James Kirk was worried. Worried about Spock, the Romulans, the planet, his ship, his crew, his sanity. The Romluans hadn't responded, attacked, set out or received messages, or moved in the last 5 hours.

Bones had reported in, saying that nothing had changed, slept soundly, don't bother me, etcetra, etcetra.

While everyone else on the bridge had something to do, readings to check, he had nothing but a little Pac-man in his head, munching away, eating away at his patience.

The odd report came in, and he pounced on them, lingering over them, killing time. The reports said nothing new.

"Why are you just sitting there?" he murmured to the screen. Spock, he knew, would have heard him and turned toward him, not complete sure as to whether or not it was a rhetorical question. The one eyebrow would go up slightly in question.

Maybe I should go back down...but no, Bones doesn't want me to bother them down there. In the morning I'll go. Kirk glanced at the chrono. Few more hours, he thought, then off to bed.

* * *

Spock struggled against the dream/vision, trying to prevent it from overcoming his defensives. It was a battle he knew he couldn't win, and eventually he gave up, letting it swim into view.

The bag surrounded him, with the wet water against his side, a current. Logs surrounded him as if they had been a raft that had fallen apart. His had throbbed, and green blood tricked onto his face, blurring his vision. Something wiped it away, though he couldn't move to see who – or what – it was. Eyes peered out of the underbrush, curious eyes. Small hands appeared, palms up as if begging or offering peace by showing lack of weapons. The wind ruffled his bangs a bit, and a voice behind him and above spoke in a whisper that was louder than a shout could ever be. "Shara shotana keytan-sho. Eela sheaco tanam. Noish-e-pa nedan sheada," the voice said, almost sadly. The eyes turned away, looked behind, fear there, terror, fear, terror, fear...terror...fear...terror.

With a start, Spock awoke, breathing heavily. McCoy was there, easing him back down, murmuring softly to him about lying down and being quiet.

Spock allowed himself to be settled back down. "How long was I asleep?" he asked.

McCoy looked drawn. "Real sleep: 2 hours. Other: 4 hours. Spock, do you have any idea what's going on?"

Spock closed his eyes. Whenever he thought about the dreams he knew he had he could only remember the faintest images. If he though too hard, he blanked out, like he had done on the bridge. "I cannot remember the details," he said finally, "but I do know that I dream."

McCoy nodded. "Well, that explains the higher readings when you sleep." He looked at the readings again. "Spock, you need real sleep, restful sleep." He paused, then went on. "You know I could, or at least we could try to put you into deep sleep."

Spock looked at McCoy, revulsion lines appearing around his eyes, but after a moment the eyelids dropped down, too heavy to hold up. Exhaustion was taking a heavy toll on him, the doctor noticed, worried.

Spock's ears pricked slightly, catching a noise that McCoy couldn't hear. A moment later the doors to Sickbay opened and the captain came in.

"Don't you dare get up," McCoy warned, wagging a finger at his patient.

Jim came over, smiling at McCoy's scowl. "So, how are we doing this morning, gentelmen?"

McCoy scowled. "You're too chipper in the morning, you know that?" He shook his head when Jim's smile grew even bigger. "Oh, forget it. Now, unless you have something to say to your officer that requires him to be awake, scoot!" He made shooing motions with his hands.

"Actually, I did come to talk to you, Spock."

The officer nodded. "About the Romulans."

The other nodded and watched McCoy wander off. "I need your input on something. Why would a fully armed warbird who wasn't cloaked just sit there staring at us?"

Spock thought a moment, then replied. "They could be waiting for a larger force, or for a rendezvous of some type." He looked at the captain intensely. "Without further data..."

"...I cannot give a definite answer. I know the drill." He sighed. "I can hope."

"Hope is illogical, Captain."

"So is prolonging this discussion," McCoy added as he returned to Spock's bedside. "Goodnight," he said as he settled the hypo into his hand.

Spock sighed softly but nodded for him to proceed. The hypo hissed softly against his neck, and its contents quickly went into effect, pulling the Vulcan into deep, dreamless sleep.

Kirk watched as his friend's eyes closed and his breathing deepened. "What's that you just gave him, Bones? You don't usually sedate any one first thing in the morning."

McCoy replaced the hypo into his pocket. "Normally I wouldn't, Jim, but he barely got any real sleep last night. We thought we'd try it this way for a change."

Jim nodded. "Any ideas on...?"

"No."

"Now how do you...?"

"I just do. Now, out you get, scoot!"

Jim laughed softly and left. McCoy watched him leave, then looked down at his patient and at the readings. Natural deep real sleep, he thought, satisfied. He straightened out the thermal blanket and went back into his office.

Nurse Chapel came in an hour or so later, at her usual time. McCoy gave his usual grumble of greetings, then asked, "Chris, would you let me know if Spock starts to wake up?"

Chapel nodded. "Of course, doctor. I always do."

McCoy smiled knowingly. "Of course you do."