He wasn't crazy. It just felt like it sometimes.
On pitch black nights, when sleep refused to come and the darkness tried to trick him. In cold quarters that were supposed to be warm, homey, familiar; when the ship's hum sounded too much like one from another world.
On hazy days in the medbay when initials like USS looked more like ISS. In those lonely stretches where he closed out Beta Shift and the medical wing resembled a deserted chamber of torture.
On confusing evenings when one minute, Spock sported a beard, and the next, he didn't. In suffocating moments when Leonard fought to separate fact from fiction and failed miserably.
He wasn't crazy—he hadn't always felt like this.
It just seemed like it sometimes.
Some days, he fought to convince himself that the Mirror Universe—that damn alternate reality—didn't exist. It's not possible. It was all just a dream.
A nightmare, more like.
Some days, he could trick himself. When he was knee-deep in work and the hum of medbay drowned out the broiling memories, it was easy to forget—to convince himself that yes, he was actually sane.
Leonard McCoy woke up that morning truly believing it wasn't going to be one of those days. This was going to be one of those rare, everything is just fine for now kind of days. He was sure of it.
Somewhere along the line, however, the universe had picked up a nasty habit of proving him wrong.
He'd known this mission was coming. The diplomatic dinner with the Cursioans that—if all went accordingly—would bring a new planet into the Federation.
It was an important mission and Leonard had known about it forever, it seemed. And it wouldn't have been an issue, wouldn't have sent his nerves into a frenzy…
… Had that ion storm not screwed everything up on the Halkan mission. It hit him like a phaser blast to the chest that he hadn't used the transporter since… Well, since everything.
Being scrambled once again into half a million atoms wasn't something Leonard fancied. In fact, his usually streamline vitals were all out of whack just thinking about it.
Who knows where we'll end up this time.
A shiver assaulted his frame as a dozen excuses filtered through his mind. He knew Jim would squash every one of them. After all, the beings of Cursioa had requested the Enterprise by name, refusing to negotiate with anyone other than the famous Captain James Kirk.
"Come on, Bones, this is important. The Federation has been trying to get some ground on Cursioa for ages!"
Right.
Locking himself in his quarters and pleading a headache clearly wasn't an option. Not this time.
The only thing he could do was straighten his dress uniform, take a deep breath, and hope he didn't panic the second he strolled into that God-awful Transporter Room.
Leonard found the captain and his first officer waiting on the pad. Had he really dawdled that much? It's only five seconds. You're gonna be fine.
Sure. Five seconds.
Anything can happen in five seconds.
As had been proven time and time again.
Sucking in another breath, he forced his mind to switch tracks, deciding to once again puzzle over why all three of them were required to beam down when the captain would be doing the majority of the negotiations. Most of the time, the three highest ranking officers of the Enterprise were at the head of the first contact parties, which, in Leonard's mind, didn't seem like the wisest of battleplans by any means. If you put all your eggs in one basket, what were you supposed to do if you dropped it? When. When you drop it.
The fact that the Cursioa had already been in contact with Starfleet took away some of those dangerous unknowns. So, why did he feel like he didn't have a clue what was going on? Why did he feel his own rising apprehension like dozens of tiny needles pricking his neck?
Shake it off. Shake it off, it's fine.
You're fine.
Sure…
Lieutenant Commander Freeman and two other security personnel filed onto the pad as Leonard adjusted his uniform once more. He filed away a warning not to turn the motion into a nervous tick just as Jim glanced his way.
"Bones," he greeted, a slight twitch of mischievous tugging at his lips. "How good of you to join us."
As was the custom, Leonard rose to the bait, hoping a bit of good humor, however forced, would rid him of the crawling sensation festering at the back of his neck.
"You should know me well enough by now, Jim," he returned, cracking a grin that masqueraded as an annoyed frown. "I just couldn't decide what shade of blue would be the best fit for these black pants. Wouldn't want anything that would clash, you know."
"Oh," Jim nodded, that tug of a smile breaking into a full-fledged grin, "of course. Of course, Doctor."
Spock, for his part, watched the exchange with his usual expression: equal parts ease and concentration on their impending task, shrouded by the barest hint of humor.
Jim clasped his hands together, surveying his team with all the giddiness of a kid on Christmas. "Well gentlemen, who's ready to be among the first to set foot in a Cursioan Grand Hall?"
"Captain, with the arrival of Doctor McCoy," Spock began, "I believe we've been ready for the last two minutes and fifteen seconds."
This got a chuckle out of Jim and Leonard stole a moment to scowl at the Vulcan. Damn him for reminding everyone of our impending doom.
Almost subconsciously, Leonard flexed his fingers, as if the movement could somehow release the pent-up stress.
Jim nodded at Scotty, who hovered over the transporter controls. "Then I suppose it's high time for us to get a move on. Mr. Scott, we're ready when you are."
"Yeah, well, just make sure you don't eat anything that's gonna kill you," Leonard grumbled—because complaining had always been a tried and true form of distraction. "The last thing I want to do while I'm trying to enjoy a nice meal is give you CPR. And I don't want to record any newfound allergies in your medical profile. It's getting long enough as it is."
Jim only laughed once more, a bright sound that would've been contagious under normal circumstances—and under strained ones, it would've at least brought a smile to Leonard's face.
This situation felt neither good nor bad. It felt more like floating on a ship without antigravity and no lifeline to grab on to. Disorienting, nauseating, and—
Leonard eyed Scotty. Just get on with it already.
If the suspense didn't kill him—the eternity of waiting—his own heart just might.
At last, a flurry of golden stardust closed in on him and he let his eyes slam shut. He prayed that when he opened them again, he would find himself on Cursioa, not some demented version of the Enterprise.
Despite his brain's clear instruction to breathe, Leonard's lungs refused to clock in, and it took a half-second too long for him to open his eyes again—even though he could feel his feet planted firmly on the soft Cursioan earth.
He caught the tail end of Jim's fading expression, brows dipped in brief concern. Spock, too, seemed to be eyeing Leonard, but neither made any comment on the matter.
Blowing out a breath, the doctor shook his head, forcing an annoyed scowl on his face. A sarcastic quip about the transporters burned the tip of his tongue—something that would both reassure his companions with its air of normalcy and throw them off his scent—but the only thing that left his mouth was a soft:
"I hate those damn things."
Something tightened in Jim's eyes, a look Leonard couldn't place. Not when his heart refused to stroll at a leisurely pace and insisted upon keeping up its efforts to win the Kentucky Derby.
"I know, Bones," Jim replied, voice soft as he placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I know."
Not quite sure what the gesture was supposed to do—maybe it was meant to be reassuring or something of the kind—Leonard's initial reaction had him jerking out of Jim's hold.
And damned if he didn't regret it the instant he caught the flash of hurt in Jim's eyes.
Because there had been another hand. One both familiar and foreign, reaching out to touch. To take. To—
Would you cut it out? A deep breath out his nose did nothing to calm his nerves, but at least it gave off the pretense of calm. You're acting like a jumpy little schoolgirl.
Blue eyes sent brown the best silent apology they could manage before Leonard shifted his attention to Spock.
"No use in keeping our hosts waiting any longer than we already have."
Spock merely raised a brow. "I might remind you that a large majority of the away team arrived on time, Doctor."
"Right, well…" The jab was either an outpouring of Spock's own irritation at their slow pace or a gracious distraction from a doctor beginning to fall all to pieces at a simple transporter ride. Leonard couldn't decide which he preferred, so he just nodded. "Lead on, then, Mr. Spock."
The transporter had dropped them on the outskirts of the Cursioans capital city. Leonard couldn't recall the name off-hand, but his lips remembered the embarrassing feeling of trying to form the complex word.
Their trek to the Grand Hall took some time, so much so that he could feel his insides settle down at last. Maybe his stomach would even grant him the pleasure of calming enough to accommodate alien cuisine.
Here's hoping…
The trumpets announcing their arrival seemed a bit overkill, yet one glance at Jim revealed his delight at the proceedings. Leonard had to admit, under different circumstances, it would've felt nice to receive such a warm welcome.
During a time when he wasn't fighting tooth and nail to keep his anxiety at bay. And heaven help him if he even so much as thought about the transporter ride back to the ship.
Maybe they can send down a shuttle…
Yeah, right. That'll take forever and a day.
As their hosts appeared, it wasn't the antennae that first caught Leonard's attention—two long, noodle-like stalks protruding from the beings' forehead—but the hands. The long, flowing fingers spread out in a gesture of peace and welcome. He counted seven per hand, an unusual number that looked perfectly natural on the bluish Cursioans.
"Welcome," the tall one in the center of the group began, marking himself in Leonard's mind as the leader. The universal translator sounded like it was working overtime to unscramble the clipped, pitchy language. "Friends from the Federation, Cursioa not only welcomes you, She honors your presence here and your good work among the stars."
Jim returned the being's gesture with a smile and a deep bow. "We are beyond honored to accept your gracious invitation. I am Captain James Kirk of the starship Enterprise. This is my first officer, Mr. Spock, my chief medical officer, Doctor McCoy, and my security team."
"And I am Minister Aedon, here to greet you with the rest of the Cursioan High Court. We have heard much about you. More thorough introductions can be made during the feast, but please, allow us first to welcome you into the Hall. You must be weary from your travels."
Finally.
However, as Jim stepped forward, Aedon held out his hand.
"We only ask," the minister said, "that you submit to our tests before entering the Hall. It's our security feature, if you will, put in place to ensure you pose no ill intentions toward my people."
Jim's apprehension barely pierced his cool exterior, but Leonard felt it all the same. "What sort of test?"
The minister wriggled his fingers. "A simple mind test. Our telepathic abilities allow us a glimpse into your thoughts via touch. I assure you, the process is as swift as it is painless. Furthermore, this particular test only scratches the surface of your mind. We respect your privacy and have no desire to know your innermost thoughts."
At some point during this speech, Leonard's heart remembered its race, sprinting back into the danger zone with a vengeance.
While Jim visibly relaxed, Leonard felt his muscles tense and his fingers flex. Taking a step back seemed a bit too much, but he wasn't going to lie to himself and say he didn't want to book it back down the road right then and there.
Jim's smile returned and he nodded. "Of course, Minister Aedon. That shouldn't be a problem at all."
His respectful tone stood in stark contrast to Leonard's fierce "No way in hell."