"There you go," McCoy said as he finished repairing Commander Giotto's broken leg. "You should be good to go if you stay off it for the next couple days."

He cringed as he said the words with put-on cheer. Even after three months of practice, it still sounded fake.

"Thanks Dr. McCoy," the chief of security said with a smile. He had his hands balled into fists on his lap. It was not from pain, but rather an effort not to pet the German Shepard daemon at his side. McCoy recognized the gesture because he had seen it frequently as of late when his human friends tried to ignore their daemons in his presence. The doctor looked to the floor and glanced at the empty space beside him. He could never get used to it, and prayed he never would.

The doctor stepped out of the way to let his patient through. Giotto walked steadily on the healed leg, but nearly stumbled when he put too much weight on it too soon. McCoy reached out to catch him, but Giotto instinctively flinched away from the touch. This was not the first time such a thing had happened, but it still hurt.

Giotto looked apologetically at McCoy, but said nothing. What could he say? He simply nodded and carefully limped out. The doctor did not feel anger at him, but he did want to growl about how nonsensical it was to act in such a way. He knew the desire to rant was merely an habit from a former life, and if he were to do it now, it would have no purpose. Still, the truth remained. It wasn't like he had a disease. He was just...alone.

McCoy was glad the security chief was his last patient from the recent botched landing party, and therefore his last patient of the day. He knew the pangs of loneliness were the first signs. Soon the reality around him would begin to waver, and then his ability to make decisions and access his intellect would suffer.

"Chris!" McCoy called to the nurse, who was wrapping up her own work in the lab. "Call Spock."

The doctor did not wait for a response before he staggered to his office and dropped into his chair. Reminiscence was not normally part of his regular deterioration back into madness, but he found himself starting to think back to the last few months, and how his life had gotten to this point.

The first day he had come to awareness after his 'intercission,' he wondered how it had been possible to feel somewhat normal without a soul. All he knew was that his mind had the fingerprints of Spock all over it. Seeing the Vulcan sitting by his bed confirmed his suspicions. That day, he needed several more melds, but as the days and weeks went on, he needed fewer and fewer until eventually one in the morning was enough to get him through the day.

During the entire process, all he wanted was to tell Spock to stop and let nature take its course, especially since the Vulcan was looking more and more drained with every meld. However, the 'wounded puppy' looks of his two friends were enough to make him hold his tongue. They kept him from saying what he really thought: if they knew what it was like to have their daemons taken from them, they would know keeping him coherent was a bad idea.

As the days wore on, McCoy became accustomed to this new life. He even managed to convince Admiral Komack he was competent enough to act as CMO again. If he were honest with himself, he only agreed to it so he could do something rather than sit around and think about Leauna being gone. It was not an ideal situation. The stares he endured from the crew were bad enough as it was. Having to deal with them as patients would only be worse.

The only small relief he found was through Kirk and Spock. Sure, they did not treat him as they had before, but they still treated him more human than others did. When he interacted with Spock, it was as if their occasional melds did not exist, and they merely were friends, sniping at each other when the opportunity arose - though the comments on their varying emotional states were now nonexistent. Kirk was no different. His friend had taken him on shore leave shortly after the incident and he had some fun. It felt almost like old times, with the exception of having Spock inject him with mental energy every night. However, Aesina did not speak to him, nor has she since. He could not tell them about the fears he had as he continued his medical work in Sickbay, and the buildup of tension had been straining his attempts to act normal.

McCoy knew the reasons he had become a doctor. He had what his father called 'the heart of a healer.' Although he initially called bullshit, he soon discovered what that meant. He loved healing people. He loved comforting people. The feeling of doing the Lord's work sustained him through the failures which came with a career in medicine, and led him to constantly conclude his choice of profession had been worth it.

In the past few months, the good feeling was gone. More and more, his patients felt like a burden. The strong desire to alleviate suffering was replaced by wanting as few people in the sick bay as possible. The lift in his spirits when a patient was no longer in pain was replaced by an envy of the people who still had their daemons.

He knew the crew noticed his change in attitude, but as far as he knew, no one had complained about it. This would not last long, though. People who he once considered friends now looked at him like an enigma, and soon would have no qualms about turning him in should he make a mistake. His futile attempts to appear normal only seemed to make his condition more conspicuous. If his impressions were to be trusted, his condition was perceived as a communicable disease. He was becoming a leper in what had once been his home. Even the friendships with Kirk and Spock could not relieve that.

The doctor knew he could not go on like this. There would soon come a day when Starfleet would get wind he was not fully competent and give his post to someone else. He would go to a facility where Spock could not get to him and he would be forced to live his remaining days in the shell of loneliness the surviving Cerebus II settlers had been living. He had already got word five of them had died, and he did not expect the statistics to remain there. From what he gathered, the little girl with the flowers in her hair was not one of them, although her parents were. His focus on her was not helping matters. He somehow saw little Annalise as a symbol. If she could get her daemon back, all was right with the world. It would be like healing the severed girl in Appalachia - who likely was now in her forties with a belittling husband to add to her misery.

Such reunions appeared remote, though. They had shared the knowledge of Spock's procedures with Starfleet medics, but no telepath or healer would try similar melds with the other severed people. Despite Spock appearing unscathed, fear for one's own katra outweighed compassion. It only reinforced McCoy's view of how brave Spock was, and how much he cared.

McCoy jumped when the Vulcan finally entered. He was beginning to feel his vision distort around him, and had already put his face in his hands to stave off the tsunami. Without a word, Spock walked straight over to him and immediately moved the doctor's hands out of the way before initiating the meld. The familiar desert came upon them, followed by McCoy being led to Spock's river, where he drank until he had his fill. Then the connection was broken just as quickly as it had begun, and the doctor was once again coherent.

McCoy leaned back, and sighed in relief the darkness had been kept at bay for a little longer. No matter how much he wished Spock would just back off and let him go, there was no denying the relief when he was back from the brink.

"I apologize for taking so long, Doctor," Spock said, now standing straight with his hands clasped behind his back. "I had to finish some extra tasks on the bridge before I went off duty. I also compiled my findings on Lady Amara which might help us understand her intentions. I have just told the captain to meet me in my quarters to review them. Are you able to join?"

/It's about time you finished your damn research/ McCoy thought, although he knew it was not fair. He looked to the daemon on the Vulcan's shoulder and could have sworn he saw T'Ra flinch, as if McCoy's words had been audible. T'Ra was only an empath, and Spock could only enter minds by touch, so there was no way that could be the case, unless...

"If you are busy, we can examine it another time, Doctor," Spock said a little too quickly.

"Oh...no," McCoy replied. "I can go, but is there a reason you're not going to Starfleet with this first?"

"You and Jim deserve to know this information before anybody else. You are the one affected the most, while Jim has been putting the most effort in finding Lady Amara's ship."

McCoy lifted his eyebrow in acknowledgment that it made sense, although it was not the most logical course of action with their manhunt. In a former life, he would have commented on Spock making this decision for a more emotional reason, but by now he was getting used to his friend forgoing logic when it came to himself and Jim. He was as computerized as ever on the bridge, but if the doctor could bring himself to care, he would be thankful for what the Vulcan had been giving him in the past months.

The twinge of hope was illumined as he followed the Vulcan to meet Kirk. Every time they had a lead on where the silver ship had gone, it came back, not matter how many times they turned up empty. McCoy had a morbid fascination with how the only feelings he was able to have lately only served to enhance his suffering.

They arrived at the dark and warm suite with Kirk already waiting for them. Aesina was bouncing on his lap, her tail swinging back and forth like a pendulum. It betrayed Kirk's demeanor, which appeared weary.

"How're you feeling, Bones?" The captain asked his friend.

"Fine. Your landing party is all healed up, so you can get over the guilt of not going on one damned away mission."

"Gentlemen," Spock said, clearly eager to share his findings. He seated himself at the computer and placed the disk in its proper place. Immediately, a clear photograph came up of a younger Lady Amara. Around the picture were words written in the Xarth language. The universal translator had not yet incorporated Xarth writing, but the format clearly showed the men it was a wanted poster. McCoy tensed as he saw the face again, remembering her grimy yellow finger's on Leauna's head.

"As you know," Spock began. "The telepathy of Lady Amara was something which caused great consternation among Starfleet investigators. Xarth citizens were thought to be psi-null, and for the most part they are. This caused us to not look toward Xarth too deeply. However, I began to read more about Xarth culture, I determined they are quite dismissive of certain citizens. It can be compared to Earth India's caste system. The difference is that these citizens are not born into their state, but rather pushed into it. The reasons why range from criminal acts to aggressive personalities. In Amara's case, her powers made others fearful of her, and she was cast out to live alone at the age of two, which is the equivalent of age seven in Terran years.

"These citizens are relegated to life outside the cities where they are made to work menial and dangerous jobs. In severe cases, such as Amara's, they are forced to live alone as hermits. There is not official Xarth name since these people do not officially exist, so I would say calling them untouchables is appropriate.

"As you can imagine, the Xarth do not want their treatment of this element widely known, which is why there will be no record of them in their data banks. I only found out about them through alternative holo papers which make a point of exposing the less favorable elements of various planets.

"As I said, among these untouchables are criminals, so unlike other planets in the explored section of the galaxy, they are reluctant to release their information on interstellar fugitives. Since Xarth is not yet a member of the Federation, their lists of wanted fugitives are not known to us. Despite this, I did contact Sarek and he obtained this record of our Lady Amara. Later in her life she committed crimes to earn her an interstellar fugitive status."

"So she is Xarth," Kirk asked, his eyes occasionally glancing toward McCoy. "That would make sense. The only reason they want to join the Federation is because the are running out of natural resources to produce energy. Amara must think discovering a new energy source will help get her face off that poster."

"She very well may desire that Captain, but such an outcome appears unlikely. She might have done so had she not committed an unforgivable crime."

"Hold it a minute," McCoy chimed in. "Why the hell does she have to use people as an energy source? There has to be an easier way."

"Unfortunately for you, Doctor, this woman is not entirely sane, likely due to her forced isolation."

"Dammit, Spock, don't try to make me feel sorry for her."

"No one is asking that," Kirk said. "What I am more interested in is where these powers come from. That might give us a clue of how to get past them."

"From what I gathered," Spock replied. "It appears her powers are simply a product of chance. While rare, there are random genetic mutations which can cause strong telepaths be born out of psi-null races. Amara was one of these. She was the daughter of a scientist who was attempting to improve Xarth's interstellar capabilities. He is the creator of the silver craft, although it was only listed as being used for personal purposes. Some exposure to radioactive energy sources might have been to blame, but there is no way of knowing."

"So just the standard telepath procedures, I guess," McCoy said, staring at his nails. He was no longer trying to hide his melancholy. This report was turning out to be like every other tip and information source they had obtained in the past few months. It promised some way of finding his soul, but amounted to nothing. Spock was clearly doing his best to gather all the information he could, but the doctor could not help but think it futile.

"What did she do that was so unforgivable, Spock?" Kirk asked.

"She had grown up as an untouchable, which could likely explain her desire for a companion. Relations among untouchables - sexual or Platonic - are forbidden. She honed her powers in secret for years. She soon became so powerful, she was able to control large groups of minds at once.

Although strong, she had limits. Amara could only control those whose minds were already compromised. In this case, she used a coma ward at one of the Xarth hospitals as a secondary source of her army. The primary source were a large group of untouchables who chose to join her side. Her advance almost took over the government. The only reason she did not succeed was because Xarth managed to craft a drug which lessened mental faculties, and administered it in the form of a dart. It caused her to lose concentration, therefore she was able to be captured and she lost control of a vast majority of the rebels. Without the support of their leader, the sentient soldiers either fled or were captured.

"After she spent several months in custody, she gathered enough of her faculties to gain back control of five followers to set her free. She then commandeered one of her father's ships, and disappeared. No one has had a confirmed sighting of her until the incident at Cerebus II."

"At least by Federation people," Kirk said. "She must have had some contact with Romulans or Klingons, judging by the cloaking device."

"How she obtained one a mystery," Spock continued. "However, this is irrelevant, because in order to continue hiding in her ship, Amara must obtain energy. Based on the plans I found, there is only one method of fueling the engines, which is a mineral found only on Xarth they call, appropriately enough, Xarthonium. However, the mineral is nearly gone because of over mining. The only other way to divert power to the engines is to transmit energy of the purest form. Electricity would be one way, but there is little lightning on Xarth, so there would have been no understanding as to how electricity is collected."

"There are no daemons on Xarth, either," McCoy said.

"As I have said, Doctor, I cannot thoroughly explain Lady Amara's thought processes, particularly since she is not in her right mind. I can only speculate. Sources from Xarth do confirm she was obsessed with saving her planet, which is likely why she attempted to seize power. She sees her acts as admirable, and once she is focused on a solution, she is unlikely to stray from it, despite evidence presented to her. There is also a general association between the Federation and humans. The connection might make this method of energy collection an attractive option.

"Based on the amount of energy she obtained from the planet, she will need to obtain more in approximately two months, eleven days, two hours, and forty-six minutes. Any time between then and now, she should be seeking large concentrations of humans."

"Which means they should become visible," Kirk said, with some lift in his voice.

"Exactly, Captain."

Kirk rose to his feet swiftly and popped the disk out of the computer. "Is all the information you shared with us on here?"

Spock nodded.

"Then I'll send it to Starfleet immediately so all human colonies and Starbases can be on the alert. We will grab them before they have a chance to do this to anyone else, and we should get your daemon back, Bones."

Kirk turned to McCoy and gave him his trademark grin. The doctor did his best to mirror the captain's enthusiasm by smiling. He still did not know how he would feel when - or if - he saw his daemon again. There was no way to put them back together, so what good would having her back serve? The only thing which gave him consolation was that her kidnappers could be brought to justice. Anticipation welled up when he thought of doing unspeakable things to the yellow bitch who stole his girl and tried to kill his friends. The chance to do so almost made life worth living.

He could see it now, having that thin neck under his throat. The psychic powers trying to paralyze him in vain. Watching the smugness squeeze out of her as she gasped for breath.

In his reverie, his eyes drifted to T'Ra, who was now looking at him with fear. Did she know what he was thinking? Why did the idea bother him so much?

McCoy chided himself for his stupidity. He knew why. He never would have had such violent thoughts before he lost Leauna. This was not the first time inhuman ideas came to him, but he had never let them fester and grow before. Under the teresh'ka's scrutiny, he was reminded of the continued humanity of his friends, and that he used to share their compassion and respect for life. What was he turning into? He saw no point to it now, except that a holy man 2200 years ago said to. He remembered taking those words to heart, and treasuring others above himself, like Spock and Jim were now doing with him.

His friends were selfless to a fault. Even as he took and took, they still gave. Spock gave in mental energy, and Kirk gave his shoulder and his time. He remembered being Kirk's confidante, but now all he did was participate in meaningless activities. Sure, it helped him be less lonely, but what did it do for his friend? Spock was even worse. What had McCoy given back to him? Could he give back anything? How long would they go on like this?

"Bones?" Kirk asked his friend, starting to notice his distress. "We'll find her, and we'll get you back together. We'll find a way."

"You sound so sure of yourself, Jim," McCoy said, now looking at the floor. "It's not so easy to be optimistic when you've been sliced in two."

"I know," Kirk said while reaching out a hand to touch his shoulder. Aesina climbed halfway down his arm to give support, although she still remained at a distance. Daemons never touched other bodies as a rule except in extremely intimate situations, so the doctor did not expect the monkey to come closer. Still, even the offer from Jim was too much. McCoy moved away to reject the touch, tired of all the compassion he was not able to return.

"What is troubling you, Doctor?" Spock asked. Now he was wearing the same expression as T'Ra. McCoy felt a clench in his heart. He could not answer. He could not burden this man any more. He could not burden either of them anymore.

"Thanks for the info, Spock, but I just want to be alone right now."

Without a look back, McCoy left Kirk's quarters and made his way to his own, looking at the floor so he could not see the pitied looks of his peers.

Kirk rubbed his face, hoping to get some of the fatigue out of his eyes. These past few months had been rough on the young captain. Their mission had continued as it always had, but without the solid object of his best friend standing by his side. He was finally starting to distinguish the roles Spock and Bones played in his life. Both fulfilled his needs in different ways, but were equally important. Now one half of that was gone, and was suffering before his eyes.

"He looks bad," Kirk said to Aesina once they made it to their cabin. Spock had quickly asked him to leave after McCoy had left. He had desperately wanted to have a long overdue follow-up with Spock on how his feelings for McCoy were progressing. The only talk which was more overdue was a serious talk with Bones.

"He's getting worse," Aesina replied. "You'd think with needing less melds, he'd be getting better."

"He's 'adjusting,'" Kirk said with the accompanying fingers. "He's getting used to not having Leauna. His body is settling into its new life."

"And that life sucks."

"Bingo."

The pair collapsed onto the bed, and Aesina crawled to Kirk's chest and curled into a ball. Kirk stroked her tenderly.

"I don't know what I would do if I lost you." Kirk whispered.

Aesina put a small paw on his wrist. "I'm not going anywhere, Jim."

"That's what Leauna said."

Kirk's voice broke a bit as he said her name. It felt like a betrayal, saying the name of the creature he had failed so miserably.

"Stop blaming yourself," Aesina said. "It will do no good."

"We should have found something by now. There should have been some kind of sign of those...monsters."

"Spock's report will help us find them."

"And meanwhile, Bones dies a little bit more inside. Every day he looks more physically healthy, but mentally he's slipping away."

"Is it the result of not having a daemon, or Bones just...giving up?"

Kirk closed his eyes. "I don't know. I wish I did. I'm afraid to ask. He seems to be withdrawing - spending more time alone."

Kirk did not like to think about how lonely it would be without a daemon after having one since infancy. Every time he saw McCoy enter his cabin as if it were a gas chamber, he was reminded of the desolation which must be in the man's heart. He had offered many times for them to possibly share a cabin, but he had always refused.

"We promised ourselves we would not dwell on this. It will not help anybody," Aesina said with a sad voice. "We have to think of this like any other mission."

"It's not. It's Bones."

"It shouldn't matter. We are the captain of this ship. The best thing we can do for Bones is to do our jobs so this doesn't happen to anybody else."

Kirk nodded. He knew his daemon was right. He had been doing his job, but he knew he was spending what would have been leisure time looking up leads and sifting through visitor logs on every colony and Starbase to find any sign.

"And don't forget Spock. Who knows what those melds are doing to him?"

Of course. His other best friend was changing as well. The Vulcan had been slipping in his emotional controls much more often. True, he had lightened up quite a bit since he had first came to the Enterprise, but the past few months seemed to be drawing him closer to McCoy's personality. He was raising his voice more often and acting impulsively. He was fiercely logical as always, but his efficiency and brain power seemed to have diminished. He was not to the point of being useless, but his lapses were clearly embarrassing him and disturbing the crew.

"I'm not sure what else to do. The melds are the only thing keeping Bones together."

Aesina started to play with a wrinkle in Kirk's tunic while her parent continued to stare at the ceiling. His body sunk into the bed as his being was consumed by thoughts and feelings about his two friends. They could not continue as they were. The gaping wound could not be sustained by a band-aid. Real healing must take place. However, James Kirk - the man with the plans and miraculous rescues - was coming up empty.

After finishing his last bottle of Jack Daniels, McCoy still could not find rest. No amount of drinking could make him forget. The all consuming loneliness from his severed state may not have been present, but the normal everyday loneliness certainly was. Every night, he dreaded returning to his room, where he would hear nothing but the sound of his own breath. It never got easier. In the past week, all he wanted to do was go to one of his friends' rooms and ask to sleep on the floor. He never did it, though, thinking it would show how not okay he was.

The friend he most wanted to go to was Spock, although he was unsure why. The warmth of this cabin sounded very appealing right now. His cabin felt cold and empty, and whenever he turned off the lights, he saw visions of an oppressive purple guillotine over his head.

As the light continued to keep him awake, he thought about what it would be like when he finally lost everything he treasured about himself. If these psychopathic tendencies were to be nursed, then he could possibly lose the relationships he treasured so much. What next? Would he enjoy watching other people suffer? Would he enjoy the company of others at all?

What would Leauna say if she saw him getting a hard-on at choking the life out of someone?

McCoy tried to banish the name from his mind, but it was too late. Memories of her warm body next to his on the bed came rushing back. He remembered how she weaved between his legs while he shaved and joined in his grumbling when he had to pull on his dress uniform. He remembered having to pick pieces of alien gravel from her hooves and watching her stagger when he had too much to drink. He remembered the feel of holding her on the rare occasions he let himself break down in tears - once when Jocelyn moved out, and once when he was dying. She would not speak, just join in his sorrow, because they were one, and had shared a destiny.

No one would share his destiny again.

McCoy could not take the isolation anymore. He had to get out. Clad in his pajamas, he quickly left his room and soon found himself at the door to Spock's cabin. Suddenly, the determination left him, and he could not bring himself to ring the bell. Thankfully, he did not have to. Spock opened the door, clad in black meditation robes. T'Ra was perched on the nearby bed.

"Doctor," Spock said. The word seemed to carry more weight, in that it seemed to contain all the emotion the Vulcan refused to show. Spock's caring was not as tangible outside of the melds, but now it seemed to permeate. Rather than making McCoy feel further guilt, it beckoned.

"Can I...stay with you tonight?" The doctor asked before he changed his mind.

Spock nodded and allowed McCoy to enter.