Penny left the apartment early — mostly to escape her phone, partly to escape the boys, and partly because if she stayed home any longer she'd start rereading Sheldon's stress schedule like it was a love letter.
She needed quiet.
And coffee.
A tiny café on the corner was perfect — tucked away, quiet, mostly students and retirees. She ordered a lavender latte, found a seat by the window, and opened her sketchbook.
Drawing felt grounding.
Normal.
A reset button.
Lyra's outline took shape under her pencil — familiar, powerful, cosmic. Penny's shoulders finally relaxed.
At least until the woman at the next table started narrating her notebook like she was a podcast no one subscribed to.
"…the oxytocin response in prairie voles continues to distort the human bonding data set, which is honestly extremely inconvenient—"
Penny stopped mid-line.
She knew that voice.
She knew that cadence.
It was Amy Farrah Fowler.
But not their Amy yet — not the future ride-or-die best friend.
This was pre-friendship Amy.
Early-season Amy.
Autistic-coded, under-socialized, overly literal Amy.
The Amy who didn't know any of them yet.
Penny's stomach did a little excited flip.
She glanced over discreetly.
There she was: messy cardigan, hair rebellious, glasses sliding down her nose. A notebook full of neurobiology diagrams. A running commentary that felt like someone had hit "play" on an internal monologue.
Penny grinned.
Okay. She could work with this.
She just had to pace herself.
Introducing Amy too early could change timelines.
But then again… Penny was the chaos agent this entire universe had been gifted with.
And honestly?
It was time Amy had a friend who didn't treat her like a research project.
Penny leaned slightly toward her.
"Not to interrupt your… science TED Talk… but you kinda sound like a Vulcan writing a romance novel."
Amy froze.
Absolutely froze.
Then turned to Penny with widening eyes, like someone had just solved her entire personality in one sentence.
"…that is the highest compliment anyone has ever given me," she whispered reverently.
Penny laughed. "Well, I'm glad I nailed the vibe."
"I'm Amy Farrah Fowler," she said, sitting up straighter. "Neurobiologist. Currently analyzing mammalian bonding triggers, although the prairie vole data is excessively dramatic."
Yep.
Definitely Amy.
"Penny," she introduced herself. "Artist. Writer. Currently trying not to have a panic attack about being internet famous."
Amy nodded empathetically. "Statistical models suggest intense exposure to public attention causes a temporary activation of the amygdala—"
"I understood like three of those words," Penny said with a grin. "But thank you."
Amy's smile twitched at the corners — tiny, but real.
And there it was.
The first spark of the friendship Penny remembered loving in the show.
"So," Penny said casually, flipping a blank page in her sketchbook, "do you like… people?"
Amy made the same expression a cat makes when asked to do taxes. "I am ambivalent."
"That's fair," Penny said. "The good ones are worth it, though."
Amy blinked slowly, like that was a revolutionary concept.
Penny tapped her pencil.
Okay. Timeline influence be damned — she wasn't leaving this café without inviting Amy.
"You know," she said lightly, "I have some friends who host a weekly game night. Lots of social dynamics. Good mix of introverts and chaos goblins."
Amy's eyes widened.
"You play organized games with a consistent group of humans?"
"…Yes?"
"That sounds like unparalleled social calibration data."
Penny laughed. "Well if you want to come tonight, you're invited."
Amy shifted, unsure.
"I don't wish to… intrude on preexisting group hierarchies."
"Oh trust me." Penny smirked. "They'll adapt."
They always did.
Especially once Sheldon realized Amy was an intellectual too.
Amy looked down at her notebook, then back up at Penny.
"I would like to attend," she said carefully. "For data. And practice."
"For data," Penny agreed, trying not to smile too hard.
Amy smiled back — small, precise, hopeful.
Penny felt her heart swell.
She remembered this moment from the canon timeline — the quiet beginning of a friendship that would become one of the best things in both their lives.
Except now?
Penny got to be the one to start it.
To make Amy feel wanted.
Included.
Welcomed without conditions.
Not as an experiment.
As a person.
---
As Amy went back to her notes — her narration suddenly gentler, more self-aware — Penny sipped her latte and sketched Lyra with a little more starlight than before.
Game night tonight was going to be interesting.
The good kind of interesting.
The 'new-variable-enters-the-simulation' kind.
And Penny couldn't wait.