IA bog. With tall trees around him, small bushes and thick underbrush. Rotting foliage. Dampness on his side, wet heat around his face. Little eyes. Hands reaching out, not for him to him, for something he could give. Whispered words, sighing wind…/I

Struggling, Spock drifted into semi-consiousiness. Memories recalled themselves quickly. Dizziness, collapsing on the bridge, Romulans, being brought to sickbay. Yes, the familiar beeps were there, McCoy's voice. Jim had been there a while back, but he had left. Gingerly, he floated back into full awareness, opening his eyes slowly, staring up at the ceiling.

"Good evening," a voice said beside him. He turned his head slowly toward the doctor, noting the subdued lighting. 8.266 hours since collapsing on the bridge, his mind automatically calculated. McCoy was sitting on a chair beside the bed, and had probably be there for some time, judging by the stack of tapes beside him.

"Doctor," he said, his voice quavering. Trying again, he said, "I believe I told you that I was fit for duty."

McCoy just stared at him for a minute or two. "Spock," he said after a moment where his thought could be seen running across his face. "Spock, you don't seem to realize or understand that illness doesn't have to be suffered through on your own. Otherwise my job wouldn't exist, now would it?"

"Medical help is required in . . ."

"But," McCoy continued softly, "you don't use it unless I carry you down there. I deal with everything from bumps to gashes to death down here. Why don't you use our services before it gets too much or too noticeable?" McCoy shook his head. "You wait until it gets too painful, or too noticeable or too whatever before you come down here. Let me help at the beginning, too, so maybe when you do decide to come down here it won't be for drastic help." His voice held genuine concern and remorse for his sparing partner.

"Doctor, I assure you," Spock said quietly. "that there is nothing you could do if you have not done so already."

McCoy sighed. "No, there isn't anything I can do. But—"

"Then there is no point in me staying here." With that, Spock pushed himself off the bed and stood up. "I am perfectly capable of returning to duty."

McCoy shook his head. "One of these days, Spock, your going to get yourself killed with that statement."

Spock turned and walked toward the open doors of Sickbay. Halfway there, he folded to the ground, as limp as if strings had been cut from a puppet. McCoy rushed to the fallen Vulcan's side, cursing. He knelt by Spock's side. Deep ebony eyes settled on him, weak eyes that were searching for strength and composure, but were not finding it. "Perhaps," the doctor said softly, "you should stay here."

The eyes closed and the head nodded faintly. "Perhaps you are right," he whispered.