"Why didn't you call me when you found him?"

Claire Kincaid listened to an absolutely furious Adam Schiff, calling Long-distance all the way from Germany.

"Sorry, Adam…"she explained. "We were all in shock over it."

"And you let him plead guilty…"

"I didn't let anything, Adam!" Claire snapped back. "For the record, I had to recuse myself; and no one twisted Jack's arm into pleading. Sally Bell wanted to fight it. Jack made the decision. They didn't Sentence him to Prison. They Sentenced him to a psych hospital and Community Service. He's at Fordham Psych, but only until Emil says he's well enough to begin Community Service."

"But his license to practice Law…" Adam grumbled.

"He lost that when he was declared dead, in Ninety-Seven," Kincaid reminded him.

Besides, it was highly unlikely that Jack McCoy would be in a position to actually want to practice Law again.

There was a moment's silence.

"How is he?" Schiff finally asked, and Claire sighed.

"Physically, he's fine, Adam. But, mentally…"

She sighed again. She had ridden with Jack McCoy, up to Fordham, so he would have a friend with him through the Admissions process. Dr. Emil Skoda was there too, but strictly in his professional capacity.

"Jack's…fragile…Adam. He's so…afraid."

Now, Kincaid heard Schiff's sigh.

"I'm coming back," he finally said. "I'll be in Manhattan by tomorrow afternoon."

"I'll pick you up at JFK," Claire nodded. "But you won't be able to visit Jack for a while. Hospital Policy, no visitors for two weeks, to allow the patient to acclimate to his new situation, and begin intensive therapy, including medications…"

"I know…" this wouldn't be the first time Schiff had visited Jack in a psychiatric hospital.

….

Fordham Psychiatric Center

It had been a week now, and Jack McCoy felt like a fly stuck in molasses.

The medication…

At least it had stopped the daily nightmares. Even back at the compound in Montana, he'd had those nightmares every night.

That was something Jeremiah Smith had been unable to heal. That, and the panic attacks…

The man could heal fatal gunshot wounds, and broken bones. He could heal virtually everything.

McCoy had watched as Smith almost literally brought Theresa Hoese back from the dead.

But Jeremiah Smith couldn't heal the damage wrought on McCoy by all of those abductions.

They changed my brain. Jeremiah Smith told me…

I'm more like…them…than my fellow human beings.

The migraines had increased too, in frequency, and intensity, and that, too, Jeremiah Smith had been unable to stop.

The reason why was frightening.

Your brain is still changing, Jack, he had told McCoy. The neurons of your brain are making new connections, adapting to what was entered into your brain. You are in the process of becoming something utterly…new.

Not alien, not human; but something that partook of both natures…

"Where were you, Jack?" Emil Skoda's voice brought him back to now.

McCoy shook his head slightly, smiling ruefully.

"Nothing important," he sighed. "How long before I can start my Community Service?"

Skoda sighed, obviously frustrated.

"We'll need to see how you do on these medications," he finally said. "We want to make sure there aren't any side-effects."

McCoy nodded. He didn't want that either.

"So…" Skoda leaned forward. "How are you feeling, Jack?"

McCoy shrugged.

"The usual, Emil," he looked up at the psychiatrist who was becoming a…friend?

"I mean…I have these dreams, Emil…and I don't know if they represent anything real, or if they're just delusions. I…can't tell the difference."

He looked down at the floor, and it was the hardest thing he had ever down, continuing to speak.

"They…whoever they were…whatever they were…they hurt me. They drilled into my skull, they…put tubes into me…"

"Where did they put those tubes?"

Pure fury rose up at Skoda's question.

"Where did they put those tubes?" McCoy hissed, sudden rage flickering red at the edges of his vision. "Where the fuck do you think they put those tubes?"

He broke off shuddering as memory of…that… filled his brain, felt his shoulders hunch.

"They didn't knock me out…" he was shivering. "They didn't give me anything for pain. I felt what they did to me! Every fucking bit of it!"

McCoy felt utterly drained by the telling of it, felt Skoda's hands on his shoulders, and he bowed his head.

Emil continued to hold him, until his pulse slowed to something reasonable, until the fury and…grief…had trembled its way out of his system.

"I know it doesn't feel this way now, Jack," the psychiatrist said. "But, you will find a way to process what was done to you. You will recover."

I wish I had his faith…

McCoy slowly pulled himself back together, managed a shaky nod.

"If you say so, Emil…"

For himself, Jack McCoy was far from sure.

Besides, if Jeremiah Smith was right, there was yet another question hovering over Jack McCoy's head.

What does recovery mean for a Human/Alien Hybrid?