A/N: Thanks again for the reviews!! I'm glad you like it!
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McCoy sank into the chair behind his desk and drew in a deep, shuddering breath, trying his best to calm his shattered nerves. His near-fatal blunder had left him trembling and cold, and he had reacted by taking out his frustrations on the closest available person--his head nurse. Never in his career had he spoken to one of his assistants the way he had spoken to Christine. If it hadn't been for her, he would have killed his patient. Just the thought of what might have happened made him sick to his stomach. He buried his face in his hands with a strangled sob. What he wouldn't give for a decent night's sleep.

Physician, heal thyself, he thought desperately.

If only he could. He raised his head and stared at the old-fashioned, two-dimensional photograph that he'd had taken of himself and Joanna on her sixth birthday. It was encased in a frame that Joanna had made for him later that year in school. He reached across the desk and pulled it closer, staring through it to a time when it was real--when she was real, and whole, and not the horror that she had become in his dreams . . . dreams which had only grown worse every night. Now, every time he closed his eyes, the memory of her was there, crying out to him for help. It was more than he could bear, and if it didn't stop soon, he felt certain he would lose his mind.

A noise at the other side of the room interrupted his thoughts, and he raised weary eyes to see Kirk and Spock standing there. They paused for a moment in the doorway, and McCoy could see concern etched in Jim's face, and quiet apprehension behind Spock's dark eyes.

"Bones, you look like hell."

"It's nice to see you, too, Jim," McCoy drawled sarcastically. "Is this a social call, or did you just come down to practice your bedside manner?"

Kirk ignored his comment and stepped forward to stand in front of his desk. "What's going on? Chapel just came down to the rec room and told us what happened to Ensign Galven."

McCoy let out a slow breath at Kirk's abrupt announcement. He couldn't blame Christine. She had every right, every obligation, in fact, to go to the captain after what had happened, but he wasn't prepared to answer Kirk's question. How could he begin to explain? The dreams were becoming so tangible that he was losing his grip on reality, and he was afraid that even Jim wouldn't understand.

"It's . . . personal," he replied slowly. "Request permission to be relieved of duty." He had plenty of leave time accumulated. Perhaps if he could just get back to Starfleet Medical, he could find--

"Permission denied," Kirk returned, his harsh tone suspending McCoy's train of thought. "And when the life of one of my crewmembers is put in danger, it no longer stays pers--" He abruptly cut off his reprimand as his eye caught the photograph that McCoy held in his hand, and his voice held a hint of the dreadful horror he suddenly felt. "Bones, has something happened to Joanna?"

McCoy bowed his head and stared blankly at the picture. "I haven't slept in three days," he confessed. "I'm not fit for duty."

Fearing the worst, he and Spock sat down.

"What happened?" Kirk asked.

"The dreams," McCoy replied. "She's dying, and I can't save her." He closed his eyes, the most recent dream coming back to his memory with an intensity that took his breath away.

"Daddy, help me."

He turned to find her standing before him. All of her hair was gone, and the disease was beginning to eat away at the fingers on her whole hand. And her eyes . . . they had lost their brightness, even when wet with tears.

He found that he could move now, and he reached down and picked her up, holding her close. He wanted to save her, but he couldn't, and every plea, every cry felt like a dagger to his heart. She was dying in front of him, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He raised his head and looked at them through bloodshot eyes. "I've tried everything to make them stop, but nothing works. Every time I try to sleep, she is there." His fist clenched in impotent anger. "My little girl is dying, and I'm powerless to save her."

"But, Bones," Kirk said softly, "it's only a dream."

"It's real, dammit," McCoy snapped. "It's real at the time. I can see her, and hear her, and pick her up--"

Spock frowned. "How old is your daughter in this dream?"

"Six," he whispered. He had helped bring her into the world and were he deaf, dumb, and blind--or asleep--he would know her better than anyone else.

"Bones--"

"Illogical."

McCoy glared at Spock, coming suddenly to life. "Now you listen here, you green-blooded--"

"Your daughter is a grown woman engaged in medical research on Regulus III," Spock said, interrupting him. "You received a transmission from her last week; therefore, it is not logical for you to believe that the dream is anything other than a dream."

"Bones," Kirk added, "you know what sleep deprivation does to a person."

"You don't understand," McCoy said wearily. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Images of his daughter flashed across his mind, those perfect moments in time that only a parent can appreciate--her smile as she turned and waved goodbye on her first day of school . . . her laughter as he burned the fish on their camping trip to Yosemite . . . her tears that stained his collar when he left her for Starfleet--all marred now by the disease that threatened to consume her life and take his mind with it. Those new images conflicted with the old in a passionate war that left him with a slow, but steadily-growing inability to distinguish between his real memories and those terrors of the night.

"Describe the dream, Bones. Help us to understand."

Kirk's voice pulled McCoy back from his private little hell, and the doctor stared at his friend, searching his face for any pretense of concern. Finding none, he glanced down, and in hushed, broken tones, told them the details of his nightly torments. When he was done he looked up at his friends with a trace of apprehension, uncertain of what he would find. He already suspected himself of going slowly insane, but he didn't exactly relish the idea of seeing his private doubts of his own sanity reflected in the faces of those he trusted most. Jim looked worried, but that was to be expected. Spock, on the other hand, was impassive, deep in thought, staring at his steepled fingers. He was the first to stir.

"Curious," he said.

McCoy opened his mouth to deliver a decidedly unfriendly reply, but Kirk cut him off.

"Why 'curious', Spock?"

Spock shifted in his chair and folded his hands together. "I had a similar dream four nights ago."

"Explain," Kirk said.

"Every detail was exactly as Dr. McCoy described, except I did not see Joanna," Spock replied. "I saw my mother."

There was a pause, and McCoy swallowed the caustic remark he had intended to make.

Kirk stared at his first officer. "Coincidence, Spock?"

Spock shook his head. "Unlikely, Captain. While I was dreaming, I thought I sensed the presence of an alien intelligence. Once I terminated the dream, however, I sensed nothing, so I attributed the perception to the dream itself."

McCoy latched onto the latter part of his statement, and gaped at him, the agony of the past three nights etched deeply in his face. "How did you 'terminate' your dream?"

"My mental abilities far outstrip yours, Doctor," Spock replied, his words unaccompanied by his usual patronizing tone.

McCoy only nodded somberly. "Of course," he said, almost to himself, and then collected himself determinedly. "Now what?"

"If there is an alien intelligence invading your mind," Kirk replied, "we need to find out."

"And just how the hell are we supposed to do that?" McCoy asked irritably, relief adding a sharp edge to his tone. Perhaps he wasn't losing his mind after all.

"I suggest running a thorough shipwide scan," Spock said.

"I concur," Kirk replied.

"And if that turns up nothing?" McCoy replied.

"In that case," Spock said, shifting once more in his chair, "I will need to perform a mind meld and experience the dream with you."

His casual pronouncement of something so deeply personal to him stunned both McCoy and Kirk into momentary silence.

Finally Kirk cleared his throat. "Start the scan, Spock. Bones, I'm relieving you of duty until we figure this mess out." McCoy started to protest as the three men rose from their chairs, but Kirk cut him off. "I need all my crewmembers intact, Bones," he told him. McCoy just stopped and stared, and for a minute, Kirk thought that he might have gone too far, too soon.

But the old, familiar glint returned to the doctor's eye, and he replied with a drawl, "In case you've forgotten, Jim, you're due for a physical in a couple weeks."

Kirk grinned. "Come on, Spock," he said, "I think that's our cue to leave."

"Indeed, Captain," Spock said, as they turned to leave.

"The same goes for you, Spock," McCoy bellowed to their retreating forms. He heard Jim mumble something indecipherable right before the doors closed behind them, and he felt the smallest of smiles trying to break free. He sat back down in his chair and took his first relaxing, deep breath in days.