The doctor in him had to admit that he'd been growing worried. For weeks, he had found himself holed up in Sickbay, hour after hour, preferring readings and patient files to the possibility of encountering Spock in the corridor. He'd assured himself that he'd get over it, and in the meantime, it would only make him more efficient. The nightmares had seemed manageable enough at first, but then, he'd been expecting them to decrease, rather than increase, in frequency.

Even the first attacks hadn't overly worried him. After all, someone had… interfered with his central nervous system. There was no surprise in some minor blackouts as things returned to normal; if anything, they only strengthened his resolve to remain in Sickbay and keep the others from finding out. They'd only worry. In any case, they only lasted from half a second to three. Most of the time, he didn't even trip.

It was only when things started to worsen, rather than improve, that alarm bells started going off. The obvious conclusion was that whatever was wrong with him was continuing to go wrong. 'Like an infection,' he thought more than once. 'It'll just keep rotting away at your head until you figure out how to treat it.' Soon, the nightmares were no longer gasps at three in the morning, but fear of sleep at two. The blackouts turned into seizures, which in turn lengthened from a couple of seconds of blinding white and confusion to minutes curled up in his office, willing the world to still long enough to go over his skull with a tricorder. But for some reason he couldn't quite define, the more his condition deteriorated, the more determined he became to keep it a secret.

It was almost a relief when they found out anyway. It didn't particularly matter how: perhaps one of them had noticed his newfound reluctance to force Spock into a bed after every violent mission; perhaps the dark bags under his eyes had prompted them to check his recorded sleep cycles. Perhaps he had simply grown careless, confident that between the distractions of their respective duties and the assumption that he could keep an eye on himself, any change in his behavior would be quickly dismissed. The point was that the secrecy hadn't lasted; as soon as they noticed one thing, they dragged all of his recognizable symptoms out of M'Benga and the ship's computer. They knew something was wrong, and they weren't going to leave him alone until he gave them a reasonable explanation.

"But that wouldn't explain it. I've seen Spock – our Spock, I mean – do it all the time, and he never – "

"Captain." His First's voice was a cool monotone, and his expression didn't waver from its characteristic blankness. "There is a high probability that Dr. McCoy is correct. Such symptoms are common following involuntary melding, particularly in non-telepathic races."

'"Involuntary melding." Cute term.' "I'm a doctor, alright? I've been keeping an eye out, and I know when something's going on."

"Then why didn't you just tell us?" It was a valid question, but a surge of irritation stopped the rational response on his tongue. Instead, he leveled a glare at the captain.

"'Cause it was none of your business. What would you have done about it, anyhow? It's not like we… could…" He trailed off, staring at the suspiciously thoughtful cast to Spock's features. "There is something, isn't there?"

"Yes, there is."

'Of course. McCoy, you idiot.' He felt a sudden and overwhelming urge to smack himself in the forehead. 'Don't do anything stupid. The last thing we need right now is another "illogical humans" lecture from the master of tact.' He took a deep breath.

"I should've asked," he volunteered aloud, voice level.

"… Yes," Spock replied, his word's trace of hesitation mirrored in his expression. "However, such an oversight is understandable."

The word 'oversight' didn't quite seem to cover it, but he decided to let it drop. He waited, almost politely, as Spock stared placidly at him, seemingly unaware that he'd just mentioned a cure. Astonishingly, McCoy wasn't the first to lose patience.

"Well, Spock?"

"Captain?" he replied mildly.

"What do we do to fix – er, help – him?" He kept his eyes trained on Spock as his face reddened.

"We do nothing, Captain. Unfortunately, recovery from forced mind melds is a difficult and complex process, even in telepathic species. I am not qualified to assist in such a process."

"Then who the hell is, you green-blo – who?" It was only through what was, in his opinion, an admirable degree of self-control that McCoy was able to keep his final word to a low hiss.

"I believe that the necessary techniques are required of all Vulcan healers, although given your lack of mental and meditative training, it would be best to seek out a specialist."

"Alright. So all we have to do is contact the nearest Vulcan outpost that can send someone here."

"That is a reasonable plan, Captain. Shall I make the arrangements?"

"Yes. And you," he added, turning to McCoy with a smirk, "should stay in Sickbay or your quarters. After all, you can't go gallivanting about when you – "

"Yeah, Jim. I get it." He rolled his eyes, but he couldn't resist an appreciative smile. In truth, it was worth the mockery to know that there was a plan to do something about the problem. He rubbed his eyes. "I'm a bit tired anyway. Maybe I'll get something from M'Benga to sleep."

"Sensible," nodded Spock. "Perhaps either the captain or myself should escort you. Your recent 'spells' have the potential to become hazardous."

"Fine. Just you, though. Jim should be back on the bridge."

Five minutes later, they were side by side in the turbolift, and for the first time since they'd begun to speak, Spock's expression betrayed something beyond professionalism and relevant curiosity.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

"Doctor?"

"Old Earth expression. I meant, did you want to say something?"

"… Indeed. Your decision to not approach Captain Kirk and myself is somewhat… perplexing. I would appreciate any insight you could give me into your decision."

He stared at the half-Vulcan for what felt like minutes, although it was most likely only seconds. 'What's he mean by that? Probably just weird curiosity about us illogical humans.'

"Dunno," he said aloud. "I haven't given it much thought."

Spock said nothing more, and they made the rest of the trip in silence.