Chapter Text
The morning began earlier than usual. It was no surprise, the summer was at its peak, with high temperatures early on, yet a refreshing breeze full of life and an incessant chorus from the birds. The rooster, however, did not take long to quiet down once some feed was scattered around him.
Amy had long brown hair loose over the muslin and sky-blue cotton fabric of her long, worn dress. Over it, a white apron with little embroidered flowers along the edges completed her working attire.
She fed the animals, milked the cow, and headed back to the wooden structure at the back of the yard.
The place she lived in was not a farm. At most, it was a small ranch with a small vegetable garden. Her father was not an ambitious man, and he grew sicker by the day, therefore less able to take care of the place.
But fortunately, he had Amy, who, even though she was a brilliant woman with an enviable intellect, never stopped taking care of her parents. She even moved back to the small ranch a few months after learning that his condition had worsened. She would never forgive herself if she left him helpless or only in the company of her talkative, ill-tempered mother.
The rest of the morning went well. Mrs. Fowler prepared breakfast with the milk Amy had just taken from Pride, the name of her number one spotted cow, and then left for her job as a seamstress at the shop in the town center, while Amy brought her father a hot vegetable soup that was meant to nourish him in the face of his illness.
And afterward, all that was left for Amy was to water the garden and go to the field to read another book, which she did with great pleasure.
Despite the worries, leaving her job and her studies in the big city had given her the benefit of more time to read everything she wished.
That morning, however, everything was different.
When she arrived at her usual spot, the tree she used to lean against was down. The great sycamore that once held immense branches now lay across the strawberry field, crushing them and spreading red juices like a crime scene.
On the West Coast, it is always strawberry season, even during the summer. The mild climate helps those fruits grow, and for that very reason, she gasped in surprise upon seeing that there were almost none left to pick.
But what could have knocked down her favorite tree? There had been no summer storm in the past few days. On the contrary, the drought was so severe that Amy had to draw more buckets of water from the well to water the plants and vegetables.
So she approached to investigate what might have happened there, somewhat unsure if she should really get closer. But Amy Farrah Fowler was astonishingly fearless, and so she followed the red trail and walked around the fallen tree.
She was startled to see that large, strange metal object embedded in the soft ground. It was a giant, hard, metallic capsule.
— What…?
Amy touched the edges with some hesitation, then walked around the object to examine it.
— What is this?
Suddenly, she heard a loud thud coming from inside the oval capsule and took two steps back. The intensity of the sound shattered any trace of courage that had once been inside her, and she stumbled backward, tripping over her own feet and falling onto the soft ground behind her, her hands braced behind her body. Her glasses fell from her face, making everything appear slightly blurred and unsteady.
Shocked, Amy had her lips slightly parted, and no matter how much her brain commanded her body to move, she simply could not. She was paralyzed before the inanimate object that had now opened a crack right down the middle.
The crack widened, and through the opening emerged a tall figure. She narrowed her eyes and felt around the ground for her glasses, placing them on the bridge of her nose with a trembling hand. A gasp of shock escaped her throat when her vision cleared and she saw that the figure was a man.
Not just any man. The most beautiful man Amy Farrah Fowler had ever seen in her life.
The man was tall, thin, and blue-eyed. His clothing was… peculiar. The upper part was full of colors and figures, how was that possible? It was not a common pattern.
Suddenly, the man brought his hand to his head and seemed to grow dizzy, swaying to the sides and then backward. As quickly as he had come out of the capsule, he stumbled and fell to the ground, unconscious.
Amy managed to make her brain work and gathered the strength and courage to walk toward him. Curiosity outweighed fear, so she knelt beside the unconscious man and observed the details of his face up close. He was beautiful… far too beautiful.
And he was heavy. Amy could not lift him on her own, so she ran her hand gently over his face, softly caressing his smooth skin. So smooth that it hardly seemed like a man’s skin. She sighed as her fingertips touched something incredible.
She had never touched another man before.
That is, Amy had technically been engaged for a few months many years ago, when her parents made an arrangement with the parents of Edmund Lawson.
But she had never truly had anything with Edmund. At most, they walked home together after school. It was during one of those walks that the brief engagement ended: Edmund made it clear that he wanted Amy to be his dear, perfect wife, and that she would stop studying for it.
Amy did not stop. Instead, she was honest with her father about not wanting to marry Edmund, and he supported her in ending the engagement. Amy’s mother was upset and said that studying and working were things for worldly women, as if it were something bad. As if Mrs. Fowler herself did not sew for money, and as if that did not count as work.
But in summary, the act of touching skin that was not her own… had never been common for Amy, who had never been kissed, touched, or admired by a man. Even though she was now 28 years old, and resigned to the idea that this would never happen in her life.
Impossible. Men marry younger women, that is how things are in 1888. It does not matter if Amy moved away and studied a great deal, if she is wise, talented, knows how to sew, play the piano, speak French and other languages, take care of the house, the animals, the gardens, cook, and play the harp.
None of that matters, because she is no longer at a good age to be a mother, according to everyone in that small town.
And, in 1888, a woman who is not or does not want to be a mother loses her value.
Amy wanted to be a mother, but she could never give up knowledge and wisdom for it. How else could she teach her children to be good and intelligent?
And when she looked at the unconscious face of the mysterious man, she felt that she could be a wonderful mother to his children. She felt that she could kiss him, touch him, explore him as she had never done with any other man before.
She felt that she could be another woman by his side.
So Amy leaned her face closer, her heart racing. She was curious about him, but also afraid. Why had he been inside a capsule? She wanted to examine the object from the inside and understand what it was, but she could not move, she was completely hypnotized.
However, the trance ended when he suddenly opened his eyes. They were very blue. They reminded her of the sky, the ocean, the reflections in the painting "Impression, Sunrise" painted by Monet three years earlier.
— Hello? — Amy said, unsure if she would be answered.
The man did not move. Had he understood? Did he speak English?
— You, um… you fainted. Did you arrive here in that metal thing? — she extended her wrist and tapped lightly on the metal surface, producing a sharp ringing sound.
Another minute of silence passed. She was beginning to feel terrified.
— Hey… can you understand me? — she pronounced each word slowly.
The man mumbled something, until he finally managed to form words.
— What year are we in?
Amy blinked slowly.
— What?
— What year are we in?
— Oh — she frowned, confused. — 1888. Did you have a concussion? Please, don’t fall asleep…
Suddenly, he sat up abruptly on the grass. His eyes widened as he looked around at the strawberry field, which now had nothing but crushed red fruit scattered everywhere. In the distance, he could see the meadow stretching out with colorful flowers, bees, and birds. The sun was high in the sky, which meant it was around noon.
— I did it… — the man said quietly. — I really did it!
He seemed shocked and excited at the same time.
— Sorry… what did you do?
He looked at Amy, unsettled. It seemed as though he had noticed her presence for the first time only now.
— I managed to travel through time.