Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: Thu, 15 Apr 2004 05:16:10 GMT In: alt.startrek.creative From: Gabrielle Lawson Title: Oswiecim Author: Gabrielle Lawson (inheildi@earthlink.net) Series: DS9 Part: REP 40/42 Rating: [PG-13] (Violence) Codes: Chapter Seventeen -- Continued He felt again the blackness slipping away, but this time there was no voice and no screaming. It was still quiet. He could hear the air rushing in and rushing out, and he knew it was his own breath. He could feel the pain again and remember why it was there. He heard familiar sounds, clicks and beeps. One, he knew, was his pulse. He opened his eyes, expecting to see light that would hurt them. But the light was dim and his vision blurred. He turned his head, or at least he tried. The muscles on the right side of his neck protested painfully. But now he could see there was a form beside him, sleeping in a chair. He looked uncomfortable. Sisko. That was not the voice he had heard. But it was right that he was there. He heard his words again in his head. *Don't give up on us yet.* He closed his eyes again in shame. He had done just that. He tried to move his arm, to touch him and see if he was real, but his left arm wouldn't move past the elbow. Sharp pain emanated from his shoulder. He remembered his shoulders hurting, that one being dislocated. He reached then with his right arm, across his chest. That hurt, too, but he had to try. "Captain," he attempted to say, but his voice wouldn't work. His throat hurt when he tried. "Captain?" Sisko jerked awake and saw, first, Amsha Bashir's form lying on the next bed over. She had asked him to come while she slept. He was grateful to her for that. He looked up at the doctor who stood just behind him. She was smiling. She tilted her head toward the biobed. Sisko followed her gaze to find Julian Bashir looking back at him, reaching out his hand to him. "Captain," Bashir said softly, but gravelly. His eyes looked hopeful. "Are you real?" Sisko forgot his weariness and pulled his chair closer to the biobed. He took Bashir's hand and listened for his whisper. "Yes," he replied happily, "I'm real." "Good." Bashir's mouth turned up ever so slightly in a smile. "I was . . . ," he took a breath, ". . . worried about you." Now that didn't make any sense. "Me?" he asked. But when Bashir didn't offer an explanation he didn't push the issue. "Do you know where you are?" The smile disappeared as Bashir looked around the room as best he could. His mother, now awake, was at his other side, smiling down at him. He smiled back, for just a moment. "A hospital," he answered. "Modern." Sisko nodded. "Starfleet Medical." "Why does it still hurt?" Bashir asked, still in a whisper. Sisko didn't know how to respond. He didn't want to provoke any bad memories. "It was cyanide," he finally said. He was about to explain that the doctors couldn't give him anything for the pain because it might interfere, but Bashir nodded that he understood already. *Of course, he does,* Sisko admonished himself. "How long?" Sisko wasn't quite sure what he was asking but assumed he meant how much time since he'd been gassed. "Twenty-three hours." Bashir smiled again. "That's more than four." Sisko grinned, too. "Yes, it is." The smile disappeared and Sisko saw there was genuine worry in the younger man's eyes. "I'm sorry," he said. Sisko didn't understand. What had Bashir done to be sorry for? "For what?" "I gave up on you." Sisko could see Bashir's eyelids trying to close again. But they didn't and he continued, "In the gas . . . ," he breathed. "I tried to hold my breath . . . but--" He broke off then and looked away to the ceiling. His breath came faster, but in uneven spurts. "You couldn't hold your breath that long, Julian," Sisko said, trying to console him. "No one could." Bashir's brown eyes, so tired, turned back to him. "I took . . . a deep breath," he said, "of the gas . . . to die." Thoughts ran through Sisko's mind of what it must have been like in there and he shook his head. No one would blame him for giving up, not in there. "Julian," he began, but he didn't quite know what else to say. "It's alright," was all he could think of. "Don't be sorry." Bashir was losing the battle with his eyelids. He nodded weakly. "I had a dream," he said, "that Kira was . . . coming to save me." He blinked, trying to stay awake. "She did," Sisko told him and watched him fall asleep again. ****** Bashir awoke, and this time, there was no light at all and no pain. He could turn his head and even move his shoulder. He lifted his hands. The left was identical to the right, unbroken. He did not even feel hungry. He felt fine. For the first time in weeks he was warm and felt at peace. He was safe. "Jules!" his mother exclaimed as she entered the room. "You're awake. Your father and I were so worried." She came to his bed and hugged him. Her touch was soft, not painful. She kissed his forehead and pulled back to sit beside his legs at the foot of the bed. Julian looked around the room, but did not see his father. "Where's Dad?" he asked. "In prison," his mother answered. She seemed untroubled by that fact. "They didn't let him out,?" Bashir complained. "Even for this?" "It's really not important, Jules," she told him. "You're well, and we have you back again." Julian looked at her. It was an odd thing to say, and a strange choice of words. She smiled at him and her smile sent a wave of dread though his body. It was an evil smile. She blinked and when her eyes opened they were black, no iris, no pupil. She laughed. When she spoke, her voice was no longer that of his mother. It was Whaley and it was Heiler at the same time. "And we won't make the same mistakes this time." She reached her hand toward him, to touch his chest. A small strand of her fluid self, like a short, thick needle, protruded from her opened palm. Bashir was frozen to the bed. He couldn't move or call for help. He couldn't even scream. Her hand touched him, stabbed through his skin. Julian gasped and his eyes flew open. The room was dark and quiet, but he couldn't turn his head, and his shoulder wouldn't move. He felt soreness and fatigue. And his stomach was empty. A long tube ran from his left arm to a unit on the wall. His mother was beside him, sitting in the chair where he thought he'd seen Sisko. She was sleeping, and he was afraid to wake her. He barely blinked the rest of the night. ****** Kira left the conference room and blew out a breath. She hadn't had to deal with the temporal investigators last time. This time, she had faced a roomful of them. They'd already been through nearly everyone else who had been on the planet. Though she had really spent less time than any of them on the surface, with the exception of Sisko and his short visit, she was the highest ranking officer who'd gone down. So they spent the greatest amount of time grilling her on everything that she had done and seen. Who had she talked to? What did she say? Did she think that she, in any way, changed the timeline? They hadn't liked her story about the barracks. She hadn't liked it either, but she told them the truth. And the truth was that, while she didn't think her actions altered the timeline, she couldn't be sure. Maybe the block elder was angered by her visit and punished one of the others. Maybe he hadn't the first time around. She didn't know. Still, she wasn't sorry. She would have done the same again if it meant saving Bashir. Besides, she reminded them, if anyone had changed the timeline it was the changeling herself. She had killed at least one man that probably wasn't meant to die in the original timeline. In her capacity as an SS officer in a concentration camp, she might have killed more. They wouldn't know for sure until Bashir had his debriefing. Kira was looking forward to that even less than she had her own. While she was, admittedly, curious about his seven and a half weeks off the ship, she knew it would be difficult at best for the doctor to recount those weeks to a group of strangers. Bureaucrats, no less. He was sitting up when she entered his room. He smiled as his mother excused herself. "I don't mean to interrupt," Kira told her. "I can come another time." "No, no," Amsha said, touching her shoulder, "I need a break." "She's hungry," Bashir said, "but she doesn't want to admit it in front of me." His voice was soft, but getting stronger. Two days of lying in bed had done a lot for him. "They still won't let him eat real food," Amsha explained. "I think it must be terrible." "It might be more terrible," he argued, "if after all those weeks starving, I died because I ate something." He sighed. "But you're right. It is terrible. So eat for both of us, and tell me all about it when you get back." Kira couldn't help but smile at him. How could he make jokes, after all that? Amsha squeezed her arm and pushed her gently into the room. Kira just watched him for a moment, standing at the foot of his bed. He was still thin, but the tube that led into his arm was feeding him nutrients at a level his body could withstand. He wasn't bruised anymore. They had taken care of that. But he still leaned his head back on pillows, and his left arm was still restrained against the bed. A display over his head monitored his heartbeat. "Please sit down," he told her finally. "It makes me tired watching you stand." Kira obeyed, though she really didn't mind standing. She'd just spent six hours with the bureaucrats, sitting when she wanted to get up and, at the very least, pace the room. "How are you, Julian?" "Better than I look, I hope," he answered. He was still smiling, but he looked sad. "At least two more surgeries." He glanced down at his hand. It was still twisted and ugly, though it had regained more of its natural coloring. "It's knit together already," he explained. "They're going to try something new. Osteogenic replacements. All new bones, patterned after my other hand, so they'll match. Did you kill her?" The question was so blunt; it took Kira by surprise. "Yes," she answered plainly. "Are you sure?" he asked, fear growing in his eyes. "I mean, because I keep thinking . . . or--or dreaming that--" "She's dead, Julian," Kira promised him. She lifted her hand. "Hold out your hand." She could tell he was afraid, but slowly, his right hand lifted from the bed, palm up. Kira held a small vial and she poured the contents of it into his hand. "That's all that's left of her." Bashir stared at the gray-black powder in his hand as if he was waiting for it to change and move. His hand shook. She had scooped up a handful of the powder just before she transported. Once the ship was docked, she had dumped it from her pocket into the little vial. Now she helped him dump it back. "It's for you," she said, putting the vial in his hand, "to do with as you please. If you want to destroy it, there's a phaser waiting for you as soon as they let you out of here." He held the vial up and gazed into it. But she could see that he was seeing more than the powder. He drew in a shaky breath. "I can't tell my mother this," he said, speaking softly, "but sometimes, I don't know what is real. I keep thinking this is the dream, and when I'm awake is when I'm asleep. I'm back there. And she's back there. Or I dream it and I wake up and see her here where you're sitting. And she leaned toward me and--" He couldn't finish. His mouth just wouldn't make the words come out. "That's not really awake," Kira told him. She took the vial back and placed it on a table, and then she took his hand. "This is real, Julian. It's over. I promise." He shook his head. "But you can't," he said. "They can be anything, Nerys, anywhere. They can be the wall or the bed. Or you. Or me. You can't promise anything." Kira didn't know what to say. He was right. It was a terrifying thought. She had been having thoughts like that since Ambassador Krajensky turned out to be a changeling. And then when the Dominion had invaded, she had had nightmares. She still did sometimes. But she could always tell the dreams from something real. For him, the nightmare had been real. She knew what it was like, to a certain extent. She had fought most of her life to rid her planet of Cardassians. And when it finally happened, and they were gone, that felt more like a dream to her than reality. Life was different, too easy maybe, without the constant threat, the constant fear. Which was more real? He surprised her again. "I lied, Kira," he said. She shook her head. She didn't know what he was talking about. *Lied about what?* "On the ship," he explained, "when I had to go back. I lied about why." She still didn't understand. "You mean they wouldn't have killed those other people?" This time he shook his head. He winced a little when he did. "They would have killed them. I didn't lie about that. But I wasn't so concerned about the timeline as I let on. I don't think I cared about the timeline at all. I was more concerned about Max and Leo and maybe Vlada, but I hadn't seen him for so long." Kira thought for a moment before answering. Would she have cared, in his situation, or would the people have meant more to her? She knew they would. She had made a similar decision about Gaia, offering to give her life to protect the lives of the *Defiant*'s descendants. But for Bashir, it had been even more personal. "They were your friends," Kira stated. "They would have killed them first." "Can you find them for me, Kira?" he asked, his eyes filling with urgency. "I need to know." Bashir was still holding her hand, but he held it tighter now. "I'll try," she promised. "What were their names?" "Max Zeidl," he told her. She found a PADD and handed it to him. But he didn't write it. "I don't know Leo's last name. I just know that he was Max's brother-in-law, his wife's brother. And I don't know how to spell Zeidl. I haven't got a clue about Vlada." He laid the PADD down. "V-l-a, with an accent mark, d, with a haczek, a." Bashir was startled by the interruption. Kira had been too, but she recognized the doctor's voice and accent. "It's Czech, yes?" the doctor asked, stepping farther into the room. "Yes," Bashir answered. "Can you write it?" He held the PADD to her. His hand still shook. Kira wasn't sure if it was fear or weakness. She remembered what he had said. They could be anyone. "Of course,"she took the PADD. "What was his last name?" "Sczerbak," Bashir said the name slowly. Kira didn't blame him. It sounded difficult. "Definitely Czech," the doctor said brightly. "Any others?" Bashir repeated Max's name, which she wrote down. She handed the PADD back to him, but he handed it to Kira. "Major," the doctor continued, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave. We have a surgery to prepare for." Kira stood quickly, but Bashir stopped her from going. "Thank you," he said. His face was so serious. "You're my hero now." "You should talk to Jordan," she told him. "He found you the first time." "I'd like to." Kira gave him another smile, though she felt worse now than when she had come in. He was right. There was no certain way to tell if someone was a changeling. The doctor could be one. And she was about to leave him alone with her. *Don't be ridiculous,* she told herself. *She hasn't hurt him yet.* She excused herself and took the list of names with her. Three days later, it was Bashir's turn in the conference room. He'd only been walking since the day before, but he insisted on walking to the debriefing himself. Captain Sisko was there, still in dress uniform. He helped Bashir to straighten his. It was a little too big. Bashir stared at himself in the mirror. He almost did not recognize himself. "It was a nice service," the captain was saying. "I'm sorry you couldn't be there." Bashir shook his head. "I saw her kill people," he said, "beat them to death in front of me. But I didn't know about the others. She only said she killed you. I should have caught it. I knew there was something wrong with the blood." "Julian," Sisko said, sounding a bit frustrated. "It wasn't your fault. None of it was your fault. Do you remember when the Klingons attacked the station? Martok stood right in front of me and cut his hand open. He bled right there on my desk. But he wasn't Martok. I couldn't tell. And you, you walked around for a month performing surgery and we couldn't tell it wasn't you." He softened his voice again. "She fooled all of us, Julian." Julian knew he was right. He was just so used to blaming himself. But he remembered things she had said, about how all the crew was supposed to go to Auschwitz. They would have all been killed. But he had delayed her and Sisko had destroyed the ship. Fourteen crewmembers had died. It was unfortunate, but it was better than all of them dying. "How did Salerno die?" he asked. He had read the report naming the survivors and the report of the funeral that took place just an hour ago. His name had been on both lists. Sisko sighed. "She killed him that last night. He was looking for you in the main camp, near Block 11. Kira found his body on the other side of the wall. He'd been stabbed. And it looked like some animal had torn his face." "Lion," Bashir whispered, remembering. He sat down on the edge of the biobed. "I was hanging there. I thought I was hallucinating. I did that a lot. I saw a lion dragging a uniform. It became an elephant. I thought it was a dream." "Hanging?" Sisko asked. "Not by my neck," Julian assured him. "By my wrists. Not something I'd recommend." Sisko apparently wanted to change the subject. "You hallucinated a lot? Always animals?" Bashir chuckled and shook his head. "No, usually it was you, or the Chief, even Garak. You helped me get through . . . things. Usually when I didn't want to get through things. You made me set my arm the first time. And O'Brien, he told me it didn't hurt as much the second time. He was lying." Sisko laughed, too. "Glad we could help." He took a deep breath again. "Julian, I've got to get back to the station. I'm taking most of the remaining crew with me." Julian turned to him sharply, feeling a panic rise up in him. They were leaving him. *No,* he argued with himself, *just leaving before you.* "When?" he asked, trying to calm himself. Sisko shrugged. "Now," he said. "But Major Kira will be staying. The *Defiant*'s not ready to leave yet either. She'll stay and bring you and the replacement crew back with the ship. A few of the others volunteered to stay as well. They want to see you. They helped to save you." Julian nodded. The hospital had rules about how many visitors a patient could have at one time. Only his parents and the senior staff had been to visit him so far. "Kira's already there," Sisko continued. "You may want someone in there with you. Someone you know." Bashir nodded, but he couldn't really think. He was finally becoming a Muselman, he thought. *A little late now,* he chided. Sisko shook him out of it. "Oh, I have something for you." He held his fist out, palm down. Bashir put his own hand out, and Sisko dropped something in it. It had a familiar feel to it, a weight that wasn't heavy, but meant something. A communicator badge. Brand new. It was such a small thing, but he hadn't worn one for almost two months. It felt right to have one in his hand again. He remembered the hope he'd had in his last one, there in the train, if only the *Defiant* had answered. "Is that how you found me?" Julian asked. "My comm badge?" Sisko nodded. "The Nazis were trying to repair it. We traced it back to Bialystok and from there to Treblinka and Auschwitz. We weren't sure which. We had to search both of them." Bashir buffed the badge on the sleeve of his uniform and then held it up to the light. It was so shiny. He saw a reflection of his own eye as he looked at it. It was real. It had to be. The door opened and Dax entered. "It's time," she said. O'Brien was behind her. Worf stayed out in the corridor. "I'm sorry we can't stay, Julian." Bashir knew they had to go. The Dominion was still out there. "I'll be there soon," he told her, putting on a smile he didn't really feel. If it was time for them to go, it was also time for him. "You won't even have time to miss me." "Who said anything about missing you?" O'Brien quipped. "Don't let them go too hard on you, Julian." "Can't be as bad as my last interrogation," Julian joked back. It was easier that way. "It's not an interrogation," Sisko contended, missing the humor entirely. "It's a debriefing. And you're going to be late for it." He helped Bashir stand up and held onto his arm until the dizziness left him. Dax gave him a hug and O'Brien shook his hand. "I've told my father to expect you," Sisko told him. "New Orleans. Don't forget." He walked Bashir to the door. Sisko had already told him about the restaurant. He was supposed to go with Kira. The captain had even cleared a special menu with Julian's nutritionist. "How could I forget?" Julian asked him. He couldn't wait. The hospital was keeping him on a rather bland diet. It would be good to have something substantial, even if he couldn't have very much of it. A nurse was waiting in the hall, and she walked with him the rest of the way. Sisko and the others had to go the opposite direction. As soon as they parted ways, Julian felt alone again, and no matter what he had told them about the debriefing, it scared him nearly as much as the interrogation had. Though this time he knew they wouldn't rip out his fingernails. They would just make him remember it all. And there was some of it that he prayed to forget. To Be Continued.... (mid-scene again.) -- --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 Awards Tech Support http://www.trekiverse.us/ASCAwards/commenting/ No Tribbles were harmed in the running of these Awards ASCL is a stories-only list, no discussion. Comments and feedback should be directed to alt.startrek .creative or directly to the author. 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: http://docs.yahoo.com/info/terms/ From ???@??? 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