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3rd POV
The honky tonk was quieter than usual that night. A few regulars nursed their beers, a country tune played softly from the jukebox, and the neon signs buzzing in the corner cast the room in warm, lazy light.
At one of the small wooden stool sat Sheldon, a soda glass in hand. Across from him, Claire leaned forward, listening intently, while Missy sat on his right and Paige on his left.
"So, when I was finally old enough to travel on my own," Sheldon began, adjusting his glass before taking a sip, "I took a flight to Hokkaido, Japan. I wanted to see for myself whether what my brother told me was true or not."
He glanced toward Missy, "Do you remember that story?"
"Yeah," Missy replied, taking a swig of her beer—though the twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her.
Sheldon caught the look and went quiet.
"What?" Claire asked, impatient. "What happened next? Did you see the soul of the doll?" Her eyes were wide, curiosity flickering.
"No," Sheldon said flatly.
"Oh, thank God…" Claire exhaled in relief. A similar sigh came from the older man sitting beside Paige, his beer halfway to his lips.
"Sorry for eavesdropping," the man said, sheepish. "But I got hooked on your story."
"Glad you're enjoying this nonsense, Mike." Claire muttered, rolling her eyes at how casually Sheldon had turned into a horror storyteller.
Sheldon shot her a disapproving look before turning back to the man—Mike and the group beside him, "I wasn't finished. No, I didn't find out if the story of the Okiku doll was real. The doll's kept in a shrine, guarded closely. Some people don't believe in the legend, and others… well, they've tried to steal it, either as a talisman or a collectible."
"Damn," Mike muttered. "My daughter used to have dolls when she was little. Glad she's too old for that now."
"Oh, that's good," Sheldon replied matter-of-factly. "After my brother told us the story, we all ended up sleeping together in the living room—leaving Missy's doll outside on the backyard table."
Claire smirked. "Yeah, right. I bet you were scared too. What did Georgie say?" She pushed another glass toward him, which Sheldon accepted without question.
"I wasn't scared," Sheldon said flatly. "Georgie just treated us all like hippies. We slept on the floor like hobos." He visibly shuddered at the memory, though a faint grin tugged at his lips. Strangely, it felt good to share it now.
Missy smiled faintly, remembering. "Yeah, I remember. We just slept until morning came."
Paige pouted, fiddling with her drink. She hadn't been part of that memory—hadn't been part of the Cooper family's little chaos yet. And she couldn't help but feel a stab of envy for that Veronica girl who'd been Georgie's girlfriend at the time.
"I remember you said you wanted to live forever after that," Sheldon added with a smoky grin. "And Missy threw out every doll she owned—"
Before he could finish, Missy slapped her hand over his mouth, her eyes darting to Claire.
"…Did you put alcohol in that soda?" Missy demanded, glaring at her.
Claire quickly pointed across the table at Paige, who sat there grinning like the cat that caught the canary.
"What? We're in a bar," Paige said with a shrug, utterly shameless. "And I promised him alcohol."
Mike, sitting beside her, frowned. "What's wrong with givin' the man a beer?"
Claire cleared her throat, glancing at Missy who was already groaning. "Yeah, let him drink. We don't know what'll happen, right?"
Sheldon shoved Missy's hand off his mouth, annoyed. "Get your hands off me, Missy!" Then, with sudden fire in his eyes, he turned to Claire. "And since my brain has already made contact with alcohol… give me the strong one!"
Paige and Mike raised their glasses in salute, cheering, and Sheldon wasn't done. He spun toward the other patrons, grinning like a fool.
"Drinks are on me tonight!"
The bar erupted in cheers. Missy groaned louder, muttering to Mike, "That's the problem. Once he touches alcohol… he doesn't stop."
Mike only snorted, while the crowd clapped and whistled. Soon, orders for stronger liquor were being called out—drinks most wives at home would never approve of, especially at those prices. But tonight? Sheldon was paying for everything.
Claire scrambled behind the bar with the staff to keep up with the sudden rush. Meanwhile, Missy and Paige were already out on the dance floor, twirling to the twang of the country song echoing through the honky tonk.
Sheldon slid onto the stool beside Mike. "So, what's your story, old man?"
Mike chuckled, a little amused at the sight of this lanky Texan suddenly transformed by booze. He swore he could see a cowboy in him.
"Nah. I was a police officer, retired a few years back. You're from Texas, right?"
Sheldon nodded proudly. "Born and raised. You know what they say—Texas is home to Rangers. I can shoot a flying duck with one eye closed and a G19 in my hand." His words slurred, but his chest puffed out anyway.
"Haha! I like huntin' too, boy. But I prefer seein' the duck burst when I hit it," Mike laughed and suddenly he asked about football, "Hey, you remember that game in '99, when the Cowboys beat the Redskins?"
Sheldon snorted. "Sir, I have an eidetic memory. Not just words or images—sounds, everything. If I hear it, see it, I can never forget it. Yes, I remember that game. My brother took us to watch it. Said he got tickets, wanted us all there."
Mike's eyes widened. "What? You saw that in person?!"
Sheldon frowned, confused. "I just told you I have an eidetic memory. And that's what you're fixated on—the game? Not the detail?"
But Mike just waved him off, chuckling. "Son, I've seen a lotta people. I can tell you're a good kid."
"…I see. Thank you, I guess?" Sheldon muttered before leaning closer, grin widening again. "Yes, I remember the Cowboys' comeback against the Redskins. At that time, i remember my brother was happier than anyone in that stadium."
"Why's that?" Mike asked curiously.
"Because he bet on the Cowboys. The odds were stacked against them, everyone else put money on the Redskins. He made a fortune that night." Sheldon's grin turned into a scowl as the realization hit. "…If we connect the dots, that's probably the only reason he brought us to that game. Son of a gun!"
Mike burst out laughing. "Ha! I lost a couple bucks that night myself. Just a bet with my buddies. Whoever lost had to buy the pizza and beer."
"Yeah. If that pizza had been worth a couple million dollars from some Asian guy, then maybe I could call you even with my brother," Sheldon muttered, deadpan.
Mike went quiet. There was no twitch, no flicker of humor on Sheldon's face. He wasn't joking.
Mike had seen all kinds of people in his years as a deputy. Crooks, drunks, hustlers. But the man beside him? He wasn't ordinary. That much was clear.
He glanced around the honky tonk. The place had that old Western charm with creaky wooden dance floor, country music twanging in the background, but also… it was sharp. Classy. Too well-guarded. A few security men posted by the doors, others standing like statues near the walls. Nobody was gonna start trouble here.
And then his eyes landed on the dance floor. A young woman twirling near Missy. Her posture was stiff, her movements too controlled. Mike's instincts told him instantly: not a patron but a bodyguard. And he felt it too—the prickling weight of eyes from behind, someone watching Sheldon like a hawk.
Before he could dwell on it further, Sheldon spoke again, his words slurring around the whiskey in his hand. "You said you have a daughter. What's she doing now, Mike?"
"Yeah," Mike said with a small smile. "She's still in school. Working toward a doctorate or something like that. Makes me proud." then he look at Sheldon with more interest, "How about you, son? What do you do?"
Sheldon gave a hollow laugh, waving for Claire to refill his glass. "Good for her. You know, I've got a friend who only managed a master's degree. I remind him of that often…but I guess he just takes it as an insult."
Then he lifted his drink and spoke louder, and proudly. "I work at Caltech. I have two PhDs in physics. And the funny thing is—I've spent my whole life, with my 183 IQ, trying to unravel the secrets of the universe. But I still can't do it!" The pride on his face only stayed with a few seconds. The more he said it, the more he cried.
He slammed his forehead against the bar with a dull thud, one hand rubbing at his eyes. His voice cracked. "I've got an IQ to rival Einstein himself… and I can't even make a single groundbreaking discovery!"
Mike blinked with startled. For a moment, he didn't know what to do. But then he remembered: men spill their guts when they're drunk. Even the tough ones. Maybe especially the tough ones.
So he reached out, patted Sheldon's back, and said gently, "Well… you're the one who called yourself a genius. So I guess you'll figure it out soon, son."
Sheldon nodded at Mike, eyes glassy but determined. "Yeah… you're right. No time for whining and weeping like a girl. I just need to prove myself." He tossed back the rest of his drink with shaky resolve.
"That's the spirit, son!" Mike said with a grin, ordering another round. He slid a glass toward Sheldon. "To your future groundbreaking discovery!"
"Well, celebrations are usually for victories already achieved… not hypothetical ones." Sheldon paused, then smirked faintly. "But what the hell." He knocked the whiskey back, earning a laugh from Mike.
Across the room, Missy and Paige watched the unlikely pair with a mix of disbelief and relief.
"Yeah," Paige muttered, sipping her drink. "Looks like he's back to being the Sheldon we know."
Missy nodded. "Guess me showing up at his office shook something loose in him."
"I suppose…" Paige allowed herself a small smile. "…Should we invite him back to the company?"
Missy shook her head firmly, tapping her finger against the table in time with the music. "Nah. Brother said not to. He wants Sheldon to wait until he's thirty before stepping back in."
"That's a shame…" Paige sighed.
Missy snorted. "Please. You just want to flex on him—show him you're the boss now. I'll never understand how you two keep competing with each other even as adults."
Paige's grin returned. "No. I just want him to see me bossing him around."
Missy only shook her head, exasperated.
Meanwhile, Sheldon and Mike continued trading stories, laughter and grimaces in equal measure. Sometimes Sheldon chuckled at Mike's tales, sometimes Mike winced at Sheldon's blunt confessions.
"…So I told him," Mike said proudly, "'If you break my daughter's heart, I'll bring the boys and a shotgun to your house.' And guess what…he never came back!" Mike puffed up, but then sighed, remembering her daughter face at that time. "Course, my daughter didn't talk to me for three days after that because that boy breakup with her."
Sheldon nodded, his face clouded with drink and memory alike blurry in his mind. "…Heartbreak… really does suck." He looked at Mike, voice lower now. "I remember… wait… yeah, I remember when I was in high school. I liked this girl."
His words slurred, but he pressed on, chasing the memory through the haze. "She… blew my mind. Of course, academically. But I got interested in her for that…she is the first woman I am interested in…"
Mike stayed quiet, just listening. The man beside him was speaking from somewhere deep now.
"…Back then," Sheldon said slowly, his words weighed down by whiskey and memory, "when we were planning to go to Houston for a movie… she broke my heart." His jaw tightened at the thought.
"She came to my house, to meet my mother, asking permission to take me to Houston. But then… what she said shattered me." He paused dramatically, sighing hard.
"She told my mother…" His voice dropped, low and heavy. "…She told my mother that she used to 'babysit kids' all the time."
Mike winced. "Oof… that's rough, son." He clapped Sheldon on the shoulder, his tone sympathetic. "Yeah, that hurts. Sometimes women just say whatever's on their mind without thinking about the sting."
"Yeah…" Sheldon muttered. "…I was nine years old at the time."
Mike nearly choked on his drink, "Nine?! Damn it, son, you should've led with that!"
He had pictured a normal high school heartbreak—not realizing Sheldon's genius had shoved him into high school while still a child.
"That's not my fault," Sheldon shot back indignantly. "I already told you that I'm a genius!"
Mike rubbed his forehead, groaning. "…Yeah, I guess you did."
Sheldon pressed on, words tumbling out. "...Anyway, I cried like most children my age after that cruel revelation. My mother said I was still emotionally unstable, but my father and brother didn't see it that way… especially my brother."
A faint smile tugged at his lips as the memory blurred with alcohol, but the details remained vivid.
"My mother tried to console me, to calm me down for a few minutes. Yeah I was a little calm at that time…But then, my brother knocked on my bedroom door…" Sheldon's voice softened, his eyes glassy. "...He said, 'Yo, Sheldon. Let's go to the garage. We gotta put Dad's Harley back together.' That's exactly what he told me—even though my tears were still fresh on my cheeks."
Mike raised his eyebrows, surprised. That wasn't what he expected. He'd thought Sheldon would recall some kind of wise, comforting speech. A quote, a mantra, something profound.
But no.
Sheldon chuckled faintly at the memory. "…You know, my mother was furious. She said it was my brother's fault, but he just stood there in my doorway—waiting. He never flinched. He just kept his eyes on me, firm, like he wasn't leaving until I followed."
Mike leaned closer, intrigued. 'Old school,' he thought. Just like men from his own generation—tough in their own way, not through words but by standing their ground. Rare to see it in kids these days.
"...My brother didn't say a thing," Sheldon continued, his voice slurred but steady. "He just walked ahead, and I followed him into the garage. The place was a mess… parts everywhere, the Shovelhead torn apart. My dad and brother were piecing it back together, while I just stood there watching. They knew I wouldn't touch it. But they wanted me there. I guess… it was Dad's way of saying, 'bonding time with the boys.'"
Mike chuckled softly. Yeah, he'd done the same with his own kids, especially his son.
Sheldon squinted, recalling another detail. "…At one point, my dad looked at me and said, 'You okay, son?' I just nodded—Mom had already calmed me down by then. But my brother… he leaned in and said, disturbingly calm, 'Good. Remember that feeling well.' That's all."
Sheldon's words slurred as his head swayed, his face red and unfocused. "…Yeah. I remember that…" he whispered, before dropping his forehead onto the bar with a heavy thud.
Mike blinked, watching the genius beside him slide fully into drunken stupor. He patted Sheldon's shoulder, a proud smile tugging at his lips. "You've got a great dad and brother, son."
"…Yeah… I am," Sheldon mumbled faintly, before going completely blank.