McCoy's dream was about to turn into a nightmare. Fresh, young, and not-so-terrified by space. He hated space but it didn't mean he couldn't avoid going into it. Ready to help someone without a given thought. It was his duty to help those. He had taken the oath. The Hippocratic oath to save lives not kill them. The transporters were his greatest fears then. McCoy was in his sick bay when the red alert sounded. That's when the doors opened and in came the Cardassians except they sounded like Spock and they were crying horrifying the doctor. McCoy lunged forward putting one hand on his chest.

"Shawk." It was Spock, and he was weeping, speaking in his sleep.

McCoy sighed, lifting his head up toward the ceiling.

Sleep talker, McCoy thought, and here I thought his distress was over.

McCoy had his beard suppressor on the counter alongside his fingernail trimmers set within a small box that held other things to name a few. Small tokens of his past. The people he served with after the USS Centerpide incident (Years afterwards, when he was Leonard McCoy again) in a mental asylum. There were former captains held there because they simply went mad. McCoy used his skill to comfort people to settle them down. Going along with what they said or assuring them everything is all right in their little world. They couldn't cure insanity to this day. Pictures of his family were in there, too. McCoy got up from the bed hearing it creak as he stood up.

"Shawk, I actually enjoy classic rock music."

McCoy stopped, hesitating, grinning like an idiot hearing a Vulcan admit out loud that they liked classic rock music. Well, McCoy thought, that is somethin' new. He approached the Vulcan's bedside. He put aside the hilarious admission in his mind. It was highly unlikely for Vulcans to enjoy music since they declared them as 'illogical'. Then again, rock music was pouring emotions out. Hard Rock involved raw, loud emotions allowing young people to channel themselves with the singer. Then it became logical for Spock to enjoy classic rock music. But it also became quickly saddening realizing that Spock likely never bonded with his son over the shared love of music. McCoy stroked the Vulcan's hair, gently, with his fingers.

"It's okay," McCoy said. "He knows." The Vulcan tears began to stop. "He always known."

At least this was better than comforting the once well known Captain Sarge who believed he was a mutant from a place called Olduvai and he was immortal and that McCoy was too. It didn't help that the other orderlies eventually made fun of the startling story where Sarge claimed he was this man named John William Grimm born 2020 somewhere on Planet Earth and raised on Mars for a few years. Being part of a group called Rapid Response Tactile Squad. Also known as RRTS. It didn't help that half of the insane people there believed they were part of the team. McCoy played along. Mostly because he didn't appear to age physically. Also because it made sense with the claim that he was made immortal by this C-24, extra chromosome thing that was highly impossible. Commander George, more known as Goat, was a fairly devout religious man. Wore the cross around his neck. And the rest of the men were unique in their own ways. And then there was this woman who claimed to be his sister born twelve minutes apart. And she was rather flirty.

"Shawk . . . Please don't go." The Vulcan was upset, reliving a memory, of the day his son likely left for the academy. McCoy had done his research after five nights of Spock with memory lapses.

This was way better than working at a mental asylum for all McCoy was concerned.

"Shawk has always loved you and looked up to you," McCoy said. "He styled himself after his role model. Lovin' someone of the opposite gender was a different story for him. He was confused and unsure how to express that without harming himself. But he learned to express his love in a safe manner. Shawk thought you were the greatest Vulcan there ever lived. He wanted to be just like you. You were his idol. His role model."

McCoy paused.

"He wanted to make a difference just like you, Spock," McCoy said. "He wanted to be a shoe-horn in his own right." His voice was trembling. "And no matter what he did, he would always know you were proud of him. Shawk had a lovin', carin' father and he accepted that with open arms."

The Vulcan stopped speaking and was no longer in distress.

"He loved you like a son does for a father." McCoy said.

McCoy returned to bed.

Two hours later, Spock had another nightmare featuring Shawk and Erin. McCoy got sick of having to get up and walk from his bed. He ended up moving his bed right next to the Vulcan then soothing him back into a comfortable dream while he himself was half asleep. McCoy had his arms wrapped around the Vulcan under the blanket covering the bed. What ever Spock did with Jim had brought up unresolved issues that Spock had with his children. When McCoy's eyes opened it was no longer dark. He had one arm under his backside and one arm around his head. McCoy returned his bed to the other side of the room without making a sound. Thirty-three minutes later McCoy re-awoke to Spock meditating on a mat facing his own counter with incense lit up. McCoy returned to sleep. When he awoke finally in the morning, Spock was playing a lute.

Damn hobgoblin woke him up.

And McCoy was grumpy throughout the day with Spock.