Fresh from their declarations of love, Amy travels to Washington, D.C. to visit her librarian in his new city, her heart full of hope for more bookish conversations and secret revelations. But when nothing matches her vision and when even Sheldon seems more silent and mysterious than ever, how will it change their relationship?

THE BIBLIOTHECA EXPECTATIONS

Chapter 1

"To succeed, planning alone is insufficient. One must improvise as well."
- Foundation by Isaac Asimov

Irises, so many irises. A profusion, a riot of colors and forms. She did not expect that; what a difference a few degrees of latitude made in spring. The twilight breeze blew across the flowers, shaking them gently, and she smiled at the sight and the feeling, taking a deep breath of the cooler air that dusk had brought.

Amy could never decide if she liked irises or not. They seemed like such a contradiction: showy and brazen, revealing all, but then too delicate to last in a vase. It was as though were they all false promises, luring you in with the belief that they'd be strong and yet they crumbled under the smallest of strains. Here, though, they were a relief.

The flight had been dismal, delayed and overcrowded and sitting on the tarmac waiting for a take-off that felt like it would never come. She probably should have booked an afternoon flight, not one filled with people leaving after work. The airport had been over-heated, too, and she had searched and searched until she saw him, convinced the delay had caused the worst sort of miscommunication. When he leaned down to kiss her cheek, someone ran into her with their large rolling suitcase and his lips had landed on only empty space. It was stale and even hotter in the subway, the cavernous space not making it seem airy at all; instead, the endless sight lines of concrete squares made it feel institutional. She found herself sweating in the train, and she unbuttoned her cardigan and took the magazine she'd bought for the flight out to fan herself.

It was a relief to step back onto the platform and begin the ascent. Dinner was mentioned, but she shook her head and curled her lips as she declined with disgust. She was so hot the thought of food made her nauseous.

But, there, at the top of escalator, were the irises and the breeze.

Amy hadn't realized she'd stopped to appreciate them until Sheldon asked, his voice tight with worry, "Are you going to be sick?"

"No." She turned and looked at his eyes, his brows dipped. "I feel better now, it's finally cooler. Let me take off my sweater."

Sheldon, already carrying her small weekend case, gallantly took her purse as she removed her cardigan, and he even folded that over his arm. "It's not far, only two blocks."

They walked in silence, past the bed of irises and through the crosswalk, past the Chipotle and a local bistro, bubbling with diners eating outside on the spring evening, and a few more shops before crossing one more street, a smaller one this time. Amy shielded her eyes from the sunset to study the brick row houses, each with a large curve of windows on every floor.

"These are pretty. This is your block?"

"Yes." Sheldon looked over and smiled. "I'm glad you like them." He pointed at the next-to-last door, "This one is our - mine."

Amy caught the slip and raised her eyebrows but remained silent.

They climbed the broad stone steps together, and he reached into his pocket for his keys and unlocked the door, holding it open for Amy to enter. "The fourth floor. I apologize for the climb."

"No, it's fine." Amy gripped the wooden banister and started the walk. The staircase was dark and battered wood, creaking under her feet. The wallpaper was very old, resting right on the divide between dated and vintage. There were small sconces with yellow globes on the landing, spreading a dim light. "Three flights isn't bad. It helps you get your exercise."

"I agree. There was a terrifying moment I thought my couch wouldn't make the corners, but it all worked out."

"I like that you have a historic apartment."

Sheldon nodded next to her as they continued their climb. The stairs narrowed some on the second flight. "There are a lot of modern apartments here, too, but this section of the city was recommended to me. It's on the same subway line as the museum, so that shortens my commute considerably."

"That's good."

"Yes."

Another corner and the stairs changed abruptly. The wallpaper was gone and the historic wooden railings and bannister were absent, too. In their place were closed-off walls that were painted an unattractive shade of mustard. The stairs ended with a heavy wooden door at the top and just one of the yellow sconces close by but not doing much to brighten the space. It felt claustrophobic, and she noticed Sheldon slightly duck his head as the edge of the floor above them skimmed too close for comfort.

"This is a little tight," Amy murmured.

Sheldon glanced over at her as he turned the key in the lock. "I think the fourth floor was for servants or something. But it makes my apartment bigger, not to have the landing cut out of the corner."

"Oh, of course." A pause. "Is it always this dark? It doesn't seem safe."

"Well, it's getting dark outside. And the front door locks. But -" he seemed to add in a rush as he reached inside for a light switch "- I suppose you're correct. I'll speak to the landlord about getting a brighter light."

Amy took a deep breath and crossed over the threshold. And promptly frowned. There was no vintage space to greet her. Instead, everything except the wooden floor was blindingly white, especially after the darkness of the stairwell. There were white bifold doors directly in front of her and flat, white kitchen cabinets next to that closet. With white countertops and white paint on the backsplash. The fluorescent light buzzing above her didn't help matters. "It's modern."

"I think it was remodeled a few years ago. But," he reached over and tapped the bifold door, "it's nice to have all the modern amenities. This is my own washer and dryer." He waved his arm toward the white cabinets and white appliances. "The kitchen, of course."

He set her suitcase down on the floor at the end of the white peninsula. "Come look."

Amy nodded and followed him around the corner. "Oh."

"Better?" he asked.

She nodded. The front part of the apartment had not been modernized. At the other end of the room was a wide set of windows, those curved ones she'd admired from the street, and the semicircle in front was a bench. However, it looked neglected and dark. She wasn't even sure if there were blinds on the window as the sight of her and Sheldon reflected back in the rapidly falling night outside.

All along her left side was a floor-to-ceiling span of bookshelves, although what appeared to be exactly only half of them were filled. Amy had never found a sight so sad as that of empty bookshelves. "Why are these empty?"

"I thought - um, well, for future expansion." Sheldon coughed. "This is supposed to be the dining area, but, as you can see, I've put my desk here. Watch your head; the landlord should be swinging this light out the way any day now."

Against the opposite wall was Sheldon's desk. Amy maneuvered around the horrid modern light fixture hanging too low in the center of the space to inspect it. While it had more items than his desk at the library, it was just as neat and orderly, with his laptop closed in the center. While it was new to her, it felt familiar from their night spent together and that was a relief.

"And there's space here to . . ." Sheldon didn't finish his sentence, which made Amy glance sharply at him. He wasn't looking at her; instead, he was biting his lip.

"Anyway, the living room," he said suddenly waving toward the brown leather sofa positioned across from a fireplace. There were bookshelves surrounding it, too, again half-bare. The television was on a small cart next to the fireplace.

Amy stepped around the glass coffee table (hideous, she thought) to look at the stone surround of the fireplace. It was chipped and stained with soot. This close she could see the woodwork needed deep polishing. It, too, was scarred and pitted. "Does it work?" she asked about the fireplace.

"Yes."

Bluish flames leapt in the grate, and Amy jumped back with a yelp.

"My apologizes. I should have warned you. It's been converted to gas." The flame went as quickly as they came.

"So you never get to make a fire?" Amy asked, disappointed. She had so enjoyed him creating and nurturing the fire in the library and would have welcomed any opportunity to watch him do it again. Plus, she loved the crackling sound of a real wood fire. It was the perfect soundtrack for almost any book.

"No. But, here, here's the bedroom."

Turning around, Amy saw the bed a few feet behind the sofa, with Sheldon standing next to it. "It's a studio."

"Well, technically, yes, I supposed bedroom is a misnomer. But this is sort of a private little alcove."

It was true the bed was tucked in between a dresser and small end table. It was cramped, though, with what was obviously a modern addition of a closet that didn't even reach the ceiling, again with the ugly white bifold doors, close enough to the end table she was worried they wouldn't all open properly.

As though he read her mind, Sheldon went and opened the doors. The furthest ones barely cleared the table. "It's a good size closet, especially for a building this old."

No comment was made that half of it was empty.

"You might like the window," Sheldon pointed toward the other side of the bed.

Amy turned. There was a pretty stained-glass window on the wall here. She walked around the sofa and over to it, reaching out to touch the panes of wavy glass. It felt old and cool to the touch, and she longed to rest her cheek against it.

"So we're above the front door," she said. "If there was the landing, you wouldn't have this alcove."

"Exactly! Imagine how small those apartments downstairs must be." Sheldon grinned. Amy shuddered at the thought. "Oh, here's the bathroom."

Walking over and peeking inside, Amy couldn't help but sigh. No clawfoot bathtub or bronze taps greeted her. It was another sterile, modernized space. She forced herself to remember it was clean and functional, and surely those were the only necessities in a bathroom.

"Well, that's the grand tour," Sheldon said.

"Thank you." It occurred to her that she still had her purse slung over her shoulder.

"Would you -" "May I take a shower?" They spoke at the same time.

"I'm sorry," Amy said. "It's just that I feel so sweaty. I'm sure I'm not very clean." She blushed slightly and looked away.

"Oh course. Let me get your suitcase." As it was such a short walk, he returned with it quickly. "There are clean towels in the cabinet above the toilet. And feel free to hang anything you like in the closet. I'll, um, I'll . . . do something."

Amy nodded and took her bag into the bathroom, flipping on another harsh and overly bright light and shutting the door behind her. She worked quickly, eager to be under the spray of water, hoping it would not only cleanse her but also relax her.

Why did she feel so uptight?, she wondered as she stepped under the cooling stream. And stream was the correct word, there was almost no water pressure. Standing there, naked and wet, it occurred to Amy that perhaps this entire situation was insane. Tomorrow would mark the two week anniversary of the power outage in the Longbow Tulip Library. She was naked in a man's apartment, in an unfamiliar city, and she'd only known his name for fourteen days.

After he'd found her and swept her off her feet with books and quotes and professions of love, it had been so easy. So easy to offer for him to come to her apartment. So easy to make tea and sit on her love seat with him into the wee hours of the morning, talking about books and their lives and a thousand other things. Yes, they'd both been a bit nervous and shy, but it hadn't seemed insane or risky at all; there was only a brief moment of unease when it occurred to them that sleep was necessary. But that was just a pause long enough for Sheldon to announce firmly that he'd sleep on the couch. Half relieved and half disappointed, Amy helped him spread sheets and blankets on her sofa. She understood that this was an apology of sorts from him; she'd accused him of trying to use her for physical pleasure, and he was proving that was not so. There was only a gentle and chaste good-night kiss, a promise of things to come and also a reminder that it was okay if they waited.

The next day, over breakfast of oatmeal that they discovered they both enjoyed, they had made tentative plans. They agreed that, despite Sheldon's offer to be the one to travel every weekend, it was best that she come out to Washington, D.C. the next weekend to see his apartment and the city. It was left unsaid, but clearly implied, that she would want to see all these things before she moved.

Every night that week, they'd stayed up late again, on FaceTime, talking and talking and . . . it was glorious. Amy fidgeted all evening until her iPad chirped, and she always went to bed with a smile on her face. It was so easy to talk to Sheldon. It was so easy to love Sheldon.

But this was not at all how she imagined it. This . . . place didn't feel easy.

He had told her that he lived in an old brownstone and she could see the bookshelves behind him when they chatted, but his apartment wasn't the shabby chic space she imagined. It was just shabby. And modernized without considering the soul of the building. Her fantasy of living in an exposed-brick, brass chandelier, book-store-crossed-with-Pottery-Barn-advertisement home was not to be. It didn't feel like a home at all.

'You're here for Sheldon,' she reminded herself as she dried off and considered her clothing options. 'It's just a place to live. Temporarily.' Maybe.

Coming out of the bathroom, Amy didn't see Sheldon and she took advantage of his absence to hang her things in the empty half of the closet. She tried not to think too much about the blatant certainty of the vacant space.

Stepping around the corner, she saw Sheldon in the kitchen. His back was to her as he looked out the tiny window above the sink. He seemed to be eating something, although absent-mindedly, as he was clearly lost in thought. "Thank you. I feel much better."

He jumped slightly, turning to look at her. There was a sandwich crust in his hand. "You're in your nightgown."

Amy ran her hand along the pin-tucked bib at the top of flannel gown, flushing. "I didn't know what to do. I brought the minimal amount of clothes, but I think what I wore earlier isn't clean enough."

"Oh course." The stood there, on opposite side of the peninsula, looking at each other in silence. "I'm sorry, I had to eat. Would you like something? I could put the kettle on for tea," Sheldon offered, rotating to drop the last bite of his sandwich in the sink. "To settle your stomach?"

"No, thank you," Amy shook her head. "It still sounds too hot."

"I could make you a turkey sandwich, too. It wouldn't be hot."

Amy shook her head again.

"Ice cream? Chocolate?" He had already turned to open the freezer.

"Maybe just a little." She still wasn't hungry but she felt she needed to accept something from him as he was being so kind to offer her food. If for no other reason then she'd denied him his dinner when she turned down his offer earlier, and she felt guilty that she hadn't considered his own hunger.

Sheldon set to work, getting out a bowl and retrieving the ice cream scoop, and Amy turned away from him to inspect the bookshelves that were filled. And full they were. Not only was each shelf complete with a row of books, but there were all sorts of little knick-knacks in front of them. When they had chatted via their computer, she could see the bookshelves behind him, but they were too far away to make out the details. For the first time, she smiled, remembering how she'd imagined him having collectibles just like this. She reached up and tapped a bobble-head of Spock and grinned wider when it bobbed back, delighted that the reality met her expectations.

"You like him?"

Amy jumped and turned to find Sheldon standing right next to her, a bowl of ice cream in one hand and a spoon in the other. "Sorry. I should have asked permission."

"There is nothing here you can't touch, Amy." He held out the bowl before adding softly, "It was good to see you smile."

It felt like a reprimand, and Amy ducked her head as she took the bowl. "You have a lot of science fiction." Then she felt foolish saying it, because she knew this already about him. And he knew she knew it; it was one of the very first things she'd learned about him on that magical night. She added in a rush, "Anything special?"

"All books are special," he said, not unkindly, before he slid some kind of figurine out of the way to pull out a hardbound book wrapped in a black book jacket, covered with an image of a galaxy. "Foundation by Isaac Asimov, the 1951 edition."

"It's your favorite?"

"Not my favorite book, but it's the most special. My PopPop gave it to me for my birthday when I was young." He had been opening the dust-wrapper flap, but he stopped and looked up. "That's my grandfather. He's passed away now."

"I'm sorry," Amy murmured.

"He was voracious reader and a science fiction fan. Asimov was his favorite."

"And that's why he bought you this book?"

"Not only that." He angled the flap toward her, her hands full of the uneaten ice cream, and pointed with his index finger at the synopsis written there. "'Hari Sheldon.'"

"I see. It's because the character has your name."

"Ah, but he doesn't. His name is really Hari Seldon. It's a typo unique to this particular first edition."

Amy smiled up at him. "Do you think that it influenced your name?"

Sheldon shrugged softly. "I don't know. I didn't think to ask him until after he'd passed away." Then he shut the book and carefully put in back in place and rearranged the shelf as it had been. "I hope to collect a few more first editions with my increased salary."

"Do you even feel sad for authors when their first editions have typos and other errors?" Amy asked suddenly. "I know that those errors can later give the book a higher monetary value, but think about the first time the author gets to hold their published book in their hands. Do you think they're disappointed it's not perfect?"

"I don't know. I would think that after you wanted something for so long, just the act of holding it, touching it, and realizing that it's now a reality would make it special enough."

Amy paused and then said, "Yes, you're right, of course. One can never replace that moment, the first time you hold your hopes and dreams, the first time there's evidence of a tangible completion. I suppose the errors only make it more real."

He looked at her softly and nodded. "Yes. It's priceless to us, later, for its originality. But, to those involved, it's priceless because it's a memory."

For a moment, it was like it had been, in the library, on her love-seat, on the computer. There was a moment of clarity and understanding, the meeting of two minds. Sheldon had revealed something private and important about himself, and she already knew him well enough to know how difficult that was for him. He'd allowed himself to be introspective and even a little sentimental about it, something he normally tried to hide away and tease her for being.

"Your ice cream is melting," Sheldon said suddenly, breaking the spell. "Did you not really want it?"

"Oh!" Amy glanced down at the bowl. "Where should I eat? At the counter?"

"I was thinking the sofa. There's something I've been working on I'd like to show you."

Taking the center seat, as Sheldon suggested, Amy pulled her bare feet up under the fabric of her nightgown. She took her first bite of ice cream and studied the space more closely; she noticed a colorful striped pillow on her left, and that seat cushion looked more worn than the others. The bright pop of color made her realize what at least part of the problem was here: everything was white or mustard or brown. There was no personality on the walls or pattern on the floors or the windows. Other than the knick-knacks on the bookshelves there was nothing decorative at all.

She watched as Sheldon reached for a folded up whiteboard from beside his desk and opened it across the coffee table from her, just in front of the fireplace. He sat his closed laptop on the table.

"I've devised three possible master itineraries for our weekend," he said, uncapping a marker. Then he paused, his hand raised above the board. "I think I'll list them backwards."

Amy raised her eyebrows at the comment, but she didn't inquire into his reasons as she took another bite of ice cream. Now that she was eating it, she found enjoyed it very much; the velvety sweetness felt familiar on her tongue, an expectation met.

"Number . . . one. A tour of Washington, D.C., as a destination. As a tourist on vacation." He wrote this on the board, along with a few notes such as National Mall and Library of Congress next to it. "You could take pictures to remind you of it when you go . . . home."

His blue eyes flicked over at her but didn't stay. "Option number two. My experience here. I can take you to my library, the Dibner, and show you my work. We can go to a couple of restaurants that I've already tried, like the bistro by the metro stop, and a Thai restaurant I discovered with stringent quality control standards." These options he also wrote on the board.

"That sounds nice," Amy said softly, spooning up more ice cream. Sheldon seemed oddly nervous, and she didn't know how to react to that from him. He'd always been sure and confident with her, in the library, in her apartment, on the screen.

"Good." He looked over at her. "Do you even want to see the third one?"

That seemed like an odd question. "Yes, please. Go on." She ate some more of the chocolate dessert.

Nodding, he wrote Amy's D.C. on the board. "I'm been doing some research. The closest medical library, for instance. Georgetown School of Medicine has a neuroscience division, we could investigate that further if you'd have need of a lab. And the public library system, of course."

Sheldon turned with a deep breath as he recapped the marker. "Thoughts?"

"Well, it's a lot to consider," Amy said, stretching forward to put her empty bowl and spoon on the coffee table. But, seeing his face fall slightly, she said, "Only because there's so much I'm looking forward to doing with you, and I can't decide. I'd love to see The Library of Congress with an actual librarian, of course. And I want to see where you work. But I see the value in being practical, too."

The right thing must have been said because his face lit up, just like the Sheldon she had come to know. "I speculated this would be a problem," he said, rushing around the coffee table to sit next her and reaching for his laptop, "so I devised alternate sub-itineraries that combine elements from each of the three primary choices." He fingers taped on the keys as he opened a Powerpoint presentation. The Nineteen Essential Sub-Itineraries for Amy's Inaugural Weekend in Washington, D.C., read the title slide.

"Nineteen?" Amy asked, leaning closer.

"I didn't want to overwhelm you," Sheldon said crisply. "See? Inaugural? Get it?"

"Very clever."

Sheldon started to narrate his presentation, and Amy tried to pay rapt attention to the screen. There was an itinerary based on the chronological order in which the buildings were constructed, two based on the square footage of each building (both ascending and descending order), one based on the layout of the Metro lines and designed to limit the number of line connections in their travels, one using the city as a clock and traveling clockwise, and another . . .

Yawning softly, Amy leaned closer to Sheldon's strong shoulder and rested her cheek against his soft tee shirt. There wasn't even a pause in his narrative, and she smiled softly. She felt better now, the shower having made her clean, the nightgown having made her comfortable, and the ice cream having both cooled her and settled her stomach. Mostly, though, she liked being this close to Sheldon again, like she had that night in the library and then again the night he stayed at her apartment. His voice was afresh with strength and surety, that same voice that had guided her through the darkness and filled her with joy every evening of the past week. It was his library voice, she realized and snuggled up closer, letting the timbre lull her to . . .

"You like that one?"

"Huh? Oh." Amy pulled her head away. Honestly, she hadn't been listening to the words so much as relaxing to the resonance of his speech through his arm. And maybe dozing off. She looked over at his expectant gaze. "Um, I lost track. I'm so sorry, I'm just too tired to make a decision tonight."

"I see."

But she could tell he didn't see at all. "Sheldon, I love this. I'm so appreciative of how much thought and work you put into this for me. I want you to show me everything, and I don't know how I'll decide what to skip. But I'm exhausted right now."

He nodded. "Do you still feel sick?"

"Actually, no. The ice cream helped. I just need sleep." She leaned forward and laid a kiss on his cheek. "I promise you can show me the town tomorrow."

"Okay. Let me get the sheets for the sofa. I should make it up for myself so I don't disturb while you sleep." Sheldon started to get up, but Amy tugged his hand back down.

"Sleep with me," she said.

His eyebrows went up before he licked his lips. "But you said you're exhausted. And, well, I don't want you think there are any expectations, that I intend to use you for -"

"I know. You've been so kind. And I am exhausted. I just want sleep, but like that night in the library. I felt so . . . secure with you there."

Sheldon rotated his hand so that his palm touched hers, and she felt his thumb brush against her wrist. She let out a breath. A week without that had been too long. "Very well. Let me put all this away. You can have the bathroom first to brush your teeth."

Amy nodded and got up to do just that. Afterward, returning to the . . . bed alcove, she smiled softly at Sheldon, sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching what appeared to be plaid pajamas. Just like he'd brought to her apartment last week. "All yours."

Debating about which side of the bed, Amy chose the one with the end table so that she had somewhere close by to rest her glasses. It was probably where Sheldon preferred to enter and exit the bed - his alarm clock was there - but there wasn't an option for her on the other side. Pulling the comforter down, she climbed under just the sheet, taking an involuntary breath of their scent. They were freshly laundered. She relaxed onto her back and promptly looked up at the ceiling, directly into an unsightly crack. And was that water damage surrounding it? If it rained and there was roof damage, the drips would fall directly on her.

Just then, the bathroom door opened and Sheldon padded out in his pajamas. He stopped for a moment, almost as though he was surprised by her presence, and studied her.

"I realize this is probably your preferred side of the bed, but I need my glasses within reach in case I need them in the middle of the night," she explained.

"Of course." He walked around the bed and paused again.

"I'm sorry. The comforter seemed too heavy for me. But you can pull it up if you like."

"No, it's okay." He pulled his side down, too, and worked to fold it at the end of the bed before sliding in next to her. The bed was not large, but somehow they managed not to touch.

"Is it okay if I turn out the light?" Amy asked. "Or is it too early for you to fall asleep?"

"It's fine. Go ahead."

She reached over and turned off the lamp, plunging them into darkness. Finishing her roll, she tucked her arm under her pillow and closed her heavy eyelids.

"Are you too still too hot? I could turn on the air conditioning."

Amy rolled the opposite direction to face him, the sheets rustling with her movement. "No, it's fine now. Is the temperature comfortable for you?"

"I'm comfortable."

"Good." Amy sifted and shut her eyes.

"Is it too dark? I should have bought a night light for the bathroom. In case you need it in the middle of the night."

"No," Amy murmured into the pillow. "It's only a few feet away."

"You're right."

The sheets rustled next to her and she felt Sheldon's weight shift in bed. Although he wasn't wrapped around her, as he had been that night in the library, just his proximity made her feel more at ease. It probably helped that she couldn't see anything else to inspect it.

"Oh," Sheldon said sharply and Amy opened her eyes to see him facing her now, "the radiators. Even without the heat on, they will clang in the middle of the night. Don't let it frighten you."

"Okay. Thank you," Amy replied as she shut her eyes again. She was so exhausted she really didn't think she'd notice.

"And the floors -" Amy's eyes popped open again "- they creak, even without any weight upon them."

Again, he seemed nervous and unsure. She reached out and gently laid her hand over his.

"Sheldon," she whispered, "it's okay. I'm here, right next to you, aren't I? This is where I want to be."

He licked his lips and nodded. Amy gave him a smile and closed her eyes once more, snuggling up closer to his chest. His arm came around her as he tucked her beneath his chin. Just as he had in the library. She let out a deep breath and relaxed, for the very time since arriving, into him.

"I'm so frightened you won't stay because you seem to hate it," he murmured.

But she was already asleep.

Fair warning, this is not a lengthy story at all. It is merely a couplet, a pas de deux if you will, about the expectations we set for ourselves and the ones we love.

As always, thank you in advance for your reviews.