Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: Mon, 26 Jan 2004 21:21:55 GMT In: alt.startrek.creative From: Gabrielle Lawson inheildi@earthlink.net Title: Faith: Hope Author: Gabrielle Lawson (inheildi@earthlink.net) Series: DS9 Part: REP 3/18 Rating: [PG-13] Codes: The door opened and he knew who it was before he uncovered his eyes. He smiled. "Data." "How were you able to identify me?" the android asked. "I could hear you," Bashir told him. "The captain was already here, and you're too heavy to be Troi." "Understood." Data stepped farther into the room, and Bashir realized that he saw him. "How are you feeling today, Doctor?" "I can see you!" Bashir blurted out. Data wasn't clear to him, not even a distinct person-shape. "That is good." Bashir looked around the room. He could just make out other things. Blobs of dark or light different from the universal darkness he'd lived with for months. One must have been the couch, another the doorway. He hadn't noticed them before. "It was the movement," he explained. "I could see you move. Now I can see other things." "You have shaved," Data said just as bluntly. Bashir was reaching for the blob that he believed to be the couch. "I didn't like the beard," he replied, "but I couldn't do anything about it until now." He touched the blob. It wasn't the couch. It was the chair. Close enough. "Have a seat, Data. Tell me what all I've missed." "I have done some research on subjects I thought would be of interest to you." Bashir stopped him. "Tell me about you first. We're friends, aren't we? Let's catch up." "I saved the Earth from being assimilated in the year 2061," Data offered almost as a question. Bashir laughed, not long, and not loud. He didn't want to insult his friend. "That's good. Thank you. But how have you been? How is the emotion chip working for you?" "It is," Data began, and then he stopped and tried again. "It is what it is." That struck Bashir as very philosophical but also very true. "Meaning?" "There are times when I am happy to have it and times when it is a liability. I can feel happiness and security, even love. But I can also feel anger and fear and hatred. I've turned it on less often in recent months." "War is hell," Bashir concluded. "Indeed," the android agreed. "I sometimes wonder if leaving it off is a disservice to those we have lost." Bashir envied him, but he didn't let that show. "The chip is good," Bashir told him, "but I've come to believe that all good things come wrapped in sadness. It's a package. You get them all together." "War brings a unique set of circumstances," Data held, "more bad than good. It will be different when the war ends." Bashir spoke quietly, allowing himself to speak what he truly felt. "There is bad that lurks in peace, Data, and revels in war, when it comes." "You have changed," Data said simply. "People change," Bashir replied, not denying it. "I'm no different." "I hope," Data said, "that when this war ends, peace will change people as much as war has. You used to be optimistic, excited about life. The war has taken that from you." Bashir nodded, thinking that through. It was true that the optimism and excitement were gone. But was it the war that had taken them? Perhaps. If there hadn't been a war, would any of the other things happened? Probably not, though it wasn't an excuse. "It has taken a lot of things, Data. Let's talk about something else. Let's pretend there is no war even if it's only for a minute or two." They managed for more than an hour, until Data was called away for duty. They talked about what had happened in the years since they had met, but left out the war and the losses. Data told him about the passing of the **Enterprise*-D* and the innovation of the *Enterprise-E*. Bashir told them about how Molly had grown and Kirayoshi had been born. He even caught himself smiling before the android left. But the war inside him never left. He could ignore it, push it away, but he couldn't pretend it wasn't there. Knowing he was weakened by his exile, Bashir decided to exercise. The movement would re-condition his muscles, and exertion would occupy his mind. Perhaps, too, he'd wear himself out and sleep that night. He started slowly, with stretches. He sat on the floor, put his legs in front of him, and reached for his toes. He could almost touch them. Almost. He stretched farther, feeling the pull at the back of his legs. He stretched and did sit-ups, more than a hundred. He moved on to harder things, things that took more exertion. Push-ups, jumping jacks, and others. By the time he stopped, he had collapsed on the floor. He lay for a while, just listening to his heart pound in his chest. He didn't move a single muscle except to blink the sweat from his eyes. He didn't think either. In that, at least, he'd been successful. By the time the door chimed again, his pulse had long since slowed to a peaceful seventy beats per second, and he'd watched the light levels in his quarters rise by 4.2 percent. He raised his head when he heard the chime. Troi he guessed. The other senior officers would be on the bridge, except perhaps the doctor, but he wasn't due to see her until evening. It would be Troi. He wished she'd go away and leave him in peace there on the floor, but he resisted the thought. She was Betazoid. Maybe she couldn't read thoughts, but thoughts could lead to feelings, and he had to guard those carefully. Troi was the key on which his freedom depended. "Just a moment," he called. His arms still felt rubbery but they pushed him up anyway. He used the couch for extra support as he got to his feet. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. He was thankful for the darkness. She wouldn't see if his color was off. "Come in." The door opened, and he found that he didn't have to cover his eyes. They stung a bit behind his eyelids, but the light from the corridor was tolerable. The door hissed shut and he opened his eyes. He could just make out her silhouette. There was a definite, though not sharp, border which separated her from the door behind her. Everything was like that now. "Hello. It's Counselor Troi." He could hear her smiling. He smiled back and hoped the smile found its way to his voice as hers did. "I know I can tell by your hair." "You can see my hair?" she asked, stepping farther in. "I can't see a thing." No goggles. Good. He preferred to be on an even playing field. "Give your eyes time to adjust. There's light here, just not a lot." She stepped toward the couch, but he backed away. "I've been exercising. I need a shower. I hope you don't mind." It was the truth. She would know that. Feel it. "I'll be quick and it will give your eyes time to adjust." He knew she'd smile graciously. "I don't mind at all." He paused in the doorway and let his guard slip a little. Just a little. "No water showers?" "The *Enterprise-E* is a practical ship," Troi replied. "No luxuries. Sometimes I miss that about the *Enterprise-D*. But we're at war. This is a stronger ship." "Like the *Defiant*," he agreed. There was a time, he thought, when sonic showers were a luxury. "I'll still just be a minute." Sonic showers were also faster, so it didn't take long to wash the sweat away. He didn't bother combing his hair. Neither he nor the counselor could see it anyway. He joined her again in the living area. "You're right," Troi agreed when he sat down. "I can just make you out. You feel better now, having rested?" "I'm fine," Bashir told her, skirting the question. "I'm anxious to have my life back, if that's what you mean." "Is that why you were working out?" Troi asked. Questions. Just like a counselor. "I was working out because my muscles had begun to atrophy. But yes, in a way. I'm not in the cave anymore. I want normalcy." "Understandable," Troi nodded. "And we're not trying to keep you from it. You're not a prisoner here." Too close. She was an empath. He knew that. He had let too much slip. "But my eyes keep me here," he said, hoping to cover. He sighed. "I just want to erase the last six months. To go back where I was. I know that's not realistic." "But it's natural to want it," Troi interpreted. She paused, probably thinking of the right words. "We can't erase the past, but we want you to have your life back, too. We need you. We need every Starfleet officer we have. Every doctor. But you'll understand we have to know you're well first." "Yes," Bashir agreed, allowing himself to smile for her sake. "But it's harder when you're on the receiving end." There was silence between them for a moment or two. Then Troi spoke. "We've contacted Starfleet Command. They were quite surprised. They're investigating." Bashir sat up. This wasn't about counseling. This was official business. "Investigating what?" Troi took awhile to answer. "There was a body," she said finally, "identified as you." Bashir nodded again. That was worthy of an investigation. "Either I'm not who I say I am or the body isn't who you thought he was. May I ask which way you're leaning?" "I've done some research," she replied. "There was some question of the body's identity. If you hadn't been missing for three months, there would have been more questions." "So you think I'm me," Bashir concluded, hoping she'd agree. He was himself, and an investigation would only cause delay. Troi regarded him for awhile in the dim light. She reached out her senses to him--again--and felt only his presence. The sincerity perhaps, certainly no sense of deception. "I do," she said, "and I think the investigation will prove only a formality." She waited for a wave of relief, hoping that by contrast she could sense the worry that he might have felt. But there was only the slightest of ripples. "You aren't relieved?" she asked. "Should I be?" he questioned in return. "On simply the belief of the counselor? If someone wants the investigation to prove that I'm an imposter, it will happen. There is still so much uncertainty. Relief would be premature." Logical, if a bit pessimistic, maybe even paranoid. He was guarded, carefully controlling any feelings he might have. Either that or he'd become hollow in his imprisonment, ripped of all but the slightest of emotions. He was enhanced. The former was possible. The latter was no less probable, but perhaps more treatable. She needed to get him talking, feeling. "How do you know Data?" she asked, hoping to draw him out in a non-threatening manner. He brightened, and it took her by surprise. It was the contrast that she had been looking for before. It was is if he had become a color--pastel, not brilliant--but it allowed her to see that he was a dark gray before. "The how is ridiculous," he replied. "But it inadvertently led to his discovering his dream program. I was fascinated at first by the care his creator had taken in making him appear human. He breathed, had a pulse, could grow his hair. But the more we spoke. . . . I felt I'd found something of a kindred spirit. I don't mean to sound arrogant, but there aren't many people who can keep up with me when I'm really into something. That's often a barrier in my relations to people, but not with Data. He could keep up, even surpass me. I felt free. I don't know if that's understandable." The brightness faded a bit. He wasn't emotionless, just diminished. "I think I can understand," she told him, prepared to reciprocate if it would help him to trust her. "I'm an empath, with a sense beyond that of my crewmates. Their feelings bombard me. I must constantly block them and defend against the tumult of it all, especially now with the war. When I'm with my mother," she smiled mischievously, "despite her abrasiveness, I feel free. She's stronger than I am, able to dominate the scene enough to block out so much of the others. And I trust her." "Exactly," he agreed, brightening again. "I trust Data. It wouldn't work if I didn't trust him." "You'd feel threatened instead of free?" "Not necessarily. But wary anyway." Troi felt as if she were getting something now, but she wasn't sure what it was. Distrust? That's what it felt like. Not that she felt it. She didn't. It was the words he chose. But why distrust? He trusted Data but not Data's crewmates? Or perhaps it was wider than that. That was possible. If what he said was true about Section 31, then he might be manifesting his trauma in a general distrust of the Federation, as if it were too good to really be true. "Do you trust me?" She asked, deciding to be blunt. "I don't know you," he countered. True enough. It wasn't an admission but it wasn't a denial either. "Then perhaps we should get to know each other," she offered. "What would you like to know?" -- --Gabrielle I'd much rather be writing! http://www.stormpages.com/gabrielle/trek/ The Edge of the Frontier http://www.stormpages.com/gabrielle/doyle/ This Side of the Nether Blog: http://www.gabriellewrites.blogspot.com -- Stephen Ratliff ASC Stories Only Forwarding In the Pattern Buffer at: http//trekiverse.crosswinds.net/feed/ Yahoo! Groups Links To visit your group on the web, go to:http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ASCL/ To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to:ASCL-unsubscribe@yahoogroups.com Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to the Yahoo! Terms of Service. From ???@??? Thu Jan 29 01:01:47 2004 Status: U Return-Path: Received: from n33.grp.scd.yahoo.com ([66.218.66.101]) by cockatoo (EarthLink SMTP Server) with SMTP id 1aM5eX2DJ3NZFkl0 for ; Wed, 28 Jan 2004 22:01:23 -0800 (PST) X-eGroups-Return: sentto-1977044-13017-1075355396-stephenbratliff=earthlink.net@returns.groups.yahoo.