them in the first place.

She wasn't old enough yet to want to live without them.

Ellie died late on a Friday night in July. She was 16 years old.

Penny stared at the casket, and it wasn't that she was in denial, it was that she chose to believe her cousin wasn't in there.

Not beautiful, cheerful, playful Ellie, who had been a breath of fresh air in every room she walked into. She'd made Penny's life better in so many ways… They'd been best friends their whole lives.

Penny had been visiting her cousin that summer—and what a crazy summer it was. Catching up with her old friends from high school, drinking almost every night, and partying with boys who had already graduated (a fact which made them cooler than any boys they'd known since childhood).

She'd never had so much fun before. It was the first time in her life she actually felt free. Free to do what she wanted, to make her own decisions…

But that freedom had ended with the cruelest punch of reality that anyone could face.

Penny hadn't told anyone, but one thought had whispered in her mind every hour of every day since she learned of Ellie's death: she was supposed to be in that car.

Penny had been all ready to go out, wearing a cute purple sundress she'd gotten on sale for a steal at the only mall within 50 miles. Ellie's boyfriend Sam had driven over with a few of his friends to pick them up. They had no real plans, just drive around, maybe go to the local drive-in or that spot in the woods where other people their age would gather to party (a code word, basically, for 'drink and make out').

Only Sam had seemed more off than usual that night, so much that Penny had frozen in the act of climbing into his car. His eyes…there was something strange about his eyes. It wouldn't be until many years later that she'd be able to look back in her memory and recognize, with the help of future knowledge, that he'd been strung the hell out.

Penny had laughed nervously, backing away from the car, and told them she suddenly didn't feel well and wasn't up to going out. She'd tried to get her cousin to stay with her, but Ellie had only laughed off Penny's concerns, leaving with Sam and his friends.

Their car had rolled seven times, and maybe Ellie could have survived it; others had survived worse. Rarely without a seat belt, though.

"I was supposed to be in that car," she whispered, staring at the closed casket. ("Too much damage to have an open one," her mother had told her, voice strangled and awful in a way Penny would never forget.)

"What, honey?" Ellie's mother Mabel was standing beside her. Penny glanced over, finding that her aunt's mascara wasn't tear-proof.

"I said…I love her very much." No, loved. (But how could she use the past tense if she still felt it?)

"Me too," Mabel whispered, staring at the pictures of her only child that surrounded the coffin. She leaned into Penny's side, starting to sob.

Penny had never before felt such a weight, this unbearable heaviness that wouldn't leave her. (A feeling, as it turned out, which would last for a long time.)

In Penny's group of friends, drinking was practically a requirement. It was a way to have fun, to loosen up, to fit in. Penny never shied away from it, and never had a particular thought about it, good or bad, one way or the other.

The night of her cousin's funeral, she didn't need to have fun, or loosen up, or fit in… That night was the first time she drank because goddamn, this hurt.

"Stop being such a bitch!" Davey yelled as she stormed out of his house, the screen door banging shut behind her as she leapt off the porch and crossed the dusty driveway to get to her car—well, her parents' Ford. She was saving up money to buy her own car, and she couldn't wait for the freedom of not having to ask permission to go somewhere.

She ignored Davey yelling her name, and he grabbed her arm right as she reached the driver's side door. Startled, she dropped the keys in the dirt.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" he snarled. "It's not like we were only seeing each other, you can't blame me for going out with Carrie."

He was right, in a way. They never officially said they were exclusive, so maybe it was Penny's fault for assuming they were. But still, for him to go out with Carrie, and for Penny to hear about it from a friend of a friend? It was humiliating.

"I don't blame you for going out with her, I blame you for screwing her," Penny hissed.

"Maybe if you weren't such a prude and didn't keep your legs shut just to make me suffer, I wouldn't have needed to go looking elsewhere," he said cruelly.

The issue was a sore spot for Penny. At 17, she was one of the last, if not the last, of her friends to have sex. And so what if she didn't want to? If she hadn't been ready? She would have been, eventually, if he waited a little bit longer. She had been considering it, in fact, before she heard about him and Carrie.

She'd been so stupid.

"We're over," she said softly, words barely carrying to him even though he was standing right in front of her. She glanced up at the night sky, wind whipping around them in the arid heat that spoke to her of summer, and Nebraska, and home.

"You know I'm right," he sneered, his wounded pride causing him to rub salt in the wound. "A man can't wait around forever, Pen. Guess it worked out for both of us. Now you get to remain all pure, and I've got a woman, a real woman, who understands what a man needs."

She laughed scornfully at that. "A man? You think you're a man? All I see in front of me is a little boy, a pathetic boy who had to hook up with the school slut—oh I'm sorry, a woman—to get some. You proud of yourself?"

She glanced down to see where her keys had landed, which meant she was entirely unprepared when he slapped her. She gasped in shock, hand going to her left cheek before her mind even registered the pain.

Instant horror and remorse flashed across Davey's face. "Pen, I didn't mean to! You make me so crazy—you know I'm not like this! I'm sorry I messed up with Carrie, but I only want you—let's move on and forget this."

He kept pleading even as she knelt to pick up her keys, hand still on her face, which had turned numb. She wondered if it would leave a bruise. She ignored his begging, sliding into the car and starting it in a state of shock.

She loved him, loved him, as much as a teenage girl could love anyone at 17. In her most indulgent fantasies, she pictured herself as Mrs. David Williams, and the two of them lived in that cute yellow house down the road from their high school. They had a couple of kids, and a dog, and they were happy.

Was he right? Had it been her own selfish choices that drove him into Carrie's arms? Maybe sex was the only way to get someone to stay.

Before he hit her, she knew she'd forgive him for Carrie. She just needed time to cool down. She'd forgiven him a dozen times before for a dozen stupid things, and stayed with him because she loved him. Now, she saw the darker shades that could color that life—Davey always had a bad temper, but he'd never struck her before, and she wasn't foolish enough to think he never would again.

She took a moment to imagine her life going that way—being that desperate for something good means it's easy to take the bad along with it.

She loved him almost enough to do it.

Almost enough.

She'd been putting it off for months, but after celebrating her 21st birthday in a local bar with a couple of friends, Penny realized there wasn't much in Nebraska for her.

At least, nothing she wanted.

What better time to try and pursue her dreams? She was young, with her whole future laid out before her. All she had to do was gather enough courage to take it.

There were two places for an aspiring actress to go—New York or California. She debated each one with lists of pros and cons. New York was better if she wanted to try her hand at a career in theater. California was better if she wanted to shoot for TV or movies.

New York had an attractive mystery about it; it was where many people went to remake themselves, and she couldn't deny it always held an allure for her. But she typed California into the computer first, because it was still the promised land for actors.

She clicked on the first link that came up after her search for 'apartments in L.A.'

It happened to be a website that listed bargain apartments: people desperate to sublet or landlords who had buildings in undesirable areas. The places looked pretty decent and the prices were 1/3 of what she'd pay for rent in New York.

It was a no-brainer, especially because she'd have to work a minimum wage job while trying to make it big.

She chose an area with the most promising amount of options within her budget (i.e. what little savings she had), made a few apartment tours at places that had immediate openings, and programmed the GPS she bought second-hand. She wanted to see each building for herself in person before making a final decision—she needed to get a feeling for a place before knowing if she wanted to live there.

This would be her first real adventure, the first time out on her own, without anyone to rely on or help her. She was excited and hopeful and more scared than ever before in her life.

Her GPS failed almost immediately after she crossed the California state line. Penny cursed the pawn shop owner who claimed the device would work as good as new.

She stayed on the highway until she saw a sign for Pasadena—it sounded pleasant, in a safe way. Like the friendly sort of place where a TV sitcom might be set.

She got off the highway and stopped at the first coffee shop she saw. Rather than finding some maps or buying another GPS to try and get to her original destination, she wondered if ending up here might be a sign. She asked the barista if he knew of any apartments nearby and it turned out he had a friend with an opening in his building.

Penny went to see it right away, relieved to have found something so quickly. The building might not be perfect—it had a broken elevator and the apartment was on the third floor—but she didn't mind a few inconveniences in exchange for cheaper rent. Besides, it would be a good way to get in some cardio and save on a gym membership.

When she asked her new landlord if he knew of any places hiring nearby, he mentioned a chain restaurant, The Cheesecake Factory, so Penny jumped on that, too. She had years of experience waitressing and plenty of time to find a different job if she didn't like it.

Penny could hardly believe how quickly she got settled into her new life. It was the first time she felt like a real adult. She'd gotten a place on her own and a job on her own and she was taking care of herself. It might not be easy, but she was doing it.

Everything was going according to plan, even if that plan wasn't exactly like she imagined back when she was practicing ballet moves and watching The Breakfast Club with Ellie.

Penny didn't know when she became friends with the boys across the hall. They were kind to her, always asking her over and offering to do things for her. As if she were helpless because she was a female on her own, and well, maybe in some ways she was, but that didn't mean she needed them. She accepted their help when it was offered because she didn't believe in making things harder on herself out of a misguided sense of pride.

Similarly, she started dating Leonard for a reason she couldn't explain. Maybe because he was sweet, and she'd been lonely for awhile, and it had been a long time since any man treated her as if she were precious. He was a good friend, and what better way to start a relationship than with a friend?

They got along well for several months, and if she had a growing unease with their romantic relationship, she successfully ignored it…for much longer than she should have.

Until one night, when Leonard was looking at her with unabashed reverence across a candlelit table. His obvious worship often made her feel like she would never live up to his ideal version of her—the one that lived only in his mind.

"You're so beautiful," he'd said, while Penny felt a creeping sense of trepidation. "From the moment I first saw you, I knew there'd never be another woman that could compare to you."

"Leonard…" she began uneasily.

"No, Penny, don't." He reached over to take her hand. "You should know how much I care about you. I'm not sure if you feel the same as I do…? I hope that you do, but even if you don't, I need you to know that I love you enough for both of us. Whatever our future looks like, I would do anything to make you happy."

Penny inhaled deeply, wondering why his words seemed so wrong to her.

She thought of hot summer nights wrapped around Davey, a boy she'd loved the only way she knew how, and the long line of men since then—men who looked different but who were all essentially the same (and none of them someone she could love). Mostly, she remembered the girl she'd been her whole life, the girl who dreamed of finding love, real love…and this wasn't it.

It wasn't fair, because Leonard would have been perfect. She couldn't have asked for someone nicer, more intelligent, more devoted, more…anything. He was everything a good boyfriend should be, except that she didn't love him. Not the way he loved her.

She had no idea why—if she did, she would have fixed it, because Leonard deserved that kind of love.

At one time in her life, Penny would have been more than happy to stay with Leonard because of his devotion to her. She would have tied him, without a second thought, to a life where he wasn't loved the way he should have been, because part of her used to be that selfish.

There was a time when simply being loved (adored, worshiped, idolized) would have been enough for her, but those days were long gone. Penny couldn't do that to herself or anyone else, least of all Leonard, who was one of her best friends.

Unfortunately, it meant that on the night Leonard brought up their future, Penny had to tell him they couldn't have one together.

"You do realize," Sheldon told her, "that you broke his heart?" His words were clipped, impersonal, merely imparting a fact she already knew.

"I know," she whispered, unsure if he heard her. She was curled up on the couch in Leonard and Sheldon's apartment. They were the only ones there since Leonard had gone out with Raj and Howard.

Sheldon was doing something in the kitchen (cooking, she thought), and she was miserable, and Leonard was miserable, and life all around sucked.

If it was made slightly more bearable by Sheldon's judgmental presence, she would never admit it.

She knew she'd done the right thing by breaking up with Leonard, so why didn't it feel that way?

She was watching Sheldon across the room as he leaned over the counter, focused intently on something. When he straightened, repeating ingredients to himself, she realized he was checking a recipe.

Sheldon was particular about people helping him cook (or anything else) and Penny had never offered before, but her unhappiness propelled her off the couch. She couldn't wallow in misery forever.

"Can I help you, Sheldon?"

He glanced at her over the island. "I'm sure you are physically capable of helping me."

She sighed, though her lips quirked in affection she couldn't hide. "May I help you?"

He regarded her with suspicion. "You wish to help me with dinner?"

"Why else would I ask?" She stepped around him to grab the wine from the counter, pouring herself another glass, her third of the evening. She ignored the look Sheldon sent her way, sighing with relief when he didn't comment on it.

"We've talked about the way you answer questions with other questions," Sheldon mildly scolded.

"Have we?" she asked, enjoying the semi-glare that earned her.

"You never offered to help with dinner before," he pointed out, and Penny suddenly felt bad about that. On any other night, she'd have been happy to watch him from the living room, waiting for him to prepare a dinner he'd share without even asking.

"Tonight I'm trying something different."

"Why?" he persisted.

"I don't know, Sheldon!" She haphazardly waved her wine glass at him. "I want to help you. What's wrong with that?" When he just studied her, she sighed, taking another long sip. "Fine, I'll leave you to cook in peace, just let me top this off—"

"Penny," he said, right before she could grab the wine bottle, "hold on. I accept your offer. Let me find a task you can't screw up too badly…" He made a show of looking around the kitchen while she rolled her eyes. "Ah, yes, would you peel those potatoes?"

"Sure I won't 'screw up'?" she asked sarcastically, trading her drink for the vegetable peeler.

"We shall soon find out," he shrugged, as she shook her head at his unintentional antagonism.

They settled into companionable silence for a time, and as it turned out, they worked together quite well—it wasn't surprising, because they'd done the same on different occasions in the past. It made Penny wonder if they should do more things together…

…which was an incredibly strange thought to have, so she shook it off as soon as it came.

They talked off and on, filling each other in on the newest things in their lives, and the topic of Leonard came up again.

Penny couldn't help wondering (for the hundredth time) if she'd made a mistake in letting him go.

"Did I do the wrong thing?" she heard herself asking Sheldon, and though she wasn't looking directly at him, she noticed the way he stilled for a moment.

"You broke his heart," Sheldon said quietly, repeating his claim from earlier.

"Right." Penny swallowed heavily at the guilt, dropping her head. Sheldon was clearly disappointed in her, and why wouldn't he be when she hurt his best friend? Maybe she hadn't looked at things from every angle. Maybe there was a way she could have developed deeper feelings for Leonard, if she only gave them enough time.

Her knife slipped when Sheldon spoke again, but she managed to catch it right before it sliced her finger.

"Penny, is your heart broken?"

She glanced over, trying to determine what he was driving at, but there was nothing readable in his expression. "No, Sheldon. I hate that I hurt him, but…my heart isn't broken."

He nodded, as if that was the answer he expected. "Then no, you did not do the wrong thing."

Penny had to turn away so he wouldn't see her tears. She didn't want to explain that it was the first time she'd felt better since she and Leonard broke up.

When Caltech's annual fundraiser rolled around, Leonard asked Penny if she wanted to go with him. It was a while after their break-up and he assured her it wasn't meant to be a date. They'd both moved on, and by some miracle, they hadn't let their romantic (dis)entanglement ruin their friend group. Every passing week got a little less awkward, to the point they were almost back to how they were before. Penny had some reservations about saying yes, but as Leonard pointed out, they enjoyed spending time together as friends.

In the spirit of that friendship, Penny accepted his invitation.

But Sheldon, unaware of her agreement with Leonard, screwed everything up by asking her to go with him. Penny was surprised at how much she wanted to accept. She went from being convinced by Leonard to attend, to cursing that she wouldn't get the chance to be Sheldon's date—in a purely platonic way, of course.

She couldn't bring herself to turn Sheldon down, instead telling him she'd get back to him. Maybe if she explained the whole thing to Leonard, he'd understand why she wanted to back out…to go with Sheldon, instead? Yeah, probably not.

It wasn't that she didn't like doing things with Leonard, but being with him at events guaranteed a long evening. He'd expect her to keep him company while they circulated, using the same small talk, the same jokes, the same carefully crafted spiels all the guys put together ahead of time to impress benefactors and alumni. Helping to promote the university was treated like a job requirement, per their president, and they all took it seriously…but no one took it seriously like Sheldon.

He never asked Penny to charm anyone (not that she was opposed) because he wouldn't put his own job off on her. He took events as seriously as everything else in his career, researching the expected attendees to figure out how he could connect with them and paint their university in the best light. Ensuring Caltech's future for the next generation of students was one of his top priorities.

It fascinated Penny to watch Sheldon in action. She didn't get lost or bored by the subject matter when she was with him; he made sure things didn't go over her head, coming up with helpful analogies and explaining the practical applications of their research. She also loved hearing his unfiltered thoughts on everyone and everything. He'd often seek her advice, running things by her first to learn how others might react, or asking how she'd say something in a more tactful way. In truth, she felt honored that someone as scarily smart as Sheldon would trust her like that—she always wanted to help him, however she could.

So yes, Penny found attending events with Sheldon to be both enjoyable and entertaining. She actually found a lot of things with him enjoyable, even fun (a description which always made people look at her sideways). They just understood each other in ways no one could really explain—hell, even Penny struggled to explain it.

Penny was thinking about all that while lounging on her bed, nursing her wine. She was torn on what to do. She felt obligated to accompany Leonard, but part of her was still scheming for a way out of it. Was there any excuse she could use without coming off like a bitch? She didn't think so, and trust that she'd considered every possible one.

A distant, characteristic knocking on her front door interrupted her thoughts. She yelled for Sheldon to enter because she'd left it open.

He was at her bedroom doorway in seconds. "Penny, I've told you numerous times—it is egregiously unsafe to keep your apartment door unlocked."

She smiled at him crookedly, holding up her drink in apology. She saw the way his eyes narrowed, but chose to ignore it, as usual. "Sheldon, who else is going to come in here?"

"This city is filled with any number of unsavory characters, Penny." He was standing stiffly, seeming unsure of his welcome. "With your lax security, they could waltz unchallenged into your apartment at any time."

"Yeah," she said dryly, "I can see that."

He sent her a look full of censure. "I'm simply looking out for your well-being."

Even though she felt he was being overly cautious, Penny had always appreciated his genuine concern. "Thank you, Sheldon." She downed the rest of her drink and got off the bed, heading to the kitchen for a refill.

"Penny," he trailed along behind her, "Leonard informed me that you are attending the Caltech fundraiser with him. He said he asked you three days ago, which was well before I asked you yesterday. Why didn't you tell me?"

She felt her heart sink at his words. "Because I wanted to go with you, instead."

His eyes widened in surprise while Penny glared at the empty glass in her hand. The wine was making her say things out loud she hadn't meant to.

"If you did not wish to accompany Leonard, why didn't you tell him that?"

"He did a good job convincing me," she sighed, while cracking open another bottle. "It wouldn't be polite if I backed out now." Even if she'd given serious thought to how she might get away with it.

"Then you should follow through on your word," he agreed. "It's the right thing to do."

"Is it, Sheldon?" Penny didn't know what made her walk over to him, if it was the alcohol or something else, but she knew she wanted to invade his personal space (in the way she was always careful to avoid, unless she was making a point of some kind). "Is it the right thing to do?"

It was only because of how close they were that she saw him swallow. "It is," he agreed, but what struck Penny was that he didn't step back from her.

She searched his eyes for a long moment, and she could swear she saw a flickering of…something.

It would have been so easy to take one last step, lean into him and tilt her head up and press her mouth to his. In the most hidden part of her heart, Penny wondered if the move would have forced them to openly acknowledge something they'd been avoiding for weeks. Months.

Except that was probably foolish. There was no way Sheldon Cooper had feelings for her—he never had, he didn't currently, and he never would. She must be losing it (or drunk) to think there was any sort of tension between them. Her lonely mind was making up fantasy scenarios because she'd been feeling down and Sheldon had proven to be a good friend. They'd spent a lot of time together over the past few months, once she started reaching out to him more often following her break-up with Leonard.

She shouldn't be hoping for more than she already had (and certainly not with Sheldon Cooper—he might love her as a friend, but it was unfair to ask him for more than that).

"You're right, Sheldon." She stepped away, taking another gulp of her wine. "I made a commitment to Leonard, so I'll be going with him."

Sheldon nodded stoically, as if her answer meant nothing to him either way. "I understand, Penny. I will see you and Leonard at the fundraiser."

He left without another word, refusing to meet her eyes again.

Penny tried to tell herself that everything in her world was fine. Nothing had changed from the way it was before.

Except there had been that moment, that split second, when she met Sheldon's eyes and swore she saw the same fear, confusion, and longing that might have been echoed in her own.

Her world was spinning wildly on its axis, and for the first time in a long time, she couldn't drink her uncertainty away.

Penny was feeling pleasantly buzzed.

Out of nowhere, she remembered a night years earlier, when Ellie's boyfriend Sam had been far more than buzzed. Bet he felt 'pleasant' that night, too.

She brushed off the thought, placing her empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter.

"Dance with me?" Leonard sweetly asked, with only a hint of pleading. She smiled and took his hand, allowing him to lead her to the dance floor.

Other couples swayed to the slow music, and she shut her eyes during a familiar 80's pop ballad, holding onto Leonard when he pulled her closer. She couldn't help the memories of when they were together, willing herself to ignore the comfort of it.

She wouldn't succumb to the safety of roads already traveled, not when they led to dead ends.

"I'm happy you came with me tonight," Leonard whispered in her ear, after a couple slow songs.

She wanted to agree with him, but the words got stuck in her throat. She wondered if she was accidentally sending him the wrong message, but she didn't know how to escape without hurting his feelings.

Maybe she could say she needed another drink…

"May I cut in?" asked a very welcome voice, from somewhere to her right. She snapped her eyes open to find Leonard waving politely as he handed her off to Sheldon.

They began dancing automatically, muscle memory taking over, even as neither said a word to each other.

If her mind insisted that Sheldon felt right, in the same way Leonard felt wrong, well…her mind had led her astray plenty of times before, and in much more sober states.

"I had no idea you could dance," she offered, mainly as a distraction from her thoughts (but she was also surprised by his skill).

"My mother forced me to take lessons," Sheldon explained, "another part of my upbringing that I resented at the time, but which would ultimately serve me well."

She hummed in agreement, letting her head rest against his shoulder. The room felt peaceful and warm…or maybe it was Sheldon who felt peaceful and warm. (Though admittedly, she'd also been drinking quite a bit tonight.)

"Penny," he ventured, voice low with a definite thread of worry. "I'm not certain how to broach this topic."

"What topic?" she mumbled into his shoulder, pressing more tightly against him. He sounded serious, so serious, and if she hadn't been well on her way to intoxication, she would have tensed at his words.

She felt him sigh, breath ghosting along the side of her head. "I'm concerned about you."

"How come?" She was feeling languid, like her body was fluid and moving without her control.

"You regularly consume too much alcohol and I fear it's having a negative effect on you."

That snapped Penny out of her haze, leaning back so she could see Sheldon more clearly.

"You can't be serious," she said defensively. Too defensively. "You're judging me because I enjoy a couple drinks now and then?"

"I am not judging you," he insisted. "I have noticed that you drink much more than you did when we first met. It happens at every social event, most nights you're at our place, and seemingly every time I stop by your apartment."

She couldn't deny he was right about the frequency, but she still felt attacked by his truth telling. "Newsflash, Sheldon, most of the world drinks! 90% of people would fit into the category you're describing."

"I think your estimate is much too high," Sheldon protested, "but I digress. It is rare to find you without a drink in your hand."

"I'm not holding one right now, am I?" she tried to joke, but it fell flat.

"I saw you finish your third of the evening before Leonard asked you to dance," he said, and Penny cursed that he observed everything. "I mention the topic only out of worry for your physical and mental well-being. And…I brought it up tonight in the hope that us being in public would prevent you from getting upset."

Penny wanted to snap at him again, but she managed to bite her tongue. Would she be this annoyed if his words didn't resonate with her on such a deep level? If he hadn't been voicing a secret fear she often had about herself, when she was alone and it was too late at night? Or when she woke up on yet another morning hungover? Or when she went somewhere—anywhere—and the first thing she did was get herself a drink?

Stupid Sheldon and his stupid concern and the stupid way he made her feel.

"So what, Sheldon?" she asked wearily, with an air of defeat she hated. She could really use a drink right now. "You think I'm an alcoholic? Is that what you're trying to say?"

"Only you can answer that question," he replied, and when Penny just shook her head, trying to move away from him, he took hold of her arms with a surprisingly strong grip.

"Fine, maybe once in a while I have too much," she threw out, "but it's not like I'm falling down drunk all the time. Why do you even care how much I drink?"

"I told you—I am concerned about you." His expression proved it, but Penny was still hurting—more at the truth of his accusations than anything else. "I would not have said anything if I did not care for you."

It was the perfect opening for her to ask what might be going on between them, but for some reason, Penny couldn't do it. Not after whatever this uncomfortable conversation was bringing up in her.

"Sheldon, I appreciate that…but I'm fine, okay?" She didn't believe it even as she made the claim. "I promise."

"I'm not asking you to stop drinking or to change your lifestyle," Sheldon told her, his words comfortingly calm. "All I ask is the next time you feel like having a drink, come talk to me first. Are you willing to try that?"

Penny could have easily refused. She was a second away, in fact, when she met his eyes. In them, she found a complicated mix of emotions, many of which he'd already admitted: worry, concern, caring…and echoes of something else. Something more. The same thing she'd seen in him a few weeks earlier, when they talked about her attending the fundraiser with Leonard.

She knew, right then, that she couldn't deny him such a simple request. Maybe she couldn't deny him anything.

"Okay," she whispered, and it surprised her to find that she meant it.

Sheldon's conversation with her made Penny a lot more consciously aware of when she drank—and how much she drank. It made her start trying, for the first time in her life, to think of alternatives.

Mostly, drinking had become a habit. Feeling sad or lonely? Have a drink. Upset or angry? Have a drink. Out on the town and looking for a good time? Have a drink. Enjoying an evening with friends? Have a drink. Sitting at home bored with no plans? Have a drink.

She wondered when, in her life, the answer to every situation had become 'have a drink'.

She managed to avoid it for almost a week, and she was priding herself on her stamina and will-power. See, she was totally fine. She didn't need an intervention, or whatever Sheldon had thought he was doing—she was perfectly capable of turning down alcohol on her own. She didn't need it and she never had!

But then she lost not one, not two, but three amazing roles in the course of a single weekend. Any one of them could have helped launch her career, and she'd been passed over for all of them. It might have been easier if she was cut in an early round, but she got close to the end each time, and what's worse, she let herself hope each time that it would be 'the one' to finally propel her into stardom.

How wrong she'd been…but what else was new?

Penny had been in her apartment all Sunday afternoon, moping around and trying to make herself feel better—while also resisting the siren song of her well-stocked liquor cabinet.

But having a drink during a difficult time was hardly the end of the world, right? This type of setback called for something strong—it was a real reason to drink, so no one could fault her, not even Sheldon…

Before she knew it, she was sitting on her couch with a glass of vodka in her hand.

She lifted it to her mouth, but hesitated before taking a sip.

Sheldon's words from last week were ringing in her ears. She'd been replaying them over and over again. He hadn't been upset or angry, he hadn't even accused her of being an alcoholic. Nor had he asked her to stop drinking, he'd been very clear on that. All he'd asked was for her to go see him first.

There was no way she was ready to officially quit drinking. But going to see him—which was something she wanted a lot of the time, anyways?—that she could do.

She knocked tentatively on their apartment door, something she hadn't done in months.

Leonard answered with an expression of confusion. "Penny? What's up?"

"Hey, Leonard…" She ignored his question, shifting nervously. "Is Sheldon home?"

"Yeah, he's in his room." He motioned for her to enter and Penny walked in slowly, as if unsure of her own welcome.

Leonard must have seen her inner struggle. "Do you want me to get him?" Worry tinged his voice, a type she'd never heard from him before. Did she look that bad? Well, maybe.

"No, I can…" she trailed off when Sheldon came around the corner from the hallway, pausing on the step when he caught sight of her.

"Penny? Are you all right?"

She tilted her head to the side while she thought about it. "I really don't know."

Neither of them noticed Leonard retreating to his room, as if he knew this was a conversation they needed to have alone.

Sheldon crossed the room to her, reaching out his hand, though he paused before he touched her. She accepted the silent invitation, setting her hand in his and letting him pull her over to the couch. He directed her to sit down next to him while he took his usual spot. Penny absently noted they were still holding hands, even after they sat down, and she didn't want to let go.

Too much of her life had been about letting go. For once, she wanted to hold onto something. Someone.

Sheldon was watching her with growing concern. "What happened?"

"The usual…I lost out on a part. Three parts, actually. Learned about two last night and one this morning, and ever since I've just been…" Crying in self-pity and wondering if she should give up on her acting dreams altogether. "It's hard, Sheldon. To continually be told I'm not good enough…what am I doing wrong?"

"I do not believe you're doing anything wrong," he said, matter of factly, while gripping her hand more tightly. "I think you're not what those productions were looking for, but if you persist, eventually you will find the right role."

His words made her feel a little better, but she couldn't shake the self-doubt that had been overwhelming her all weekend. "I've tried out for hundreds of parts in the two years since I moved here. I got a few minor things, but nothing to write home about. I got a commercial, but it didn't lead to anything else. I got a few more small roles that ended up cut… It's like…if something can go wrong with my career, then it does."

"Acting is a competitive field, Penny." His consolation made her suddenly think of Ellie, and the similar chat they'd had when they were 12 years old. "I do not have the answers for you, but I do know the only way to succeed is to pick yourself up and keep trying. If you give up, you are guaranteed to never reach your goal."

"I know you're right, it's just…it's hard, Sheldon."

"Is that why you came over?" He was studying her, almost like he was picking up on the darker undertones of her visit, and glanced at their still joined hands. "To talk about your career?"

"No, I'm here because of you." She squeezed his hand, not wanting to spell it out. "You asked me at the fundraiser if I would come to you…when I felt like…"

"Oh," he said, as realization dawned, and something in him changed. Like he became more determined in that split second. "I meant it, Penny. Thank you for coming over."

She fidgeted, nerves coming back, but she couldn't pull her hand out of his. "I was about to have some vodka," she admitted. "But then I thought about what you said, and I already agreed to it, so… I figured, what could it hurt?"

In truth, being with Sheldon typically made things hurt less…and wasn't that a revelation after two years of friendship.

Penny was convinced that Sheldon would take her opening to deliver a lengthy lecture: about her poor life choices, and the negative effects alcohol had on physical and emotional health, and how she'd made the right choice to forgo it, if only for a time, to come and see him.

He did none of those things. Instead, he used his hold on her hand to pull her closer, wrapping her in his arms.

As he hugged her, she felt tears pricking her eyes. His simple gesture made her feel better than any pep talk ever could.

She would soon learn that it took a lot, a lot, to stop drinking. If she hadn't been addicted yet, she'd been well on her way, and it took everything she had (far more than she thought she possessed) to break the cycle she'd established many years earlier.

It wasn't easy, by any stretch of the imagination, and she couldn't rely on anyone else to force her to stop. She had to do it by herself—but she didn't have to do it alone.

Support was something she could accept—that she needed—and she learned with Sheldon that she never had to ask.

Penny celebrated six months of sobriety by bursting into Leonard and Sheldon's apartment, jumping right onto Sheldon, heedless of the fact that he was walking to the couch with his phone in his hand. How he didn't drop it, she would never know (wait, yes she did, he was Sheldon). His arms automatically came up to hold her in place while she kissed him briefly, but enthusiastically, on the mouth.

"Six months!" she exclaimed, hitting him on the shoulders in her excitement. "That's half a year!"

"I knew you could do it," he whispered, resting his forehead against hers, and she responded by hugging him closer in silent thanks.

"What's been six months?" Howard asked from the couch, clearly lost.

She reluctantly leaned back from Sheldon, wriggling a little as he loosened his hold and let her slide down him until her feet were back on the floor. "I haven't had a drink in six months."

"Wow!" Surprise was written all over Howard's face. "I didn't realize it had been that long already. Congratulations."

That set off a round of Leonard congratulating her, too, while Raj nodded along, all of them telling her they knew she'd always had it in her, and they were happy about the strides she was making.

Penny hadn't shared as many details with them as she did with Sheldon, but they were aware of her attempt to stop drinking. As soon as she'd made the decision, she had been honest with everyone she knew—keeping secrets was counterproductive.

"You guys know it hasn't been easy," she sighed, taking a seat in the middle of the couch. Howard was at the far end with Raj perched on the arm, while Leonard sat in the armchair.

"It has not," Sheldon agreed, as he sat down next to her in his customary spot, "but you have done admirably, Penny." It wasn't what he said that surprised everyone, but rather, the obvious pride he took in her.

Howard voiced what they were all thinking. "When was the last time you were proud of anything aside from your own accomplishments?"

Sheldon frowned at the mild insult. "Penny's achievement is one that should be celebrated by everyone who knows her. Even though it is not a personal accomplishment of my own, I feel the same amount of pride as if it were."

"Really?" Howard challenged. "Why is that?"

Sheldon looked taken aback, but before he could attempt an answer, Leonard interrupted. "Are you two dating?" he asked, only half-joking.

Penny felt her heart skip a beat, but she carefully masked her reaction. It had been months since she first wondered if there might be anything between them…but the idea had slowly faded to the back of her mind as time went on and Sheldon never made any mention of it. He'd been incredibly supportive of her while she tried to stop drinking, and that had become their focus. They were definitely close, perhaps too close for strictly 'friends', but she'd convinced herself this was all she and Sheldon could ever have.

She glanced over at him, expecting to find him amused by Leonard's question, but he was only watching his friend with a gravity that betrayed how seriously he took the subject.

She realized she'd have to answer Leonard because Sheldon wasn't going to. (Too bad she had no idea what to say.) "I don't… Well, you see…"

She gave up and turned back to Sheldon, looking for some sort of clue on what he was thinking. Honestly, she'd come to the conclusion that he'd never be romantically interested in her—or anyone, for that matter. That was mainly why she'd been able to ignore her feelings for such a long time.

Penny had dated her fair share, starting with David Williams and ending with Leonard Hofstadter, some ten months earlier. There were plenty of men in between those two, but none of them had been someone she wanted to spend her life with.

Part of her worried that lifelong companionship was something she might never find, especially because in the time since she broke up with Leonard, she hadn't found anyone she so much as wanted to date.

No one except…

"What do you think, Penny?" Sheldon asked, causing her to jolt in surprise.

"What do I think…about what?"

"Us," he said, simply. "Are we dating?"

Her mouth dropped open as she looked between Sheldon and the rest of the guys—all of them watching in rapt attention. "Uh…Sheldon…what do you mean 'are we dating'?"

"I'm genuinely curious," he replied. "We have become closer over the past several months. Our interactions often stretch beyond the bounds of friendship. You kissed me when you got here."

"She's done that before," Howard hissed, nudging Raj, who was still on the arm of the couch. Raj vigorously nodded, neither of them looked away from Sheldon and Penny.

"You have done that before," Sheldon told Penny, in agreement. "Our behavior with each other has taken on a decidedly romantic connotation, yet you have never spoken a word about us romantically, dating or otherwise. I assumed if you wanted the nature of our relationship to change, you would tell me. I have been waiting for months." He was tilting his head from side to side, in thought. "I suppose asking you directly, before now, would have been an easier option."

"I didn't realize…" Penny was thinking back, wondering when their behavior had changed—and it did seem they acted the way a lot of couples might. They'd become a lot more comfortable with each other, their actions revealing as much, but neither of them had brought up the possibility of more. No wonder Sheldon was confused by the whole thing (Penny felt much the same). "Sheldon…would you want to date me?"

"Yes, I would happily date you," Sheldon said easily, shocking Penny so much that she could only stare at him in disbelief. Leonard started choking on his drink and Howard nudged Raj so hard that he promptly fell off the arm of the couch.

"Sheldon." Penny was keeping her voice low to hide that it might have been shaking. "Are you joking? You would seriously consider a romantic relationship with me?"

"Yes. Of course I would." He seemed as surprised by her shock as she was by his wanting to date her. "Why do you think I have allowed us to become as close as we are?"

Penny had never allowed herself to imagine a world where he might want her back the same way she wanted him. Now that it was reality, she had no idea what to do, staring at Sheldon helplessly.

He leaned towards her, his words quiet enough no one else could hear him. "Penny, I care for you in a way that I have never cared for any other."

She momentarily forgot their friends. "Are you saying…you love me?"

"If you're asking whether I desire to spend as much time with you as I can, and care for you above all others, and never wish to be parted from you…then yes. I love you, Penny."

She felt her breath hitch, free to reveal a truth her heart had known for quite some time. "I love you, Sheldon."

Instead of replying, he pulled her into a careful, gentle kiss, like he was trying it out. When she kissed him back, he only deepened it—she never would have thought he'd be okay with showing that level of affection in front of their friends.

As it turned out, maybe she still had a lot to learn about him…and she couldn't wait.

Like everyone, Penny had faced thousands of decisions in her life. She'd made the vast majority of them at random, by luck, or on sheer instinct. She'd never thought too deeply about long-term consequences: how seemingly small choices could shape the entire direction that her future might take.

Sheldon Cooper was a much different type of choice, and this time she knew what she was doing. It came down to two futures: living with Sheldon or living without him.

There was no life in which Penny would ever choose the latter.

"Penny?" he whispered, against her temple.

"Hmm?"

"This…you and me?" He sounded like he might need to hear it.

"Yes, Sheldon, you and me," she promised, wrapping her arms around his middle. "Together."

She was vaguely aware of Howard, Leonard, and Raj chattering in surprise and confusion around them (now she knew the extreme measures it took for Raj to speak in her presence), but she was tuning them out. She had more important things to focus on.

Penny shut her eyes, memories flicking by at random.

Davey's overeager embrace, the love which had taught her that love shouldn't hurt.

Ellie's mischievous smile, gone from the world too soon, a tragic victim of her own youth.

The whisper of Midwestern wind in her hair—no matter how much she loved California, it would never be the home she felt in her soul.

The drink she often wanted after an especially hard day, a longing she suspected would never fully go away.

Everything she'd lived through, good and bad, had brought her here. Maybe it was all random, different choices in time causing different ripples, flowing outward and leading her to a chance ending. A cosmic roll of the dice. All of it adding up to an end result she happened to love.

But as she looked at Sheldon, she couldn't believe that. None of this felt random—it felt inevitable.

Like she was supposed to be here, with her friends. With him.

"I'm glad we found each other," Sheldon admitted, like he just might be reading her mind.

Penny smiled back at him. "I'm glad we did, too."