—

CHAPTER 26

Having planned ahead and worn his bus pants this time, Sheldon feels comfortable taking a seat out in the waiting room of the fertility clinic. Well, perhaps comfortable is an overstatement. A glance around the room shows him that there are two other men present, and each of them sit with a female companion. The only man sitting alone, he supposes it's obvious to everyone why he is here.

Amy offered to accompany him, but Sheldon opted to attend this particular appointment alone. After almost two weeks of daily injections to kick her ovaries into action, he figures she has already done enough, and he ought to handle this simple step on his own. Every time she has pierced her flesh with a needle, he has had to leave the room to avoid the sight, and he knows that the worst of it will be the egg retrieval procedure scheduled three days from today. At least for that step she'll be anesthetized.

Acutely aware of the specifics of her part of the process, Sheldon has never been so happy to be male. Procuring the essential gametes for his end of the deal should be decidedly simpler and less invasive in comparison. He will need to do this a second time on the day of retrieval, but today's sample is to provide a backup in case he has difficulties on the big day. He has always found self-abuse to be a largely mechanical process, and as such, he anticipates no issues. Nevertheless, Amy's condition may not allow for any further attempts, and he does not want to be the one to let her down, so perhaps the insurance provided by this trial run is for the best.

Amy has been back with him for just over six weeks now. They have spent a few nights at 4A, but for the most part, they continue to occupy her apartment. In spite of their many weeks of cohabitation, coital activities have not yet commenced. In fact, at this point they are more fluent in Klingon than even Sheldon would have ever wanted to be.

They were four weeks into her healing time when they decided to move forward with the next step in the fertility process. Over the following two weeks, she received great reports from both her neurologist and her orthopedist, but apparently injecting oneself with copious amounts of follicle stimulating hormones is not at all libido stimulating. In fact, it has had the opposite effect. She seems to have found the experience incredibly uncomfortable thus far. As such, it has been made clear that if he were to approach her reproductive regions with any part of his body during this time, there is a possibility that he won't get back the part with which he ventures forth. He has decided not to risk it.

Hormonally induced crankiness aside, living with Amy has been quite pleasant. They have both returned to work as well as their everyday routines, and he has found that adjusting to having her around is easier than he would've expected. It's certainly far easier than any of his attempts at adjustment during the two weeks when she was gone.

He has even done his best to get along with her mother. They have both managed to be civil, for the most part. Well, there was that one time last week when he called the woman 'yIntagh' in a moment of weakness. It was probably unwise to call anyone 'dumb as rocks' to their face, but at least he had the sense to disguise his opinion in Klingonese. Though her mother was unaware of the reference or the language, Amy was not amused. It was in response to her mother's vocal insistence that, with her daughter fully healed, Sheldon ought to move back to his own home soon. He could think of no pleasant response for that level of unsolicited nosiness, hence the epithet. Surely anyone who wasn't 'yIntagh' would recognize that he wasn't going to be going anywhere without Amy, that no place would feel like home without her.

Speaking of home, he still has every intention of convincing Amy that they should move in to his apartment. There is far more space there for both of them, and even if Leonard and Penny are still dragging their heels about moving out, he is sure that he can find a way to begin the eviction process.

Jarring him from his thoughts, an overly-chipper young nurse calls his name. He stands and follows her as she leads him down a few short hallways to a door marked 'Collection Room 2'. As he approaches the room, Sheldon tries not to think about what might be happening behind door number one.

"Okay, Mr. Cooper—"

"It's Dr. Cooper," he responds, wanting to maintain some air of dignity in these undignified conditions.

"Oh, I see. I'll make a note of that in your chart. Feel free to have a seat."

Sheldon looks around and sees a small, square shaped room. Like most medical facilities, the decor is dull, with beige walls, white tile floors, and a single window covered with white blinds. Unlike most medical offices, there is no examination table. There is a single black vinyl chair, a small end table, and in the far corner, a sink with some storage drawers underneath. The room smells reassuringly of disinfectant. Still, Sheldon has no intention of letting any part of his body come into contact with any part of this room. Bus pants alone provide insufficient protection.

"No thank you, I'll stand," he replies and crosses his arms over his chest.

His curt tone does not dim the smile on the nurse's face. "Very well. As a doctor, I'm assuming you're familiar with the donation process?"

The donation process. That seems like a polite way to put it. Sheldon is confident that just about every man of reproductive age on earth is familiar with 'the donation process'. A doctorate is by no means required.

"I have followed all of the pre-procedural instructions, and yes, I am familiar with the process."

"Excellent."

She hands him a small paper bag and a plastic cup. It is covered with several stickers, one with his name and information, one with Amy's name and information, and one that declares the cup 'sterile'. Sheldon wishes that the rest of the room could be assured to be equally sanitized.

"We have an assortment of reading material, if you are so inclined," she says and gestures to a glossy pile of magazines stacked on the end table. The top one proudly displays its name, 'Busty Brunettes', in a raucous, turquoise-colored font.

There is not enough money on earth to pay him to touch those. She must notice his distaste of that option because she rushes to say, "However, we also have a free Wi-Fi connection. Many donors find that their wireless devices offer a better selection of, um, inspiration."

He sighs, wondering if it would be rude to outright tell the young woman to go away. Unfortunately, she is still talking.

"Do you have any questions or concerns?"

"No," he responds flatly. This entire experience is already uncomfortable, and he has no interest in furthering this conversation. The nurse has been pleasant, courteous, and professional, but her continued presence is grating on his rapidly fraying nerves.

"Okay. When you are finished, secure the lid firmly, place the cup in the bag, and bring it out to us at the front desk. If you have any… difficulties… please let us know."

Sheldon has no intention of informing them of any 'difficulties', but he nods yes in the fervent hope that she might finally leave. At long last, she does, and he is relieved when he sees the door close on her cheery grin.

In welcome solitude, he sets down the cup and begins contemplating his predicament. For the past few weeks, he has reassured himself that this would not be a problem. Viewing it as a simple, clinical procedure, he never actually thought about what the moment itself would be like. Somehow, he has to become aroused and reach the point of completion in what must be one of the least enticing settings he can imagine. There is the hustle and bustle of activity mere feet away, the noise intruding into his small fortress of solitude. There is also the seemingly endless stream of female personnel, who are no doubt all aware of why he is in here and what he is doing. This well-used room is creeping him out too. Taken all together, it's almost like they are trying to make this more difficult.

In addition to all of that, Sheldon must perform with the knowledge of what his failure might mean. Sure, he will have another opportunity in three days time, but if the pressure is too much for him now, he can't imagine how bad it might become then. This must be why Amy and the doctor had so strongly recommended that he provide this backup sample. He can feel his heart pound and his breathing quicken, but it isn't in the good, useful way that he requires. Closing his eyes and internally reciting the periodic table of the elements, he attempts to forestall complete panic. Hyperventilating will do nothing to help him fill that cup.

Once he manages to regain his composure, he decides to approach the matter in a step-by-step manner, much like any other daunting task. Having and executing a plan is unlikely to lead him astray.

Step one, of course, is to lock that door. He looks around frantically and then spots salvation across the room. There are paper towels by the sink! Wrapping one around his fingers, he is able to turn the lock without having to make contact with the door handle.

The next step is to wash his hands, and he turns on the tap with the helpful barrier of the same paper towel. In order to operate the soap dispenser without the use of his wet hands, he finds he has to jab at it with his elbow. Beyond that, it's a straightforward process, and within a few seconds he is able to step away from the sink with clean hands, successful in his quest to avoid touching any contaminated surfaces.

Turning around, step three soon becomes apparent. He could stand, but sitting seems more relaxing, theoretically speaking. Given this, Sheldon supposes he will need to find a way to make do with his only seating option, as unappealing as it may be. After thinking it over, there is one solution that seems viable. He grabs a large stack of paper towels and begins covering the chair, constructing his own makeshift seat cover. It's a simple enough task, and the action feels almost comforting in its familiarity, being not unlike his public restroom ritual.

Upon completing that step, he gingerly sits upon his paper-laden, vinyl throne. The protective barrier helps, but Sheldon decides that he will have to get rid of these pants when all is said and done, regardless of his paper shield. They will have seen things that no bus pants should witness.

The next step is not quite so simple. He must achieve arousal in this cold, creepy, unsanitary room with too-helpful medical personnel only a short distance away. Like most anyone, Sheldon is no stranger to self-abuse, and this time it is for the noble cause of spawning their potential offspring. Beyond that, it is for Amy. He takes a moment to bolster his resolve and then reaches down to the front of his pants to see if he can get things moving with a stimulating nudge.

Just as he suspected, his initial foray is unsuccessful. Houston does not have liftoff. If anything, his anxiety and the chill in this room are encouraging his genitalia to try to crawl back into his abdomen. Sheldon closes his eyes.

For most of his life, he had viewed this act as a necessary evil. Sexual arousal used to be an unwelcome burden, and relieving it wasn't a pleasant task, but rather one of necessity. While it did feel good, it was still just another instance of his mind and his body feeling at odds, and he never much liked being a slave to his baser impulses. That has changed over the course of his relationship with Amy, with feelings of distaste for the matter being replaced by very welcome thoughts of his girlfriend instead. His mind and body are in full agreement these days, and he has partaken of coitus with her in his mind, with the assistance of his right hand, for more years than he would care to admit to.

Maybe he should have let her accompany him to this appointment after all. That thought causes his eyes to snap open. Would they have let her come in here with him? Contemplating that scenario causes the first hopeful twinges from below.

Regardless of what he would prefer, the reality is that she isn't here. He supposes he could use his phone to seek out some Amy doppelganger on the internet for his prurient use. Curiosity once got the best of him, and he had tried doing precisely that, but having done so, he now knows that such a thing won't help. No one looks quite like her, and watching a similar looking woman engage in sexual acts with a strange man would only make him irrationally angry as opposed to aroused.

Sheldon gets out his phone anyway.

—-

Amy trudges down the short hallway from her elevator to her front door. After finding it impossible to concentrate at work for even one minute longer, she gave up and skipped out an hour early. At this very moment, she knows that Sheldon is across town attempting a task that he probably finds very awkward. Attending to such a personal matter in a busy medical clinic will no doubt be far different than doing so in the comfort of his own private space. She's been unable to get her thoughts off of his impending appointment all afternoon, and her mind is awhirl with nervousness on his behalf.

It is exciting to consider the possibility that they might be able to have biological children one day, and she has no regrets about their decision to try to keep that option open. Still, she knows that even if everything goes well, her body may still fail to yield what they need. For his part, she supposes Sheldon is now coming to understand a similar kind of pressure. She hopes that it isn't making him too miserable.

Amy fumbles the key into the lock and curses under her breath when the door sticks shut. It takes several nudges of her hip before she manages to wedge it open. The humidity must be higher than normal today, she supposes. Actually, it has felt warmer than usual all week to Amy. Perhaps it isn't the weather so much as it is a side effect of the hormonal cocktail that is coursing its way through her veins. The egg retrieval procedure is scheduled a few days from now, and she can feel the weird ache of impending hyper-ovulation in her midsection, mittelschmerz.

While her mind has been feeling stressed about Sheldon's important appointment, her body has been having no qualms at all about what it wants. Initially, the injections made her feel bloated, uncomfortable, and cranky, leaving her long awaited sexual union with Sheldon to have to be postponed yet again. Over the past twenty-four hours, however, her body has apparently figured out that ovulation would be more useful if it is accompanied by desire, and her long-denied glands are now tossing off lustful hormones by the bucketful. As a result, she has felt the nagging pull of arousal all day, inappropriate and incessant. She wonders if this is what it feels like to be a man.

After shutting the front door, Amy deposits her purse and briefcase on the kitchen countertop. She pours a glass of water and takes a moment to run wet hands over her pink-tinged cheeks. It's impossible to keep Sheldon out of her mind. Is he doing okay? Although she tries to hold them back, more erotic questions flood her brain. How is it going? What is it like for him? Is he thinking of her while he does it? She'd give just about anything to watch him do it.

Amy feels her heart pounding in her chest and the uncomfortable feeling of sweat collecting on her skin. What she needs right now is a good distraction, but her Kolinahr and Klingon buddy isn't here. Perhaps a nice, soothing bubble bath would help. She knows perfectly well that she won't be able to resist indulging in a little self-exploration of her own, and with a clean bill of health from her neurologist, there's no reason not to. The thought of Sheldon doing the same thing at the same time gives the day's pressing desires a growing sense of urgency, and she wastes no time in making her way to her bedroom.

She has just kicked off her shoes and tossed her cardigan onto her bed when she hears a distant text alert from her phone in the other room. It's tempting to ignore it, but Amy is nothing if not responsible. She heads over to her purse and nearly drops the phone when she sees that the text is from Sheldon.

Hello, is all it says.

—

Sheldon is a childhood prodigy, a man with a genius level IQ, a holder of two PhD's, and a leading expert in the world of physics. All of this brain power and all he can come up with is Hello. He had even contemplated what to say to her for several minutes before composing that piece of brilliance.

Her reply arrives within seconds. Hi, Sheldon. I didn't expect to hear from you so soon.

He sighs. She probably thinks that he is done already. There's nothing to do but confess. I'm still here. It's harder-

Sheldon angrily pokes the backspace button. Nothing around here is hard, nothing whatsoever.

It's more difficult than I anticipated. It's so cold in here, he types instead.

Hopefully she will have some words of wisdom, some helpful guidance to offer. Even reading her texts is enough to brighten his mood a bit. He feels a little warmer already as he reads her next reply.

That must be quite distressing. I'm having the opposite problem here. These injections are causing some interesting new side effects over the past day.

He is well aware of Amy's past two weeks of discomfort. She didn't mention any new side effects this morning, though. Such as?

Increased body temperature, localized vascular throbbing, and excessively prurient mental imagery.

Sheldon raises an eyebrow at that. He clenches and unclenches his fist before tapping out, Tell me more.

Well, a number of hormones are having a powerful effect on both my body and my mind. It continues to be uncomfortable, but the discomfort has recently evolved into something oddly… fascinating. It feels good now. Compelling.

Compelling, indeed. The weeks spent sleeping chastely in her bed have worn on him more than he would have expected. He is a master of sublimating his desires, but ever since he admitted to both himself and to her that he is ready to let all of that go, his sexual impulses have been increasing in both frequency and intensity.

Switching his phone to his left hand, Sheldon reaches for his belt buckle. It's a slower process to type this way, but necessity dictates that he do so. In what way is it good now?

She is so incredibly smart. He is grateful for the fact that she seems to know what he is trying to have her do, and she is not making him explain himself further.

I don't have a word sufficient for this feeling. I'm warm—too warm. My heart keeps racing for no apparent reason, and I can't seem to sit still. I can't concentrate either. It's like my mind is not my own. More than anything, though, there's an aching feeling deep in my abdomen.

An aching feeling is something that Sheldon can definitely relate to. He licks his lips and is glad that she can't hear how pathetic his unintentional whimper sounds. He tries to thumb the letters to his next response, but it's slow going with his non-dominant hand. Autocorrect greatly improves the coherence of his words. What does it feel like?

She must be taking her time with this response. That's okay. He's occupied as well, successfully working up a productive, familiar rhythm.

Her message does arrive eventually, though it takes a lot longer than her earlier ones considering the brevity of her answer. Like something is missing.

Sheldon can think of something that would fix that. He slows down enough to type, Interesting. I'm feeling a bit of the opposite. Like I'm weighed down with something that I need to let go of. Is there anything that helps you find relief?

Eager for her reply, he feels his eyes start to dry out as he stares unblinkingly at his screen. She does not disappoint.

I'm working on that as we speak.

He is too. Sheldon can't coordinate his typing hand anymore, so he focuses all of his mental energy and wills her to continue even without a response from him.

Thankfully, she does. Things are getting worse, but they'll get better soon. It's been a very long time for me, and it's so warm here now. I wish I could send my warmth your way.

Yes! Panting and desperate, he fumbles for the phone one last time. I wish you were here too. In his mind, he imagines her next to him. Her hot breath on his ear, the warm richness of her voice, and the tight gripping heat of her…

At the point of no return now, Sheldon has one final, fleeting thought before his mind goes blank. The cup! His phone flies out of his left hand as he lunges towards the table. He snags it just in the nick of time and gasps out his relief for a blissful, unknown number of seconds.

For what must be the fifth time since he's entered this room, he finds the paper towels to be quite handy. After securing the lid onto his sample, he leans back in the seat, still catching his breath. Feeling equal parts relieved and ridiculous, he stuffs himself back into his pants.

The desire to scrub this place out of his skin is strong, but the desire to check in on Amy is stronger. He dropped her, vis-à-vis the phone, and when he picks the device back up, he sees that she hasn't responded to his last message. He feels the little hairs on his arms rise as he contemplates what might be occupying her instead. He must find out.

Amy?

Yeah, Sheldon?

He's not sure how to ask, so instead he just offers, I'm feeling a lot lighter now.

I'm feeling much better myself, is her rapid response, and he finds himself smiling like a fool at the bright yellow emoji grin that ends her sentence.

—