McCoy left the quarantine room and collapsed against the wall. He rubbed a hand across his tired face, scratching through the sharp stubble. He hadn't really taken care of himself these last three months.

Six years. While he had been nursing a cold bourbon and trying to find loopholes in the missing persons protocol, Jim had been alive and fighting on that planet, suffering God-knows what for six long years. Jim was almost as old as him, now, and surived so much more.

Uhura approached him, confident as ever, but still wary. She'd watched their whole interaction through the one way wall. She placed a caring hand on his shoulder.

'I'll get him something to eat.' She assured him.

McCoy nodded gratefully. 'Something soft, I don't know what his stomach can take right now. Just a plate of mashed potatoes.'

'Okay.' Uhura squeezed his shoulder and moved to walk out of Medical.

'Uhura.' McCoy called after her. 'Make sure the plate is unbreakable.'

She nodded and left and Captain Spock took her place in front of McCoy. One arched eyebrow indicated he was waiting for a report.

'He didn't recognize me, Spock.' McCoy said through gritted teeth. 'He still thinks he's being tortured.'

'Have we given him any reason to believe otherwise?' Spock asked. 'Within the past few hours, he has been captured, stunned, drugged and locked in a quarantine room.'

'You think I haven't realised that?' McCoy demanded angrily. 'You got any bright ideas? We don't exactly have a lot of options here.'

'At this stage, should not assuring the captain of his safety be of first priority?' Spock suggested.

'You can try.' McCoy scoffed. 'He won't believe you.'

Spock's head inclined at a slight angle.

McCoy sighed and motioned for the Acting Captain to follow. The wall that looked into the quarantine room went unnoticed by the occupant inside. In the minutes since McCoy left, Jim had dragged himself into the furthest possible corner from the door. Now, he was pressed into the wall in front of them, his lips moving rapidly as he murmured.

'You see that?' McCoy demanded.

'I am not able to lip read.' Spock informed him.

McCoy keyed his access code into the panel in the wall. The audio activated and Jim's hushed voice could be heard in an endless stream of litany of name, rank and serial number.

'James Tiberius Kirk. Captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise. N dash Delta 17676-0981-5433.'

'That's a coping mechanism.' McCoy said. 'Admiral Pike used the same on board the Nerada. It's a good default. While being tortured for information, the only way some officers don't give in is to scream that-' McCoy tapped the transparent wall near Jim's head, 'until it's the only thing left in their minds. Hell, the tactic dates back to the First World War.'

'But he is still self-aware.' Spock countered. 'He recalls this information, which implies his memory is still intact.'

'You think he's remembering these facts?' McCoy challenged. 'Just look at him for a moment, damn it. Really look. How can you possibly think he's anything but trapped in his mind?'

Jim pressed a hand into the glass, the insignia on the tattered cuff coming into view. Spock glanced down at his hands clasped in front of him, his borrowed rank embroidered in silver.

'If there is a chance, I need to have the confidence that we will find it.' Spock said simply. He turned his eyes to the doctor. 'Don't you?'

McCoy didn't answer. At this point, he couldn't think of the broken man as anything other than his patient. He didn't want to draw the connection between his best friend the Captain and the shell of a man in front of him.

'Doctor.' Uhura said, holding out a plate of white mashed potatoes.

'Thank you.' McCoy nodded and took the plate from her. Uhura stood beside Spock, her hand resting lightly on his back as McCoy moved off.

'It breaks my heart to see him like this, Spock.' She admitted quietly.

'Are you aware of coping mechanisms such as this?' he asked. Uhura nodded and he continued. 'I am… concerned. I had not anticipated that he would return in this state.'

'None of us were.' Uhura said firmly. 'It's only been three months.'

'For us, perhaps.' Spock acknowledged. He paused, eyebrows twitching in an almost-frown. 'I should have done more.'

'You couldn't have known.' Uhura protested.

'The information leading to his rescue was available. I was responsible and I failed to act. I should have done more.' Spock said succinctly. His gaze turned to the cowering form of the Captain before them

It was the strongest admission of guilt she'd ever heard from him. Spock had never blamed himself for the destruction of his home planet or the loss of his mother. These tragedies he had been able to rationalise as being responsible for a number of factors.

He couldn't relieve the guilt now, and Uhura found she didn't have the words to consol him.

The tray almost slipped in McCoy's hand while he prepared himself to enter the small room. For the first time in his life, he wished he had a shred of Vulcan training so he could approach this situation with a sense of detachment.

But he didn't, so he couldn't. Instead, he keyed in his access code and walked into the room.

'I brought you something to eat.'

'James Tiberius Kirk.'

'You should eat slowly though.'

'Captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise.'

'I don't want to disturb your stomach, just yet.'

'N dash Delta 17676-0981-5433.'

McCoy sank down into a crouch and placed the plate of mashed potato between them.

'It's good, see?' McCoy scooped some of the white mush onto his finger and swallowed it down. He held back a grimace and shrugged. 'So it needs salt, it's better than nothing.' He nudged the tray towards Jim. 'Go on. Eat.'

Jim eyed first McCoy, then the plate, warily. Perhaps it was the bland colours, or maybe he was just hungry, but regardless of McCoy's presence and the threat of poison, Jim shuffled forward and snatched the plate from the floor.

He shovelled it down hungrily, using both hands, he practically inhaled the mashed potatoes. Absorbed in his task, Jim ate like he expected the food to be snatched from him at any moment.

McCoy's instinct was to order him to slow down, but one glance at the desperation in the clear blue eyes halted him before he spoke. It was too much when McCoy realised the low mumbling he could hear was Jim vainly attempting to wolf down the food and choke out his mantra at the same time.

Jim swallowed thickly. '0981-5432.' He groaned, hands still moving, full of mush.

McCoy frowned, the feeling that something was wrong tingling up his spine. A knot clenched in his stomach.

'The numbers have changed.' McCoy realised softly. He edged away to a distance where he could stand up without frightening the other man and pressed the comm on the wall.

'Sickbay to Bridge.'

'Yes, Doctor?' the heavily accented voice of Ensign Chekov said.

'Pull up Captain Kirk's file. I want you to read me his serial number.'

'Yes, sir.' Confusion tinted the reply, but Chekov obeyed. A moment's pause before Chekov spoke again. 'Captain James T. Kirk. Serial number: N dash Delta 17676-0980-000.'

'Repeat the last sequence.'

'000. Indicating religion, blood type and planet of origin, as is standard.'

McCoy shut off the link and sighed heavily.

'I should have noticed.' He berated himself, keying the door to open and leaving Jim with the meagre meal.

'I take it you were listening. 15432.' McCoy announced, causing Spock and Uhura to tense.

'What is your meaning, Doctor?' Spock asked.

'The serial number Jim's been repeating, it's not his number.' McCoy explained. 'It means something, something important.'

'How have you reached this conclusion?' Spock asked.

'He doesn't believe in no-win situations.' McCoy stated. 'Even if he thought there was no hope, he'd find a way to beat them.'

'Doctor.' Spock prompted.

'I think it's a code. The last five digits have changed; I think we were supposed to notice it. Jim must have known that the only way to get a message out to us was to convince himself that was his serial number.'

If Spock noticed the slightly hysterical edge to McCoy's voice, he didn't comment on it. Spock keyed the computer panel and spoke to the bridge.

'Mr. Chekov, run all references and possibility for the origin of the following sequence of numbers: 15432.'

'Give us everything.' McCoy added. 'Coordinates, dates… hell, if they were winning lottery numbers a hundred years ago, I want to know about it.'

Uhura felt relief surge through her at the news.

'He's not gone.' She said quietly.

'But he still believes he's being tortured.' McCoy added bitterly.

Spock considered carefully before answering.

'Perhaps I may be of assistance.' He suggested. 'Through touch-telepathy, I may be able to ascertain the extent of the damage-'

'Aw, hell no. You're not gonna meld with him.' McCoy yelled over the top of him.

'-and assist in reassurances.' Spock continued. 'Doctor McCoy-'

'He's gone through enough without you messing around in his head.'

'Emotional security-'

'-What the hell do you know about emotional security?' McCoy challenged.

'Enough.' Uhura said firmly, standing between them and placed a hand on each of their chests. 'I expected more from you, Spock.' She said then turned to McCoy and took his head between both hands. 'Len. We need to get through to him somehow. Spock can help.'

McCoy instantly railed, but she sternly calmed him.

'He won't meld.' Uhura assured him, with a pointed glance in Spock's direction. 'But his surface thoughts might be enough to sooth him.'

McCoy's glare almost bore holes in the ground.

'You owe him that much.'

McCoy relented and stepped back to allow Spock to pass him.

'Just-' he started, then hung his head. 'Try and figure out what 15432 means.'

Spock nodded, standing at the entrance to the quarantine room. He tapped on the consol and with one smooth movement, was inside, alone with his Captain.

'…0981-5432.'

Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed last chapter! You really helped me get this chapter out of me, even when school is making me stress out. Expect updates to be a little scattered now, I'm finding less time to write.

So what were thoughts on this chapter? More McCoy and Jim interaction, insight into the mantra, set up for Spock to come face to face with Jim and a little puzzle. Part of me wants to challenge you to telling me what the numbers mean, but the other part fears you'll invent better answers than the one I have. Tee hee.

Please review!