Pop Pop Pop "Amy."

POPPOPOP "Amy."

POPPOP "Amy!"

The door opened, revealing a squinting Amy Farrah Fowler.

"Sheldon, it is nearly midnight. Are you having a problem?" Amy asked, adjusting her robe.

His countenance was grave. "Indeed I am. A problem I'm afraid that you must be party to." He marched past her and sat on what he had recently deemed his side of the couch.

Amy's eyes narrowed as she took a seat beside him. "Sheldon, you can use one of your lighter bran cereals to replace your highest one if your supply has diminished. Their make-up is practically identical. I'm not driving you to Ventura."

Sheldon was silent for a moment. "I think I'm experiencing pon farr," he said suddenly.

Amy blinked. "I am not familiar with that condition."

Sheldon continued, "I figured that perhaps aspects of Vulcan biology would eventually develop in the homo novus, but I was hoping to avoid this particular condition." He looked at her at her for understanding, but her face remained blank.

"It's a blood fever, and if I don't receive treatment soon, I will most likely die."

Amy lifted her hand quickly to his forehead; he flinched. She frowned slightly. "You do not appear to have an elevated temperature."

"Well of course, Amy, it's a blood fever." Sheldon huffed.

Amy let the comment pass and adjusted her glasses. "Since you appear to now be an expert in a biological field that I somehow have no awareness of – what skills do I possess that would contribute to your treatment of pon farr?"

"This is the horribly unfortunate and unsanitary part," Sheldon said, looking down and wringing his hands. Amy looked down as well, feeling her eyes pop open when she glanced at his lap.

"I have three options for vanquishing this…detestable condition," he continued, "I can fight someone to the death, which is frankly impossible without depriving the world of my genius by way of multiple life sentences in prison; I could spend the next few weeks meditating in my office, which is out of the question due to my proximity to a breakthrough in my research, and two weeks directing my admittedly ample mental capacities towards something other than string theory could possibly derail my focus; or I could," he cleared his throat, "take a mate."

Amy was completely silent for a moment. "Hoooo…" she finally let out.

"Oh for Spock's sake - You, Amy! You are who." He interrupted. "Goodness, you're not helping your case that the neurosciences can match the intellectual rigor of the physics disciplines."

Amy ignored his jab, staring at him incredulously. "Am I to understand," Amy began slowly, "that you are enlisting my assistance by proposing that we…mate?

"Well I…" he began in a strong voice, then stopped. "Yes," he muttered in almost petty tone.

"And why has this condition not yet been fulfilled?" she asked, speaking more quickly now, "we are in a relationship with the paperwork to verify."

"But we are not 'mates.' We have a relationship of the mind accented with minimal physical contact, which is the ideal relationship for an evolutionarily advanced creature such as myself. But… it seems that I must accept the horrifying aspects of my homo novus status with its vast benefits," he said with genuine sadness.

Amy did not register his despair, and continued looking at him as if Ricky had asked for a cup of coffee with his cigarette. "How exactly does one become one's mate for purposes of treating pon farr?"

Sheldon clasped his hands together, squeezing them tight. "Oh, the old 'old-fashioned' way, I'm afraid," he began, deliberately not looking at her. When he did, he mistook Amy's shocked expression for confusion.

"Coitus, I believe," he said, a little hoarsely.

Amy's eyes widened. "Sheldon…"

"I know," he said in an anguished tone, dropping his head in his hands. "This is an unmitigated catastrophe," he mumbled.

Amy stared at his drooped head for a moment. "Question," she said, setting her shoulders, "how do you know that what you're experiencing is indeed the blood fever engendered by a pon farr condition and not simply the result of expired Thai curry?"

"The madness, obviously."

"And to what variety of madness do you refer?"

"I've been having ghastly nightmares for weeks. I wake up covered in perspiration, after which I must take a shower in the middle of the night, seriously disrupting my sleep cycle and consequently my digestion the next day. It feels like there are creatures under my subcutaneous layer of skin that are attempting to rip me skin apart at the seams, and most distressingly, I've been—" he paused.

"Yes?" Amy asked a little too quickly.

Sheldon sighed and turned his head to look towards the remotest corner of the room. "I'm sure you've observed the current aberration at the apex of my thighs," he said quietly.

"I, ah-" Amy swallowed, "And this is a...symptom of pon farr?"

"Well, obviously. Vulcans experience it every seven years, though I honestly can't remember a previous occurrence in my own life. Although at one time Spock thought he'd be spared from pon farr completely because of his human blood, and as I am a homo novus, and necessarily human, as well, perhaps it does not manifest as often-"

"I see," Amy interrupted. "Sheldon – may I ask if you've recently imbibed any caffeine?"

"In my condition?" Sheldon asked, scandalized. "Absolutely not! I'm likely to hunt that fool Stuart Bloom down and challenge him to a kal-if-fee."

Amy nodded vaguely and began staring intensely at the outer leg of her coffee table.

"May I also ask," she began again, more carefully this time, "what happens after one in the throes of ponn far takes a mate?"

"You'll remain my mate, of course," he responded offhandedly, looking at the wall. "We'll update the Relationship Agreement accordingly."

Amy sat back against the couch and considered this. "Well," she finally said, lips twitching madly, "this certainly does sound like a serious condition that must be handled swiftly and decisively." She failed to keep the leer out of her voice. Sheldon missed it completely.

"You are correct, Amy."

Amy was rubbing a hand across her mouth, now unable to suppress the physical manifestation of her manic glee. Then suddenly, she frowned. "Sheldon, are you entirely…sure that you are in the suffering from pon farr and that you," she cleared her throat, "desire to terminate your condition by taking me as your mate?"

"Of course – it is the only logical solution. Unfortunately."

Amy nodded absently, all smiles gone, and went back to staring a hole into the coffee table.

He abruptly grabbed her hand, and her head whipped around in surprise. Their faces were inches apart. "Help me, Amy Farrah Fowler." Sheldon gripped their joined hands with his second hand. "You're my only hope."

Amy, eyes wide, simply nodded.

"In that case," Sheldon said, his hand still grasping hers, "in that case, Amy Farrah Fowler, we should initiate the… treatment as soon as possible. Like extracting a band-aid."

"You mean—right now?"

Sheldon's pursed his lips and set his chin.

"Come, Amy," he declared with renewed courage, standing up. "Let us boldly go!" he marched purposely towards the bedroom.

Amy stared after him a moment, then shrugged. "I'll take it." She said to the empty room.