A/N: Again, thanks for the reviews!!!

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McCoy lifted the decanter of Saurian brandy and refilled his glass, the trickling of the potent amber liquid breaking the otherwise perfect silence of the officer's lounge. A moment later, he rose, glass in hand, and moved over to the viewport, watching Epsilon Carinae VII turn slowly beneath the Enterprise, the blues and violets of its atmosphere creating a cool aura that starkly contrasted with the warmth of the brandy as it slid down his throat.

"I thought I might find you here."

McCoy turned at the sound of Kirk's voice to see him standing near the door, an empty glass in his hand.

"Mind if I join you?" Kirk asked.

"Be my guest," McCoy replied.

Kirk moved over to the table and picked up the bottle. He hesitated a beat before pulling out the stopper, noting the conspicuous decrease in the decanter's weight since that morning. He shot McCoy a significant glance as he poured the remains of the brandy into his glass.

"Don't start with me, Jim," McCoy said. "It's been a long week."

"I didn't say anything, Bones," Kirk replied.

McCoy pointed at him with his glass. "You were thinking it," he accused.

Kirk didn't reply, knowing better than to argue with the doctor at that moment. As he set the empty bottle back on the table, he heard McCoy sigh.

"Where's Spock?"

"Meditating, I think," Kirk answered, pausing to swallow some of his brandy. "He's asked for the next few days off. I gave it to him."

"Well, if anyone deserves it, he does," McCoy said, for once refraining from his customary sarcasm. "This past week has been harder on him than anyone else." He shook his head at the memory. "Fifty injured Naidu, and the only way to communicate with them is through that damn REM sleep."

Spock had been the link between them and the Naidu. The only telepath among the crew, he had mind melded with every human "ambassador" who had volunteered to take a nap in order to facilitate communications with the Naidu. Not being the one asleep, he could come in and out of the meld quickly with vital information from the Naidu that McCoy had needed in order to treat them.

McCoy had learned a lot about these strange beings. They really were pure telepaths. They had no vocal cords or eardrums by which to speak or hear. And their insides--well, if Spock hadn't been linked with a Naidu physician who was coherent enough to observe McCoy and convey information to Spock through one of the ambassadors, McCoy would have lost half his patients. As it was, they had managed to save even the most seriously wounded of the Naidu.

Once the medical crisis was over, Spock had volunteered to be the direct link with the Naidu, communicating with them via his own REM sleep. Between his human REM patterns and his Vulcan mental controls, he had stated that he was the logical choice. No one could argue with him, but everyone was happy when the Enterprise finally reached the new Naidu homeworld. They had just finished getting the Naidu settled on their new planet with enough supplies to last until the diplomatic envoy arrived. They would be warping out within the hour.

"I know," Kirk replied, joining the doctor next to the viewport. "But you haven't exactly had a vacation, either, Bones."

McCoy shrugged. "I was just doing my job," he said, but even to his own ears, the words rang hollow.

"Like hell you were," Kirk replied. "You worked like a man possessed."

"Maybe." McCoy stared into his glass. "I still see her dying. I thought if I could save them, I could save her from what they made her to be. I thought I could erase those memories." His voice took on a bitter tone. "It didn't work, so--" He held up his glass. "Cheers." He downed the rest of his brandy. If he couldn't work himself into exhaustion to keep the images away, then perhaps he could drink them away.

"Bones," Kirk spoke faintly, but the doctor didn't seem to hear him.

McCoy walked over to the table and set his glass down next to the empty bottle. "Good night, Jim," he said wearily. He was in no mood to dissect his mental state at that moment, not even with his best friend. He wanted only to seek the solace of his bed and hope for a deep, dreamless sleep.

"Bones," Kirk said with more intensity, but the doctor just ignored him and departed the lounge without another word.

Alone, Kirk could only gaze at the planet below. Never before had he seen his friend in such a state of despondency, and he feared that McCoy was slipping away from them, to a place where none of them could follow. Surely there must be something he could do to help. And as though noticing the planet below for the first time, he felt an idea take shape. With resolute determination, he set his glass down and strode over to the communications panel on the wall and punched the button.

"Kirk to Spock."

There was a long moment of silence.

"Spock here," came the calm reply.

"Spock, I'm sorry to disturb you, but we have a problem. Can you meet me in the transporter room in five minutes?"

There was only the briefest of pauses. "On my way, Captain."