Sequel to The Trolley Paradox! Still more angst ahead! Some quotes from Star Trek- I'll let you guess the episode (that I do not own). Enjoy! Multi-chapter, more to come!

McCoy knew he couldn't look back.

He'd had almost two decades to practice this. While most people didn't understand this, and often looked down on it, they still normally labeled him as a brooder.

And maybe they were right. It was his natural tendency to reflect on things too much. Which is precisely why he worked hard to not look back. It wasn't a good trait at all, at least for him. He's already had his fair share of misfortune. That's why he and his therapist (from all those years ago) set up his new mandate.

Always look forward.

It was hard, especially at first. Then he got used to it. Sometimes it was harder than normal, maybe something bad had happened (again) but he normally pulled through. He lived from moment to moment.

He looked forward to the small things he could enjoy. A nice dinner invitation from a kind person. The next video chat with Joanna. A good drink of Saurian brandy after a long day. He looked forward to the next scientific discovery. A relaxing shower after a rough away mission. Pleasant conversation with pleasant company. A good walk.

He moved on from moment to moment, and when bad things happened, he absorbed it, felt it, and then knew he had to move on. So he did.

This, however, was difficult.

He sat in his quarters in deep concentration. Occasionally his shoulders would shake. He'd started to move on from his dubious decision on Kathala III, until the Vulcan Council had intervened and forced him to look at it- in every aspect, and from every angle. The 'what if' questions started floating through his head, and they were getting harder and harder to ignore.

Normally, if it was just this, he could handle it. It might take a couple days, but he'd handle it. However, it was as if the interrogation on Vulcan had opened a dam of some sorts. It wasn't just Kathala III that flooded his mind.

His breathing quickened and his shoulders shook more. In a flash he stood up and breezed out of his room.

He furiously walked around the ship, clearing his head, trying to outpace his past demons.

"Dr. McCoy, report to the bridge."

"On my way."

Kirk settled back in his seat. The Enterprise was four days out from Vulcan and headed towards their previous quadrant. They were due to pick up some supplies from Outpost Gamma before heading out into uncharted territory. Though the crisis on Kathala had temporarily diverted them, compounded by the Vulcan summons, they were finally cleared to return to their original mission.

Though Kirk was concerned. The earthquake crisis was enough to deal with, but the questioning from the left field of Vulcan really stung. He didn't like others questioning his officer's choices, and he knew how deeply McCoy felt about his decision. The doctor had just begun to bounce back when the round of doubtful prodding slammed into him.

Now, Kirk had barely seen him since the return to the Enterprise. No, he didn't think McCoy was avoiding him- there was no reason for that- but he had been rather reclusive, and Kirk knew that socialization could help push back whatever current haunts surrounded the doctor.

The turbolift doors opened and McCoy walked in. Kirk spun and studied him. He looked a little worn, with the bags under his eyes heavier than usual.

"Hey, Bones, how are things in Sickbay?" he asked cordially.

McCoy stopped by his chair. "You called me up here for that?" he quipped. His voice seemed more tired than usual.

"Not just, Doctor." Kirk gestured the screen. "We're about to pass through a small dust cloud- it's been drifting in this area for thousands of years, now. Spock's calibrating the visual screen to render it by gaseous color code- like they did for old space pictures back in the 21st century. Should be interesting."

He expected a quip about Spock finding it 'logical' to color-correct a dust cloud, but instead McCoy just nodded dully at the screen. Eventually, vibrant blues, reds, and oranges started drifting across the screen. Everyone paused for a moment to observe the imagery. Uhura oohed under her breath.

"Well, Bones?" Kirk asked.

McCoy stayed silent, staring at it. "Looks fine, Jim," he murmured, and drew away from the bridge.

Kirk frowned as the turbolift doors closed. Perhaps it had been too soon.

McCoy furiously rubbed his eyes. He looked up back in the mirror. He looked away abruptly and rubbed them again.

What kind of doctor…

She was SEVEN.

Being a doctor… has its drawbacks…

I always wondered why I'd-

A sharp intake of breath punctured the small bathroom. Voices and pain started echoing around his skin. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and reached for a glass of water. His hand was a claw, and he carefully uncurled it, wincing. He hurt all over.

Stop, the clinical part of his mind said. This is psychosomatic. It's not real.

He stumbled out of the bathroom. With each step he hurt even more. His mind swirled as he desperately repeated to himself it's not real, it's not real, it's not real.

He collapsed onto his bed, breathing hard. He couldn't move his arms. He shook slightly, but couldn't shift into a more comfortable position. He struggled to keep breathing.

Pale faces seemed to loom over him. They whispered and discussed his condition. He couldn't move, or react in any way. Their large cerebrums pulsed as they spoke. He watched the veins twitch, and then they turned back to face him. His heart leapt to his throat. Brace yourself, here it comes again.

He choked out a ragged laugh as the torture started again. It turned into a sob, which morphed into a scream-

-and he bolted upright in bed, still in the same position he was when he crawled in. His hands stayed limp on the mattress. McCoy gasped in his breaths, trying to control his thudding heart.

He didn't know when he fell asleep. Flexing his fingers, he tried to will some feeling back into his hands. They tingled infuriatingly.

When he regained some more control, he stood up and briskly walked outside. What time was it? Did he care?

He turned a corner and nearly ran into an ensign walking the other way. "Watch it!" he snapped, his heart beating. She jumped and whatever apology she'd been about to say was scared out of her throat. She scurried off down the corridor.

Dammit, McCoy, what were you thinking? There was no reason for that. He stiffened his shoulders up abrasively at the voice and snorted. Not like I can retract it, now. What's done is done.

He walked aimlessly and furiously around the ship until it was time for morning shift.

"How bad is it, Scotty?" Kirk asked, rubbing his forehead.

"Bad enough t'give us some trouble, sair, but I should have it fixed by th'time we reach Gamma Outpost."

"Because that time is lengthened," Kirk supplied.

"Well, thair is also that."

Kirk sighed. "Do what you need to Scotty. And tell your men to stop experimenting with the warp configurations."

"Aye, sair. Scott out."

The captain leaned back in his chair and sighed. The little 'accident' down in Engineering would slow there progress for several days, but at least they weren't at a dead stop. Containment shields were good for something.

He sighed again. "Spock, why don't you see if anything can be done to speed up Scotty's progress?" he suggested to his first officer. "You know how hands-on he is- make him delegate if it means we'll get some of our speed back."

"Understood, Captain." Spock exited the bridge.

"Mr. Chekov, what's our estimated time of arrival?"

"If we continue at zhis speed, we will reach Gamma Outpost in 2 weeks and four days," the ensign replied. He looked up. "Zhat is one week and six days over our previous estimation."

Kirk rubbed his brow and felt a headache coming on. A five day trip was now nearly four times as long.

"Thank you, Chekov. Mr. Sulu, you have the conn… I'm going to see if Sickbay has any pills for a migraine…"

When he walked into Sickbay he got the last bit of a tirade McCoy was giving the (presumably) engineers responsible for the delay. It seemed to be nothing more than some bandaged hands and regenerated skin, and the doctor promptly swept away into his office. Kirk smirked and looked at the two lieutenants.

"You live through the lecture?"

One nodded while the other spoke. "Aye sir. It was shorter, but," he hesitated. "More vicious."

Kirk could spare him no sympathy. He was tempted to rant himself. "Just follow Dr. McCoy's orders for recovery and there'll be no more problems. You both are also suspended from duty until otherwise instructed. Am I clear?"

They both snapped to attention and nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good." He turned away from them and made his way into McCoy's office. The doors opened smoothly and he saw McCoy fiddling with a PADD, his back to him. Kirk walked in and the doors shut with a click.

McCoy jumped and dropped the PADD.

"Blast it, Jim," he said, almost breathless as he scooped up the PADD. "Warn a guy, will you?"

"I just walked through a door," Kirk placated, confused.

"Well, next time, comm or something!" McCoy snapped. He set the PADD down on the desk and cracked his knuckles.

Kirk held up his hands halfway. "Alright, alright, if it bothers you that much." He walked closer, analyzing his friend. "You okay, Bones?"

McCoy pinched the bridge of his nose and ground out "I'm fine."

"You seem tense."

"Are you a doctor now?" The words were heated.

"No. Just a friend."

McCoy looked up at him and finally relaxed his shoulders. "I'm fine," he repeated. "Now, what can I help you with?"

Kirk pursed his lips but went with the change in conversation. "Headache- feel like Scotty's lieutenants are experimenting in my brain."

McCoy chuckled, if ever-so-slightly forced. "They mean well. Hoped to increase our speed, actually." He tossed Kirk a bottle of pills. "Take two, and call me in the morning."

"You've been waiting a while to say that, haven't you?" Kirk grinned as he unscrewed the bottle.

"Yeah, sure."

Kirk looked up. It wasn't like McCoy to bring the banter to an abrupt halt. The doctor just looked back at him, as if he wasn't quite sure what to say next. He finally waved his hand at Jim. "Let me know if it gets worse."

"Sure, Bones." He set the bottle back down and swallowed the medication in his hand. "Thank you."

A little concerned, he left Sickbay.

He was certain he was dying.

No, there wasn't a diagnosis. But yet he was absolutely positive he was dying.

He'd been there before, and wanted to rage against it again. Dammit, dammit, he'd beaten death already, he didn't want to go through this again…

He should call Joanna. See her one last time. He tried to reach for the computer terminal but found himself frozen. Why couldn't he move? The last time he was frozen in Sickbay was when…

Now he started shaking, more memories assaulting him. Assault. Why would you do this to a dying man, you bastard?

His breathing quickened.

He didn't hear his office doors open. He couldn't hear anything over his panicked breaths and rapid heartbeat. There were just not-Spock and Joanna and xenopolycythemia and blood-

A pair of blue eyes suddenly filled his vision. He locked on to them, breathing hard. Something cut distantly through the fog. "…see? Leonard… focus… see… tell me… five…"

His eyes stayed locked on those blue. They were light and penetrating, very concerned. When they blinked he noticed that the eyelashes were very full and black… either mascara or fakes were used. He studied them closer, wondering which it was. Those eyes searched him back, and little wrinkles creased at their corners. It didn't look right on her smooth skin. She had very pale skin. And a frown. Chapel was frowning. His vision expanded from her eyes, eyelashes, creases, and skin to encompass her head of hair. It was still brown. She liked to dye her hair a lot, come to think of it. But she was keeping the brown hair for a while. Maybe it was natural.

Chapel was talking. "Okay, now what can you feel?" She gripped his arms and he finally noticed she was holding him by the shoulders. He was also sitting down- the chair was underneath him, but not on his back, since he was rigid. His hands rested on the fabric of his pants, and he smoothed them across his knees automatically. His right hand brushed against the table, and it was cold.

"You're doing great, Leonard. What do you hear? Tell me three things. I want you to actually say them out loud this time."

She kept talking to him. "You," he grated. He furrowed his brow as he concentrated. He heard… he heard the monitors in Sickbay. And a conversation happening in the corridor. His heartbeat was receding from his ears.

He must have said them aloud because Chapel was rubbing his arms. "Good, good, now name me two things you smell."

He turned his head. "'m fine."

"Not yet. Name me two things that you smell."

"Um…" he bit his lip. "Antiseptics." It was Sickbay after all. He breathed in and out, trying to find something else. "Are you wearing perfume?"

She nodded. "And you finally noticed. You're doing great, Leonard." A glass of water was pushed into his hands and he drank it. "…one thing you can taste."

He set it back on the desk and let out a long breath. He looked up. Chapel had released his arms and was looking down at him.

"Thanks, Chris," he murmured. He felt exhausted.

"You're welcome," she replied, surprisingly gentle. "Do you want a relaxant?"

"No, I'll just… I'll just read," he finished awkwardly.

She chewed her lip. "You just had a panic attack," she said softly. "Don't read anything too exciting."

"Yeah." He shakily got to his feet and straightened his tunic. "I think I'm going to retire for tonight."

She nodded sagely. "Good idea. M'Benga's on call if you do need that relaxant."

"Thanks." He stopped before leaving the office and looked at her again. "I mean it."

"I know you do." Her gaze softened. "Get some rest."

"Yes, ma'am."

He would rest only if the nightmares would stop.