He wasn't crazy.
So, why was everyone looking at him like he belonged in the insane asylum on Elba II?
The minister's face went from shocked to offended in almost a comical shift of emotion, but Leonard wasn't laughing.
He was trying not to have a heart attack.
In a rush of adrenaline, he whirled on his captain. "'Of course? That shouldn't be a problem at all?' Jim!" he hissed, bringing his voice down, though not down enough, if the Cursioans' expressions were anything to go by. "Have you gone mad?"
"Bones..." But the warning in Jim's tone flew right over Leonard's head.
"You can't honestly tell me you're okay with them rifling through your mind like it was the average file cabinet! Walking blindly into something like this is like signing our own de—"
"Bones, that's enough!" Jim snapped, eyes that once held a touch of concern going hard.
"But Jim—"
He tried not to stiffen under Jim's sudden grip on his arm, but felt his own failure in the form of taught muscles and prickled skin.
Another flash of concern, barely noticeable as it dashed across Jim's stoney glare.
Tossing the Cursioan welcome party a placating smile, Jim pulled Leonard a few feet away from the group.
"Bones," he said, voice low, "what's going on?"
"What's going on? I already told you: I don't like the thought of having aliens take a casual look inside my brain and you shouldn't either."
"It's part of their culture," came the reply—one, Leonard assumed, that was meant to make the situation seem reasonable. Seem natural.
No. Leonard sucked in a breath that did nothing to ease the tension in his lungs. No way in hell.
"It's... invasive."
Jim shook his head. "They promised us it wouldn't be. Just a light brush over the mind. You have to admit, their reasoning is sound. We're on their turf now, not our own."
Leonard's mind finally stopped running in circles long enough to free his arm from Jim's hold.
"I don't have to admit a damn thing! And I didn't ask to be here. You might be all fine and dandy with it, but I'm not."
"Look, if we don't do it, we can't go in. It's as simple as that."
"Well," Leonard said, crossing his arms, "if it's that simple, you go on ahead and I'll wait for you at the door."
"Bones..." The way Jim's eyes softened tugged at Leonard's heart. Damn it, Jim…
"Come on, Jim," Leonard began, all the fight having drained from his tone. "Why do I have to go in? This isn't a dangerous mission. No one's hurt, no one's dying. Why do I have to be here?"
Between them hovered a cloud of unspoken uncertainty; a lack of understanding that had been nipping at their heels since Spock had dragged him into that transporter room and Jim had praised the ISS first officer's efforts to—
Slam!
He shut the door on that memory before it could dig its twisted little roots into his brain again.
That wasn't Spock. It wasn't…
"Because I need you, Bones."
Leonard swallowed. But I need you, too, Jim.
Though it went against every fiber of his being—every fiber that wouldn't stop screaming at him to get the hell out of there—he felt his head give the slightest of nods.
"You'll be all right?"
Leonard grit his teeth. "I'll be fine."
Jim seemed satisfied enough with this answer, though that touch of concern, of uncertainty, lingered around his irises.
With a deep breath and a renewed smile, Jim turned back to the Cursioans.
"We're ready when you are, Minister Aedon."
Not a minute later, Leonard fought to curb his rising horror as the minister's long fingers settled against Jim's temples. What felt like an eternity only lasted a handful of seconds. In the meantime, several other Cursioans took their places in front of Spock of the security team.
Leonard had just begun to get his breathing under control when a tall Cursioan—his decorative attire marking him as a higher member of the court—had slipped into view. Unable to see Jim nor Spock, it felt for one terrible moment as if he had been completely cut off from the world.
"I assure you," the being said in a voice that was meant to soothe but sent shivers up and down Leonard's spine, "this will cause you no pain, Doctor McCoy."
Before he could even open his mouth in protest, cool pads pressed against the sides of his forehead. The next thing he knew, someone—or something—was scraping against his brain, as if trying in vain to peel off the top layer.
He wasn't crazy—he wasn't.
But they said it wasn't supposed to hurt.
At some point, Leonard closed his eyes, pulling out and dusting off every memory he had of Joanna because maybe if he could distract himself—
A hand landed on his shoulder and his eyes snapped open.
"Doctor—"
Leonard had jerked away nanoseconds before Spock's face came into focus.
He could've sworn his heart had already won the Kentucky Derby twice over and was now just racing for the fun of it.
"Doctor?" The raised brow said everything Spock hadn't.
"I'm fine," he tried to snap, though it lacked the desired bite. By the looks of it, Jim and the others were already making their way into the Hall. "Come on, we..."
That hand fell on his arm once more and Leonard couldn't suppress his shiver.
"Doctor, if you suffered any ill effects, it would be wise to—"
"I told you, Spock, I'm fine. Get that through your thick skull, because if you keep staring at me like that, I'm telling you right now," he added, jerking a thumb at the Hall, "that's gonna be one long dinner."
Spock had the audacity to look confused. "Like what?"
Like...
Like I'm slowly losing my mind.
He left Spock without a reply, steeling himself enough to follow Jim into the Hall. With any luck, his trip through hell was over.
How was he supposed to know it had barely even begun?
One thing Spock had come to learn about McCoy is that the ornery human was almost never quiet. He had much to say and "no qualms about saying it," to quote the doctor himself. It wasn't as though the man didn't have his quiet moments, they were simply few and far between.
And in all his years serving alongside Leonard McCoy, Spock could not recall ever seeing him this quiet.
The fact that McCoy hadn't said more than two words together since their encounter ouside the Hall didn't sit well with Spock, to put in the plainest of human terms.
Though Spock had never been prone to such emotions like anxiety, he found it difficult to give his fraying nerves any other explanation than the man sitting across the table from him.
The Cursioans had arranged the seating so as to scatter the Starfleet officers about the long table. Logically, this allowed for better conversation between the officers and the members of the court, which would have been challenging had the crewmen been clustered at the head or the foot of the extensive banquet.
This logic, though it appeared to be working quite well for the Cursioans, only served to worsen the concern building in the back of Spock's mind.
He risked a glance at McCoy. Those seated beside him must have realized rather quickly that their guest was not going to be a good conversationalist that afternoon and had sought elsewhere for stimulation.
The illogical part of Spock told him that if he stared long enough, the doctor would meet his eyes. The windows to the soul might give him some sort of insight…
… Or, they could simply glare back at him. The doctor's dulled blue orbs did neither, remaining fixed on the plate before him. The sight was far from fascinating—it was disturbing.
And the rest of their land party didn't seem to notice. Perhaps it was Spock's heightened powers of perception that allowed him to notice more than the average human.
Or maybe it was the way he had caught McCoy standing alone with his eyes shut, almost as if he hadn't realized the security test was finished.
Spock had known for quite some time that McCoy possessed a certain amount of... unease when it came to "alien voodoo," but to put a mission in jeopardy… To nearly back out entirely…
That did not sound like the Doctor McCoy Spock had come to know.
Dinner came to a slow close—the Cursioans, it would seem, savored their fine dining—and for a moment, Spock thought they might be moving to the negotiative stage at last. For a meal that was meant to encourage the Cursioan addition to the Federation, very little negotiations had actually taken place.
"Captain Kirk," the high minister, a polite yet dull man in Spock's opinion, began as he brushed a napkin over his lips, "this has been a most enjoyable meal. Your men have the most interesting things to say."
Spock spared another glance at McCoy, who had left enough of his food untouched to barely pass as polite.
Most of them...
"I wonder if we could convince you to enjoy the hospitality of Cursioa a few days longer while we discuss terms. My people," Aedon went on, making a sweeping gesture at the court members in attendance, "they have many questions about the Federation—about your Starfleet. Questions that would be easier to answer and contemplate if you and your team stayed for a day or two."
Spock felt his brow raise at this somewhat… fascinating proposition. He wasn't aware of any sort of negotiations that could not take place over videoscreen. At the very least, it would be simpler to beam back and forth between the Enterprise and Cursioa, especially since they found themselves without spare sets of clothing and other necessities.
Perhaps this was merely the preferred way of doing things, a great possibility considering they all knew next to nothing about the Cursioan culture and practices.
By the look on his face, Spock had no doubt McCoy was harboring similar thoughts, though in a much less... logical fashion.
The fact that the captain actually seemed to be considering this request only contributed to the rising tension Spock could feel radiating off the doctor.
"I suppose," Jim began, hand rubbing at his chin in a sign of true human contemplation, "it wouldn't be any trouble to have a few bags of our things beamed down. Clothes and such."
While the minister brightened at this, McCoy noticeably paled.
"Splendid!" Aedon replied. "Our Grand Hall boasts several luxury suites that I'm sure you will find to your liking."
Spock could practically hear the doctor's unspoken protest, so familiar was he with McCoy's character.
"Jim, you can't be serious!"
"This is our mission, Bones. There's nothing more important than this right now," Jim might reply.
"What about Medbay?" the doctor would shoot back. "Jim, I have patients. I can't just abandon them because you want to have a sleepover with the Cursioans."
"Doctor M'Benga and Nurse Chapel are more than capable of handling things in your absence, as Scotty and Sulu will be in mine." When Jim said it, Spock surmised he would quirk a grin. "Isn't that what you're always telling me, anyway?"
McCoy might have some sort of comeback to this, he might not. He might clamp his lips and glare at his captain. He might riddle Jim with curses and complaints.
But he would comply nonetheless.
After all, Spock realized as he watched Jim finalize their future plans with the minister, orders were orders.
Even if they came from your best friend.