Sheldon was still pink around the ears when Penny scooped her hair into a messy bun and grabbed her closest outfit (T-shirt that said "I'm a Tea-rex" with a trex with a teacup), jeans and slip on shoes. She barely brushed out the tangles yet, but Stuart had sounded like he was being held hostage by her own fanbase, so more than the basic grooming would have to wait.
By the time they reached the stairwell, her phone vibrated again.
More notifications. More mentions. More tags.
"Please stop," she begged the glowing rectangle. It did not stop.
Sheldon leaned over just enough to glimpse the screen. "Your fame trajectory is continuing its exponential climb. Congratulations."
"Feels more like my nervous system is climbing exponentially."
---
Before they even reached the shop, Penny could hear the noise — a buzzing, excited hum of voices spilling into the sidewalk. A whole line of people wrapped around the building. Some held copies of her comic. Some wore Lyra's armor in full cosplay.
One teenager had painted herself head-to-toe silver and glittery. In the morning.
Penny froze. "Sheldon."
"Yes?"
"I can't go in there."
"You can and will. Your fans are enthusiastic but nonviolent. Mostly."
She groaned and let him usher her inside through Stuart's emergency back door.
Stuart looked like he hadn't slept in three days. His hair was sticking up. His glasses were fogged. He was clutching a Sharpie like a weapon.
"Oh thank God," he breathed. "Penny. Elisabet. Whatever you want me to call you. Please sign something before I spontaneously combust."
"Are they really that bad?"
Stuart pointed to the front. "Two words: toaster blessing."
Penny sighed. "Why a toaster?"
Sheldon answered, "Symbolic association with fire, creation, and breakfast rituals."
Stuart blinked. "Sure, that."
Penny had to laugh as she walked toward the little folding table Stuart had set up for her. Fans pressed up against the glass windows, excited faces, cameras out.
She swallowed.
She felt Sheldon's presence right behind her — solid, steady, grounding.
"Do not worry," he murmured quietly. "I will stand guard."
It helped more than she expected.
Before she faced the line, Penny took out her phone.
"Okay," she whispered. "I need to… say something. Clarify things. This is getting insane."
She typed via the built in blog of her online comic publisher, thumbs trembling:
Hi, everyone.
Yes, it's true. I'm Penny Teller — and I'm also Elisabet Eiríksdóttir.
Thank you for the love (and the memes).
I'm overwhelmed, but grateful.
Please be kind to Stuart.
No more toasters.
–Penny/Elisabet
She hovered over POST.
Sheldon leaned in. "Your wording is concise and disarming. I approve."
She hit it.
Almost instantly, the cheers from outside grew louder.
"Oh God," she whispered.
"They seem pleased," Sheldon said calmly.
Her phone buzzed again — but this time, it wasn't social media.
It was a green-tinted panel from her System.
[ADMIN MODE ACTIVATED
Incoming Interview Requests: 213
Suggested Filters?]
Penny nearly choked. "Two hundred and thirteen interview requests?!"
Sheldon peered over her shoulder but didn't see the system only the message number: "That's not bad. Stephen Hawking received twice that after his first major lecture."
Penny stared at the options appearing on her screen.
[– Decline major news outlets
– Prioritize comic-focused channels
– Avoid clickbait journalism
– Allow written interviews only
– No emotional pressure
– Keep personal life private]
"Oh thank you," Penny breathed. "Holy crap. I don't have to do this alone."
The System chimed pleasantly:
[AFFIRMATION: YOU NEVER DID
Her eyes burned for a moment — but not from stress.
Sheldon watched her quietly, expression unreadable but soft.
"You seem relieved," he said.
"I… yeah. I am. I can actually breathe."
He nodded. "Good. You deserve relief."
---
Penny was still signing comics twenty minutes later when Sheldon cleared his throat, holding up a neatly folded sheet of graph paper.
"I've made something for you."
She narrowed her eyes. "Is it about germs?"
"No."
"Calories?"
"No."
"Probability of death from falling meteor fragments?"
"That's for next week."
He unfolded the paper.
Penny blinked hard.
It was a schedule. A weird, beautifully precise, color-coded schedule.
FAME STRESS MITIGATION PROTOCOL v1.0
– Mandatory hydration reminders
– Twenty-minute decompression intervals
– Quiet time at structured hours
– No doomscrolling after 10:00 p.m.
– Rotating safe meals to prevent stomach stress
– Approved social interactions: 2 per day
– Emergency grounding contact: Sheldon Cooper
Penny stared at him.
"You… made me a coping schedule?"
"Yes."
"Because…?"
He adjusted his posture, suddenly shy. "Because you are overwhelmed, and I am good at managing overwhelm. And because I care."
Her heart became a furnace.
Not romantic — not yet — but something undeniably sacred.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"You're welcome."
---
As the fans continued to file in, Penny noticed something subtle:
Sheldon wasn't hovering to control her.
He wasn't micromanaging.
He was protecting.
Standing nearby in case she needed him.
Letting her handle her own storm.
It made something warm uncurl in her chest.
He genuinely wanted to help.
Not because he needed order.
Not because he needed control.
But because he wanted her to be okay.
She wasn't sure how to breathe around that.
---
While she signed another stack of sketchbooks, Penny's phone buzzed again.
A text from the landlady, Mrs Kestler:
'Penny? There are like twenty people outside the building asking for you. Are you in trouble, honey?'
Penny groaned.
"Sheldon, we have a problem."
"Which specific one?"
"Fans. Outside our apartment building."
He stiffened immediately. "That is unacceptable. Our home is a sanctuary. Do they not understand the concept of boundaries?"
Penny sighed. "They're excited. And confused. And probably dehydrated."
Sheldon huffed in genuine indignation.
Across the store, Leonard appeared (when he was able to sneak in Penny had no idea) had come to investigate. He looked rattled — eyes darting between Penny, the cheering fans, and Sheldon standing protectively at her side.
She caught the flicker of jealousy there.
She hated it.
But she didn't have time to deal with it.
Not today.
---
After more than two hours of signing her own comics and random limbs of her fans...wasn't that a weird thing to think about?
Penny stepped away from the signing table and inhaled deeply.
"Sheldon?"
"Yes?"
"I think… I need to give people something before this gets out of hand."
"Something?"
"A face-to-face. Controlled. Small. Safe."
She looked around Stuart's little shop — cluttered shelves, dusty figures, loyal customers, familiar chaos.
"This is where it started. This was my first home here besides my apartment. My first safe place."
She smiled softly.
"I want to do a small Q&A here. With Stuart. For the fans who showed up. Something intimate. Something real. Something mine."
Sheldon considered this.
Then nodded once.
"A controlled environment. Predictable variables. Supportive community. I approve."
Penny laughed, relieved. "Good, because I wasn't asking permission."
"You never need permission," he said quietly.
And the way he said it made her stomach flutter.