By the time Thursday evening rolled around, Penny had already become something of an unofficial fixture in Apartment 4A.
It wasn't supposed to happen—at least not this fast. But Leonard had invited her to join them for dinner "whenever," and Sheldon had not vetoed it, which for him was basically an engraved welcome card.
So Penny had drifted in on Monday for Thai food, and again for Tuesday burgers, and then Wednesday comics—where she'd surprised the guys by actually buying her own stack.
But tonight was Thursday. Pizza Night.
Sheldon's voice had an extra crispness when he announced it, like the words had capital letters in his mouth.
Penny sprawled on the left end of the couch with a slice of pepperoni, flipping casually through her penciled comic pages resting on the coffee table. She'd finished the last panel this afternoon—twenty-two pages of graphite, attitude, and her own brand of absurd dramatic tension. It was the first time she'd created something that felt right since waking up in this universe.
Leonard was reading through the stack, eyes huge. "These are—wow, Penny. Seriously, this is incredible."
Sheldon didn't look up from arranging the pizza box at the exact center of the table. "I'll be the judge of that."
"You're not the only judge," Penny said, but she was grinning as she said it.
Howard wolf-whistled.
Raj nodded with solemn approval.
Penny took a sip of her soda. "You'll get your turn, Moonpie."
Sheldon froze. "Penny. I will remind you for the final time that I am not now, nor have I ever been, a baked good."
"Yeah, yeah," she said, flicking her hand. "It's a term of endearment. You should be grateful."
"I'm fairly certain gratitude is not the appropriate emotion to assign to being randomized as a pastry."
The banter pulled a bright thrill through her chest—this was becoming their thing. She pushed him. He pushed back. And underneath it all was the strangest, sharpest spark.
"Okay," Leonard said, clapping his hands. "Penny, if you're staying for Halo Night next week, you'll want to practice tonight."
Three pairs of eyes turned to her.
Penny shrugged. "Sure. I used to play a little."
This was an understatement. A reincarnated gamer soul who'd grown up on the full Halo franchise?
Yeah, she "used to play a little."
Sheldon passed her a controller like a king offering a sword. "Very well. As long as you understand that Halo Night is governed by a strict set of protocols."
"Hit me," she said.
He began counting them off on his fingers.
"No screen-looking."
"No intentional friendly fire."
"No unapproved modding."
"And absolutely no—"
She pressed A to start and dropped a plasma grenade on him before he finished the sentence.
The explosion rocked the map. Sheldon stared at the screen, scandalized.
Howard choked on his soda.
Raj made the high-pitched noise of a dial-up modem.
Penny smiled. "Oops."
Sheldon's voice was a slow, horrified inhale. "You—Penny—you assassinated me while I was reciting the rules."
"Seemed like a strategic moment," she said lightly.
"It was a violation."
"Maybe you should've talked faster, sweetie."
His head snapped toward her, eyes flashing with competitive indignation—and something else. Something bright and razor-edged and undeniably alive.
Oh yes. They were rivals now.
And it felt good.
Ten minutes later, Penny was triple-killing like she had an aimbot installed.
Raj was laughing helplessly.
Howard had given up and was eating cold pizza straight from the box.
Sheldon, however…
Sheldon was spiraling.
"How—how—Leonard! She is exploiting spawn predictability!"
"It's… called skill, Sheldon," Leonard murmured.
"No. No, Leonard. Skills must be acquired. She is clearly pre-equipped."
Penny smirked. "Maybe I'm just naturally gifted."
"That is not a thing!" Sheldon insisted. "You cannot be naturally gifted at Spartan-IV combat mechanics!"
She shot him with a pistol from halfway across the map.
He made a sound like a teakettle boiling over.
"Penny," he said, voice low with challenge, "rematch. One-on-one. Slayer. No power weapons."
"Oh, honey," she purred, "I was born ready."
"Impossible," he snapped, already selecting the map. "No one is born ready for Halo."
She leaned in, eyes glittering. "Watch me."
Their shoulders brushed as they readied for the match, electricity sliding between them like a live wire.
Their first true rivalry.
Their first real connection.
---
After she wiped the floor with him again—gently, because she didn't want to bruise him too much—the night finally wound down.
The guys left for their building, grumbling in good fun. Penny gathered her pencils and pages, stacking them carefully.
Sheldon lingered.
He picked up the first page of her comic again. "Your penciling is… adequate."
"Really?" Penny raised an eyebrow.
"Adequate-to-exceptional," he corrected quickly. "Inconsistent. But when it's good, it is remarkably—" He swallowed. "—engaging."
Penny smiled softly. "Thank you, Sheldon."
He looked away, ears a little pink.
A new sort of tension hummed between them.
Not irritation. Not rivalry.
Potential.
And Penny, despite everything, found she liked the way it felt.