He was losing oxygen, slowly.

The glowing ball would require surgery to be taken out.

Mostly by M'Benga with his head nurse.

McCoy would need to be sedated to get it taken out. He chipped at the glass attempting to take it out. He felt the hard, stern metal surrounding the object. He felt the metal embedded into both sides of his hand. He scratched to find a weakness around it to take out the count down. His fingers scratched along the glass. The cold, hard firm metal only got scratches. How did it get put into his hand? It was a curious question. If he regulated his breathing, perhaps he'll die in his sleep rather than a painful attempt struggling to breath. A painless, short death. It was cold within the box. He missed Jim and Spock. He missed Nyota, M'Benga, and Christine. It felt like a lifetime ago that he was on a starship. Befriended aliens or fled from them on foot. The idea of aliens being real became surreal.

Like he had lived a dream. No. It was real. It had happened. They were real as the doctor was.

McCoy felt an alien like presence sweeping through his mind. It won't be the first time. Who was in his mind now? Was this really a dream? Was he really in a coma? Was he really safe? In his own bed? Was it all a nightmare? The detachment of feelings was oddly familiar. The last time that he felt emotionally detached like this telepathically were---His mind reeled coming to abrupt stop. The events of a previous away mission hit him hard. Hope grew within the man's soul, a faint glowing hope, that warmed his marriage issued southern heart. Warm feelings traveled through the man. Spock was going to find him and assure him that his mother was safe. It was a incredibly rare connection to have between a human and a Vulcan. A link that wasn't consummated normally did not allow full on conversations to occur. One would hear the others thoughts but not be able to reply. And McCoy didn't think first: he thought. Spock, McCoy's called out in his mind, Spock! SPOCK! I'M ALIVE! I'M ALIVE! I'M ALIVE!

The flicker of stray alien emotion strayed like a flickering weak flame. McCoy was giving himself a headache. A strain in his psi abilities. McCoy closed his eyes briefly opening them to his newly founded headache. Spock and Jim were going to find him soon. They weren't going to believe Ohalis. They were probably on his case searching for him. McCoy took out the pyyhra necklace that Spock had given him before the extended mission had started. He stopped his attempts to relay the communication. A alien emotion flared through the link. It was a burning, fierce flame dawned on by realization. It was a decisive, violent turn from the detachment to keep the other in check and balanced. Spock. Spock. Spock. Spock. Spock. Spock. Spock. Spock. Spock. Spock. Spock. Spock. Spock. Spock. I don't want to be alone. I don't--I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. His eyes were squeezed shut focused on the weak link that he shared with the Vulcan. He repeated them in no order over and over hoping that Spock got the message.

McCoy stopped, feeling his head pounding.

McCoy had to wait until then to be found.

He was perfectly happy about that. Very.

McCoy looked back in his memories for comfort as his eyes tiredly closed.