CHAPTER 18

It was unconventional for car rides to be considered as a delightful enterprise, not for Sheldon, that is. A great deal of car ride entertainments was either initiated by him or dismissed by him due to its disturbing manner. Music, particularly obnoxious, high-pitched teenagers and distorted auto-tuned hippies, gets into his skin and, if it's unreasonably exaggerated, disrupts into his mental processes and bodily functions.

But most weren't also deemed repulsive. In fact, he noticed a great correlation between quality car rides and the driver and/or the passengers. Surprisingly, much of the satisfying rides were shared with Amy. No music, no unnecessary chit-chats, not even the annoying insistence of what it is that he does not want any involvement. It was just pure respect… And a good deal of silence. Well… sometimes, noise is welcomed, Amy's noise especially.

They embarked in the longest ride ever since the evening of May 12th. Half hours consistently force you into wanting more. That was exactly what Sheldon wanted the moment they got off the car. Thirty minutes car rides with Amy appeared like an amusing intercourse, with just the two of them, with nothing else to do but stare at each other and do their own thing, that lingered for a short time before he was forced out.

"Sheldon?"

Half-hour car rides?

"Sheldon…"

Not bad, huh?

"Hey, Sheldon…" Amy snapped her fingers across Sheldon's dazzled face. He blinked once and then again and again until he broke from his stupor.

"Oh, I-I'm sorry… I was just… thinking." He stuttered, trying to acclimate their surroundings.

They were the only customers dressed up like celebrities attending some star-studded event. Well, the others might not wear casual street clothes but they weren't wearing clothes according to Sheldon and Amy's. Sheldon, in his trademark clean Ivy League cut which he reluctantly got from an unqualified barber in Encinitas, neatly combed and held down by a thin layer of pomade he brought just for their honeymoon. He donned a textured, deep burgundy tie partnered by a cadet blue button down, all underneath a ribbed, navy, crew neck sweater he rarely used—not to mention the light gray blazer he hung on his chair. Khaki trousers and dark brown oxford shoes finished his outfit that managed a few head turners.

Though, Sheldon wasn't the only one dressed magnificently. Amy let down the natural waves of her hair, pinning together the loose hair from the front to the back. The idea of wearing contacts eluded her due to such short notice and lack of resources. But Sheldon still finds her alluring with her glasses on. She went with a short-sleeved floral wrap dress, made with a light material, that reached just above her knees and heavily accentuated her body. The collar plunged down her chest, making a V out of it, exposing skin she hardly finds appealing. Without a doubt, her quite revealing outfit was toned down by wearing her classic cardigan—not too thick, just enough for the chill of Southern California.

"You were murmuring something about half hours," Amy whispered to a shell-shocked Sheldon; his mouth slightly ajar.

He shook his head vehemently and faltered, "I… I was just calculating our drive."

"I was asking about our orders," she peeked at Sheldon from the menu. "What would you like?"

He peered down at his own menu, perusing the options suitable for him. "Hmmm… I'll go with chicken piccata," he announced.

"Potatoes or pasta?" Amy raised her eyebrows, waiting for the answer.

"Potatoes, please. And, oh just water for me," he politely answered, flashing a sheepish smile.

Amy dropped the menu and called for the waiter. As she ordered, Sheldon noticed how Amy's form got definite by the second, and as everybody else was thrown in the back. It was surreal, and she was rhythmically moving her lips accompanied by her subtle hand gestures.

As if on cue, a flash of light illuminated Amy's body. Her eyes—sparkling amidst the light's intensity. Her lips—delectable, red. Her wits—prominent among others. That thing she's managed to do so elegantly without too much exertion. As his trance magnified to an extent, the light emphasizing Amy got brighter and brighter, practically striking him blind.

"Sheldon, sure you're okay?" she asked full of uncertainty. She furrowed her eyebrows at Sheldon.

"Huh? Yes… Yes, I am!" he announced rather jittery. "Why wouldn't I be? Heh."

He hastily grabbed his napkin, near knocking off his utensils, and brushed it flat on his lap aggressively, muttering incomprehensible words. Amy didn't let his actions slide; she wasn't sure if his actions were either signs of impatience or he's just zealous about their date.

Keep your cool, Cooper, he thought as he felt beads of sweat trickling down his temple then to his jaw, tracing its way down to his collar.

"Amy, I think I'm ready," he announced with so much strength and awkwardness that people started gazing at them.

"To go home?" She looked bothered when Sheldon's display of agitation emanated through their table.

Instead of answering her question, Sheldon's eyes fluttered, taking a look of their surroundings. He felt dizzy and hot and unintelligible. He put his head down, supported by his hands, and breathed deeply.

His show of emotion isn't foreign to Amy anymore; She'd seen it in quite numerous occasions. Before anything got worse, Amy dragged her bulky wooden chair, causing a screeching sound that emanated through the hall, and situated it beside Sheldon's. She laid a hand on his back and jolted right away when she felt his unusual warmth.

"Do you feel unwell?" she questioned with a concerned tone.

Sheldon nodded faintly, his head still supported by his hands.

"C'mon, let's get this off," as she lifted his navy sweater out of his warm body. He tried his best to keep sane, lifting up his flailing arms and breathed some more when another obstruction was eradicated.

As soon as the collar escaped Sheldon's face, the waiter came with their dinner. Amy was fast enough to tear along with their server, immediately stop and practically dragged him to the counter. With her remaining morale, apologetically inform him that they'd prefer it in a takeaway and called for the bill, too.

She impatiently waited on the counter for their check, tapping her fingers on the sealed granite top accompanied by a furious thumping coming from her heels, and giving an eye on Sheldon from time to time. Immediately after retrieving what might be their dinner, she hurried her pace to a crimson-faced Sheldon, his chin now supported by both of his palm, who now looked a bit better than he was.

"C'mon, you're not feeling well," Amy softly mumbled, latching onto his elbows as though rising him up.

"How 'bout our date night?" Sheldon was rattled once more. He likes date night; this was the first time in weeks. We can't go, Amy, he thought, gulping real hard as though he has something left to scarf down even harder.

"We'll eat at home," she uttered with conviction, draping his sweater and blazer on his arm and escorted her with a hand restricted of its use.

"Pardon me for the lackadaisical prediction of my behavior," he breathed deeply. "It was not meant to happen this way."

He buried his head further to the headrest, his veins bulging out of his hand from his tight grip on his seatbelt. Feeling a bit groggy, he shut his eyes, begging for Amy to say something to him.

"Amy, say something," he pleaded with his hoarse voice, eyes still slammed partly because of the wind blowing into the car. "Can we close the windows?"

Silence took over them, wind hustling in and out of the car, and left them in the fit of pique.

"Amy!"

"What do you want?!" Amy raised her voice, scowled at him, before white-knuckling on the wheel. Accidental or not, there was a split second were they accelerated beyond the limit which bothered him a little.

"I wanna go home…" he moped, eyes now wide open and taking in the sights obscured from their accelerated pace.

"We are!"

"Not Encinitas! Pasadena," he reasoned out, stretching his arms stiffly to exaggerate his point.

"Well, we can't; it's too late. Besides, it's not scheduled until Wednesday. So you'll have to wait."

Sighing in surrender, he kept impending words to himself instead. This'll go nowhere, he discerned when both of them are hard rock and not giving in.

Puzzled by their gradual loss of momentum and an unforeseen change of direction, Sheldon terrified. "Where are you taking me?!" he raised his voice in hysteria.

No reply.

They turned the corner, the wind was getting eerily chill by the second, and was met with a dark pathway. It was like in those suspense films were the victim gets dragged into secluded areas, with no one coming to his aid, and murdered haphazardly.

"Are you going to kill me? Oh God, it's happening!" Now in a full-blown panic attack, he urgently grabbed onto the handle and yanked the door open.

Amy knew what was coming as soon as Sheldon professed his acquisition of God. On reflex, she stepped on the break—good thing was they were making a turn thus a much slower speed, almost causing her whiplash, and witnessed how Sheldon tumbled upon the dusty asphalt dramatically as if their speed caused him to roll away like in those video games.

Jerking the handbrake up, which caused a dissonant tune still ringing in her ears, and pulling away from her seatbelt, she jumped out of the car to his side of the road.

He was sitting on his left leg while the other was folded to his chest. His hand supporting himself of the body of the car.

"Are you trying to kill me?!" he went hysterical, and maybe a bit nervous, on how everything went in a matter of second.

"You are trying to kill yourself with what you just did." She matched his hysteria but deep down, she's concern about him. Reaching him around the door, she knelt to his level and dust off the dirt on his face.

"The hell are you doing?" Amy's voice rose up in frightened. Clearly, she was worried about Sheldon but both of them were astounded by his actions.

"I thought you were going to kill me."

"Jesus! Are you nuts? Why would I?"

"Maybe you're upset about me and don't want to deal with this anymore," he whispered as he tried his best to stand up by leaning his hand on the car and holding onto Amy's arm. With aching legs, he stood up, leering at Amy, and breathing shallowly.

"Are you hurt?" Amy sought his eyes.

"Just my shin, feet, left shoulder, and palms; I think I scraped it," he proved it by heedfully turning his palms up and showing it to Amy. There it was; the heel of his hands manifested their effort to break the fall. Scrapes and scratches were dense on his heel and small tears were on his sleeve that brought protection on his arms.

"Okay, just get inside." She assisted him. "And don't you dare jump again," she followed up, displaying that she was serious by pointing at his chest.

"Where are you taking me, anyway?" He was puzzled by the sudden change of direction. They were supposed to go straight and into Encinitas but instead, Amy turned right to a road that seemed to lead nowhere.

"To a coastal park; to get some fresh air in you," she explained, turning on the ignition. "You look like you need some."

"We really don't have to go here. I'm fine," insisted Sheldon, trailing behind Amy in an open space of land that stretches out to the sea, with his blazer draped in his one good arm.

"Well, technically, we don't need to—"

"See! I told you—"

"But, my stomach's growling and it might feast on you if you let me drive that thirty minutes," she teased Sheldon, letting out a guffaw.

"Amy!"

"Do you want me to starve?"

"Of course not! but we didn't really have to."

Amy let out a sigh and turned toward Sheldon. "You had a massive panic attack in a restaurant, rolled off a moving car even if you know you're not supposed to, and hurt yourself by doing so. I wouldn't just let you slump in there in agony; we have to assess your condition," she explained as she showed him a pouch. "And partly because the food isn't that good enough when cold."

They vacated a picnic table near one of the lit lamp posts. Sheldon expected Amy to sit across from him but she sat beside him instead. Laying down a paper bag containing their dinner on top of the table, she immediately rummaged inside a safari-themed travel pouch that's been stuffed idly on her glove compartment for months right before this time. After retrieving what seemed to be a spray bottle of suspicious liquid, she sprayed some on her hand, deliberately spreading it on every nook, and closed the gap between them, her palm pointing up as she waited for him.

"Give me your hands," She clutched his hands before waiting for his response.

After unbuttoning his cuffs and folding it up to itself, she started palpating his upper arm and then the other, on the lookout for his reaction. No reaction. She moved downwards to his elbows, folding it open and close, waiting for his reaction. Still nothing. Moving down again, she palpated his wrist—right first and then left—and she got the reaction. Sheldon whimpered as she carefully moved his wrist.

"Pain?"

"Yes, but not too much," he defended.

Amy fiercely palpated it some more to evaluate its condition. Sheldon, being a slave to pain, yelped even louder and flinched at her touch.

"Not too much, huh?" Amy smirked.

"It's really not that much. You just got a little deep in there," Sheldon insinuated while clutching his arm to his chest.

Amy sighed. "Maybe it's just a sprain. No broken bone or anything…" she explained while retrieving the alcohol.

"I guess not. Look, I can still move it," he demonstrated while motioning his arms, "But my left arm might be a little bruised," he concluded as he caressed his arm

"Alright, we'll ice it at home," she said. "Palms," she requested with her hands up. With the spray bottle on one hand and Sheldon's wrists on the other, she deliberately sprayed its contents on his palms and up to his

"Ow... ow... owie!" he hissed and flinched his hands at the direct contact of the liquid. "Stop that, Amy!" he nearly jumped up when another spritz hit his palm.

"Tsk. Don't move," Amy chided and jerked his hands closer, which elicited another moan from him and, in turn, an aggressive apology from her.

"Can we stop with the alcohol now?" Sheldon pleaded, more like demanded, for her to quit agonizing him. Amy conceded and dropped the bottle. Without letting go of his hand, she twisted her body to retrieve a gauze pad and pat the area dry.

"Be grateful that I have my first aid kit on hand otherwise we would wash that hand with sea water," she said while being careful with his hands.

Sheldon hissed when that unsanitary idea came up, "Don't we have clean water?"

"Unfortunately, no. We forgot your jug at home. I was expecting that we won't be needing one because they have it in the restaurant already," she recounted. "I guess I'm wrong."

"Do you want me to wrap it up?"

"Oh, no need. The wounds will heal themselves," he reassured, swatting his right hand to decline.

"I mean your wrist… just to limit the pain." Without any delay, she pulled out an elastic band—complete with locking tabs—and started to unroll it.

She reached for his hand, so delicate that she'll protect it for life, and meticulously started wrapping it along with his joint—up and down, in and out, ultimately, locking it.

"There," Amy admired her work, checking for its tightness, and patting it reassuringly. "Look at you! You look like a rebellious teenager caught in a fight!"

Sheldon examined his hand and said, "I do feel like an amateur boxer…" He glanced at Amy, looking fondly at him, her eyes twinkling amidst the darkness.

"We should eat," she blurted out. She widened her eyes and stumbled upon the contents of their paper bag, drawing each black container out and serving it in front of him.

The whistling of the wind, coming from the sea and hitting them in a distinct ocean scent they've rarely come across to, accompanied the indistinct clashing of plastic into plastic, the inaudible chomping both of them were lost in, and the serene yet deep rising and falling of their breath. There are a lot of activities they never really encountered as a couple before. The list goes on and on; from hiking mountainous trails to camping outdoors, from experiencing snow (Amy was anticipating snow in Big Bear but was left disappointed when a hail storm overtook their trip instead) to cozying up in front of the fireplace, those activities that Amy yearned were in no way revisited or proposed once more.

Visits to the ocean or even along the ocean—aquariums were not counted—deemed as one of those activities that never came across their schedules. Being that Santa Monica's the closest beach from Pasadena, they'd rather not visit that hotspot. But this time, it was welcomed with open arms, with just a little neurotic fit, and Sheldon seemed to have his pleasant time as the sea breeze hit their face.

Eyeing Amy as she opened her mouth for another bite, he felt oddly breathless. It has well been nine years since he first laid eyes on her and from then on, everything blossomed into a something much valuable connection he'd never had.

Placing his spork against the edge of the container, he reached for a tissue and wiped his lips clean. He cleared his throat and pondered for a moment, with his head looking straight, about how was he going to voice this to Amy.

"Amy…" he gazed at her, attempting to spark a conversation.

Amy returned his gaze and asked, "Yes?"

"Uh, can I borrow that?" he requested, pointing at her left hand.

"What… this?" she raised her hand. "The rings?" she asked glancing at her hand and back to him, her gaze full of curiosity.

"Just, uh, the wedding ring," Sheldon pointed at it with his neck stretched and as if he was peeking at something.

"Oh, okay," Amy gave in, still bewildered, and took off her ring and handed it to him.

He clutched it with his hand wide open as if trying to balance it, wary about breaking and tainting it, and stood up with his unstable legs. He positioned just beside her and asked, "Amy, can you face here?"

Amy was just as puzzled by this action. With scrunched brows and back straight, she faced him fondly. "Is this some surprise? Because if it was, you don't look appropriately dressed for the occasion." She let out a hearty laugh as Sheldon remained with his face displeased with the joke.

"Really? You're gonna mock me?" he replied, still having a stern expression.

Amy's laugh dwindled down after several seconds, wiping off tears due to laughing. "Okay, okay! I'm done," she apologized but still letting out a few giggles.

"Alright. Here goes nothing."

Keeping his stance in front of her, he dusted off his unevenly tucked shirt, his burgundy tie long forgotten in the car, and began his long-winded and highly anticipated monologue he's been meaning to express.

"Amy," he started. "I usually know exactly what to s-say. But in this moment… I have no words," he let the words rhythmically drawl out of his lips.

Amy gasped heavily amidst the touch of the breeze as his words hit a certain familiarity. His vows. Her hand instantaneously covered her mouth in utter amazement. With Sheldon's crippled hand making its way out of his pocket and the other hand still grasping her ring, he stepped once, just a foot away from her, and knelt on one leg down. Her expression got much palpable with his words.

"I guess… I'm overwhelmed by you," he continued. "In a good way! Not in an elevator in a haunted mansion way," that part got the giggles from the Amy and him, looking so vulnerable at this time. "Even if I can't tell you now how I feel, I will spend my life showing you how much I love you," he ended, gazing at her underneath his lashes. As he was preparing himself to rise up in his feet, he almost forgot about the most crucial thing to his piece. He stumbled with his hands for a little bit before grasping her trembling hand. He slipped the harbinger of their union in her ring finger as he teased, "Don't tremble too much. I can't seem to make you like Saturn," then laid a soft kiss on her ring.

He rose up, hand still in hers, and flushed her into his body; her warmth flowed through him, converging into something that he could use to pull through life and its misgivings

"How did—"

"I've got someone take good care of me," he whispered in her ear as his hand traveled from her back to her hair, pulling her into him closer. Soft muffled sobs were coming from Amy as they swayed to the rhythm of the ocean.

Amy pulled her head away and asked, "Do you remember it all?" She ran her palms on his shoulder, feeling it as it relaxed on her touch.

"Just the words—our words. But nothing more," he replied, apologetic for not being able to remember it even though this wasn't his fault, "But I'd love to dance with you to commemorate our first dance… Wait, did we have one?" he eagerly asked her.

"We did!" she cheerfully affirmed, burrowing her head on his neck as she inhaled his musky scent.

"You know, I have a state-of-the-art brain and, come to think of it, an eidetic memory; I might be able to summon up those long lost wedding memoirs."

"You know what, I think you can," she heartened his spirit. "I know you will, Sheldon… you will."

END

Thank you to all who took their time to even read the first chapter of this Shamy story. Now, we're at the end! Planning to write and publish another multi-chapter ff before the end of April, just for us to have something after the series end. But in the meantime, I might be able to publish short fluff (or maybe some smut) stories in between those two. Bye for now!