Forwarded by the ASC-VSO 
Posted: Thu, 29 Jan 2004 07:03:18 GMT  
In: alt.startrek.creative 
From: Gabrielle Lawson inheildi@earthlink.net 
 

Title: Faith, Part II: Forgiveness
Author: Gabrielle Lawson (inheildi@earthlink.net)
Series: DS9
Part: REP 2/9
Rating: [PG]
Codes:
Summary:  Doctor Bashir, after having been marooned for over six months,
Chapter 6, cont.

      "How did it go, Old man?" Sisko asked, looking up from the file he had 
open on his desk console.  Another dilithium shipment had been hit. 
There were still bigger things going on than Bashir's return.

      "Briefly," she replied, dropping herself into a seat.  "He's different, 
but I can sense our Julian still in there somewhere.  He's just been 
beat down a bit.  I've cleared him for light duty.  He and Kira are 
working out the schedule."  She seemed chipper enough.

      *More than a bit,* Sisko thought.  "What about what Troi said about him 
being emotionless?"

      "She didn't exactly say emotionless," Dax corrected.  "She said 
emotionally flat.  It's more like he never hits a high note.  Or a low 
note for that matter.  I can't say I had an opportunity to see anything 
different from him.  But it was only our first meeting.  You can't 
expect him to be cured in a day."

      "He's had two weeks," Sisko reminded her.  He hadn't meant to sound so 
gruff, but the dichotomy of Bashir's behavior was frustrating.  No one 
else saw him the way Sisko had seen him.

      "Not of vacation," Dax snapped back.  "Benjamin, he was marooned, 
alone, for six months.  Some people wouldn't even be able to put 
together a coherent sentence after that.  And his two weeks on the 
*Enterprise* included being accused of genocide, a skirmish in which he 
and his patients hid under corpses, and an away mission in which he was 
trapped in another cave and fell into a room full of executed colonists. 
  That's not very therapeutic."

      Sisko held up a hand in surrender.  "Sorry, Old Man," he offered.  "I 
didn't mean to sound impatient."

      "What's bothering you, Benjamin?" Dax asked.  She'd seen right through 
him.  Jadzia had been able to do the same thing.

      "Nothing," he told her with a sigh.  "Everything.  This war.  We're 
losing and I can't even figure out what the Dominion is up to."

      "We're not losing," Ezri corrected.  The sternness in her voice seemed 
out of place in her little-girl's face.  "We may not be winning just 
yet, but we're not losing."

      Sisko nodded, accepting her admonition.  Belief could affect reality. 
He knew that, and that's why he rarely gave in to such pessimistic 
thoughts.  It's why he had done what he did to get the Romulans into the 
war.  He looked for ways not to be losing the war.  But that way, the 
one that Bashir had confronted him with, was the reason he had given in 
to such thoughts now.

      "So what's really bothering you?" Dax probed again.  Ezri, it seemed, 
could see through him better than Jadzia had.

      He wasn't going to let her do it though.  He straightened up in his 
chair.  "Old Man," he began, looking her right in the eye, "if I feel I 
need a counseling session, I'll let you know."

      She frowned but accepted the dressing down without protest.  She stood. 
  "I'll leave you to your work then."


      Bashir had wanted to start work that afternoon but Kira had insisted he 
wait until morning.  She wanted to give him time to get settled again. 
He didn't want to tell her that he had too much time already.  He didn't 
know what to do with himself.  Outside of work, everything seemed 
pointless.  His mind swam in endless circles of circuits and conduits. 
He recognized them.  He'd visualized them over and over in the cave. 
They were replicators and transmitters and waste reclimators and the 
lights in his ceiling.  They were the walls of his quarters, the panels 
in the corridors, the consoles in the Jefferies tubes, the instruments 
in the Infirmary, and even the engineering station in Ops.

      *I'm a doctor,* he thought, *not an engineer.*  He didn't know why he 
wasn't letting his hyperactive brain work on the prion project he'd 
started so long ago.  Or his work on the Blight.  Or any of the other 
medical mysteries he'd used to occupy slow days before.

      He was back in his quarters.  He'd thought about going to Quark's or 
the Replimat but he just couldn't bring himself to face the crowds yet. 
  Maybe that's what Kira meant by getting settled.

      He'd gotten another message from his parents.  It was getting easier to 
answer their questions.  He still hadn't spoken to them in real time 
though.  He just recorded a reply and sent it back to them.  They were 
doing well.  His mother had packed up his belongings.  She wanted to 
bring them out to the station, so she could see him, but with the war 
on, it was hard for civilians to travel this far.  And his father was 
still in prison.  It wouldn't be long, though, before his sentence was 
over.  Maybe Julian could come home for a visit.

      He didn't want to.  Not just yet.  It wasn't just them.  He didn't want 
to leave here.  He didn't want to leave the protection, such as it was, 
of Starfleet.  He couldn't protect himself from someone like Sloan back 
at home.

      Sloan.  He'd nearly forgotten.  He'd been back at the station for more 
than twelve hours and he still hadn't worked out the calculation for the 
security code he'd need to enter this evening.  That would at least give 
him a break from the conduits and boredom.

      He knew they'd break the code eventually.  Section 31 had more 
resources than he was even aware of yet.  He'd been half-bluffing with 
Sloan.  He got data, that much was true.  Even a direct feed so that 
some of the information he'd gotten, such as the location of Sloan's 
ship that night, was up-to-date.  But it was limited.  He hadn't been 
given enough access to get more.  Sloan would come for him again, but 
for now, at least, he had a reprieve.  If he kept up the code.

      It took two hours to work it out in his head.  He didn't want to leave 
any records by using a computer or PADD.  When he was finished he noted 
it was midday.  He'd managed to pass half a day.  Half a day.  Of the 
rest of his life.  At least he'd be able to work soon.  That would help.

      His door chimed, and this time, he couldn't guess who it would be.  He 
sat up straighter on the couch and called for the door to open.

      "My dear doctor," Garak said upon entering, "I do hope you weren't 
planning on eating lunch alone."

      "I, I-" Bashir stammered, "I hadn't given it much, much thought, y-yet."

      Garak's eyes widened ever so slightly.  "Well," he said, "we should be 
going then.  The Replimat is filling up quite fast these days."

      Bashir shook his head in little movements.  He didn't mean to say no, 
exactly.  He couldn't decide how to respond.

      "You're life isn't in here," Garak told him, surprising him.  "It's out 
there."

      He hadn't left the doorway and he didn't appear to be leaving without 
Bashir, so Bashir stood and followed him.  He didn't really want to, but 
he couldn't offer an adequate protest.  In his life before the cave, 
he'd almost always eaten out.

      Garak didn't speak much on the way.  He told the turbolift to take them 
to the Promenade, and he spoke little words to get a table for him and 
Bashir.  The whole thing caused quite a stir though, and Bashir could 
feel the eyes on him, the energy that made him uneasy.

      "What would you like?" Garak asked after they'd sat.

      "I-I'm not sure," Bashir answered.  He was trying not to stammer, but 
Garak set him off-balance.

      "Shall I order for you then?" Garak offered.  He didn't wait for Bashir 
to answer, but ordered something Bashir had often eaten in the past. 
Bashir hardly noticed the food, though.  He couldn't focus that well.

      "I hadn't realized you were unable to speak," Garak went on.  "My 
claustrophobia has produced that effect from time to time."

      "Garak," Bashir tried, but he didn't know what words to follow up with.

      "You look as if you've seen a ghost," Garak observed.  "And you haven't 
touched your food."

      Bashir glanced at his plate, but was unable to pick up the fork.  "How 
did you know?" he finally managed.

      "Know what?" Garak asked in reply.

      "About my life," Bashir clarified.  "What you said."

      Garak set his own silverware down and met Bashir's gaze across the 
table.  "I've been there, myself," he said.

      Bashir didn't know why he was asking.  "Where?"

      "Tzenketh," Garak replied.  "I wasn't claustrophobic before Tzenketh."

      Bashir hoped he'd elaborate on that.  He wanted to know what happened 
on Tzenketh and how Garak had gotten on with only claustrophobia to show 
for it.

      But Garak didn't elaborate.  "So what was your exile like?"

      Bashir was disappointed but also relieved.  He could handle such simple 
questions with objective answers. "A cave," he answered, trying to keep 
himself from stammering.  It was a nervous response and he didn't want 
to be nervous.  "It was a cave."

      Garak's eyes widened noticeably now.  "For six months? All alone? 
However did you keep sane?"

      Bashir didn't know what he was asking.  Was it a rhetorical question? 
"What?"

      "However did you keep sane?" Garak repeated.  "You must have had some 
technique to keep your mind under control.  Converting a replicator to a 
transmitter was quite a feat.  You had to have your wits about you.  I 
would also imagine the cave was quite dark."

      "Absolute dark," Bashir practically blurted.  "I couldn't see at all."

      "So how did you do it?" Garak pressed.

      "I thought about it," Bashir told him.  "I thought about it for months. 
  Imagined it until I could see what I was going to do."

      Garak smiled that enigmatic smile he had, the one that made it seem 
like he already knew the answer and was just testing Bashir to see if 
he'd get it right.  "Amazing," he exclaimed.  "I wasn't aware you could 
  get a distress call from a Starfleet replicator."

      Bashir shook his head.  "You can't."  He knew Garak knew that.

      "The android," Garak surmised.

      "Data," Bashir corrected.

      Garak nodded.  "And for Data to get the signal, the *Enterprise* would 
have to be within a certain range.  How did you know?"

      "I didn't know," Bashir replied.

      "So why do it at all?" Garak demanded.  "The odds were astronomical. 
Why risk starvation to make a signal that only one being in the entire 
quadrant could have heard?  You must have hoped he would be in range."

      "I wouldn't call it hope," Bashir said, "not exactly.  More like having 
nothing to lose."

      "How fortunate then," Garak concluded, "that your odds paid off.  Now 
you have a great deal to lose."


Chapter Seven

      Doctor Girani stayed on during his first shift back.  Bashir was still 
on light duty.  He'd worked out with her and Kira a gradual increase in 
his duties as doctor and as Chief Medical Officer.  For now, Girani 
would keep most of those duties, though Bashir would be kept informed.

      Bashir was satisfied with the arrangements.  Though he felt ready to 
take on all of his duties, he understood their caution, just as he had 
with Crusher and Troi.  Only he knew how his mind spun in circles when 
he wasn't working.  Just standing in the Infirmary made him feel more 
like himself than he had felt in half a year.  This was home.

      Given his light duty status, he didn't see any critical patients during 
the shift.  Girani took any war casualties that came in from the docked 
ships.  Bashir was left with the day-to-day mishaps aboard the station. 
  And there were a lot of them that day.

      To be honest, he suspected most of the bumps and bruises he saw were 
merely an attempt to see him.  The patients smiled and made the usual 
small talk.  How was he?  How had he been?  Was it good to be back? 
Bashir smiled and answered each one as if it was the first time he'd 
been asked.  There were a few more serious cases: an engineer with a 
sprained ankle, a child with a skinned knee, even a Telavian freight 
handler with a cracked tibia.  He had a steady stream of patients right 
up until lunchtime and the end of his first shift.

      He really didn't want to leave, though.  He closed himself in what Dr. 
Girani still insisted was his office and updated the patient records for 
everyone he'd seen.  He was stalling and he knew it.  He felt peace 
there.  His mind slowed down, concentrating on each abrasion or 
laceration.  It didn't veer off into diagrams of conduits or layers of 
paneling as it had the night before.  There was only the patient; he was 
only a doctor.  The universe beyond the Infirmary door asked so much 
more of him than that.

      Out there he had to face Garak's words.  Garak could be so cryptic at 
times.  Bashir sometimes wondered if the tailor/spy knew he was being so 
perceptive or if he just liked the sound of the words.  *A great deal to 
lose.*

      Out there he'd already lost so much.  Six months of time and memories 
and trust.  Gone in an instant that took an eternity to pass.  In here, 
in the Infirmary, nothing had changed.  Medicine was still medicine; 
patients were still patients; and he was still the doctor he had been. 
This was all he had left to lose and it was everything to him.


      Admiral Ross took the seat offered him, the one at the head of the 
table.  The Romulan representative sat to his right.  He was a tall man, 
imposing, nothing at all like Senator Cretak.  Ross caught himself 
making that comparison and shut down the thought.  He had no room for guilt.

      General Martok sat to Ross's left.  He was much easier to deal with, 
easier also than any other Klingon Ross had ever met.  He didn't look 
down on other species unnecessarily.  The general attributed that 
uncommon outlook to his time in the Dominion internment camp where he'd 
learned that 'Cardassians were clever, Romulans could be trusted, and 
even a Breen could have honor.'  The occasion for that speech was 
Bashir's memorial, when he'd said he'd learned a human with will and 
compassion was a force to be reckoned with.

      That was another thought Ross didn't want.  He'd seen that force 
firsthand after the Romulan incident.  Bashir had never looked at him 
the same way again.  He was always formal and never crossed the line of 
insubordination.  But he was always cold, unsmiling.  Ross had felt both 
remorse and relief at the report of Bashir's alleged death.  He didn't 
know what to feel now that he was back.

      But that was hardly the major concern in the admiral's thoughts at the 
moment.  Dilithium was on his mind.

         "They're up to something," he finally said, after Captain Sisko and 
Commander Worf had taken their seats.  "And we just got a little closer 
to finding out what that is.

      "Last night the *Potemkin* picked up a Cardassian distress signal." 
The ship had approached cautiously, fearing a trap.  But he didn't 
bother telling them that.  They could read the details in the report. 
Ross skipped to what was important.  "They found a small scout vessel, 
hardly spaceworthy.  The pilot was a human fighter pilot, Lieutenant 
Caldia Mtingwa.  She was reported missing with the rest of her squadron 
after the Quarron Offensive over a year ago."

      General Martok and Senator Parnal were each reading their PADDs now. 
Worf, as Strategic Operations Officer, already knew.  Sisko, as Worf's 
commanding officer, had already been briefed.

      "A prisoner of war?" Parnal asked, with an air of incredulity.
"Escaped?"

      Ross nodded.  "Something very few have been able to do."  He inclined 
his head in the General's direction.  "And, while her exposure to 
Dominion plans was limited, it's more than we had yesterday."

      "Are we certain she is who she appears to be?" Parnal asked.

      Ross had anticipated the question.  "We're taking every precaution. 
She has passed all medical exams, including a DNA comparison.  She'll be 
under constant observation for the next seventy-two hours."  Ross nodded 
to Sisko to take over.

      "The Dominion," Sisko began as he stood, "is now using their prisoners 
for slave labor.  Lieutenant Mtingwa was apparently used in some sort of 
experiment.  She was placed in the ship with minimal instrumentation and 
no navigational capabilities.  She reports that the ship was entirely 
controlled by autopilot.  Her report's actually very fascinating 
reading, though it leads us to few conclusions.  It appears as if she 
was shunted out of phase or something similar.  While there, she could 
see the Dominion base from where her ship had been launched, but only as 
a ghostly image.  Her sensors could not read it.

      "Her ship began a self-destruct sequence.  Ten seconds later she was 
shunted violently back here, some fifty light years from where she 
started.  Her ship was damaged enough to prevent the autopilot from 
returning her to the base, and the shift was violent enough to disrupt 
the self-destruct sequence.  The ship's dilithium was entirely consumed."

      Ross picked up from there.  "Lieutenant Mtingwa reports that well over 
fifty pilots were transferred with her to the base from the prison camp 
where she had been interned on Quarron IV.  There were only six others 
with her when she was assigned to the scout ship.  I think we can assume 
that the Dominion has been using up their stores of dilithium in this 
experiment.  And I think we can also assume that we don't want them to 
succeed in whatever it is they're trying to accomplish."


      "How was lunch?" Dax asked after he'd sat down.

      Bashir felt his shoulders tense and hoped it didn't show.  "It was
fine."

      Her lips turned down into something between a frown and a smile.  "I 
saw you put your tray back full after Garak left yesterday.  Is there a 
reason you didn't eat?  Have you eaten today?  Can I get you something?"

      How to get out of that then? he wondered.  He couldn't say yes, though 
he had skipped lunch to stay in the Infirmary, or she'd wonder why he 
wasn't eating.  And he couldn't really tell her why Garak had upset him 
or what Garak had done with Sisko, could he?  "No, thank you.  I'm 
really not hungry.  I had lunch in my quarters."

      She forced a smile and he knew she suspected he was lying.  But she 
didn't press.

      "Kira said you were angry," Dax reported instead, "about her leaving 
your post open."

      "I wasn't angry over the sentiment," he told her.  There was nothing 
not to be dishonest about here.  "I was angry that she'd been 
irresponsible where the health of this station's population is 
concerned.  There should have been a Chief Medical Officer--a permanent 
one."

      "And yet, you were worried you wouldn't get your post back."

      Bashir nodded though he felt a bit defensive having to justify this. 
"I couldn't be both?  Yes, I want my post back.  But I don't put my self 
and my wants above the well-being of the crew."

      "I wasn't insinuating that you would," Dax assured him calmly.  "I just 
want to get at what you were feeling.  Counselor Troi mentioned your 
theory of equilibrium.  Do you still feel that way, now that you're home?"

      *Ah, that.*  He'd almost forgotten that.  It fit.  "Yes, for the most 
part."

      Dax nodded.  "Assuming you're happy to be back, what is it that cancels 
that happiness out?"

      "Fear."  It was an easy question.  "I'm no safer here than I was on the 
*Enterprise*.  Maybe less."

      "Why less?"  She looked genuinely concerned then.

      Did she really have to ask?  And how far should he go in answering? 
"Because security on this station hasn't proven adequate in the past. 
Why should it now?  At least it's harder to beam in and out of a ship at 
warp.  This station sits still.  Its shields can be penetrated."

      "By Sloan."

      "On several occasions."

      "He visited you on the *Enterprise*," she reminded him.

      "He arrived by shuttle," he pointed out in return.  "Though he did beam 
out."

      "What did he want," she asked, redirecting the conversation, "when he 
came to visit you?"

      Bashir quickly weighed his options on how much to tell her.  He really 
didn't need to lie where Sloan was concerned, but he didn't particularly 
want anyone else to know about his device either.  He decided to start 
with the obvious, what she should already know.  "He wanted to frame me."

      "To what end?" she pressed.  "Would they have left you to rot in 
prison?  Besides it was rather flimsy.  He should have known that 
Benjamin could prove your innocence."

      "I think he panicked," Bashir told her.  And he believed it, sincerely. 
  It still shocked him a bit.  Sloan had shown himself vulnerable.  "He 
hadn't expected me to escape the cave.  I surprised him and he had to 
think up something fast.  He was stalling for time."

      "Time for what?" she pressed, almost sounding like Jake in reporter 
mode.  "He visited you again, after you were released.  What did he want 
then?"

      "The same thing he's wanted since the first time," he replied.  "For me 
to join them willingly.  I refused."

      "And he just let you go?"  She didn't sound convinced.

      There was more than one reason Sloan hadn't just forced him or abducted 
him there.  "I was too public just then.  I came back from the dead."

      She smiled.  "Quite a feat by anyone's standards.  Let's hope you're 
too public for a good long while."  Her smile faded.  "I just don't 
understand why they don't just take no for an answer.  Why would they 
want you for an operative when you are so vehemently opposed to what 
they do?"

      Bashir shrugged.  "They're insane?"  He was only half joking.

      "That must be exasperating for you," she said, and it was nice to have 
someone acknowledge what Sloan and Section 31 did to *him*.

      "It is," he agreed.  He wanted to tell her it was maddening, but 
thought that was probably not the best word for someone in his position 
to use.  "It's frightening," he said instead.

      "Did you talk to someone after the first time?" Dax asked.

      "I told the captain, and Kira and Odo were there."

      She shook her head.  "You reported, and that was good, but did you talk 
to Counselor Telnori, or Miles?  You told me--I mean Jadzia--but you 
didn't talk *about* it.  About how you felt."

      *How I felt.*  Of course, it wasn't the details she wanted, though they 
were what he wanted to discuss, truth be told.  He wanted someone to 
want to hear it, someone to be as appalled at it as he was, someone who 
would pledge to fight for him, to protect him.  He wanted someone to 
rescue him.  But how likely was that?  It was a pipe dream and he knew 
it.  It was hard for anyone who heard to comprehend it, to take it all 
in. It was too much and they preferred to not know.  So, no, Dax didn't 
want the details.  She only wanted his feelings.

      "No," he answered. "No one asked."

      "You could have gone to see Telnori."  Bashir looked away and she 
quickly added, "But you avoid counselors' offices.  We're not the enemy, 
you know.  We're not looking to trap you into saying something wrong. 
We want to help."

      He felt some shame at that and cast his gaze to the floor.  "I know."

      "You tell your patients to see me.  As a doctor, you know the good we 
can do."  Her voice was gentle, her expression one of concern and not 
accusation.  "Can you not accept it for yourself?  Sometimes you're a 
patient, too.  You're allowed that."

      Bashir looked up at her like he was seeing her for the first time.  She 
looked so young, naive even.  But she wasn't.  She was better than Troi. 
   Better than Garak.  Because Garak used his perception to throw him 
off-balance.  Ezri used hers to reach out.  And she was the first to 
have done it.

      "Talk to me, Julian," she encouraged.  "We can start there.  We can 
start anywhere you want."

-- 
--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

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