Penny heard the knock before she saw Leonard's panicked face.
Not the usual three knocks + name—this was frantic, uncoordinated tapping. So Leonard most likely.
She opened the door and blinked sleepily at him. Her silk eye mask on top of her head, and long sleeved silver satin pjs whispered against her skin.
"Penny?" Leonard whispered. "We… uh… need backup."
She raised an eyebrow. "What happened this time?"
"He's sick."
Penny blinked. "Okay? And?"
Raj appeared behind him, stricken. "He's sick."
Ah.
The important version.
Penny sighed, cracked her neck, and followed them across the hall.
---
Inside Apartment 4A, Sheldon was sprawled on the couch like a dying Victorian poet in his striped pajamas—offended by his own biology.
When he saw her:
"Penny," he sniffled, "my corporeal form has become compromised."
"Hi, sweetie," she said gently. "Yeah, I heard. You're sick."
"I don't get sick," he declared, voice wobbling. "I am impervious."
"You're horizontal," she stated matter-of-factly. "And melodramatic. Classic symptoms."
Sheldon huffed but didn't argue.
Leonard and Raj scuttled away the moment Penny stepped closer, abandoning their patient with the speed of men who knew better.
---
Penny knelt beside the couch, touching Sheldon's forehead.
Warm. But safe.
"You've got a fever. Nothing crazy."
He frowned, then hesitated—like bracing himself for a vulnerable admission.
"There is…" He cleared his throat. "A childhood protocol."
Penny's breath caught.
Here it was.
But she couldn't just… know it.
"What kind of protocol?" she asked carefully.
"A song," Sheldon said. "My mother sang it to me when I was ill."
Her expression softened. "Oh, honey. That sounds sweet. Want me to sing it for you?"
"I—" He stiffened. "You don't know it."
Penny shrugged. "Then teach me."
Sheldon blinked at her, surprised. Maybe touched. Definitely unprepared for how easily she'd accepted something so personal.
"You would learn a song," he asked slowly, "just for me?"
"Well, you want comfort, don't you?" Penny smiled faintly. "Show me how it goes."
Sheldon sat upright with great ceremony, as though bestowing ancient wisdom.
And Penny navigated to sitting beside him on the couch, still giving space but being within reach.
He cleared his throat with the gravity of a king delivering an edict.
"It begins thus…"
He sang.
Soft. Nasal. Completely sincere.
"Soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur—"
Penny listened carefully, absorbing every inflection, every natural pause. When he finished, she sang it back—matching pitch, melody, rhythm.
Sheldon looked… stunned.
"Your auditory memory is exceptional."
"Thanks," she said, though her chest warmed. "Ready for the real thing?"
He nodded, fever making his eyes glassy and hopeful.
---
She started singing.
"Soft kitty, warm kitty…"
Something inside Sheldon unraveled.
He relaxed, inch by inch, shoulders sinking into the cushions as though her voice was smoothing every frayed nerve. He blinked slowly, fighting drowsiness, then leaned without hesitation against her side.
The System flickered at the edge of her vision.
[BOND ALERT]
[SUBJECT RESPONSE: HIGH TRUST STATE DETECTED]
Penny ignored it. Focused on the warmth beside her. The weight of his head settling gently against her shoulder.
Halfway through the second verse, Sheldon's breathing evened out.
He fell asleep—completely, peacefully—curled against her like he'd known her forever.
Penny froze.
This wasn't canon-cute anymore.
This was real.
Real warmth. Real intimacy. Real responsibility.
What was she supposed to do?
Stay? Leave? Wake him up?
Her guilt spiked sharply.
Because she wanted to stay.
Because it felt good.
Because a tiny, traitorous part of her whispered that maybe she could have this—being wanted, being trusted—it was something she'd never had in her last life.
She forced that thought away.
"Sheldon," she whispered, brushing his hair back. "You're gonna confuse me, sweetie."
He shifted, instinctively curling closer. His fingers caught the hem of her shirt.
Penny's breath hitched.
"Oh no. No, no, no… this isn't fair."
She wasn't supposed to grow attached...yet.
She wasn't supposed to risk their dynamic.
She wasn't supposed to like how warm he felt against her.
Across her vision, the System pulsed faintly.
[NOTE: MANUAL CARE SUCCESSFUL.]
[EMOTIONAL RESONANCE INCREASE: BOTH PARTIES.]
"Shut up," she whispered to the air.
She sat back on the couch, letting Sheldon sleep against her chest, heart pounding with guilt and tenderness and fear.
Just for tonight, she promised herself.
Just this night.
No magic.
No manipulation.
Just warmth.
Just him.
Just her.
Just real.