Leonard didn't want a luxury suite. Grudgingly, he had to admit it was by far the nicest room he would probably ever sleep in, but that wasn't the point.

He didn't want a luxury suite. He didn't want to stay over on Cursioa.

He wanted the Enterprise. He wanted his own quarters, his medbay, his security.

And he most certainly didn't want Jim to look at him like he was messing everything up. Like something was wrong. Like Jim had to fix it all somehow.

Nothing's wrong.

Leonard ran his hand over the silky bed covers.

And you can't fix it, Jim.

Having overnight bags sent down had been no trouble at all, much to Leonard's frustration. He understood where Jim was coming from—he really did. It was the fact that Jim didn't understand where he was coming from that complicated things.

It's just as well.

Because maybe if he ignored it, the pain would fade with time. He had become somewhat of an expert at handling trauma on his own.

Just ask Jocelyn.

Sometimes, Leonard wondered how she had been able to put up with him for so long after everything with his father.

Because that pain faded so well.

A slow clap echoed in Leonard's head, grating on his already fraying nerves.

Well done, McCoy.

You're handling everything so well.

Shut up.

On top of it all, Spock wouldn't stop looking at him with that damned raised brow, his barely-revealed concern bleeding into Leonard's own anxieties.

He was fiddling with the first few buttons on his dress uniform when he heard it: the door sliding open.

Only then did it occur to him that he hadn't locked the door when he retired for the evening—mainly because that hadn't been an option.

Leonard had never been a fan of assumptions, but a "Damn it, Jim! You know better than to sneak up on people like that!" danced on the tip of his tongue.

One glance behind, however, killed those lines before he could even give them a voice.

"How did you get in here?"

The Cursioan blinked. "I have studied humans. The concept of privacy is not something your kind and the people of Cursioa share. Truly, I did not mean to startle you."

Ignoring his thumping heart, Leonard tried for a smile, feeling it fall the slightest bit short.

"This mission is the most important thing right now, Bones."

Right...

"Of course," he said, willing the anxiety to fade. "That's one of the interesting parts of space travel, I guess." The forced chuckle tore at his throat. "You come across so many different cultures."

The Cursioan nodded, a brief, almost dismissive gesture. "In light of your own cultural normalities, a knock would have been in order."

Leonard waved a hand. "It's fine."

Get out of my room.

Intruder alert alarms blared in his mind, but he steeled himself against them. For now.

"Your mind," the Cursioan began, not wasting a single moment of silence, "it... It was quite intriguing."

The realization that this was the Cursioan—the one who, mere hours ago, had pried into his psyche—hit Leonard like a phaser blast to the chest.

What did one even say to that?

Thanks. I always knew my brain was something special.

You really like it? Wanna trade?

His lack of response only prompted the Cursioan to continue; to step forward as if Leonard had just invited him to come in and rest his feet.

"I wonder if you would permit me to take a closer look..."

That spindly hand reached out seconds before Leonard ducked out of the way. Too close. That was too—

"What—" He didn't waste time cursing his voice. He knew it would crack sooner or later. "What's so interesting about it?"

The alien didn't seem as keen on answering this as he was on pursuing his prey. "Will you permit me?"

For the sake of diplomacy—and the fact that he knew he'd already blown it with Jim and the Cursioans earlier that day—Leonard kept his tone civil.

"I think my mind's had enough activity for one day." The laugh he'd wanted to tack on got stuck halfway up his throat.

The Cursioan hummed. "My studies warned me that you humans are a stubborn race; that you often fail to see reason."

The hand reached out a second time, fingers hell-bent on getting their way. Only, as Leonard went to move his legs, he found them reluctant to obey. In fact, he couldn't move them at all. It felt like invisible restraints—no, invisible hands.

Invisible hands gripped his ankles and wrists, holding them in place no matter how hard he tried to struggle.

What the hell...?

No one told him the Cursioans were more than simple telepaths.

"I assure you, Doctor McCoy, this will be painless."

Seven long fingers reached out.

Leonard was helpless to stop them from grazing his temple.

His brain commanded him to scream, but his tight throat and dry mouth refused to cooperate.

"Your mind," the alien began, voice so soft, it sent shivers down the doctor's spine, "it is multi-dimensional. Two worlds in one. A string of mirrors that don't align... Tell me, how long has it been in such turmoil?"

Leonard couldn't answer, couldn't do anything except shut his eyes.

Why did everyone ask questions if they were going to reach in and pull out the answers anyway?

"Why did the captain let me live?"

At first, he had been relieved to get his own room. Some distance between him and Jim—between his telling face and Spock's prying gaze—had sounded like paradise.

Now, there wasn't anything Leonard wouldn't give for a good old Vulcan nerve pinch.

But would it even work on the Cursioans? Or would they stop it with whatever these powers were before Spock's hand drew too close?

Leonard didn't have time to dwell on this new, bone-chilling thought. His assailant had gone beyond the simple scraping of the surface, plunging deeper into his mind.

It felt nothing like a mind meld.

It felt worse. Draining, as if the Cursioan were siphoning Leonard's energy and taking it for himself.

"Can you hear me, Doctor?" The voice echoed, familiar yet foreign.

"Get out of my head," he ground out in what he hoped was a threatening tone.

The voice ignored him. "I have studied human psychology. This isn't what normal brain activity is supposed to look like, is it?"

In that moment, Leonard would have rather died than give into the alien's whims.

More questions were fired at him, but Leonard had shut them out. The building pain was more than enough to deal with on its own, spreading like wildfire on a dry prairie.

This time, memories of Joanna did nothing to distract him, to ease the pain, and Leonard felt too exhausted to try a new method.

Ages must have passed before the Cursioan finally pulled away. Leonard gasped for air, wondering if his lungs had even remembered to breathe during the attack.

"I am a scholar," the Cursioan was saying, and somewhere on the outskirts of his comprehension, Leonard heard the distorted voice. "I am hungry for knowledge, for answers to the unknown. I thought I had discovered all there is to learn about the human mind. Yours has shattered this achievement. I have never seen a mind so at war with itself; so contradictory, yet so similar at the same time. Truly, two worlds in one."

At some point, Leonard's legs must have given out beneath him because he was staring up at the being from the cold tiles of the floor.

"I will meditate on all I have seen." A hard look passed over his face then. "It would not aid the efforts of your Federation should any word of what has happened travel beyond this room."

Leonard couldn't move. Stress-paralyzed, Joce had once called it. The Cursioan appeared to take his silence as an affirmative response and nodded.

"Good."

The Cursioan left, yet Leonard couldn't remember when. If this is what drowning felt like, he sure as hell would be staying far away from any body of water from now on.

And from the Cursioans.

Only, he couldn't, could he?

Damn it.

Eyes squeezed closed once more as Leonard fought for his next breath.

You're fine.

He'd told himself this after the Mirror Verse, too. A little lie that did nothing to soothe the nightmares, but somehow made it a little easier to face each day.

You're okay.

Just breathe.

"Can you hear me?"

A shudder wracked his frame.

Go away!

Can you

You

You can, can't you

Hearmecanyou—

"Can you hear me...?"

You're fin—

Doctor?

"Why did the captain let me live…?"

"Our minds are as one, Doctor. I know what you know. I feel what you feel."

Leonard tightened his jaw until slivers of pain cut through his muscles. If he didn't, he would scream.

"It would not aid the efforts of your Federation should any word of what has happened travel beyond this room."

Right.

He wasn't going to ruin the mission just because he couldn't...

What?

Couldn't think straight? Couldn't steamroll all the bumps out of his mind? Couldn't breathe like a normal human being?

"Two worlds in one mind."

"How long...?"

Somewhere along the line, he realized he had lost count of the days. The ISS Enterprise seemed like yesterday. And an eternity ago.

What had he even done yesterday? The memory was a blur.

Ourmindsare as—

One our minds, areourare

Minds are as…

Our minds are as one…

Doctor.

The bed was close enough that reaching out to snatch a silky pillow would have been easy. Part of him yearned to do it; to embrace the black abyss of sleep.

But the other part of him couldn't look away from the door. That part of him, the paranoid, scared-to-death part became his own watchdog.

Still huddled against the wall, arms wrapped tightly around his knees, Leonard could feel the beginning aches from the uncomfortable position.

Yet, he couldn't bring himself to move.

"Stress-paralyzed."

A young doctor had glanced up at his wife, brows furrowed, limbs unmoving.

"What?"

She had joined him on the sofa, loving hands running up and down his arms. Around his shoulders, across his neck. Soothing. Calming.

"You're stress-paralyzed. You're too stressed out to move."

He had scoffed then, and would have shaken his head if he could. "That's not a thing. You made it up."

She had flashed that disarming grin. "And I thought you were supposed to be the doctor here."

"Okay, fine. I'm stress-paralyzed. Why?"

"You tell me."

"H-How do I stop it?"

An arm around his shoulders had eased a bit of the tension. "Tell me about your day. What happened? Who was that on the comms just now?"

It had all spilled out after that. The critical care patient. The long, desperate hours spent trying to nurse her back to health. The call that had shattered his soul.

Dead. "I'm sorry, Len. She didn't make it."

Sorry.

Sure.

Sorry didn't bring the dead to life. Sorry didn't patch a broken heart.

My fault.

I should've tried harder, fought harder.

"I could tell you it wasn't your fault," she had said, voice no higher than a whisper, "but something tells me you wouldn't believe it. Not yet." She had kissed him after that. "But you will."

He had shaken his head, but she'd planted a kiss on his cheek. Then, his lips. "Look at me. You will believe it. It's gonna be okay, Len. I promise, you're gonna be okay..."

What he wouldn't give for those same soothing arms to wrap around him now. To calm, to protect.

But the sentiment could never feel the same even if Jocelyn had been standing there. Not anymore. Not since—

Another shaky breath pumped his lungs with coveted air.

You're fine.

Because he wasn't crazy.

He just had two voices in his head. First, Spock's—that Spock, not his Spock—and now, the overly curious Cursioan's.

Curious. Leonard scoffed, a bitter sound that felt more like a choked sob. Curious was no excuse to force yourself into someone else's mind.

"Why did the captain let me live?"

Darkness bit at the corners of his vision.

"I feel what you feel."

The door blurred as the room shifted.

"I know what you know…"

Leonard became vaguely aware of his body tilting, of his head hitting the bedpost.

But, still, he had to keep his focus on the door.

He had to... to...

Can you can

Hear me, can't you

Hear

Cancancan

Youcanyou

Can you hear me...?

"Doctor..."

Get out.

"I assure you, this will be painless."

Get out of my head.