We are brought into a small, slightly cramped tent like home where this man- named, we find, Jamie- and his Sparrow apparently live. It's about a rustic as they come now a days, not much more then basic living quarters, but it's plush, that's the strange thing; pillows and chairs everywhere in that tiny little home. We are invited to make ourselves comfortable. Not a single one of us twitches. Jim is in the lead, standing stiff and vibrating with his hand on the back of a chair- Spock is, as he always is, at the man's right hand shoulder. I'm just slightly behind them, on Jim's other side, and there is something oddly and inherently right about it. As if we were born to be standing where we are.

The man sighs when we make no move to sit down. "Can I at least get you a drink?"

We stare.

"Something to eat, then?"

We stare.

This guy is only digging his grave deeper, and it doesn't take intimate knowledge of Jim to see that on our Captain's face. Jim does not like being made to wait or being jerked around. None of us like the latter, honestly, but-

"What we want is to be told what's going on here. Now."

-But Jim is the worst at dealing with the former. Again, I'm not really arguing it. I was just forced to hold my ground and listen to someone cry out in torment. That's not something I'm very good at, and there'd better be a damn good reason why.

Jamie sighs, running a hand through his black, shaggy hair. Something else I picked up when I was examining him, however briefly; not only was he not sick, he was very healthy. Very healthy. The worst I had picked up on were old wounds; minor things, long healed and only leaving scars. But even looking at him you could see it; I had the sneaking suspicion I would find everyone with those eyes to be the same.

I wonder how many I'll find to be utterly mad.

He turns at last, extending his hands in the well-known gesture of helplessness. "When we came here a year ago, it seemed- perfect. Normal, even." He says slowly, haltingly. "Perfect for growing crops, raising livestock, peaceful and safe. Nothing out of the ordinary started happening until we'd gotten settled in and started making a life here. That's when the-the dreams started."

"Dreams?" Spock, his eyebrow thoroughly up. Any higher and it's going to vanish into his hairline. At least he hasn't said-

"Fascinating."

-never mind. I roll my eyes skyward and groan softly. Jim slants me a look that reads behave, and I send him an innocent glance back. I hadn't said a word.

"And these….dreams….they can't be what caused that woman to scream like that."

Jamie is shaking his head. "No. They start off just as nightmares. Not even bad ones, really; cold sweats, insomnia, but nothing worse then the monster-under-your-bed variety bad dreams we all had as kids. Except the nightmares didn't feature the boogeyman. Not the way you think of it, anyway."

"Boogeyman?" Spock's voice, quiet confusion. Low, addressing me, not Jim, to avoid interrupting more then he needs to. I raise my own eyebrow now; I'd be surprised if the Vulcans had any equivalent.

"Old earth story used to scare children." I say, just as quietly. "Or a generalized word for any 'scary monster' without a specific name." I don't mind explaining when he's genuinely confused. There are far less turns of phrase that he's unfamiliar with then he pretends; faking a misunderstanding is his rather passive-aggressive way of irritating the hell out of people, no matter how much he denies it. But sometimes he honestly has never heard or doesn't get one of our colloquialisms. It's easy to forget our language is not his first language, human mother or no.

"So what kind of dreams?" Jim is asking, and we turn our full attention back.

"Dreams of….of the past." Jamie shakes his head once more, not in denial but in the way of a man searching for words. "Of things that had happened, but hadn't happened. Things were changed in those dreams. People were….different…." He trails off, memory in his face, and he's started to pace. "Once someone has the dreams long enough, they either pass or fail the test."

"So that's it, just a bunch of dreams?" I demand, but Jamie makes a low, frustrated noise.

"It's a test, don't you see?"

"And if you fail, what?" Jim demands. "You're killed, or go mad?"

"No! It's not malevolent at all!" Jamie lifts his hands, pleading.

"What is it, exactly?" I ask at last. Seems like I'm the only one with the common sense to flat out ask that. Jim and Spock both half-turn to look at me, and I look back flatly.

"We do not know what it is." Jamie says softly, hands twining around each other, nervous, fidgeting. "It seems to be….the planet itself."

I would say impossible here, but the number of times I have thought or said that and been proven dismally wrong are beginning to add up.

"The planet is giving you bad dreams." Jim drawls, and I recognize the combination of amusement and concern on his face.

"Not with the intent to harm." Jamie goes on, sitting in a chair at last. "If you pass the test, you're given the choice for-" He motions at his face, and there's a nearly audible click as pieces start at last falling into place. "We don't get sick, Captain. Injuries heal amazingly quickly. We need to eat less, drink less. As your medical officer will be able to tell you-" He points at me, "or would if he examined us further, our senses and reflexes are much higher."

"I would like to examine them further, Captain." I say quietly, and Jim slants me a look that says he's completely not sure that's a good idea.

"And what if you fail this test, I asked you." He demands.

"Nothing." Jamie shrugs.

"Nothing does not cause a woman to scream hysterically." Spock points out, logically.

"Some people can not accept the images they see, the choices they made." Jamie says, and I look, hard, for any trace of sorrow, any pain that his wife was moments ago screaming, his wife might have lost her mind. Too often we've seen people trapped in situations like this, hiding even their fear and pain because they don't want to anger whatever they see as the all knowing power. I see it, though, loud and clear. I don't know if that actually makes me feel better.

There is deep sorrow in his eyes.

"But," He goes on, after a moment, "it does not harm you if you fail. You just continue your life as usual, no more dreams, aging as you always would. The only punishment is the one you give yourself."

"And there's no choice?" I ask.

"No. You take the test when you sleep here, like it or not. You pass or fail. Once the test is over, you go about your life, one way…." He motions at himself, "or the other, as I fear Sparrow has."

"Speaking of her, where is Sparrow?" I ask, pushing myself to my feet. "Perhaps there's something I can do for her."

Jamie's gaze snaps to me, dull hope behind his eyes. "I doubt you can, Doctor." He says. "But if there is a chance…..I must take it."

My stomach twists, achingly. I hate this part. Hate it. Second only to death, this is the worst part of my job. When I can't help. When I have to watch people suffer or die and I can't help. The shrinking suspicion that I will find the woman and not be able to do anything but keep her quiet tears at me, and Jim sees it in my eyes when he turns to look.

"Go ahead." He says softly, his expression concerned. "But I want to talk to both of you privately when you're done seeing to the girl."

"Follow me." Jamie says to me, and Spock and Jim follow us outside of the home. Jim catches my arm as I pass, his grip hard as steel with the tension in his body. "Quickly." Is all he growls, low near my ear. He doesn't like this any more then I do.

I nod, and he lets go; Spock meets my eyes, and I wish- damn it to hell, I wish I could read him the way Jim seems to be able to. There is something in his gaze that makes me nervous, something I can't place, at the back of my mind. He seems as placid and unflappable as ever, falling into step smoothly behind Jim as the man begins to walk away; but his eyes take too long to slide away from mine.

I feel like I'm trying to figure out what the hell Lassie is trying to tell me. Timmy fall down the well, boy? If he could just for once in his damn life let me, let us know what he's thinking, really thinking under all that logic and repression, my life would be a whole hell of a lot easier.

Well. Maybe.

The place he takes me to is a smaller, sparser version of his own home…..and she's not the only person there. There are beds extending along either wall, and almost every single one has a hysterically weeping person, or someone laying quietly staring into space, or rocking gently, or in a deep, depressed sleep.

This is not the kind of doctor I am. I'm not particularly good at this. I bite my lip, thinking of the Enterprise; there are several people who aren't me up there who are trained in psychiatric affairs; it wouldn't take longer then a minute or ten to get them down here. But I don't want to risk it; half the time we get involved in something like this it turns out to be bigger then we ever imagined.

"All these people….they all failed?" I whisper. Forget 'not being able to handle it', forget 'not malevolent'. I can understand certain people having things in their pasts that are enough to drive them mad when twisted, manipulated…..but this many? I'm looking at easily twenty, and that's just this building.

There's more, all in a pretty-as-you-please row beside this one.

Jamie nods. "The tests are not easy ones." He says. "This way." He leads me down the rows, to a bed near the back.

"Jamie-" I start, then pause, because he's sitting down and lifting the hand of a girl who must have been stunning once. Her hair is almost platinum blonde, falling in thick, long curls past the edge of the blanket. Her skin is dark, caramel toned, and her eyes are green, dark and rich with her pale hair.

Her eyes are green. And do not see me at all.

"Sparrow." Jamie says softly, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand. "Sparrow, love, can you hear me?"

She doesn't even turn, just stares at something neither of us can- and probably don't want to- see. I approach slowly, cautiously; too fast and I might startle her. "Hello, Sparrow." I say gently, keeping my voice low and soothing. "I'm Doctor McCoy." I take another slow step forward, and it's only long experience that lets me see her tense subtly.

She's aware of me, and I scare her. I back off a step, try again. "Jamie, do you know what 'test' she may have gone through?" I ask, though I already have a disturbing idea.

"That is the strange part, Doctor. As far as I know, there is nothing in her past that should have….have hurt her so badly."

Aw, damn it.

"But you said the past is sometimes warped, in these tests." I say, pushing gently, knowing he's going to make me say it even though I don't want to. I'm not the type to beat around the bush or skirt facts, particularly not if someone's life is in the balance.

But this is different.

"Well, yes, but-"

"Did any-" I stop, grit my teeth, just say it, Bones in Jim's voice in my head. "Did she ever- when she was a kid-"

He is staring at me in horror. "Are you suggesting she was raped?"

"I'm asking you if you know if anyone did anything inappropriate to her as a child." Snap. I turn off the discomfort, the fear and confusion and disgust just like a light bulb. Turn it off and push it to the back of my mind, where it will have to live until I'm ready to face it again. I reach for my tricorder and my medical bag, bringing both around in front with me. I'll probably have to hypo her; she's probably going to start screaming again the minute I get in range.

"I don't-"

Of course you don't. You wouldn't ask, because people don't ask each other those things. Funny, how she didn't tell you. You'd think she would.

I don't say these things out loud. I grit my teeth and lock them in my throat. I'm just frustrated and worried, and about to pull a Jim and lash out at anyone close enough. "She's going to scream." I say, and step forward again.

'Scream' does not begin to cover it. She lunges at me, rakes me across one cheek with her nails. I fall back a step with a yelp and cup the wound. Jamie grabs her- "Sparrow, love no!" And I dive in with the hypo after a moment more to recover. He's holding her back by her shoulders, and she twists and writhes like a wildcat under his hold, screeching. Tears are in his eyes, at seeing her like this; he's babbling, a soft stream of nonsense to try and get her to calm down. It doesn't work even half so well as the hypo injected into her arm.

She goes limp and still in his arms, and he cradles her to his chest, weeping openly. Uncomfortable, I back away again, placing a hand on his back.

"Jamie, I'm sorry." I say softly, and I mean it. They'd come here expecting happiness and a chance at forging a new life; instead, they'd encountered a force no one could explain away and now his wife was mad. Driven crazy by demons from her past she hadn't ever even told him she had.

It makes sense, really; if she couldn't face them to tell him out loud, how could she be expected to stand up to them when they were shown to her?

Then I have a thought.

"Jamie, if this test is run by dreams," I ask, "why was she awake and outside the colony?"

"She wasn't awake, Doctor." Jamie's red rimmed, exhausted eyes turn to me. "And that's where they go all, in the last. It brings them there, to determine if they pass or fail."

Talk about sleepwalking; I run the tricorder along her unconscious form, grimacing as readings come back that confirm what I thought; she'd been raped, though some time ago. Otherwise, she's in far worse condition then her husband, but perfectly normal human condition.

Aside from the fact that she is now irreparably, irreversibly broken.

I put away my tricorder, lowering my head and putting my hand in it. "There's nothing I can do for her, not when she won't even let me near her." I say. "Let me talk to our Captain. Maybe one of our female crewmembers can-"

My hip starts to beep.

I pull away, grabbing for the communicator; Jamie lays her back gently on her cot, and I watch him stroke her hair, murmuring to her and placing his forehead against hers. I wonder if she'll ever let him touch her like that again awake. I wonder if she'll even know who he is.

Beep, beep. Incessant, demanding, like Jim himself.

"Captain?"

"Bones, get out here." Clipped, harsh words, his voice strained and tight and something's not right, very not right.

"Captain-Jim, what happened?"

"I will tell you when you get out here." He's about an octave from a yell, voice a hard bark. I know Jim more then well enough to tell he's scared. Something has happened to frighten him, and he's reacting with anger, he always does. You can't take Jim to heart when he's like this; he lashes out wildly like a wounded animal and draws blood whenever he can, but is usually apologetic the minute the emotion passes.

"Alright. Alright, I'm coming. Can you be bothered to tell me where you are, or do I have to track you with this thing?" You want to get snarly, Jim, we can get snarly. Just because I understand why he's doing it doesn't mean I'm going to let him bite without biting in turn. Handling Jim is like handling a temperamental animal; you have to balance respect and gentle handling with sternness and flexibility.

"You'll see us when you come out." And he cuts the connection. I growl with frustration, pushing my way out the door. I do see them right away; Jim and Spock, arguing fiercely- well, Jim is, anyway- with a group of men and women; four of each, two obvious couples and two seemingly unrelated. Spock looks up to see me, and bends gently to speak near Jim's ear. He has to say his name twice, from the looks of it, but he at last looks up, too.

And the look in his eye makes something in me clench painfully. I almost never see that look, that dark, lost expression, the expression that tells me he's going down dark places he's created for himself. My anger is gone in the moment I see him reaching out for me- for anything- with his eyes alone. He's got an incredibly expressive face, expressive eyes- so readable, unless he's trying not to be. I'm one of the few people who he has ever trusted enough to allow to see that look.

"Jim?" I ask, stepping forward again. "What happened?"

He shoves past the crowd, Spock right behind, and takes two steps forward.

"She's gone." He whispers. "She's just gone, Bones, and all four hundred of them with her."