Work Text:
Holding and Aiming
Sheldon stands behind her. His hands come into view. They hover around her like moths to flame. At first, he seems ready to lift her wrist or place his right hand on her right shoulder but then his hands fly away again.
Penny hasn’t moved. Not one muscle. She once got a deer to come within arm’s reach by staying perfectly still. She knows the value of waiting.
Sheldon clears his throat for, what seems, the millionth time. Penny rolls her eyes and her shoulders tense.
“Sheldon. Daylight is fading here!” She finally snaps, but doesn’t turn to look at him, “Plus, if your dad sees us, there isn’t a tree high enough around here to escape him.”
In a swift movement, his left hand raises hers while his right arm lands on her elbow. Sheldon’s had a tremendous growth spurt this summer so Penny’s head is nestled under his chin. His hands raise the bow and arrow that she is holding. His fingers trail down her right arm and guide her into pulling back the string that holds the arrow.
Penny’s not sure why but her hands have begun to sweat and she is finding it very hard not to turn and press her face into the Batman logo emblazoned on the center of his black t-shirt.
“Keep this arm steady and tight,” Sheldon barely brushes her right elbow. His left arm extends out as he indicates the target in front of her. She notices there is a slight tremor in that arm. She turns to look at him and a lock of her hair drifts over his bicep.
“Focus on your target!” Sheldon snaps and Penny obediently turns forward again, “Now, stance is equally important in archery - your weight must be evenly distributed to keep your balance.”
This summer, Penny has been restless. At night, she finds her sleep comes in fits and starts and there has been many a time where she’s gazed out her window to watch the stars while the clock changes from 10 to 11 to 12. She stares out into the night, waiting for something to come out of the darkness. Her senses seem heightened - the slightest breeze cools her but then she is instantly warm again, her eyes catch every movement on the dark street and her ears pick up the crickets, the rustling leaves and the creaks in her house as if they were in stereo. This summer, Penny wants; she just doesn’t know exactly what.
Sheldon has stepped back from her slightly and she bites her lip to keep herself from asking if he likes the view. She’s noticed his eyes trailing over her a few times like when she’s worn her white tank top or, the other day when the temperature was well above 100, Penny guzzled a Coke fresh out of the refrigerator. When she lifted her head, Sheldon was chewing on his lower lip with an almost dazed expression on his face. Penny swallowed the tremendous belch that she was going to let fly. Something in his eyes told her they were moving past those antics until Sheldon said, “Might as well let it out. I know how proud you are of your bodily emanations.”
She grinned and belched the alphabet for him. He wheezed a laugh but that hungry look never left his eyes.
Penny steps back so she is (innocently) pressed up against him, “Is this right?”
She feels how tense he is as her legs align with his and the curve of her backside is right in line with his…a snort distracts her.
“Hardly. You’ll never be able to engage the muscles of your back enough to create the necessary force.”
“A simple “no’ would have worked, Sheldon,” Penny says. She is aware once more that sometime this summer; he went from being “Shelly” to “Sheldon” to her. Penny can’t pinpoint when the change happened though she knows Sheldon would be able to give her the exact date, time, location and what she was wearing if she asked him. She shrugs and pulls her arm back, readying the bow.
Sheldon circles around her, keeping his gaze averted from her face. He doesn’t speak until he is back behind her once more, “You could be the embodiment of Diana.”
“The Princess?’ Penny’s cheeks flush with pleasure until Sheldon’s weary sigh reaches her ears.
“Good Lord, Penny, the goddess of the hunt. We studied mythology two years ago; don’t tell me you’ve forgotten!”
She tightens her grip on the bow and arrow to hide her embarrassment at being scolded by him. Lately, it bothers her more and more that she can’t keep up with him academically (not that she was ever close) or, perhaps, it is because Sheldon doesn’t hide his frustration as well as he used to do. It’s as if he’s grown tired of having to coach her, or of being friends with her. Unexpectedly, tears form in her eyes.
“I think I’m gonna go home,” Penny drops her arms.
Sheldon moves so she can see him out of the corner of her eye. His head tilts like it often does when he is puzzled.
“Why? You don’t have to be home for another hour. I thought you wanted to do this? You’ve been nagging me all summer to teach you.”
“Maybe I don’t anymore!” Penny yells at him and throws down the bow, “Maybe I’m sick of you acting like you know everything…”
“I do know everything,” Sheldon isn’t bragging; he’s just stating fact.
“Shut up! You can be such a jerk sometimes. I don’t even know why we’re friends.”
Penny pushes past him. The tears in her eyes are beginning to brim over and nothing freaks Sheldon out more (besides germs, chickens, spiders, dogs - oh, the list is endless) than Penny crying. She wants to be comforted not be the comforter this time.
His left hand catches her left wrist at the last second. His grip is strong but that isn’t what stops her. The heat radiating up her arm at his touch is the same that singes her skin when she stares out her bedroom window.
“Sheldon,” she gives her arm a slight tug, prays he won’t loosen his grip. He doesn’t.
Instead, still holding her, he leans forward to retrieve the discarded bow and arrow. Once he straightens up, he pulls at her arm until she is, again, in front of him and facing the target. A light touch on her shoulder makes Penny assume the stance she was in before her outburst.
“Now for the anchor,” Sheldon resumes speaking as if nothing had happened, “the bowstring has to touch your face.” He puts his hand over hers and pulls the string back. His actions mimic his words, “It is vitally important that your index finger is firmly placed against your jaw. Your thumb has to be tucked into the palm of your hand so it can be placed securely against your neck and the bowstring touches your chin.”
Penny’s knees are quaking once more and Sheldon’s voice cracks a bit when his fingers land on her skin.
“It is vital to be as consistent as possible,” his voice so close to her ear allows her to pickup the twang he fights against daily. “Any variation in the position will affect the amount of force the bow will impart to the arrow. Do you understand, Penny?”
She nods, afraid if she speaks she find out he is really just talking about shooting an arrow. Her heart is pounding; her mouth is terribly dry and if she sweats anymore she may as well dissolve.
Sheldon moves away, giving her full range of motion. Penny lines up the sight pin. Her hands are steady much to her surprise.
“Penny,” Sheldon says, “the release of the bowstring is the most critical step in the sequence. If it is not done correctly, then all the effort in the previous steps is cancelled out.”
She shakes her hair back. Sheldon’s breath catches.
Bull’s eye.