Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: Mon, 26 Jan 2004 21:25:45 GMT In: alt.startrek.creative From: Gabrielle Lawson inheildi@earthlink.net Title: Faith: Hope Author: Gabrielle Lawson (inheildi@earthlink.net) Series: DS9 Part: REP 6/18 Rating: [PG-13] Codes: Chapter Three Bashir was surprised to feel the transporter so close. He wasn't surprised that it had come. Inside the cell was not really necessary, but Sloan often tried to add flair to his dealings, going beyond what was simply necessary. "You're slipping, Sloan," Bashir said, not even opening his eyes. "I'm not asleep." "Perhaps," the man acquiesced, and Bashir could hear him smiling. Just like him to smile. "I've come to make you an offer." Bashir sat up and looked at him, noting also that there was one guard in the room. Sloan was sitting on the other bench, one leg crossed over the other, fingers steepled on his knee. The picture of calm, still smiling. "You tried that before," Bashir told him. "I wasn't interested, remember?" Sloan's smile broadened. "Well, I think this time you might be." Bashir allowed him a patronizing smile of his own. "Well, then, why don't you go ahead and tell me so I'll refuse again." "You won't refuse," Sloan said. He appeared certain. "You're not made for confinement. You've had too many cells already. You need space and freedom. You need people. People who will talk with you and not just to you. You need people who appreciate you for your talents." "And you're all of that?" Bashir wasn't convinced. "I thought you didn't trust me." "I'm a good judge of character," Sloan held. "I knew you'd try something just as I knew you'd try to stop Koval's murder. You still saw things too much in black and white. You needed a little time is all." "And you think six months changed my mind about you?" Bashir almost laughed. "You are warped, you know that, don't you? I couldn't loathe you more. Before it was moral, now it's personal." Sloan did laugh. "Be that as it may, your choices are a bit limited." "How so?" Bashir asked. "Seems to me that outside the cave, the choices are endless." "You're in a cell," Sloan pointed out, spreading his arms to take in the small area. "You could come out of the cell, or you can spend the rest of your life in one." "Oh," Bashir said, nodding. "I see. Those are the choices you've left for me. Face the charges now that you've had time to destroy the evidence or come quietly with you." "No more cells," Sloan offered, trying to sell it. "Think of the freedom. You could even be a doctor again. Section 31 needs doctors, too." "Sounds inviting," Bashir admitted, "but only in contrast to the alternative you stated." "It's the only alternative," Sloan maintained. "We've made sure of it." Enough of the game. "As I said before," Bashir told him, dropping any pretense of pleasantries, "you're slipping. You used to be so clever. Your threat's no good. I will be released." Sloan smirked again. "We'll talk again later." He stood and walked right out the door, leaving Bashir to wonder if the forcefield was still active. He stepped forward and he could feel it prickle his skin. It was still there. But Sloan was not. Commander Riker and Counselor Troi stood with Captain Picard in the transporter room. They seemed relaxed enough. Troi was smiling, probably looking forward to seeing Chief O'Brien and Worf again, even if only for a short while. Riker stood with a completely neutral expression, giving nothing away. Picard himself had been captain long enough to smile when he didn't feel like smiling. Like now. He didn't know what to expect. He knew Sisko to be an exceptional officer, and he respected him as a man and fellow captain. But if one believed Bashir--and Picard found that he did--Sisko had handed over a large amount of an extremely dangerous substance to someone of unknown reputation. Three glowing figures appeared on the pad and coalesced within seconds into Captain Sisko, Chief O'Brien, and a lieutenant Picard didn't recognize. She was a short young woman, a Trill with dark hair and spritely eyes. "Captain," Picard said, smiling and extending his hand. "It's good to see you again." "And you," Sisko responded, taking his hand but not returning the smile. Picard thought first of the initial hostility Sisko had held when they first met. But that had changed between them, and Sisko gripped his hand firmly, without malice. His words were those of concern. "How is he?" It was going to be complex then, between this man and Bashir. "Things could be better," Picard replied, trying to be truthful without making them think the worst. "Your visit will, I hope, speed circumstances in that direction." One of the charges had already been dropped, thanks to Crusher and the science team. The timeline was wrong and it would have taken 125 liters of gel to produce the destruction on Deyon III. There was only the release of gel to be dealt with. Sisko picked up on the need for privacy and stepped back to introduce his crew. "You know Chief O'Brien, of course," he said. Then he indicated the young woman. "This is Lieutenant Dax, Ship's Counselor." Good choice, Picard decided. He nodded and began his own introductions, for the sake of Dax at least. "Commander William Riker and Counselor Deanna Troi." The counselors took each other's hands warmly as colleagues. Riker offered his hand to O'Brien and finally let loose his neutrality to smile as he greeted his friend. "Well," Picard said, bringing everyone back to the business at hand, "let's get to it then. Captain, if you would come with me to my Ready Room, I'll explain the situation." Deanna split off with Dax, one assumed to discuss Bashir's mental and emotional state. "Captain?" Picard and Sisko both turned to answer, but it was Picard that O'Brien was addressing. "Can I see him?" Picard took a breath. He was hoping he could get Bashir cleared and out of the brig quickly enough, but what else was O'Brien to do? Sisko was watching for his answer. "Of course," he said finally. "Commander Riker will take you to him." That finally ruffled Riker, who would have to try and explain to O'Brien why Bashir was in a cell. Well, so be it. There was work to be done. "Meet us in the Ready Room with Commander Martin, Number One," he added. "Yes, sir," Riker replied. He stepped toward the door. "This way, Chief." "You're Worf's wife?" Deanna Troi asked as she guided Dax to her office. In truth, Deanna thought she looked too young. Dax seemed uncomfortable with the question. She'd winced just a bit, and Troi felt a mixture of emotions emanating from her. Trills were always an interesting sensation. "Um, no," she answered. "That was Jadzia, my previous host. I'm Ezri Dax. I don't suppose Julian's mentioned me?" That explained some of those emotions. Sympathy, love, embarrassment, sadness, and a touch of horror, probably brought on by the symbiont's memory of Jadzia's death. "No, he hasn't talked much about anyone on DS9 really. I'm sorry for the confusion." "That's alright," Ezri assured her, smiling. "It's still fairly new to me, too." She waited until they were inside the office and then became very focused. Troi could feel the strength in that. Two minds, one purpose. "How is he?" Very direct. Troi gave her a light smile and invited her to sit. "To be honest, I'm worried about him." Concern flared up in the young woman. Compassion, sympathy, and perhaps even love. They must have been good friends, perhaps more. But she kept her voice steady. "In what way?" Troi took a deep breath and tried to order her thoughts. "He's somewhat paranoid and quite pessimistic." Relief. "I might guess that was to be expected." Troi nodded. "Me, too, under the circumstances. But he's too calm, too rational, and yet I suspect he's severely depressed." "Do you think he's insane?" Hopeful skepticism there. Though Troi did not have to sense that from her. She could read it all in the woman's face. "No," Troi admitted, "unstable perhaps. But his instability isn't mental, at any rate. It's emotional." "Because of the paranoia and depression?" Dax asked, still skeptical. Troi decided not to take it as a professional slight. "Surely he's been traumatized. And to be honest, everyone *is* out to get him, it seems." There was the dichotomy of symbiont and host. Dax was still quite serious. Troi felt that, but the girl's face in front of her was smiling. Troi returned the smile, but mirrored the seriousness within herself. "Not everyone," she said. "But, yes, it would seem to be a natural reaction to the trauma he's faced. And if I were any other counselor, that's exactly what I'd chalk it up to. But I'm a Betazoid counselor, half-Betazoid anyway. I can read emotions, but I can't read his. He doesn't have any." She sighed and stood to pace a few steps. "He does, of course, but not at the right levels. A traumatized person--someone in his position--would have sharp peaks, hitting one extreme and then another. Elation at being found and released. Depression from the memories, the loneliness, the darkness. Fear. But he doesn't have any of those. With the exception of his first recognition of Commander Data, he's flat." She felt Dax accept that even as the other woman collapsed back against the couch. She didn't say anything, but Troi could sense she was trying to find the right words. Troi didn't wait for her. She hadn't given up on Bashir yet. "What was he like before this?" she asked. "We know he hid his enhancements for several decades. Was he closed off, unapproachable?" Dax chuckled, sitting up again. "Oh, no," she stated, shaking her head. "Quite the opposite. He's kind, compassionate, and you can read his emotions in his eyes. He's friendly and funny. He has the most comforting bedside manner of any doctor I've met, and I've had eight lifetimes of doctors. He was very open," she added, slipping back into past tense and losing her smile, "and if you ask me, that only helped him hide the enhancements. No one would have suspected he had anything to hide." Troi sat down again wondering what he had to hide this time. She knew the charges. But she also knew that the captain and Data were acting as his advocates. They believed in him, and she respected their judgement. "Maybe he just needs familiar surroundings," Dax offered, breaking the silence and the train of Troi's thoughts. "He is anxious to return to Deep Space Nine," Troi conceded, "but I don't think that would be best just yet. It's not even certain he'll be allowed to." "Has he been transferred? I mean, now that they know he's alive?" Deanna hadn't wanted to answer that question. Captain Picard thought Bashir could be cleared. But in the meantime, the truth was still the truth. "He's been charged," Troi told her, trying to deliver the news gently. "He's being held pending an investigation." O'Brien stopped right there in the corridor. "The brig?" he asked, raising his voice. "Why the brig?" Riker looked uncomfortable, but he squared his chin and answered with conviction. "He's being held pending an investigation." The Chief had to control himself to keep from yelling. They just found him, and he was in the brig. That just wasn't right. "On what grounds?" Riker was still stiff. "Illegal release of biomemetic gel to an unknown recipient, with some possibly very serious results." He relaxed his shoulders a bit. "How well did you know him, Chief?" "I still know him," O'Brien corrected. "And I know him very well. He's my best friend. And he would never just release that stuff. He nearly died a few years ago because a Lethean asked to buy some. He wouldn't just give the stuff away." Riker blew out a breath and started walking again. "I'm not saying he did. Bashir claims it was ordered and that he protested the orders. Captain Picard is standing in as his advocate. If what he says is true, Captain Sisko should be able to clear him of that charge." That charge. O'Brien hadn't missed that, but he decided to let it go for now. Captain Sisko was talking with Captain Picard. They'd sort things out. For right now, he just wanted to see Julian, especially now that he knew Julian was in the brig. He probably needed a friend, maybe some cheering up. They rounded a corner and came to the brig. There was a man standing out in the corridor. "Lieutenant Daniels," Riker said, by way of introduction, "our Chief of Security." Then he addressed the lieutenant. "This is Chief Miles O'Brien of Deep Space Nine. He used to be with us though. He's here to visit the doctor." Daniels nodded, but he pulled Riker off to one side. O'Brien still heard what the man said. "He hasn't slept, sir. He didn't so much as close his eyes the whole night. And he still says he isn't hungry. I half expected him to melt or something." Now O'Brien was starting to worry about just that. Riker shook his head. "He's not a changeling. Doctor Crusher is certain about that. Just keep an eye on him. If he looks ill, call Doctor Crusher." Not a changeling. But O'Brien still worried, more perhaps now, because it meant his friend wasn't well. Daniels nodded, and turned back to O'Brien who was trying to pretend that he hadn't been listening in. "Right this way, Chief," he said. "Stay as long as you like, Chief," Riker added as he backed toward the door. "But don't leave without saying goodbye. I want to hear about the wife and kids." O'Brien managed a smile, despite his worries. "I could go on for hours," he warned playfully. Riker smiled, too, and then left. O'Brien followed Daniels through the door into a very dark holding area. Daniels pulled him forward until the door closed behind him, shutting out what light there was from the outer room. There were several cells, and none of them seemed to be in use. "Give your eyes a minute to adjust," Daniels told him. "He's in cell three." "Why is it so dark?" O'Brien asked. "Miles?" Julian's voice. "He can't take the light," Daniels explained. "It's not nearly as dark as it was yesterday though. Straight ahead." He backed away, O'Brien assumed, because the door opened again. Once it closed, leaving him alone with Julian, O'Brien let his eyes start to adjust as he stepped cautiously forward into the darkness. How could anyone tell that Julian hadn't slept? It was too dark to see. "You'll want to stop now," Julian told him. "Another two steps and you'll hit the forcefield." "I'd say it's good to see you," O'Brien told him, stopping as advised, "but I can't see you just yet." "It's not *that* dark," Julian teased. "I can see you." O'Brien was starting to see him, too. With each second, his eyes registered more details. It wasn't really that dark in here after all. No darker than night on the station. It was just the contrast from the brightly lit corridor. Julian was sitting on one of the benches in the cell. He wasn't in uniform. O'Brien remembered coming to see Julian after his escape from the Jem'Hadar camp. He'd teased him and upset him. He decided this time it was better to be serious. Besides, he felt serious. This time he had known Julian was gone. He had thought he was dead, and now he was back. "I've missed you," was all he finally said. Julian's voice was quiet when he answered. "Me, too." It was hard seeing him in the cell. O'Brien wanted to hug him--or at least to shake his hand. He wanted to know for sure that his friend was real. Six months without him had been hard. "I wish I could say I've come to get you out of here." Julian stood up from the bench and walked toward the unlit forcefield. "It will either happen or it won't," he replied, sitting down on the floor. "I know there isn't a chair, but I'd feel better if you sat. It's too formal with both of us standing there. How are you? How are Keiko and the kids? Did she throw Chester out yet?" O'Brien grinned and sat down cross-legged on the floor. "The kids won't let her," he answered, glad to move on to more pleasant areas of conversation. "Molly is growing like a weed, and Yoshi is a handful. Keiko says he's into everything he can get his hands on." "The 'terrible twos' strike again," Julian joked lightly. He just didn't seem like his usual self, though O'Brien wasn't sure what he expected. It was bad enough he'd been gone for six months--he still wasn't sure just where, though it was someplace dark from the looks of things. But now he was in a cell. What was there to be overly cheerful about? "Where were you, Julian?" "Beyat system, as near as I can figure," Julian replied. "In a cave. That's why it's dark. I was marooned there." O'Brien felt something familiar about that. He still had his memories of the Agrathi prison. It wasn't a cave, but it had its similarities. Rock walls, dirt floor. No furniture or amenities. Of course, caves were also dark and wet and usually contained jagged stalactites and stalagmites. There could also be bats or other subterranean creatures. All in all, not a pleasant place to live. "How did you survive six months there?" "They left me a replicator," he answered. O'Brien watched him as he spoke. He was also sitting with his legs crossed. His head was down as if he were looking at his shoes. "I wasn't hungry until just toward the end." O'Brien wondered what happened then, but there was something more important to ask since the subject of food had been brought up. "Are you hungry now? The Security Chief said you weren't eating. Is it because you're in the cell?" Bashir sighed and met O'Brien's eyes. "It's because I'm not hungry. Please Miles, I have enough counseling with Deanna Troi." O'Brien didn't want to drop it. He wanted to help his friend, even if his friend couldn't see he needed the help. But he knew he couldn't push too hard either. "I remember you nagging me a bit when our places were reversed." Bashir's eyes narrowed a bit. "You weren't in a cell." O'Brien smiled lightly, nodding his agreement. "No, but I was relieved of duty. I think the advice works either way. You give good advice, you know. I'll have some breakfast with you, if you like." Bashir looked down again. "Maybe later." -- --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! 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