Making Up (takes place after Soulless)

Sheldon nodded. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go home and apologize to my wife. And we still have a book to discuss."

Amy glanced up at the time on the top of her screen. Based on when she received Penny's text, Sheldon should be home soon.

She sighed softly. Ever since he left, panic in his eyes, she had oscillated between frustration and regret. Frustration that her brilliant husband was worse than Peter Pan. Regret that she had handled it poorly. Maybe she shouldn't have sprung it on him. She certainly should have waited until after Book Club.

But not surprise. She was not surprised that he would become frightened and flee. Thus the regret, she should have planned this better. She was a little angry, too, not because he had left, but because he hadn't called or texted himself with his whereabouts. She had not been frightened, really, because he would be going to one of three places, she knew: Leonard's new house, Howard's apartment, or the comic book store.

Just then, she heard his keys in the lock. He entered quietly. She did not turn around. She was not going to indulge him. She waited for him to remove his bag and hang up his jacket, pretending to be engrossed in the random article on Wikipedia (skeleton at the 2010 Winter Olympics; please, Sheldon, don't look too closely).

He came and stood by her desk. "I'm sorry, Amy."

"For what?" It came out like anger, but it was really shock. That was the fastest apology yet.

Sheldon raised his eyebrows. "Uh . . . for leaving like that?" He phrased it as a question.

"Well, you should be. It was rude and immature." That was true. "I've been worried sick, wondering where you were." That was maybe an exaggeration.

"I know."

"And you ruined Book Club!" She really was angry about that. She loved Book Club.

"I know. We can talk about it now."

"Maybe the moment has passed." It hadn't. She would still talk about the book.

He actually looked crestfallen at that.

"Sheldon Cooper, I am not your mother. Leonard is not your father or -" her hand flitted "- whatever. I will not drive you to soccer practice for the rest of your life. You need to learn to drive. Also, I am not your handmaiden. I will not sit at home and wring my hands in agony and fear over what childish thing you have done this time." These were not the logical, irrefutable arguments she had prepared, and she knew it even as she said them.

There were three types of serious Cooper-Fowler disagreements. The first, the most common, was a terse but mostly temperate discussion that involved a lot of sighing and eye rolling and sometimes a chart until a mutually satisfying compromise was reached. The second, the rarest, was an alarming and regrettable affair with balled fists and shouts that resulted in two slammed bedroom doors and Amy crying and a night spent apart.

Then there was the third type, another type altogether, in which the words are welded as epees and the heat rose in the room until they exploded. This type of disagreement, Amy believed, was never about the thing they were supposedly disagreeing about. She thought that when this happened the conclusion was already known, one of them had already acquiesced, and the motions were observed to save pride. And, well, because . . .

She did not know yet exactly which type this one was.

"Well, you left me wringing my hands once. Over this exact desk, as I recall." He stabbed the corner of her desk for emphasis.

Amy felt the back of her neck get warm. Sheldon was bringing up an unrelated topic. Oh, it's on. "Well, you had to get Leonard to drive you to find me, so I think my point is proven."

"But at least I came to find you. I've never turned the tracking off on my phone, you know. You could have found me tonight!"

"We had fought first then! We didn't fight tonight!" She stood up and crossed her arms.

"What do you think we're doing now?" He crossed his arms back at her.

"We're -" Amy stopped. Because she had no idea what to say next. So much for lengthy verbal sparring that would have Roget weeping for joy. Point, Sheldon Cooper. Should she tell him her theory?

Then she saw it in his eyes. A spark. He knew. He knew he'd just won that match. He had also already surrendered in the war. She also knew exactly what he was going to do next.

Ever so slightly, his left eyebrow raised a fraction of an inch. It was a dare. She gritted her teeth. The eyebrow went higher. No, I will not. The eyebrow reached its zenith. Her uterus quaked.

He growled. "Dr. Fowler."

She was on him at the speed of light, pushing him back into the bookcase, grabbing the sides of his face, branding him with her mouth. They only came up for air.

"Bedroom?"

"Too far away."

"Agreed."

Later, Amy didn't remember who said what. She never did.

Stumbling, pushing, pulling, clawing, they made their way toward the sofa. One minute his tee shirts were on, the next they were flung against the closet door. Their shoes were kicked way. There was no time to unbutton Amy's cardigan, it came over her head, too. Between kisses. He scratched her back, on purpose, as he unhooked her bra. She nimbly bit his chest while she unbuckled his pants.

"Ouch!"

"Too much?"

"Not really."

His hands were on her breasts, teasing them into a frenzy. Her hand was down his pants, teasing him into a frenzy.

"Why do you insist on wearing tights?"

"Why do you insist on wearing clothes?"

They separated just long enough to rid themselves of the offending garments. Then they were together again, skin against skin.

"The sofa?"

"The cushions!"

"The blanket?"

"The rug?"

"The blanket."

They were on the floor, protecting the rug with the blanket, his hands were in her hair, and her mouth was on his neck. His hands were between her thighs, and her voice cried out.

"You feel so good."

"You feel better."

She was on him, and he was inside her. She used her hips, he used his. Her head was in the crook of his neck, he wrapped his arms tighter around her, and his breath came in a moan.

Amy rolled off of him, hair tangled, short on oxygen. "That was hot."

He reached for her hand and squeezed it in agreement. Because Sheldon would never say anything as vulgar as that.

Her heart rate slowing, she put her head on his chest. He put his arm around her, weaving their fingers together over his heart. "Amy, do you ever think maybe we shouldn't do this anymore?"

"Angry sex? Make-up sex? Living room rug sex?"

"Exactly. It's sex, but I'm not certain it's making love."

She gently kissed the red mark she had made on his chest. "I disagree. It's different. But it's still us. And this part is definitely making love."

"But it's so illogical."

"I think it's highly logical. It's the exception that proves the rule."

"That phrase has never been logical and never will be. Vulcans would never say that. Vulcans would never have sex this way."

Amy smiled. "I'm pretty sure this is exactly how Vulcans have sex."

"Amy!"

Her smile broke into a chuckle. "Have you seen Star Trek? It's sex or fighting to the death. Obviously, the Vulcans have some serious repression issues. Plus, we know that the cortical levels rise and fall sporadically, as the brain's regulatory system appears to shut down when serotonin levels become unbalanced. Endorphins raise to dangerous levels. I think it's probably very, very hot."

Sheldon looked down at her. "When did you learn so much about Pon Farr?"

"First of all, I do pay attention when we watch Voyager. Secondly, maybe I," she coughed slightly, "sort of read up on it."

"When?" He shifted slightly and reached over for the pillow from the sofa that had fallen on the floor close to them. He gave it to Amy, who put her head on the edge. She curled toward him and he curled toward her, his head on the opposite edge, their faces very close, his arm around her.

"Awhile ago. I'm a neurobiologist. It's a neurochemical imbalance. It intrigued me."

"Really?"

"Yes. Did you know that there are more episodes dealing with Pon Farr in Voyager than any other series? But Voyager also breaks its own rules, because it's less than seven years between the two times Tuvok goes into Pon Farr. Which isn't necessary, because Voyager also informs us that Vulcans can mate outside of Pon Farr." She frowned.

"What?"

"I will concede that it may start sedate. From what we've seen, we assume that Vulcan sex starts with the Vulcan form of kissing, a form of physical contact to aid in the performance of telepathy, which I take to mean sending affection and possibly erotic thoughts to the other person." She fell silent. She reached down for his hand on her side, and caressed his index finger and middle finger with her first two fingers.

"Like this," she said. Sheldon was looking at her very keenly, even as her hand fondled his. Her glasses were somewhere, and his being this close put him in sharp relief.

Then he lifted his hand and returned the actions of her fingers. "Go on."

He let go of her hand and reached up to play with a tendril of her hair. He looked . . . no, surely not. And was that . . . no, surely not.

"Well, there is a lot we don't know about it. Scientifically speaking, I mean. We know that a Vulcan has to mate within eight days or die. Both men and women experience Pon Farr, but it's never explained if they're on the same cycle. My theory is that when the two mates are telepathically linked as children that their Pon Farr cycles are aligned. The only two options other than sex are the Kal-if-fee and intense meditation, neither of which - whommff."

Sheldon had rolled over with her, and his lips were on her face. "Sheldon? What are you doing?"

"What does it seem like?" And he ground into her, to prove his point. "Go on."

"Right now? So soon?" Where was her charmingly groggy husband?

"It must be blood fever." He ran his hands down her sides and hips. "Either keep talking or I'll have to kiss you."

"Dr. Cooper!" She laughed, she couldn't help it. She did not know if it was just absurd or maybe kinky, but it was it was certainly delicious (she liked the idea of kinky, too). Her laugh was interrupted by his tongue, and she melted into it.

Then he was hers again, tenderly this time, and he whispered in her ear, "It's making love."

AN: Thank you for your patience. My plan, at least for now, is to try to alternate stories, one each week. And thank you in advance for your reviews!