Disclaimer: See Chapter 1. Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed!

Oratt slowly drifted awake, flinching at the pounding across his forehead. All his joints ached, and he felt weak and sore, as if he had been battered with a lirpa. A slight breeze swept over his skin, causing his hair to stand on end at the chill, and he realized how clammy his hands were as he reached up to rub at his temples.

A figure appeared beside him, and his vision did not clear enough for him to work out who it was. "Strom, where is Bridget?" he asked softly, and his words came out slurred and slow.

"My name is not Strom, Dr. Oratt, and I do not know who Bridget is. My name is Dr. Sev, and you are aboard the V'Hara, on course for Vulcan. We should arrive tomorrow morning, at which point you will be transported down to Mt. Seleya."

He felt his mouth go dry, and his vision blurred suddenly, sending another wave of pain across his forehead. "They have sent me to Seleya? Under whose orders?"

"Master Zylik at the Sausalito Consulate dictated that you be transferred immediately. You've been unconscious for two days."

Oratt frowned and glanced at the readout above his head. Most of his vitals were slightly elevated, and his internal temperature lingered just below a dangerous zone.

"You recall nothing of what transpired?"

"I remember speaking with my...with the junior intern. She is the last thing I recall."

A faint, fleeting memory of Bridget screaming for help echoed in his mind, and he closed his eyes against the shock and pain of the recollection.

"Shall I lower the overhead light? You appear to be in pain," Sev asked, his voice placid and unemotional.

"It would be appreciated," he replied quietly, massaging his temples. Sev was at his side in an instant, injecting him with a hypo spray, and Oratt nodded in thanks.

"Did Master Zylik say when I would be able to return to Earth?"

"He did not say. I was only instructed to transport you to Seleya and monitor your condition."

His frown deepened. "...then what is your professional opinion? When may I return to my work?"

Sev remained silent for a moment, then sighed. "In my experience, Osu, men in your condition rarely recover. I have only seen two men overcome this ailment. One, as I understand it, was forced to bond, and the other chose the path of kolinahr. No doubt your clan mother will have arrangements for you once you arrive on Vulcan."

He could not suppress the wave of horror creeping over him at the thought of being forced to bond to a stranger. The path of kolinahr was hardly a better option, as just the notion of never seeing Bridget again made him feel quite ill.

A rush of nausea wriggled in his abdomen, and he took deep breaths and laid back down to steady himself. No, he could not give up hope yet, not when he hardly knew the extent of the mental damage he had endured. He attempted a mantra to calm himself, and while it soothed his nerves somewhat, it took every ounce of concentration he could muster to not let his thoughts linger in dangerous places.

But what he would not give to be back on Earth again...to be closer to Bridget Forrest again.

He sighed and threw himself back into his mantras, until the effort sapped all of his energy, and he was forced to sleep once more.

Dr. Sev and a navigator accompanied him in a shuttlecraft, bidding him farewell at the doors to the ancient temple. The noonday sun blazed a fiery path across the sky, the rays warming him marginally. He could hear the shuttle take off behind him, and with the logical conclusion that he could not turn back lodged in his mind, he opened the door and stepped inside the massive hall.

He recalled visiting these hallowed halls only once before, and only for a few days after his bond with T'Dar was severed. Hardly anything had changed over the years, with only the different faces manning the temple indicating the passage of time.

A wizened old priest, perhaps a few years younger than Master Zylik, stood stoically in the middle of the hall, his pale grey gaze seeming to pierce Oratt's thoughts even from so far away. The man looked oddly familiar, and it wasn't until the doctor drew closer that he understood why.

"It has been nearly seventy-six years since we last met, has it not, Oratt of Shi'Kahr?"

The doctor bowed his head in respect to the priest. "You are correct, Master Varen, seventy-five years, eight months and a day have elapsed since we last spoke. I trust you have kept in good health?"

The very same priest had attended to him after his wife called for their bond to be broken. Oratt remembered him to be placid and patient, the very sort of thing he needed now, over half a century later.

"I have," the priest replied smoothly, his voice a low grumble with a Golian edge. "But it appears you have not. Your clan mother has already contacted the temple in anticipation of your arrival, and she has relayed to me her findings when she melded with you last. However, I will perform my own assessment of your mental stability. Follow me."

Varen led him towards the right side of the hall, where no less than twenty archways led to living quarters and meditation chambers. Into one such meditation room the priest entered, and waited until Oratt followed before closing the door. He bid the doctor kneel, and he obeyed.

"Relax your mind, Oratt, your tension is palpable."

He felt his shoulders droop as he released the tightness held there, and Varen nodded in satisfaction. "This meld will likely take most of the afternoon. There is no logic in hiding your actions or thoughts from me. The more I know of your current condition, the more able I will be in assisting you in correcting it. Am I understood?"

Oratt closed his eyes and nodded.

Dry, wrinkled fingers pressed into his skin, and he felt himself drifting away from reality, falling back into his memories.

"Think back to the period of your life before you were assigned to Earth, after your wife broke your bond." Oratt heard the priest's voice in his mind, calling out to him through the meld. He took a deep breath and obeyed.

...The sandstorm raged violently outside, pelting against the roof and windows and casting a dull light throughout the house; though he had already meditated that evening, he would do so once more before going to bed. He would rise early tomorrow and attend a preliminary meeting for the upcoming IME conference on Denobula. He felt his right eye twitch at the notion of spending several days in a crowded, noisy environment, alongside overly emotional humans and Denobulans.

He sighed and made his way towards his room, but something stopped him on the way...the door to T'Dar's bedroom was ajar, and pale ruddy light trickled into the darkened hallway.

He had not been in her room since T'Dar had moved the last of her things out of his home. Her telsu-to-be sent his house guards with her to help her move, though Oratt had assured her that he would help her, and would not cause her any discomfort. She refused the offer, and he spent the day in his office, meditating until it was time to go with her to Seleya.

Now only the housekeeper entered these rooms, and the space looked as if no one had ever lived there. There were no clothes in the hamper, no jewelry on the bedside table. No incense lingered in the air from a meditation lamp, and no personal effects filled the room.

Out of some morbid sense of curiosity (or perhaps some unbidden jolt of loneliness), he sniffed the air, wondering if T'Dar's scent lingered here.

He smelled nothing but a faint scent of dust.

He tried not to think of his previous mate, but thoughts of her flooded his mind. He remembered vividly the smell of her hair, the way she walked from room to room, the way her eyes almost glowed in the sunlight.

He remembered how she used to flinch every time he tried to touch her. How she could never look at him on the few occasions when they mated outside of the flames.

A pit of self-pity and loneliness welled inside him, and he quickly retreated from the room, and closed the door tightly so it would not open again...

He could feel Varen's comprehension through the meld, almost like a sigh. Something akin to sympathy clung to the edges of that comprehension, and Varen spoke again.

"Now show me your time on Earth. Start from the beginning so I may know the extent of your experiences, and what factors might have caused your current condition."

He fell once again into his memories, back to his first day on Earth.

..."Should I go? It looks like you're getting a full house, and I don't want to get in your way."

He turned and nodded to the ambassador's daughter, and handed her a slide. "You may go, but first, please give this newest sample to Dr. Strom."

Bridget obeyed, seemingly cheered by the prospect, if her smile was any indication. He watched her go, taking a moment to savor the kindness she radiated, and how sweet and good her manners were. It seemed she did not recognize his face or know him by reputation; everyone else he had encountered today paid him the proper respect, as was his due, but no one was pleased with his presence. The girl, though...either through naivete or out of the goodness of her heart, she had welcomed him with a smile, and seemingly felt no displeasure at the prospect of working alongside him.

He hardly knew what to think of it all.

Exhaustion weighed on his body, and his thoughts seemed almost sluggish now. Without even thinking, he followed the girl out of the infirmary, prepared to retreat to his room and lie down.

They stepped into the turbolift together, and he slumped his shoulders as soon as the doors were closed.

"Doctor? Are you okay?"

He turned to her, frowning. "I am well." The motion of the turbolift made his stomach churn, and logic dictated that the less he spoke, the less likely he would be to vomit all over the floor.

He believed that would be the end of it, but she drew closer to him. And then a hand, soft and tender, pressed to his forehead, then withdrew, as if he had scorched her.

"Doctor, you're burning up!"

A wave of nausea washed over him, and he could feel the sweat beading on his forehead. "Please halt the turbolift, Ms. Forrest," he asked pitifully, his voice a weak groan. But nonetheless, she obeyed quickly, and was at his side in an instant, helping him to the floor.

He closed his eyes, panting for breath, and he could hardly comprehend her motives as he felt her wrap her arm around him and gently guide his head to rest on her shoulder.

"We can stay here for a bit, then we need to go back to the infirmary," she said to him, her voice warm and gentle. In all his memory, no one had ever spoken to him like that. He stifled a gasp as she tenderly wiped the sweat from his brow. "It'll be okay," she cooed, and he dared look into her bright blue eyes, at a loss for words.

He had heard of the human mythos surrounding angels, and of course dismissed such notions as illogical. But here, in this turbolift, with this sweet human girl pouring affection upon him like cleansing rain over the barren desert, he thought perhaps such creatures might be in the realm of possibility.

Tears burned in his eyes as she leaned forward and touched her lips to his forehead; he could feel her concern for him through her touch, and her soft, compassionate kiss left him even more confused than before. Where did this little human come from? How, out of every person he had ever met, had she somehow not been repulsed by him? His vision blurred, and he trembled at the sensation of her hand smoothing his hair...

"Is this the girl? The one you have fixated on?"

Oratt sent an affirmative, and he could sense Varen's surprise at this memory. "Show me more of her. No doubt you keenly felt the sting of loneliness at this point in your life, and you still do, but one interaction does not fixation make. Not unless you were truly desperate."

"Hardly desperate, at least at that point," he replied dryly. "But you are correct in that one interaction does not beget such...fixation as I have suffered. But you will see, master, that there is so much more to her than one kindly act towards an old stranger."

...He rounded the corner, sighing in sympathy at the sight of Bridget tearfully embracing her brother. Strom's departure had hit her harder than he anticipated, and he hoped she could bear the pain of his absence for the next three years. He wanted to see her happy, and if her happiness was to be found in Strom, then so be it. Obviously she was too young to be thinking of such things, but she would not be a child forever.

Twinges of exasperation still prickled at his mind at the thought of how oblivious Strom was to Bridget's emotions. How could he not sense her adoration towards him? To act in response to it would be immoral, but Strom could at the very least be more attentive to his surroundings and cultivate a friendship with her, if only as a place to begin. If he were in Strom's place, he would not let such a precious flower be snatched up by someone else when the time came, simply because he did not pay much attention to her in her youth. Strom was a fool, to be sure, but the most fortunate fool in the universe.

He put all these thoughts from his mind and drew closer to Bridget. She was, in a sense, a chosen niece or cousin of sorts, like a long-lost family member – the affection he held for her could be nothing else – and it pained him to see her so distraught.

He announced his presence, first giving her space, then kneeling before her to reassure her that all was not lost. From what he had heard directly and indirectly, this poor child had suffered enough, and his heart ached for her.

"Sweetling, from what I understand of humans, your feelings for Strom are natural. He is not gone forever, you know...three years will be gone before you know it. Time seems to pass more quickly the older you get."

She smiled wanly at him, perhaps not wholly comforted by his words, but he found himself contented as she wrapped her arms around him, and pressed her lips to his cheek. He softened at the sensation, closing his eyes to better savor her affection, but her words made his eyes snap open.

"I love you, doctor," she whispered in his ear, and his logic seemed to fail him as her grip tightened. "I don't know if I've told you before, but I'm telling you now."

He could not find the words to respond to this admission, and he stared at her for almost two minutes, trying desperately to find an appropriate response. Should he return her affection, and allow her to see that he was open to her expressing such things to him? Or should he follow the rules of propriety in a stricter sense, and reply only with words?

He could not bring himself to care about propriety right now.

Her hair was soft under his palm, and her skin warm beneath his lips as he gently kissed her forehead. "Bridget..." he began, unsure still of what to say.

The sound of her giggles saved him from having to reply further. "I love you both," she declared, holding him and her brother more tightly to herself...

...Bridget's uncle made for the door, but Oratt's focus was entirely on the girl in front of him. Her face was awash in tears, and the grief rolling off of her nearly made him winch. But he pushed down the discomfort and took her in his arms, gently lifting her onto a biobed and embracing her, holding her tightly and steadily as her body shook with sobs.

He whispered sweet sentiments and calming words in his native tongue, and he stroked her hair, hoping his voice and his touch would be enough to calm and comfort her.

"Oh Bridget," he sighed, and he could not help but reach out to her and stroke her cheek, dashing away her tears. "I grieve with thee."

"Thank you," she croaked, and though he could sense her wrestling with her emotions, trying desperately to bring herself back under control, grief won out and she buried her face into his neck, sobbing outright as he held her close.

Though she apologized for the outburst, he would not have it. Such expressions came naturally to her people, and it was not his place to scold her for crying, especially over the loss of one who had acted as a mother figure to her in her earliest years.

"Hush," he insisted. "Go be with your family, little one. You don't have to come into work if you don't want to, at least not until after the funeral. If you need anything...tell me. Please. It pains me to see you like this...and I realize that grieving is natural for your people...don't hesitate to ask for me if there is something I can do."

His breath nearly left his body as she boldly cupped his face in her hands and kissed his cheek. In that moment, her grief was as tangible as the warmth of her skin, and he fought to keep his eyes open as such potent emotions rolled over him. But underneath the sorrow and pain and regret lingered a deep, lasting attachment to him, and relief, perhaps in response to his understanding. He dared not examine it further, but focused his attention back on her voice as she spoke again.

"I love you...and thank you...I guess I'll see you in a few days then?"

"Whenever you're ready," he replied, his voice as soft and soothing as he could make it. "Do not feel obligated to rush back here if you are not prepared for it."

She nodded, and gave him one last loving look before walking away, hastily wiping away her tears...

...He had hoped to avoid interaction with anyone else in the Consulate as he made his way out of his quarters, but at the turbolift, his disciplines, already tenuous from his fever, failed him once more. He flinched as the doors opened to reveal Bridget, and he could not think to move away.

She gasped and pulled him into the turbolift with her, and reason flew from him like a bird as she rained kisses onto his face. He expected her to fear him, to be repulsed by his actions, to turn away from him in disgust, but he could feel her worry and relief and that deep, lasting attachment as her warm lips roamed eagerly over his skin. Ever did that attachment linger in his thoughts these days, as she grew bolder, as he grew weaker to the toll the years had taken. He realized, with a jolt of guilt, that he could not resist this forever. No man was strong enough to refuse such an affectionate young woman, unless he was a master of kolinahr, perhaps...but even the great masters, if confronted with such open, sweet attentions, would break beneath the temptation...

...He had upset her yesterday with his insistence that she tell him her feelings, and he had pushed her into a realm of discomfort. That would not do, and he had to rectify that. He could not stand to have Bridget uncomfortable around him.

He apologized to her, and daring once more to defy the rules of propriety, reached out to her and lifted her chin. "If you love me as you love your family, I will be content. You are still the kindest person I know, and whatever affection you choose to give me, I will be content with that. To do otherwise would be unacceptable." The answer she might give him was...concerning, but this was the only acceptable way forward. He would have to accept whatever she wished to give him, on her terms, or else he was not worthy to stand in her presence.

"But I don't love you like family," she whispered in reply, and he felt his very soul flutter in his chest. To further the point, she cupped his cheek in her warm, tender hand, and leaned close to him. He could hear her pulse quicken, and he swallowed thickly. "My love for you...it's different. I don't know what it is, because I've never felt quite like this before. No one's ever...loved me like you do. So how can I give you answers I don't have?"

Relief sprung like a fountain within him, and he could feel his very expression softening. Carefully, gently, he placed his hand over hers, holding her palm to his skin. "And when you discover exactly what this love entails?"

"I'll tell you," she assured him, and he fought the smile threatening to creep over his face. She grinned at him, her breath quickening for a moment, and once again he dared defy all logic, and trailed his fingers up her face, finally coming to rest with hands sheathed in her soft, auburn hair...

..."And...to my shame...I have found your absence most unwelcome. I had not seen you for two days, but for so much of that time, my thoughts were focused on you...I should be more respectful of you, and I have promised myself I would be so many times...I have failed. I do not know if I will ever succeed. The fact that I was, as you put it, 'so on edge' over Strom's actions should tell you where I am mentally. I can feel myself slipping further and further into madness...Bridget, I do not want you to ever see me that way."

Her sadness seeped through his skin, clouding his mind and exerting an almost unbearable pressure behind his eyes. "Don't talk like that," she said in a whisper, and he opened his eyes, gazing helplessly into her bright blue irises. "Please."

All resistance fled from him as she wrapped her arms around him, squeezing him tightly. "Don't make me face this world alone, Oratt," she groaned into his chest. "Not without you...never without you...please just promise me you'll be alright."...

..."Bridget."

His voice cracked as his parched throat contracted in want of water, and he swayed with the effort of standing still. She rushed to him, her eyes alight with panic, and he sunk into her embrace like a man who has wandered too long in the desert, and has finally come home to safety.

"Oratt?" Her voice reverberated with her fear, but he could not bring himself to respond. She cupped his cheek, alarm washing over him as her emotions bled through her touch. His eyes slithered closed, as he was too exhausted now to keep them open. "Oratt, sweetheart, what's wrong? What's going on?"

The endearment tumbled like a blessing from her lips, and he leaned further into her touch. "I...I had to see you...I couldn't...I couldn't bear the thought of...oh, Bridget..."

He could feel her gaze raking over him, and his weight, it seemed, had a adverse effect on her balance, and she was forced to guide him to the floor. No matter, so long as she stayed with him...he prayed she would stay with him. If this was truly the end – and he hoped with all his katra that it was not – he would prefer to die with her beside him.

He heard her shout for Dr. Strom, but her voice seemed to come from far away, even with the increased volume and intensity of the exclamation. His focus wavered for a moment, but came sharply back to clarity as she wrapped her arms around him. A chuckle passed his lips, for what reason he could not identify, but her previous endearment came rushing back to him.

"You called me sweetheart..." he groaned, hardly comprehending the reality of the situation as she gathered her sleeve in her fist, and wiped his brow.

"I did, but that's not what's important right now. Please, just hang on, help is on the way," she murmured hastily, but her cry for help pierced through him, shocking every nerve in his body.

His vision blurred for a moment, but he could not help but smile at her tenderness as she gently guided his head to her shoulder. He recalled the first day he met her, how sweet she had treated him when he was ill, how he wondered then if angels truly existed, if one such as she walked in the world.

He looked up at her, his vision darkening at the edges, but he focused for as long as he could on her face.

"Oh, my sweet Bridget...I'll be alright..."

And at last he could not fight the darkness swallowing his vision, and he turned his face to her shoulder and relaxed into her body, breathing in her scent one last time before the void of unconsciousness consumed him, and he knew no more...

With a rush, his consciousness came back to reality, where he knelt face to face with Master Varen on Mt. Seleya. The priest's hand was shaking as he retreated from the meld, and his piercing gray eyes searched Oratt's face with an incredulity he had rarely seen in a master.

Varen took a deep breath. "You have known the girl nearly six years now?"

Oratt nodded, choosing not to speak.

"And you have only just now succumbed to your unbonded state? With the way she has behaved towards you?"

The doctor cleared his throat, suddenly craving water. "My condition only became severe in the last month, perhaps. I felt in control of my disciplines before then."

"In control of your disciplines?" Varen repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Hardly, Oratt. How many times did you allow the girl to shower you with affection? How many times did you find yourself alone with her, and take advantage of her tenderhearted nature?"

He bowed his head, knowing the correct answer. "Too many times," he replied, his voice heavy with his shame.

Varen nodded in acceptance, then sighed. "For all these years, we believed that unbonded men might do well on Earth, with fewer of our women to surround them and nothing on that planet to tempt them." He set his pale gaze on him once more. "Are all their women as she is?"

"No," he said. "But her behavior is not entirely abnormal, for her species."

Varen closed his eyes. "Perhaps we should revisit the policy of assigning unbonded men to stations on Earth. It is a wonder you survived for as long as you did." He shook his head. "I am not surprised you have fixated on this girl, but I wish for you to see that this could have been avoided. You are responsible for more of this than you realize, Oratt. The girl's affections may have exacerbated the problem, but had you obeyed propriety – which was logically established to prevent such cases as yours from occurring – you might not have needed my help now."

Oratt had no reply for the master, but bowed his head in submission. "I only wish to be better. I wish to live."

"So you may see her again?" Varen quipped, his gaze stern. "Perhaps that would cure all your ills, but I know from our meld that she will not come of age for several months. And it will take every ounce of discipline you have left to overcome this condition, and return to full health. Do you have the will to do so?"

"I will do what it takes," he assured him, his voice firm. The master nodded.

"Very well," he said, and stood. Oratt followed suit. "I will assign you a room, and dinner will be served shortly. Tonight, you will meditate on every way you have disobeyed propriety in regards to this girl, and we will begin your journey towards healing tomorrow morning." His gaze became stern again. "I do not need to tell you that this road you will take is difficult. I have rarely seen men in your state recover from this, perhaps half a dozen in my lifetime. I do not wish to see you fail, but I must warn you that it is a distinct possibility that you will not succeed."

"No, master, I will succeed in this," he said, his voice reverberating with determination. "I must, for if I do not achieve healing and return to her, I will have nothing to live for. I must succeed, or I will die."

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the extra-long chapter; I thought it would be interesting to see some of my favorite scenes from a different perspective. Not only because it's fun for me, but to illustrate just how deep down the rabbit hole Oratt has gone.

I know right now the world is in panic mode, but I hope this story has brought some peace into your life. I hope you all are safe and well, and I wish you all, as the Vulcans say, peace and long life. Be safe out there.