A/N: I hope this one goes over alright.

He knows he isn't crazy.

But, he didn't remember why he went up to the Bridge to begin with. Somebody must've been injured. That's why you always have to go to the Bridge. And Chapel was there too. He saw her in his memory preparing the hypo- speaking its name soundlessly as if through a thick pane of glass. His hands took the instrument from her hands. He had one shot for a gold sleeve but another for… Myself. I s'pose I was injured too. Chapel was there, so it must've been minor.

McCoy remembers the walk down the corridor. He sees his legs as they take him where he needs to go. Flashes of light or pictures of things he must've passed roll through slowly. There's a distinct feeling of unease that bubbles just under the surface. He can't quite place it, but the ship isn't safe anymore.

There's somethin' very wrong… I need to get home. I need to get somewhere safe. It isn't safe here, somebody said so. Chapel… or Jim. They made an announcement. There's somebody dangerous out here.

There is a rock in his memory. It's a rock he remembers clearly. He knows what his feet look like next to it. He knows how big the rock is, standing beside him. There was danger in the area, but the rocks were safe.

I walked through a big city. He struggles with the imagery. There's a dark skyline and a trashcan and a cat. Not too many streetlights.

He's talking to someone. A face he sees clearly, but a face he doesn't know. McCoy remembers the words too. "You! What planet is this?" A perfectly reasonable question at the time. The man answers, reassures him. Earth. 'Course it's Earth. I know the feel of my own home planet under my boots. An excuse on his lips, a memory of himself seen through the other man's eyes.

McCoy remembers all of this, and what he doesn't, his mind tries to fill in: I had to have walked there. I must've walked from the ship to the city. I made it safe past the… "Madman", his brain fills in. There was a madman out there with him. He figured he was lucky. Who knows what could've happened if he had run into that guy?

He must've gotten on this cot at some point, too. That much was obvious. I'm here, so somebody must've helped me. I'll ask Christine, or Stacey, or Jim. Maybe even Spock, if he's around. Spock knows things.

He remembers their names before he's all the way awake. When he remembers himself, he jolts upright. There's woman in the room- the nurse?- and she jolts. She's startled, he can see. Startled like the old man. But now he's run off, I guess. He knew something too…

His head spun. The ache behind his eyes was worse when he was upright. Rubbing his hand across his forehead, he started murmuring. "The most common question to ask would be 'Where am I?'. I… don't think I'll ask it…" He pitched to the side suddenly. That nurse was fast. McCoy's head was lowered gently to the pillow, next thing he knew. Then there was a hand under his head and a glass of water at his lips.

"Why not?"

The voice came to him from underwater, but he supposed it'd only be polite to answer. His words came to him out of the blue. He recited the phrase he'd heard somewhere before: "The only possible answer would conclusively prove that I'm either unconscious or demented… This looks like old Earth around 1920, '25…"

He knew he wasn't crazy. There had to be an explanation.

"Would you care to try for 30?"

That brought his eyes back open. She was sitting at his side, still holding the glass of water. Dust was in the air and on the side table. The nurse had smiling eyes and flecks of fuzz on her dress. Little flecks of red on the light brown.

"I am unconscious or demented." It was painful to admit it, not just because of the pang in his inner ear.

She smiled at him kindly. Decent bedside manner, if nothing else. "I have a… friend," The nurse began carefully, "that talks about Earth the same way that you do. Would you like to meet him?"

What a way to phrase it. But I don't need a doctor. I'm a doctor... McCoy took a second to reassure himself. I'm not losing my mind. I know exactly how I got here. I walked. I walked from the ship. But that's not... it isn't quite...

"I'm a surgeon, not a psychiatrist." He struggled with the words. They were trying to float away. "I am Leonard McCoy… Senior Medical Officer aboard the U.S.S Enterprise."

Relief coursed through him. He had that much. If he was really losing it, at least he had this. I have my name, and I have the Enterprise.

"I don't mean to disbelieve you," The nurse was speaking again. "But that's hardly a Navy uniform."

The Navy. Nobody here's in the Navy. This nurse is more confused than me... There was something else he needed to say, but he was slipping. Somebody was pouring water over all his thoughts, washing them off the cot and onto the floor. He felt them drain away. When he finally spoke, he didn't know if she could hear him under so much water.

"That's quite all right." He took a breath. "That's quite all right, dear, because I don't believe in you, either."

Someone pulled the plug. The last streams of consciousness ran away. He heard the rushing too, just before it all went dark. The water raced off, so loud he almost couldn't hear what it was trying to say. A whisper from the drain, a single rasp:

Cordrazine.

He knows that should mean something to him. But it doesn't.

A/N: So, I'm nervous about getting my wisdom teeth removed (all four) next week. My brother had a rough time with the anesthetics, and I don't have a good track record with anything stronger than Tylenol... One incident in particular being the basis for this story...

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!