Spock sat in front of a mirror where there was a hair cut kit alongside his arm.

McCoy slowly regained consciousness feeling a terrible head ache in his head. Cross that out. It felt his head was on fire. It burned so bad, the ache, and the pain in his mind was awful. He briefly closed his eye. So the first day before he got on aboard the USS Enterprise, someone drugged him and left him somewhere? That was a terrible way of beginning what might be a great start in space. His eyes started to open feeling like his eye lids were heavy. He noticed pain coming from the sides of his face and his back had a throbbing pain. He wasn't in a quarters but in a dark room. It was pitch black. A part of him felt like he was being hostage. Which could be the case. But perhaps not. Star Fleet officers had the risks of being abducted like any other person. Or it was some kind of prank being pulled by a bunch of medical officers on Starbase 1. However, McCoy got the distinctive feeling that it was not the case.

Spock picked up the tweezers.

Where the hell was he?

Spock took the furry aspects of the eyebrows out to make them thin.

What in tarnation was going on?

"What is this fraud's real name?" Came a woman's voice. A name floated in his head, Istak.

McCoy's eyes squint to see a couple figures ahead of him.

"Go to hell," Mallard said. "I am not ratting out the doc."

"You refuse to tell us where the colonists have been taken to," Istak said. "this is a easy question."

"I refuse," Mallard said.

McCoy noticed that he was bound to a chair.

Spock picked up a small case and a little black brush.

"You are not making this easy for me," Istak said. "I need his name."

"You can kiss my ass," Mallard said. "you are gonna kill him if I tell you."

"True," Istak said. "but he can't die with a Vulcan name. Doctor T'hinek does not fit him."

"Yes, it does," Mallard said.

So am I undercover and Lieutenant Commander Spock gave me that name?, McCoy thought as he was sitting there terrified. His wrists were aching. Something hard and smooth but pressing hard against his hand. Someone was deliberately torturing him. The only reason why he wouldn't remember the first meeting with Captain Kirk and Mr Spock is if he had a concussion. Which made sense. He felt a void in his heart. The void from killing his father out of mercy but it was deeper than it was before. The pain was lighter than the one he had experienced and the pain was never this light. What had he lost? And was this young man a security officer? Or was it the Captain? Captain James T. Kirk did not strike McCoy as the kind to swear on missions. The captain sounded like one of those captains who meant well and followed the rules.

Spock carefully applied misty black eyeliner.

"You are making it difficult for me," Istak said.

"Good," Mallard said. "at least I am succeeding at my part of the mission."

"So Star Fleet did send you!" Istak shouted.

"Nope," Mallard said. "we are rogue civilians working in the best interest of patients."

There was a loud, hard smack.

"Liar," Istak said.

"I said this once, eight hours ago, with your previous interrogator," Mallard said.

"Yes," Istak said. "and you will tell me his name."

Spock carefully picked up the scissors.

"Over my dead body," Mallard said. "the doc is the best man I known ever known. I wouldn't put him under the bus."

"If we we put his hands out of work, would you tell me?" Istak asked.

"Not a chance," Mallard said.

The pressure became strainous on his hands as a loud crack was heard.

McCoy screamed, feeling tears roll down his cheeks.

McCoy realized he was blindfolded as he attempted to lean forward in the direction of his legs.

What kind of sick people were doing this?

"What about his life?" Istak asked. "Are you willing to let him wither in pain?"

"I'll tell you his name," Mallard said.

"What is it," Istak said.

"Kodos," Mallard said.

Istak screeched and the next McCoy heard was a thud.

Pieces of Spock's long hair fell to the floor.

It was a hard thud.

Spock was trimming his bangs.

"Ow," Mallard said.

"S'Chess, S'Chev, take him to Stuvok and let him conduct the torture further," Istak said. "if he does not speak of the fraud's name then he has my permission to kill the man through the mind meld."

Hold on, doc, McCoy heard what sounded to be the young man in his mind.

McCoy found himself back on the grass in Georgia watching the blue sky and the clouds passing by him. McCoy had his hands behind his head feeling the wind brush against his face. He felt calm and at peace. Whatever was really happening outside could wait to be acknowledged. He was a doctor, not a knowledge-less hostage. McCoy looked over to see a figure sitting alongside him with hazel eyes and golden hair in blue jeans and in a black and red plad polo. The young man had boots on. His eyes was trained on what was up ahead mostly consisting of a lake surrounded by trees, a hill side with rocks, and a fence built around it leading to a series of houses. There were back yards with various sets of material set about such as swings, pools, plants, trees, toys, and some of them had nothing just a green grass.

"Fancy to see ya here," McCoy said.

"It is . . . always good . . . . to see . . . you too, Bones," Jim said, dramatically in a staccato style.

The man looked over toward the doctor wearing a small smile on his face--and it was looking into the sun except his vision was clouded by bright circles for staring at it too long. His skin pink and youthful. He looked a lot like the profile picture of the captain he was supposed to be assigned under. His heart ached at the sight of the young man. McCoy leaned forward placing one hand on the grass and the other on his knee raising one of his eyebrows back. Bones? Why did he call him Bones? His mind wondered over to a old word used a long time ago when hate and independence was being fought over. Sawbones, a phrase he hadn't heard since his time at the academy.

"Have we met?" McCoy asked.

"Yes," Jim said.

"When?" McCoy asked.

Jim grew a long, sad facial expression.

"You . . . don't . . . remember," Jim said, sadly.

"Not at all," McCoy said. He could sense that it was devastating.

"You are not dead," Jim said. "If that is what you are thinking," Jim fluttered his eyebrows, flirtatiously. "you are in . . . your happy place."

"Figures," McCoy said.

"Yes, figures," Jim said. "a place . . . . like this? You . . . don't . . . get to . . . feel pain."

"Are you a figment of my imagination?" McCoy asked.

"Not . . . entirely," Jim said.

"How so?" McCoy asked.

"I . . . am . . . . dead," Jim said.

"Oh really," McCoy said, in disbelief.

"Yes, really," Jim said. "and . . . it was . . . painless."

"Oh well, that is comfortin'," McCoy said.

"Not t me it is," Jim said. "we can not speak with each other, we can not touch each other, no one can . . .see me. it is like I am . . . . in hell."

"I am sorry, kid," McCoy said.

Jim sighed.

"I miss being . . . alive," Jim said, as McCoy had a hand on the man's shoulder.

"Some people I know would envy you for that," McCoy said. "no hunger, no need to be bothered, or be hurt . . . Say, how well did we know each other?"

"We knew each other . . . intimately," Jim said.

"How intimately?" McCoy asked, letting of of the man's shoulder.

"We were partners . . ." Jim said. "but you broke it off . . . . after I was bonded."

"Ah, telepathic marriage," McCoy said.

"Yes," Jim said.

"I can see why I ended it," McCoy said.

"But that doesn't mean . . . . I stopped loving you," Jim said. "not for one minute."

"Is this your way of asking me out to wherever you are?" McCoy waved his hand.

Jim laughed, shaking his head, in a way that sounded like laughing at something ridiculous.

"Bones, you lost . . . a lot . . . of memory," Jim said. "I am just filling you in . . . on what . . you don't remember."

"So you are my memories?" McCoy asked.

"No, Bones, I am . . . a ghost," Jim said, with a bemused laugh. "I . . . am . . . Captain Kirk."

McCoy felt his face become hot.

"I dated a young man and got into a relationship with my superior officer," McCoy said. "I don't believe you."

"Not believe . . . long as you want," Jim said. "I am here."

"All right, Captain," McCoy said.

"Call me Jim," Jim said.

"Okay, Jim," McCoy said. "Why are you still here?" He glared back at the captain. "Go enjoy your afterlife!" He waved a hand dismissively. "Go, shoo!"

"I love you," Jim said.

"That doesn't count," McCoy said.

"It does," Jim argued. "I may not have a heart . . . but . . . this is where I belong."

"Does not," McCoy said. "And you don't belong here."

"Of course, I do," Jim said. "some one has to be there when you actually die."

"Are ya implyin' you are gonna be at my death bed?" McCoy asked, with a raised eyebrow.

"You will be confused . . . after you die," Jim said.

"Standard for sudden death why it is possible," McCoy said.

"Which makes me . . . a pretty good . . . . bystander," Jim said. "always good to have a familiar face . . . . to greet you."

"To be my guardian angel?" McCoy asked.

"I am not a angel," Jim said.

"Then what are you?" McCoy asked.

"A ghost . . . with . . . unfinished business," Jim said.

"I am not your unfinished business," McCoy said.

"That, you are not," Jim agreed. "I . . . left . . . too soon."

"Pretty rational," McCoy said. "some ghosts are known not to leave the plane of the livin' because their death was traumatic."

Jim was staring at the doctor.

"You are right," Jim said. "my death. . . Spock tried, too, to prevent it. . . He always did. . and you did your best to keep him from going down with me. I want you to know that. . . there was no other way you could have known what was going to happen to me."

McCoy turned his attention back.

"Oh," McCoy said. "here I thought I failed as a doctor."

"You never failed on me under my command," Jim said.

"Not surprisin' for a miracle worker," McCoy said.

"You were always part of the miracle," Jim agreed.

"There were others, I am sure of that, who helped made sure you were in safe hands," McCoy said.

Jim was laid on his side looking at McCoy in a loving manner while combing his hands through the grass.

"Since I am dead and all," Jim said. "how about a kiss for good luck that you will get out here sane?"

"Uh, no," McCoy said. "Jim, I am your doctor, damn it, not your spouse."

Jim wiggled his eyebrows.

"Who says the dead remained married?" Jim asked.

McCoy paused.

"I don't feel comfortable making out with a man I barely know," McCoy said.

Jim took the man by the shoulders then planted a kiss on the man's lips. Jim backed off looking at the doctor with hope swirling in his eyes. As brief as the kiss was, it was warm and familiar. A memory had jolted back to the doctor. They had done this before. Except his back was pressed against the wall and his legs felt like they were wrapped around a waist and warm hands under his shirt. His hands laid on the man's shoulder blades. his mind on fire with testosterone. Feeling the man's soft, gentle skin. The electricity sizzling between them in the hot, steamy moment. A private, intimate moment. It felt more like they had done it in a private room.

"Do you remember this?" Jim asked, softly.

McCoy looked at the man clutching at the fabric of the man's shirt.

"It feels familiar," McCoy said. McCoy looked up and down the man observing him. "you feel so real."

Jim smiled down at the doctor as his free hand went down to the man's pants.

"That is because it is real," Jim said, then he kissed along the man's neck.

McCoy's back met the grass.

"I am here,"Jim said. "I am not going to leave you," His hand slid under the man's briefs. "stay with me."

McCoy moaned.

"Damn it, Jim, you are too sweet for me," McCoy complained.

Jim smiled, softly kissing along the man's neck.

"Don't I know it," Jim said.