Disclaimer: See Chapter 1. Thank you so much to CeliaSingsSongs, isfoss86, Laura 2468, dinopoodle and anonymous for reviewing!

Oratt gently ran the scanner over T'Ben's wrist, where, in his madness, he had bitten her twice when she tried to calm him. He hated seeing the wounds he inflicted on the women who helped him, but he was a doctor and it was his duty to help the injured. So he forced himself to swallow his shame and do his job, and he moved on to her neck, where the majority of the bitemarks lay.

"You have been a medical professional for many years," she said quietly, raising an eyebrow at him. Like a proper Reldai, she was completely impassive, looking neither ashamed nor proud nor angry. He wondered if she had ever considered following the path of kolinahr, as she would most likely excel in it.

"Yes," he replied.

"You are a ranking member of the Council of Physicians."

"Yes."

"Your name is known throughout the medical community, and to the Reldai. You are respected and meritorious...and yet you do not have a wife."

She had not asked a question, and there was no use in confirming it. She knew just by looking at him that he was unbonded, that he had been alone for many years now. He had been bonded at one point, when he was younger, but his wife left him to be with another man, and instead of fight, he decided to let her go. Their bond had never been strong. And now he had no woman to share his home or children to carry on his legacy.

"I do not see the logic in stating what both of us already know," he said, struggling to keep his voice as neutral as hers. The remnants of fever still tugged at him, and he could not for the life of him remember what had happened to his young visitor. He recalled the memory of her entering his quarters, and he knew she had touched him and offered him tea, but then his memory was fuzzy, and for all he knew, he had killed her.

No, he told himself firmly. I did not hurt her...I would be dead if I had laid a hand on her head. Her father would have flayed me alive for that. If I am alive, then she must have been unharmed.

T'Ben did not respond to his testy rebuttal, but changed the subject. It was as if she knew exactly what to talk about to make him feel uncomfortable.

"The young girl...why was she with you?"

"She thought I was sick, so she came to visit."

"With tea?"

He sighed. "Yes. She does not realize the repercussions of her actions."

"That would explain why she was in your lap. A very intimate place to be, for a girl her age..."

Oratt turned to face her, tamping down his anger. "What are you suggesting, honored Reldai?"

"I am simply making observations for when I go back to your clan mother, so I may give her a thorough report regarding your condition. You feel in better health now, do you not?"

"Yes, Reldai," he replied simply. "Please do not speak while I attend to your ear."

She fell silent and tilted her head away ever so slightly, allowing him easier access to her ear. He must have been truly mad; her ear bore an angry green bruise on its tip. I bit her ear...by Surak, it's been ages since I was with a woman...

"And you, T'Sai?" he probed gently, stepping back away from her so she could put her robes on. "You feel in proper health as well?"

"You have seen to all my injuries," she replied, her voice as calm as ever. Then she raised the ta'al and straightened her tiara. "Live long and prosper, Oratt."

He bowed his weary head and responded in kind, and soon she was out the door, leaving him alone again. He slumped his shoulders in shame and relief, briefly closing his eyes. If only he could remember what had happened to Bridget...

Oratt shoved the thought from his mind and took off the light robe he had donned for T'Ben's sake, though he doubted she would have even noticed his nudity. Perhaps it was more for his own sake, and because living among humans for so long made him think working naked was wrong, even in the privacy of one's quarters. It was no matter anymore, because she was gone, and he was alone again. The prospect of being alone always seemed so much more weighty after he came out of fever, but within a few months, it would be as normal to him as breathing. It was a shame though...he had a deep fondness for children, and he wanted a few of his own to care for, to raise, to teach. He always felt more satisfied after healing a child than an adult; maybe he felt as if he were giving more years of innocence to his patient than simply healing a wound. And if a woman ever truly wanted to be with him, he would give her anything she desired.

He shook his head and started up the sonics, running a tired hand through his hair. It was messy and needed washing, and he smelled strongly of sex and sweat, and blood. T'Ben's blood. He squeezed his eyes closed.

After a long, thorough scrubbing, he felt cleaner; the stench of sweat and blood was gone, and the smell of sex had faded. Only someone standing very close to him with a keen nose would realize what had happened, and he brushed his clean hair and dressed. He wouldn't be going into work until this evening, giving him some time to clean his quarters and change the sheets on his bed.

But first, he decided a walk down to the kitchens for some tea wouldn't be out of the question. He looked presentable enough, and it was nearly midday. He suddenly felt very hungry, though he was in no mood to cook for himself. And if he wanted to avoid the crowd, he should be going as soon as possible while everyone was still at their stations.

The corridor to the right of his door was blessedly empty when he stepped out of his rooms, and he quickly set off straight ahead towards the nearest turbolift. He couldn't hear any conversation or footsteps as he hurried to his destination, but he flinched in surprise and froze as the turbolift doors opened. An illogical response, and no doubt a remnant of the fever, but he could not think to move as the doors opened to reveal his young human assistant.

She gasped the moment she saw him and pulled him into the turbolift, and before he could blink she was in his arms, raining sweet kisses on his brow and cheeks. She clutched him as if he might disappear into smoke at any second, her affections and relief gnawing at the edge of his consciousness. He could almost feel her thoughts as she ran her hands through his hair and pressed her soft lips to his chin.

"Bridget..." he whimpered. "Computer, halt turbolift."

He pushed her back to arms-length and raked his gaze over her with a medical eye. She had no bruises or abrasions, and she was greeting him with enthusiasm. Then it was unlikely that he had harmed her...

"Bridget, my sweet, tell me truthfully...I did not harm you?"

Her expression soured and tears sprang into her eyes, and he felt her annoyance and confusion through her tight grip. "Oh, not you too..."

"My dear sweetling, whoever has asked you that question had every right to do so. I could have hurt you...promise me, little one...promise me that if you ever see a Vulcan man act as I did, you will leave his presence immediately and avoid him. Please...promise me this."

She shook her head and sighed. "Is no one going to tell me what was wrong with you? The closest answer I got was a neurochemical imbalance...like that tells me anything."

"It is not my place to tell you, or else I would...Bridget, I...appreciate your concern for me, though repeating that is very unwise. Has your father not told you of the ancient water rituals?"

"Ancient water rituals?" she repeated, looking confused.

"I will take that as a negative...you should have been educated about that by now. You should have known about the rituals from the time you were bonded. Your father and Sorak have made a poor showing in your education."

"Ok, enough about that," she said, holding up her hand to silence him. "Are you still going to..." She couldn't finish her sentence, and looked away.

"Sweetling, I am not going to die. My memory of that day is...hazy...but I believe I told you quite plainly: I intend to live. And here I stand, healthy and whole again." Not entirely whole, but she does not need my burdens when she has enough of her own.

She embraced him, her touch betraying her relief and the lingering worries she had experienced for his sake. He heard her stomach grumble and smirked, stroking her hair.

"You hunger," he stated. "I believe it is time for you to eat."

"I don't really want to," she said, shaking her head. "I don't feel like eating."

His medical senses perked, and he frowned. "What do you mean? Do you feel ill?"

"Yes," she replied. "I feel like if I eat something, I might just give it back, if you know what I mean...it's not terrible, just...I don't want to eat right now."

He tilted his head. "That is not right, Bridget. You should eat."

"I don't want to," she insisted. "Not right now."

Oratt shook his head at her and cupped her cheek, cursing his lack of a scanner. Something was wrong, even if it was a minor issue, but all he could feel from her was worry. And then he remembered. In his studies of human anatomy, he read that excessive stress or worry could cause stomach pain in humans, and he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Does your stomach hurt?"

She nodded.

"What is bothering you? Are you feeling particularly stressed at this time?"

Her eyes filled with tears and she wrapped her arms tight around him, and he could feel a wave of grief wash over him.

"Bridget, what is the matter? What has happened?" His heartrate increased, drumming away in his chest, and he held her close.

"You nearly died!" she whimpered, her voice cracking as tears rolled down her face. "I nearly lost you."

His heart stopped beating for a moment, and unbidden tears pricked his eyes as the gravity of her words sunk into his mind. She had been literally worried sick over him, and she was truly grieved at the thought of his death.

"Sweetling," he whispered. "Oh, dear Bridget, forgive me..."

"It's not your fault," she insisted. "But damn it, don't do it again!"

"I intend on living a long, full life." He stroked her hair and instructed the turbolift to continue its journey to the kitchens. "I promise, you won't have to fret over my life again."

…

Telsu,

I have felt through our bond a disturbing trend of worry and sadness these last few months. My father tells me that your grandmother died, and I grieve with thee. It is hard to lose a family matriarch. Our clan mother is 245 years old, and may live to see 260. She seems to be made for longevity. Father says your matriarch lived a long life, though I suppose that is cold comfort when faced with the loss of someone close to you. Again, I grieve with thee and my thoughts are with you.

But recently, I felt a terrible surge of worry that lasted three days, to the point where I felt nauseous. I asked father, and he will not discuss it with me. He only reports that you became very upset and insulted him and your father. What caused this, Bridget? What has made you so distressed? I do not wish my bondmate to be so consumed with worry, and it troubles me that no one speaks of what happened. I would contact your parents and inquire, but I would not want to intrude on your family's private affairs.

I regret to inform you that I cannot make the visit I promised. My professor assigned a project that requires me to stay on Vulcan, and I hope you understand my predicament. If geological surveys were not included, I could have made the trip to Earth, but as it stands, I must stay. This project will be complete very soon, though, and I should be able to come to you in a few weeks. My plans are uncertain, but I will keep you informed.

On a lighter note, I wish to discuss our bond when we see each other again. My father will not like what I am about to tell you, but I believe you will be pleased to hear it. There is a girl here at my academy with whom I have spent my lunch hours with, and her bond to her telsu is weak. She says he intends to break their bond to pursue the path of kolinahr, and she will be without a bondmate when she graduates. She and I are agreeable to each other's company, and our thoughts on several subjects align. I believe we would be compatible mates.

Please write back to me about your worries, Bridget. I do not like the thought of my telsu in so much pain.

Regards,

Skel