Chapter Text
The kitchen smelled like burnt toast and eggs. once comforting— now uninterrupted background noise.
Missy sat stilly at the kitchen table, pushing her food around with her fork, hardly touching it. She stared at the plate, something behind her eyes. She then set her fork down.
Sheldon sat across from her, his eyes narrowed as he scanned her. She'd barely been eating lately he'd noticed.
“Missy,” he stated, “you’ve barely eaten anything for the past few weeks. That’s statistically abnormal.”
She looked at him, irritation flashing in her eyes. “I’m just not hungry.”
Sheldon frowned, crossing his arms. “You said that yesterday too. And the day before.”
Mary, busy cleaning a dish from the counter, looked over her shoulder. “Missy Cooper, you’ve always been picky.”
Missy’s fork scraped against the plate. “I’m not picky.” Her voice was sharper than usual.
George came in, wiping his hands on a towel. He glanced at Sheldon and shrugged. “Maybe focus on ya homework, Sheldon.”
Sheldon ignored him. He pulled out his notebook and set it on the table then flipped to a fresh page. Pen in hand, pulled from his pocket, he started jotting down notes.
Georgie, lounging on the couch flipping through the TV channels they had, rolled his eyes and called out, “Quit bein’ a weirdo bout her, Sheldon.”
Sheldons head popped up and he just stared at Georgie— mind reflecting.
He gazed back at Missy, studying her face. She seemed thinner than normal, her collarbones popping in the light.
“Missy,” he said lowly, “I'm just concerned about you.” releasing his hands from his plate.
“Sheldon Cooper!” Mary snapped, “Leave her alone,”
Missy glanced up briefly, emotion flickering in her eyes, but she then looked away.
Sheldon goggled at his mother, lips parting. “But— I wasn't doing anything wrong, I was just showing concern,”
“You don’t need to analyze your sister,” Mary said firmly, still scrubbing a dish with a little too much force. “She’s fine.”
Sheldon sat there, still staring, notebook clutched to his chest. His stomach twisted, but he didn’t know what it was from.
George gave him a look— not angry, “Drop it, Sheldon.” he said, sitting down at the table.
Georgie looked up from the couch, eyebrows raised, then went back to flipping through the channels like it didn’t worry him at all.
Across the table, Missy stood up. Her chair scraped loud against the floor, her food untouched, she didn’t say anything as she stepped out of the kitchen and into her room, the door shutting with a soft click.
He gazed at the spot where Missy had been, the image of her plate still half-full and pushed slightly off-center burning itself into his brain.
He looked back at his notebook, full of entries about Missy, he reviewed them.
The kitchen was quiet except for the sound of running water and the faint buzz of the television.
He looked up again, Mary was scrubbing a pan now, the motion fast, repetitive. Sheldon could tell she was upset, but at who? He couldn't tell truly.
He pushed his chair back gently, not letting the legs scrape like Missy’s had. His plate unfinished aswell, George, who was eating, didn't even notice Sheldon leaving. Mary— still washing the dishes gave Sheldon a quick glance before turning back around. He moved down the hall quietly, notebook tucked under his arm, until he reached his bedroom door.
He stepped inside, shut the door behind him, and turned on his desk lamp.
He began writing, filling up the pages quickly. He wrote about everything he'd noticed over the past weeks.
He listed everything. He made charts, lined with percentages and arrows, noting trends in behavior, including energy level, tone of voice, and facial expressions.
He paused for a moment, pencil tip resting above the paper.
Sheldon leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling. He knew a lot of things— he could recite the periodic table in under sixty seconds. He understood orbital resonance, quantum entanglement.
He didn’t understand why his mother—who usually cared so much—just waved it away like it was no big deal. Or why his father acted like this was a problem better left ignored. Or why Georgie seemed more concerned with channel surfing than with their sister slowly becoming sharper.
The notebook sat heavy on the desk. He closed it carefully and laid it beside his desk lamp, then changed into his pajamas, folding his shirt like he always did, setting his socks precisely next to his shoes, removing his glasses and setting them on his bedside table.
But when he got into bed, something didn’t feel right.
Sheldon shifted beneath the covers, his arms crossed over his chest like it might help compress the feeling in him. It wasn’t nausea. It wasn’t fear exactly, either.
The numbers in his notebook were sound. The evidence was clear. If this were a science project, he would’ve won. But he wasn’t being graded. No one was evaluating his methods.
Sheldon turned onto his side and curled up just slightly. His legs folded in closer than usual. He didn’t like how heavy everything felt.
He suddenly sat up, pushing the covers off of him. Sitting still of the edge of the bed.
He had to talk to Missy.
He stood up and paced to his door, opening his door with purpose.
The hallway was dark, but Sheldon didn’t bother turning on the light. He knew the way.
Missy’s door was closed, most likely locked.
He stood in front of it, breathing quietly. The sudden certainty that had propelled him out of bed had begun to fade, replaced now by a slow heartbeat thumping in his ears.
He raised his hand to knock— but then his hand dropped to his side.
He waited a few more seconds before slowly backing away.
Sheldon turned and walked back to his room, slower now, as if the hallway had grown longer.
He shut his door behind him and stood still for a moment in the quiet.