Forwarded by the ASC-VSO 
Posted: Thu, 29 Jan 2004 07:03:44 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 8/9
Rating: [PG]
Codes:
Summary:  Doctor Bashir, after having been marooned for over six months,
Chapter Nine, cont.

      Ezri thought they were having a good, productive session.  Julian had 
been glum when he came in.  He was still glum.  She didn't expect that 
would change.  Mtingwa would be dying soon.  He had that to carry with 
him.  Still, they'd talked about a lot of things, things he'd never 
really talked about before.  Auschwitz, for example.  It had seemed he 
was afraid to discuss that after he was rescued.  Maybe he thought the 
Dominion would hear about it and use it.  He said the changeling had 
told him they could learn from the place.  That was reason enough to try 
and keep it quiet.  But it hadn't helped him.  He talked about the cave 
and how he'd occupied his mind taking apart walls and machines.

      And he talked about the Dominion camp, 371.  She'd heard about it from 
Worf, of course, but he'd only been there a short time.  Bashir had been 
there a month. And he'd just been released from solitary confinement 
when Worf was captured.  She knew he carried too much pain around with 
him.  He kept too much to himself.

      She chuckled a bit, finally understanding.  "You don't even know you're 
doing it, do you?"  She let her voice become serious.  "Or maybe you do."

      He didn't admit to either.  "Doing what?"

      She hadn't really thought he would.  "The same thing you've been doing 
all your life."  She sat back in her chair and brought her hands 
together on her knees.  "You're really quite brilliant," she said, 
meaning it.  She *was* impressed.  "It's no wonder Garak was upset after 
the enhancements came out.  He was jealous."

      His face was a mask of confusion now, but she knew she had him.  "What 
*are* you talking about?"

      Maybe he really didn't know he was doing it.  Or maybe he was still 
doing it, hoping to throw her off.  "You're so much better at keeping 
secrets than him," she explained, letting him know she wouldn't be 
misdirected.  "He builds his life around being an enigma, but you--you 
hid your enhancements for nearly thirty years."

      Anger flashed behind those dark, expressive eyes of his, and hurt. 
"Twenty," he corrected.  "I didn't know about them until I was fifteen."

      Ezri tossed up a hand.  "That's still impressive.  You've been doing it 
so long it's ingrained."  She leaned forward again.  "Either that or you 
see it as a tried and true method.  Worked before, why not try it again?"

      Confusion, anger, hurt.  They were all there.  And frustration, too. 
He repeated his earlier question.  "What are you talking about?"

      She didn't answer.  Not directly.  "A year ago you wouldn't say 
anything about Auschwitz.  The only time you described the Jem'Hadar 
camp was in your report.  I've never seen you so open."

      He raised his voice.  "Isn't that what you want?"

      She ignored the outburst, unusual though it was.  "When you first came 
here, people said you talked too much. About yourself.  You were 
arrogant."  It hurt to push him so hard, but he needed the pushing if he 
was ever going to let her help him.  "You talked about yourself so much 
no one would have ever suspected you were hiding anything.  Brilliant! 
Garak should take lessons."

      "You think I'm hiding something now?" he asked, indignant.  He stood 
up.  "You want me to talk about things.  I've been talking about them. 
Do you want me to be difficult?"

      She stayed seated, but matched his intensity.  "Yes!  Yes, because 
Julian Bashir would be difficult."

      "Are you insinuating that I'm not Julian Bashir?"

      "I'm insinuating that you've changed."

      "*You've* changed, Dax," he threw back.  "Things happen.  People
change."

      Now they were moving in the right direction.  "And that's what I want 
to talk about."

      He threw up his hands and turned his back to her.  "That's what we've 
been talking about.  Auschwitz, Three Seven One, the cave, it's all part 
of that.  Those are the things that happened."

      She walked up behind him and touched his shoulder.  "But not the 
changes.  You will talk about the events, but not about you.  Not really 
you."

      "Well, then, I don't know what you want to hear!" he pleaded. This was 
hard for him; she knew that.

      "I don't want to hear what I want to hear," she told him, softening her 
voice.

      Now he chuckled.  "And you think I have problems."  A defense 
mechanism.  She recognized it as such.

      She laughed with him.  "Yes!  I think I have problems, too.  I think we 
all have problems."

      He didn't share the humor.  "But me in particular."

      She stepped around him so she could see his face.  "You haven't been 
the same since you returned, Julian."

      "Why should I be the same?" he breathed.  "The universe isn't the same."

      That was the honesty she'd hoped to provoke.  "Because you're not happy 
the way you are."

      Incredulous wonder lit his face.  "There's a war on.  People are dying. 
  People are killing.  After all that's happened to me, what do you 
suppose I should be happy about?"

      He had something there.  It was hard to tell people not to be depressed 
when depressing things happened.  But there was always something 
positive to point to, even here.  "You were rescued."

      "I rescued myself," he said with some pride.  "And I am happy I'm not 
still stuck in that cave."

      Ezri shook her head.  "Relieved maybe, but not happy."  She took his 
hand, made him look at her.  "Julian, you don't have to be happy all the 
time. But something's not right if you're never happy."

      "I'm not 'never happy,'" he held, pulling free of her touch.  "When I'm 
in the Infirmary, it's like everything falls away.  All of it.  I'm 
happy there."

      "That's good," she said, glad he had something.  "But what falls away? 
  What's there before you walk into the Infirmary.  That's what I want 
to talk about, Julian.  That's what you need to face."

      He turned away again, not saying anything.  She waited, giving him 
time.  He would talk.  She knew it.  But still, he said nothing.  "Is it 
something that would keep you out of the Infirmary?" she asked, hoping 
to prompt him, but realizing that could be the fear that kept him from 
talking.  "Is that why you won't talk about it?"

      Julian's comm badge chirped.  He turned back to her, but tapped it. 
"Bashir here."

      Jabara's voice came over the other end.  "I believe it's time, Doctor."

      He might have been happy to be saved from his present ordeal, but she 
could tell by his face that wasn't so.  She knew what time it was. 
Mtingwa was dying.  She nodded, letting him go.  "We'll talk later," she 
said.

      

      Bashir took a few deep breaths--out of habit, he supposed--and entered 
the room.  Mtingwa was actually transparent now.  She looked like 
someone caught in the middle of a transport:  there and not there at the 
same time.  No, not caught.  She was being beamed away in slow motion. 
It probably didn't even take genetically enhanced eyes to see the 
changes now.  She was fading.  The display above her head had been 
turned off before he met with Ezri.  The instruments had gotten quite 
confused.

      She smiled at him, though her lips quivered.  "I had a good talk with 
my sister."  Her voice was so quiet, Bashir doubted a natural human 
could have heard it.  "My family hadn't had any news about me since I 
was captured.  They didn't know if they'd ever see me again.  She had a 
baby, my sister.  And her two older children are in school now.  They're 
twins.  She says they look like me."

      Bashir smiled and stepped further into the room.  He pulled up a stool 
and sat beside her bed.  "Then they must be beautiful children."

      She smiled again.  "You're a charmer," she teased.  Then she grew 
serious.  "I'm sorry about before.  You were right.  I'm glad I had the 
time.  I'd wanted to talk to her so many times when I was a prisoner.  I 
would talk to her anyway, just in my head.  That helped."

      Bashir understood that.  "I took apart walls," he told her.  "Walls and 
machinery, replicators, transmitters, transporters, everything I could 
think of."

      She nodded.  Then she drew in a long, shaky breath.  "I'm afraid," she 
admitted.

      He wanted to comfort her, to tell her there was no need, that 
everything would be fine.  But it wouldn't.  They both knew that.  "I'm 
here," was all he could say.  "I won't leave."

      She faced him, but she squinted her eyes.  "I can't see you anymore."

      He picked up her hand, surprised to find it still felt solid.  "I'm 
still here."

      She squeezed his hand, and he could feel the pressure, the desperation. 
  "Can you hold me?"  Tears spilled past her eyes and ears to the pillow 
but left no wet spot there.  "Is there enough of me left?"

      His throat hurt and his own eyes stung.  He helped her to sit up and 
sat beside her on the bed.  He wrapped his arms around her and felt her 
arms lightly on his back.  He could feel her heart beat as he held her, 
though it seemed he was holding air more than a woman.  Her shoulders 
shook as she cried.

      She didn't say anything for several minutes.  Then suddenly, she 
pleaded with him.  "Will you remember me?"

      He still hadn't worked that out.  "I'll try," he said.  And then she 
was gone.  His arms fell to the bed.  There was nothing left.

      But he did remember.


***


      Caldia Mtingwa frantically searched the cockpit for something to shut 
off the countdown.  Self-destruct.  They'd thrown her out here to 
self-destruct.  Out where?  She wasn't sure where she was.  She could 
see the base outside the ship, but it wasn't right.  It was like a ghost 
image.

      Fifteen seconds.  The cockpit was nearly empty.  No piloting controls, 
no operations console or tactical display.  The only thing in there was 
the remote control receiver and a small communications console.  She'd 
tried that already.

      Five seconds.  Her pulse pounded in her chest.  She didn't want to die. 
  Not like this.  Not out here.  Not anywhere.  *Damn them!* she 
thought.  Is this where all the others had gone?

      Three, two. . . .   The ship rocked violently and she threw up her 
hands, instinctively trying to shield her face from the fire.  But there 
was no fire.  Not yet.  The cockpit became chaos.  Lights flashed around 
her, inside the cockpit and out.  Then darkness.  She couldn't see 
anything, but she thought her bones would rattle right out of the EV 
suit they'd put her in.  The lights in the cockpit came back on.  She 
tried to brace herself against the fuselage but she couldn't keep her 
arms up.  The ship's nose seemed to waver and ripple, like liquid. Then 
came the fire.  It engulfed her, and she screamed.  She had the suit, 
but she could still feel the heat.  She took a breath and the air burned 
her throat and lungs.

      And then suddenly, it stopped.  The fire dissipated, leaving her 
coughing.  Each breath she drew in was hot and caustic.  It smelled 
rotten, metallic.  But it was all she had.  She hurt, but she was still 
alive.  The countdown had stopped.  She hadn't even noticed the silence 
until she could stop coughing long enough to look outside the cockpit. 
No base, ghost image or not.  There was nothing out there but stars.

      She didn't care now that it hurt so much to breathe or move.  She was 
alive.  She waited to see if the Dominion would bring her back by remote 
control, but the ship didn't move.  She was free.  She'd take that.  She 
could live with the pain.

      She forced her fingers to move and reached for the communications 
console.  It took her two hours, but she finally altered the signal to 
something resembling a Federation distress call.  She hoped it resembled 
it enough.

      She waited.  She hoped the Dominion or its allies wouldn't pick up the 
signal.  She didn't want to have to go back.  Not after this.  If she 
could just get to a nice, clean Federation ship. . . .  Or even a cold, 
dark, harsh Klingon one.  It didn't matter.  She closed her eyes.  She 
was tired, and it was getting harder and harder to breathe.

      She awoke when the tingle hit her.  For that briefest of moments, all 
her pain went away.  Then she was whole again and the pain was with her. 
  But she was a in a bright room, on a soft bed.  She'd made it.  A face 
leaned over her, removed her helmet.  "You're awake," the face said.

      "Where am I?" she croaked out.

      "You're on the *Potemkin.*"
      

Chapter Ten


      Kira had waited for her shift to end.  She still wasn't completely sure 
what she'd seen down in the lower levels.  Oh, the conduit she was sure 
of.  It was the man that still perplexed her.  She'd spent nearly an 
hour during dinner trying to figure out how to tell someone without 
telling about the man who'd led her down there.  And figuring out who to 
tell at all.  O'Brien would be appropriate for the conduit.  Maybe he'd 
had someone working down there.  But that didn't explain the man.  Only 
Bashir explained the man, because Bashir had once worn the same striped 
uniform.  She didn't think she could go to him directly on this though. 
  She wasn't sure it was him.  And if it was, how would he react when 
confronted with it.  She'd finally decided on Ezri.  Ezri would be a 
better judge of Bashir's reaction and she might even listen to the part 
about the man with an open mind.

      Kira touched the panel by Dax's door and waited for an answer.  The 
door didn't open, but Ezri did answer.  "Come in."  She sounded tired.

      Kira stepped forward and the door opened.  She stopped there in the 
doorway, though.  Ezri was facing her on the far wall. Upside down.

      "Oh, hi!" she said, swinging her feet down.  "I was just thinking."

      Kira's brow furrowed.  "On your head?"

      "It's been that kind of day," Ezri answered without really explaining. 
  She stood up and smoothed down the wrinkles in her uniform.  "Is there 
something wrong?"

      Kira shook her head and looked toward the couch.  "I need to talk," she 
said, "about something that happened today, something that's been 
happening, I suppose."

      Ezri held out a hand toward the couch, inviting Kira to sit.  Kira 
moved quickly to it and Ezri sat with her, tucking a leg under her body. 
  "What happened?"

      "It's strange," Kira warned.

      "I'm a woman of less than thirty years walking around with a slug 
that's over three hundred in my gut," Ezri admitted, smiling.  "I can 
deal with strange."

      Kira chuckled.  Ezri always managed to lighten the mood when it needed 
it.  "I suppose you can," Kira agreed.  She took a deep breath and 
started the only place she could think to start.  "I saw someone going 
into Quark's today."

      Now Ezri's brow furrowed. "And that's strange?"

      Kira shook her head.  "Not just any someone.  A man."

      Ezri's eyebrows shot up.

      "A man in a striped Auschwitz uniform," Kira added, stopping any 
light-hearted thoughts Dax might have had about Kira seeing a man.

      Ezri's face darkened immediately.  Jadzia had seen more of the camp 
than Kira had.  "Auschwitz?"

      Kira nodded.  "I'm certain.  He had the star on his chest, and a 
number.  Lower than Julian's."

      Ezri ran a hand through her short hair.  "That's not possible."  She 
stood up.  "Julian is the only living survivor.  The oldest living 
survivor from that time died in the early twenty-first century.  Why 
would someone be wearing that kind of uniform in Quark's?"

      "Quark didn't see him," Kira threw out.  "No one else seemed to notice. 
  He looked right at me from the upper level.  But I was the only one 
who saw."

      Ezri sat back down and looked at her carefully.  "And you've been 
feeling okay?"

      Kira shook her head and put up a hand.  "I've already reasoned it all 
out.  I didn't hallucinate him.  I didn't even recognize him.  Nor was 
he a changeling.  He did things they couldn't do.  He wasn't a Prophet, 
at least he didn't act at all like Captain Sisko has described the 
Prophets behaving.  Everything was real.  He wanted me to follow.  I 
followed."

      "He told you that?"

      "No," Kira said.  "He didn't say anything.  I just knew he wanted me to 
follow."

      Ezri just nodded, but her lips were pursed together.  "Where did he 
lead you?"

      "Lower levels," Kira answered.  "Section D.  Two levels below anything 
we use, into the dark.  Only I could see him.  At first, I couldn't see 
anything but him."

      "At first?"

      "When we got there, to the place he was leading me to, there was light 
around him, like it came from him.  He showed me a power transfer 
conduit, and left the light there, though he stepped away.  I opened it, 
and it was perfect.  Not one wire or connection was missing or out of 
place."

      Ezri shook her head again.  "I don't understand.  We don't use those 
levels.  They were never repaired."

      "Exactly," Kira told her.  "This one was.  And it wasn't just missed by 
the Cardassians.  I thought of that.  There was no dust in it, or around 
it.  Someone repaired it recently.  Someone that knew a man in an 
Auschwitz uniform.  Why else would he lead me there.  He left as soon as 
I'd found it.  Just gone.  It took me an hour to find my way out in the 
dark."

      "Julian?" Ezri asked, putting the pieces together just as Kira had. 
Who else had known such a man?  Lieutenant Jordan had spent more time in 
the camp than any of the others looking for Bashir, but he'd been gone 
for nearly two years now and he hadn't stayed around to socialize with 
the prisoners.  "You think the man was some sort of ghost?"

      Kira felt her cheeks flush.  Ezri was Starfleet.  "I'm saying I don't 
know what he was," she returned with a bit more anger than she wanted. 
"I just know he wanted me to see the conduit, to know that someone had 
done it.  To know who that someone was.  Why else would he wear the 
uniform?  It wouldn't mean anything to anyone but Julian.  Forget the 
man, Ezri, think about Julian.  Why would he be down there repairing 
power transfer conduits in the dark?"

      Ezri stood again, blowing out a long held breath.  "He took apart 
walls," she said finally, pacing a few steps away.  "In his mind.  He 
took apart walls and equipment.  Stripped them back layer by layer when 
he was in the cave.  It was how he passed the time, what kept him sane. 
  It's a common enough coping tactic given long-term isolating 
conditions.  I read a case study of a woman, a prisoner in the Viet-Nam 
Conflict on Earth in the twentieth century.  She built houses from the 
ground up."

      Kira understood that.  Bajoran torture victims had done the same sorts 
of things to keep their minds occupied and off their torment.  But she 
was still worried about Bashir.  "So now he's doing it for real? In the 
dark."

      Ezri nodded.  "The cave was dark.  He was there a long time.  Maybe it 
became a comfort to him.  It's quiet in the dark.  It's probably chaotic 
on the station in comparison.  It was on the *Enterprise*.  He hasn't 
been out that long really.  Less than a month.  It makes sense that he'd 
go back to the dark.  Was the conduit active?"

      Kira shook her head.

      "Then I wouldn't worry," Ezri said. "At least it's nothing dangerous, 
nothing we use.  He can't do any damage without power and I think he's 
rational enough not to do anything dangerous anyway.  He's probably just 
been doing it to calm the chaos.  I'll talk to him though.  Just not 
tonight.  He lost Mtingwa tonight."

      Kira felt better.  She did trust Julian not to do anything dangerous to 
the station.  And Ezri's reassurances made sense. "I heard," she said, 
replying to Ezri's remark about Mtingwa.  "I'm not sure why we still 
remember her if she was never here."

      Ezri sunk back onto the couch, looking morose again.  "Apparently she 
was.  And according to Temporal Investigations, she will be again.  Over 
and over again."


      It was late, and it wasn't the best time.  Sisko realized that.  But he 
just didn't feel it could wait any longer.  He couldn't wait.  He didn't 
want to face another staff meeting like the last two.  He didn't want to 
avoid Bashir on the Promenade.  He wanted to put an end to the power 
game they were playing.  Maybe having lost a patient would cool Bashir's 
temper, making him more able to listen.  Sisko expected a clipped reply 
or terse acknowledgement to his request.  Instead, Bashir simply said, 
"Yes, sir."  No tone, no harshness.  Sisko started to doubt.

      When he appeared in Ops, however, Sisko's resolve came back to him. 
Bashir's face was set hard, his eyes cold.  He stepped through the door 
and stood at attention.  "You wanted to see me," he said, and Sisko 
could still not identify the tone.

      "Yes," he said.  "I think we need to talk."

      "We talked this morning," Bashir replied.

      Yes, they had.  "I know.  But I don't think we resolved anything."

      "There's nothing to resolve."

      "I think there is," Sisko said.  He stood up and braced his arms on the 
top of the desk.  "I've spent the last three weeks thinking about what 
you said back on the *Enterprise.*  And you were right.  You opened my 
eyes to a lot of things."  He folded his arms and turned to look out the 
viewport.  "When does the line begin to fade? The line between good and 
bad, right and wrong?  What if, in trying to win, we end up looking in 
the mirror and not recognizing ourselves?"

      Bashir was silent behind him.  Sisko could see him in the reflection. 
He'd moved to parade rest.  He didn't relax at all.

      "I'll admit," Sisko went on, "that I haven't even looked at that mirror 
since the war began.  Not until I saw you on the *Enterprise.*  Then I 
looked and I didn't recognize myself.  I didn't like what I saw there. 
I've apologized, and I know that isn't enough for you, for anyone.  It 
can't change what I did.  But nothing can."  He turned.  It was enough. 
  "I can't change the past, Julian.  I can't go back in time and erase 
it."  The words were out before he realized it.  'Back in time' was not 
exactly the best choice on this night.

      "Can't you?" Bashir asked, his voice flat, matter-of-fact.  "You can 
break the Prime Directive when it suits you and commit a felony when 
it's convenient.  What's to stop you breaking temporal policy?"

      "You," Sisko said, deciding not to take offense at Bashir's words. 
They needed to work things out, not argue more.  "You.  And me.  You 
made me look in that mirror again.  I don't have the right to decide for 
a whole quadrant which past and which future is right.  We played it out 
the way we played it, right or wrong, it's done."

      "So that's just it?" Bashir asked.  His face had darkened.  "We just 
forget about it now.  Pretend it never happened?"

      "No," Sisko said, stamping a hand down on his desk again.  "No, but we 
go on.  I got the message, Doctor, loud and clear.  I don't need you to 
punish me anymore.  I can manage that all by myself.  From now on, we go 
back to being captain and lieutenant, commander and doctor.  And maybe 
someday we can go back to being friends.  But that's your decision.  I 
won't force it, but I will enforce the chain of command.  And I'll 
expect you to respect it."

      Bashir straightened to attention.  "Yes, *sir*."

      Sisko knew he wasn't going to get more than that.  He was surprised, 
actually, that he didn't get an argument.  He nodded.  "Dismissed."


      Julian Bashir felt like his world--what was left of it--was collapsing. 
  Ezri had him on one side, Sisko on the other.  He couldn't go back to 
the Infirmary, not now.  Not just yet. His shift had ended hours ago, 
thankfully.  He told the turbolift to take him to the Habitat Ring. 
Then he changed his mind.  Ezri might look for him there.  He didn't 
want to talk to her.  Or anyone else.  He just wanted to disappear.

      He found himself again in the lower levels, the same deck he'd visited 
now and then since his return.  He knew his way by heart now.  He didn't 
need to grope along the walls.  Darkness was something familiar to him, 
something comforting.  It hid everything equally: what one wanted to see 
and what one didn't.

      He located his conduit and felt inside.  It was ready.  He only needed 
to tie it in to the EPS system.  He took a cue from Jordan's clone and 
tapped into several dozen different nodes, taking just a bit of power 
from each.  Each would only register the slightest margin of drop-off, 
not enough to cause alarm.  It took hours to accomplish all the tie-ins. 
  He had to move from one panel to another along the entire deck.  But 
finally, he was ready.  He found his way back to the conduit and 
connected the last piece of the circuit.

      And the lights came on.  Damn.  The sudden light snapped at his eyes. 
He hadn't meant for that to happen.  He opened the circuit again and the 
light faded.  Someone might have noticed.  It was simple when he thought 
of it.  The lights had been on the whole time; they simply had no power. 
  He had to find all the controls and disconnect them.

      By the time he emerged from the lower levels, all the shops on the 
Promenade were closed.  Except Quark's.  But Quark's didn't close until 
the early hours of the morning.  He passed by the upper level and 
noticed that the waiters were just cleaning up.  Apparently, it was the 
early hours of the morning.  He went on to the turbolift and headed back 
to his quarters.

      He felt numb and hollow as he walked.  Working below had done that for 
him.  It was better than the hurt and anger he had felt before.  It was 
the best he could hope for anymore.

      He opened the door to his quarters and jumped when he heard the voice 
behind him.

      "No more caffeine for you," Ezri said.

      He spun around.  "What are you doing here?"

      She shook her head.  "Shall we go in?"  She didn't wait for him to 
answer but stepped past him into the room.  He looked around, thinking 
of leaving again, but knew he couldn't explain that.  He followed her.

      She began as soon as the door closed.  "When was the last time you
slept?"

      He'd barely made it into the room.  He'd have to pass her to go 
anywhere.  "Last night," he told her, without having to lie.  He *had* 
fallen asleep last night eventually.

      She crossed her arms over her chest.  "More than three hours?" she 
pressed.

        He didn't answer.  He didn't know the answer.

      "So what do you do with all that spare time?" she asked.

      Bashir felt the heat rising in his chest again.  Why was she doing 
this?  Why now?  He glared at her.  But she didn't stop.


-- 
--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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