Once more the noise came, defying the self-assurance that only his imagination and Dax shared the room with him. Soft breathing emanated from the still form beside him, annoying by the fact that she could brush aside the night's occurrences and actually rest. At the present, he was too terrified to blink, much less give a moment's thought to sleep.

Despite his fears, exhaustion drew the veil of sleep and dreams over him; Julian Bashir gave in, sinking deeply into the murky reality of his subconscious, to be greeted by the tormenting eyes of demons dancing before him, drawing him into a sweet embrace....
 
 
 

"That should about do it, Lorrah." Bashir put aside the bone knitter, extending a warm smile toward his patient. Gingerly feeling her wrist, "How does it feel?"

Lorrah Cara managed to meet his gaze for a moment, tearing away abruptly like Mina from Count Dracula's gaze, as if afraid he would hold some hypnotic power over her. "Fi---fine, Doctor." In response to the slight squeeze exerted on the young Bajoran woman's hand by the handsome physician her heart rate skipped a beat on the monitor. Kira Nerys, standing to the woman's left, stifled a slight groan.

Releasing her hand, Bashir stepped back, launching straight into his usual doctoral mode. "Now, if any problems arise, don't hesitate to come back. My door's always open. After all, I can't let my favorite patient down." Lt. Dax strolled through the infirmary doors, patiently waiting in the wings. Glancing over a shoulder, "I'll be with you in a moment, Jadzia." Turning his attention again, "Well, we're all finished here. Anything else I can do for you, Lorrah?" Instantly ice shot through his veins, and he forced himself still, resisting the galvanic response of shuddering.

"No, Doctor." Surprisingly her tone was harsh. Slipping from the table, Cara shoved past Bashir, sent the Trill an icy glare, and promptly walked from the infirmary. With a shrug, Kira followed.

Dax drew closer to Julian, watching the departure with amused curiosity. "What brought that on?"

One very perplexed doctor simply shook his head. "Beats me. Lorrah has always been so warm and pleasant, a bit shy perhaps, but never have I witnessed behavior like that from her." Silent contemplation interrupted the conversation. Finally, "Do you think it could have been something I did?"

Jadzia smiled at the young physician's obtuseness. "Well, Doctor, I believe we are both at fault." From the expression on his face, Dax gathered that her companion had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. "How should I put this? It appears the young woman is quite taken by you, Julian."

"Really?" Attempting to pull off false modesty and failing miserably, "I'm flattered; I don't see why she chose me." Dax's expression elicited a squirm. "Stop that, you look like my mother. Next think I know you'll be yanking on my ear." Finally airing his true thoughts, "Okay, so maybe I can see why she might find me attractive." Grinning like a Chesire cat, "So assuming that your arrival for our dinner date made her jealous might not be too off-base."

Nodding, "You may enlighten her as to the extent of our relationship later, if you wish, Julian."

Bashir's shoulders slumped dramatically. "That's not what you're supposed to say. Of course, she was jealous. After all, we do spend a great deal of time together, and both of us are reasonably attractive. So it's only natural for her to think there's something between us." Dax remained silent, only quirking an eyebrow and noticeably evading Bashir's statement. Julian fidgeted. "You do think I'm attractive, don't you?" Her eyes darted to the floor; Bashir's smile froze. "You don't find my features the least bit pleasant; when you look at me, do you see Quasimodo?"

A chuckle passed her throat. "Of course, I think you're handsome, Julian. But as I have told you on numerous occasions, Trills do not engage in such activities; we attempt to exist on a higher plane than the young."

Smirking, "If you just let me, I could show you some planes you've never dreamed of."

Dax's face remained impassive; a hand found his arm, "Julian, after six lifetimes, I believe I've visited every plane once or twice. Thank you for the offer, though."

Pursing his lips after allowing a pathetic sigh, "Let's go to Quark's; I have a craving for liquor and lots of it." With a sympathetic smile, Dax fell into step behind the young physician. She would have to admit, it was a nice view.

"Finally, you're coming to bed with me!" Jadzia didn't respond, too busy trying to remain balanced; at the moment she had no inkling to find herself sprawled along the corridor's floor with her companion. Leaning on her for support, an extremely drunk Dr. Bashir babbled contentedly. "Jadzia, have I ever told you you're the woman of my dreams?"

"Yes, Julian, on numerous occasions." Finally the young woman piloted her charge through the door of his quarters and straight to his bed. "You're very intoxicated, Doctor; the best thing to do is sleep it off."

Sitting him on the bed, she suddenly found his arms wrapped around her waist. "I'm not sleepy...yet." Despite the slurred quality to his words, the young woman had no trouble hearing the suggestive tones lacing them. Unzipping his uniform, Jadzia leaned forward, slipping the garment over his shoulders and down his arms. She felt his lips on her neck, his hands fumbling with her own zipper.

"Stand for a minute, Doctor." With her aid he managed to find his feet; while holding him up, Dax lowered the covers on the small bed. "Hold up your arms." With a great deal of tugging, the Trill forced the other shirt over his head, tossing it across the room to the single chair situated in the corner.

As she lowered his uniform trousers, pushing the young man back onto the bed, a distinctive groan arose from his throat. "Being forceful tonight, aren't we, darling?" Soon boots and socks lay beside the bed; the remainder of his uniform joined the shirt. Dax swung his legs up onto the bed. Abruptly Jadzia found herself on top of him, arms wound snugly around her. "Jadzia," he actually purred, "I've waited so long."

Struggling against his hold, "Julian, you're going to bed and doing so alone." No response. "Julian?" Lifting an eyelid showed her that her companion was out cold; not even a battle against five Cardassian war ships would rouse him. Untangling herself from his grasp, Dax crawled from the bed, smoothing away the wrinkles from her uniform.

Tucking the man in gave her a flash of nostalgia, reminding her of all the children throughout her lifetimes: hair tousled, serene features of a sound sleep on his face, the drool running over his chin. Planting a kiss on his forehead, "Sweet dreams, Julian." Dax turned to leave, only to pause. A mischievous gleam came into her eyes; impulsively reaching out a hand, she rumpled his hair. A sour expression popped onto his face, an incoherent grumble accompanying it. "Good night." With the whisper still echoing inside his head, the young woman pivoted on her heel, leaving him alone in darkness.

Expelling a sigh of relief, she headed towards her own quarters and a good night's sleep. Ahead of her loomed the door, which rolled to one side as she approached; turning into the doorway, a pungent array of aromas assaulted her nose. Breathing through a hand clamped over her nose and mouth, "Lights." Across the room glass splayed around the floor; her make-up table mirror was shattered, jagged shards of glass lining the metal frame and spilling across the table top. Cosmetics smeared into the carpet mixed with the dripping remains of shattered perfume bottles. Several holographic pictures appeared to be missing from her momento shelf. A hand inched toward the gold emblem on her chest. "Dax to security." Odo's voice answered immediately.

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"There's been an intruder in my quarters."

"Acknowledged. I'm on my way." In less than five minutes the door opened, Constable Odo entering the scene, giving a glance around the room before centering in on the damage. "Anything else disturbed? Any sign of the intruder when you first came home?"

A sigh-accompanying shrug followed a shake of her head, dark hair fanning out about her shoulders. "This appears to be the only damage, and other than a few missing pictures, nothing appears to be disturbed." Wrinkling her nose, "Quite a mess, but probably just kids."

Odo didn't look convinced in the least. "Let me get a team in here to go over everything; you're probably right, but I'm not one for taking chances."

Even after all these months he found himself searching out for a wrinkled and worn old man; the young woman he was trying to become accustomed to was sitting at a table along side the station's chief of operations. "Morning, old man." Nodding toward the Irishman, "Not your usual companion."

Waving him towards a chair, "Julian's probably a bit under the weather this morning. Last night he had the compelling urge to experiment with authentic alcohol. I managed to wrestle him to bed." A raised eyebrow came from Sisko. "As I recall, Benjamin, I had to do the exact same thing not too many years ago with you."

Sisko always hated it when she pulled that. "Point taken, old man." O'Brien pushed away from the table. "Leaving us, Chief?"

Despite O'Brien's best poker face, no one could have missed the mischievous gleam in his eye, "To check up on someone, sir." O'Brien didn't give them a chance to respond, heading straight to the bar's exit.  

Peace. That was the only way she could describe it; he appeared completely at peace like this. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the steady heartbeat beneath her ear, the serene expression on his face drew her closer to him, made her love for him that much deeper. If only he would awaken, wrap her in the protective shelter of his embrace and chase away all these thoughts from her head. Her right hand trembled, causing her to convulsively clutch the tool as she brought it toward him. A noise sounded from the other room, forcing her to complete the task in a rush and plant a soft kiss on his lips before darting into the bathroom.

Miles O'Brien tiptoed into the bedroom, looking rather reminiscent of a child sneaking up on Santa. Instead of a teddy, the man had a large metal plate grasped in his hand, holding it at a sufficient distance from the metal rod in the other. Quietly he moved along side the bed, instruments poised in ready.

O'Brien couldn't tell what echoed off the walls first: the resounding clash of metal or Bashir's scream. Instantly Bashir shot up, clamping his hands over ringing ears. Dropping the items to the floor, trying to keep the smile from forming as they hit with a resounding clang, Miles blinked innocently, asking, "Oh, did I wake you?"

Bashir winced, eyes clamped shut in pain, and managed to force a shhh from his lips. "Quiet please, there's no need to shout." Even through the ringing, the whisper sounded like a jet engine going off inside his head. O'Brien planted himself at the edge of the bed, holding Bashir's medical case securely in his hands. Julian managed to focus enough to make out the vague outlines of the bag. "Give me."

Blinking once, "Give what? You know, a kiss where it hurts always makes Molly feel better."

A scowl formed on the young man's lips. "Hand it over, Chief, or you'll find yourself looking down the business end of a phaser." For some reason the man didn't look convinced. "That's an order, mister." In spite of the fact that Bashir sounded more like a sickly boy than a superior officer, Miles tossed it to him. Julian managed to catch it as it bounced off his chest.

"You have absolutely no sense of humor. What's a little torture between friends?"

Ignoring the last half of O'Brien's complaint, "Yes, I do." As he administered a hypospray, his voice returned to an almost normal level. "Just not in the morning, unless, of course, you've got at least a 36C chest." O'Brien made a show of examining the front of his uniform before shaking his head. "Is this little escapade finished, or would you like to shave my head before you leave?"

O'Brien's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Just let me find some laser shears..." From the expression staring back, Miles figured he'd milked this just about as much as he could. "Well, good morning." Leaving, the Chief hoped he wouldn't find a security team waiting to cart him off to the brig. He wondered if torturing an officer carried a heavy penalty.

Julian collapsed back against the bed, allowing the medication to work its way through his system and drive away the incessant pounding in his brain. With a disgruntled sigh, Bashir pushed himself from the bed, almost to a completely vertical position, and stumbled towards a sonic shower and a much desired tooth brush.

No matter how hard he tried not to, Bashir managed to get a good glance of himself in the mirror; it wasn't a pretty sight. Groaning, "If you ever do that again," speaking to his image, "I'll have you committed." Continuing the stumble towards the shower, something caught his eye; Julian studied his reflection in the mirror, frantically grabbing a brush and running it through his hair. Instantly his lips thinned, eyes narrowing in anger. "O'Brien." wrenched past his lips.

At the left side of the nape of his neck, he was missing a good inch of hair. Bashir swore, obviously having picked up a few colorful expressions since coming to DS9. "Wonderful. Now I have to get that haircut I've been putting off. Mom doesn't need to worry about me out here; next time I write her, I'll explain how O'Brien's been playing out that role for her."

Quickly brushing his teeth, he shed the one article of clothing and steeped into the shower; it vibrated away a few of the aches, cutting the thudding in his head down to a dull roar. Bashir stepped from the stall reluctantly, turning the device off before returning to the bedroom. He'd have just enough time to get that haircut before reporting to duty.

"Not much else can go wrong that hasn't." Mumbling, he walked from his quarters, hurrying through the corridors. Halfway to his destination, he realized he forgot to shave. "Oh, well, I'll grow a beard." Bashir had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he shouldn't have gotten out of bed.

Lorrah looked down through the grated metal, breathing as shallowly as possible, fearing he would detect her. His voice drifted up to her ears, that accent of his particularly heavy this morning. As he turned away from the mirror, Cara nearly released an audible sigh of relief; suddenly the man whirled back around, curses spewing from his lips. Overhead, the woman held her breath once more, attempted to bring her rapidly beating heart to a standstill.

A name slipped past his lips; he didn't suspect her. When he finally settled into the shower, Cara allowed the tension to drain from her body, settling back to gaze at him. Admiring the lines and contours of his body as if he were a marble statue into which life had been breathed. Such exquisite beauty even in life; if only she could capture him like this, before the rigors of age and experience tarnished that magnificence.

Closing her eyes, images flooded her brain, as delightful as a culinary treat. Cara wished this moment could be frozen in time, that she could gaze upon him forever. The fantasy broke, her personal sculpture moving of its own accord from her line of vision.

Mere minutes later the sound of an opening door signaled his exit, leaving her alone once more. Lorrah removed the grate, slipping through the gap to land back in the small room. Carefully replacing the overhead paneling, the Bajoran scanned the room, wiping away any trace of her presence.

Despite the feeling of safety which came over her, her heart rate excellerated, excitement and anticipation pumping adrenaline through her friends. Lorrah reached into her bag, gingerly palming the tiny monitoring device and set about to sticking it into the corner niche of the ceiling. So small and so well-blended, no one would notice it. Cara continued onto the other room.

"Constable, please join us." The shapeshifter accepted Dax's invitation, extending the PADD toward her. She scanned it, her face completely impassive, before glancing up sharply. "Obviously not a child."

Odo nodded. "The culprit was very good; absolutely no DNA traces left, computer wiped clean of all possible entrances and exits. Whoever did this has done it before and gotten away." Sisko's expression conveyed, Enlighten us, Constable. Odo gave them what he had, or rather, what he didn't. "I've checked everyone on the station; none of the obvious choices would have the ability or inclination to vandalize the lieutenant's quarters. Everyone else is completely clean."

"Are you certain, Odo?" There was a pronounced edge to Sisko's voice.

Odo's sardonic wit replied. "Unless you count all the parking tickets Bashir's racked up back on Earth; is that why you never let him pilot a runabout?" A smile of amusement came from Dax; Sisko, however, didn't look so entertained by the Security Officer's remark.

"Keeping digging, Constable, and keep us informed." With a nod Odo arose. "Oh, and, Constable, inform Dr. Bashir to take care of those tickets."

Bashir plopped into the chair, slumping down to prop his feet in the seat across from him. Closing his eyes, he attempted to block out the world, only focusing on the thoughts milling about inside his head and the steaming cup of tea in his hands. Despite the fact that the young doctor sent out the 'leave me alone' vibes, a familiar voice filtered its way into his ear. "Feeling better, sir?"

Bashir's grip tightened around the cup; slowly he forced his eyes open to face O'Brien. "No, Chief, but I will soon." The cryptic answer confused Miles. "There are several instruments in the infirmary which need your services, Chief. Actually, in my opinion as C.M.O. on this station, I believe the facilities need a complete overhaul. Think you can handle it, Chief?" O'Brien's smile froze, an eye twitching nervously. "Uh...perhaps in a week."

"I need it up to specs in forty-eight hours." His companion's mouth fell open; O'Brien began to protest. "The infirmary hasn't been up to snuff for a long time, Chief, but now Starfleet's breathing down my neck to bring it within minimum requirements. And if it's not ready, they jump down my throat; then I, of course, return the favor to you. Do we have an understanding here, Chief?"

"Yeah, Julian." O'Brien managed to force the first name to come out naturally, hoping that by addressing the physician by his first name Bashir would let him slide by on the order.

"That's Yes, sir. to you, Ensign. Do I make myself clear?" O'Brien answered heartily, resisting the urge to salute. Bashir looked back down to the tea in his hand before giving O'Brien another glance. "Dismissed." As the chief left, a devilish grin came across Bashir's face.

Jadzia Dax, observing all this from a near-by perch, approached her dinner companion. "Julian?" Someone would have to be completely inept at discerning emotions not to see the satisfaction in his eyes. "Was that a portion of a cruel streak there?"

Bashir blinked, realized someone had spoken to him. "Wh---" With a low moan he set eyes on her, seated across from him nonchalantly. "Jadzia," his voice sounded reluctant, "I don't remember any of last night after my first drink." Taking a steadying breath, "I'm sorry for any juvenile, idiotic actions I may have taken last night." Her amused smile made him feel even worse. "What did happen? I didn't try any---"

Shaking her head, "No, Julian, you were a perfect gentleman." Closing his eyes in relief, Bashir managed to force the lump which had taken residence in his throat down with the tea. Dax examined him closely; she didn't recall Benjamin looking this bad. "Rough day?"

Sighing, "No, slow. Only two customers. No brawls ensued at Quark's I assume." A finger came out to stroke his cheek. "My morning wouldn't exactly qualify as the greatest, thanks to O'Brien."

"He couldn't have been that bad."

Bashir's eyes rolled. "No, if you compare him to a spoiled four-year old, he wasn't so bad. First he woke me up with his usual subtlety, followed by a torment session which he considerately undertook while I was still in bed. And," pointing to his hair, "he took an inch of hair from me, forcing me to get a haircut before going on duty. This was worse than camp."

Indicating his face, "Did he abscond with your razor as well?"

A pathetic laugh responded. "Don't know, I didn't even check this morning." Finally an attendant arrived to take their orders. Bashir's arms folded across his chest as he listened to Dax, a scolding quality popping on his features. "Steamed dazna, Dax. Sure you'll live to a ripe old age eating it, but what's the point? As your physician, I give you permission to try something else, on me."

"And what do you recommend, Doctor?" At least she appeared to be humoring him.

Shrugging, "Something new."

"Your menu?"

"Sure, if you think you'll like Chinese food." Bashir gave Dax his plate, sending the waiter back for another order.

Dax studied the steaming cup of tea before her. "How properly British of you, Julian. Must you always drink your tea hot?"

A teasing grin formed across his lips. "What other way is there to drink it?"

Bashir sat back heavily, dropped the napkin to the table. "I think it's addictive."

"It was quite good, Julian. Although the tea was a bit strong."

Chuckling, "You think that was strong? You'd never survive my mother's." Passing her a fortune cookie, "Probably says A good horse is like a member of the family. or something." Breaking the two halves, Bashir extracted the small strip of paper, turning it over several times.

Dax read aloud, "Patience leads to wisdom, and wisdom to greatness. What about you?"

Extending it to her, "It's blank. What do you think that would connotate?" A shadow loomed over them; Odo peered down on the couple intently. A package was thrust toward Bashir. "A present, Mr. Odo? I didn't know you cared."

"I don't," came the gruff reply. "It's from your parents."

Smiling in contentment, he took the box in his hands, setting it on the table before turning back toward his beautiful companion. Odo didn't budge; Bashir felt eyes boring straight through him. "Anything else you require, Constable?"

Briskly, "The scans showed something unusual. For security reasons I request you open the gift now." Regardless of the incredulous look on the young man's face, the security chief didn't budge, didn't even blink an eye.

"What could be so unusual about a sweater and a tin of tea? That's probably all that's in here, you know." Even as he protested, the plain brown wrapping was peeled from the box. "Like my mom's going to send her baby boy high explosives or---" Pulling away the lid, Bashir's eyebrows hitched up. "A gun."

"A projectile weapon?" Dax examined the object for a second before turning her gaze to the awe-struck features. "What could you want with such a thing?"

"Colt 45, circa late twentieth century. Authentic." Ejecting the clip and examining the workings, "My dad and I are history buffs. When I was little he would take me to a target range and practice with a replica. I became a pretty good shot with one of these."

Odo's voice startled them. "I want that weapon off the Promenade, and I expect it to be kept under lock and key." Before turning to leave, "Oh, and, Doctor, despite the fact that this weapon is primitive, it is still very dangerous. Don't hurt anyone with it."

Bashir slid the clip back in place, calling out to the retreating form, "I'll refrain from blowing my brains out, Odo." Even with his excellent hearing, Julian couldn't make out the reply. Extending his newest possession toward Dax, "Would you care to examine it?"

The Trill shrunk back, a look of pure disgust painting her features. "No thank you." Her eyes darted from the object cradled in his hands to his face. "Julian, you're a doctor; how can you covet such a barbaric, destructive device? You know what a single projectile can do to a humanoid body."

Looking up sharply, "This is only for target practice, Jadzia. The only thing that'll be between the cross-hairs is a bull's eye. I am fully aware of what one of these could do in the wrong hands. As a doctor and a person, I don't think I could ever yield one of these weapons against a living creature." Bashir set his gift back into the box, securing the lid carefully. "This is a simple novelty for a history buff; I'll lock it up immediately, just for you. Come with me and help me find an appropriate spot."

"How about Odo's office."

Julian simply blinked. "No. This is my toy, not his." Bashir stood, turning toward Dax. Abruptly the carton fell from his hands, hands which convulsively clutched the table. Julian inhaled sharply, blinking rapidly; he sensed his companion standing beside him, a hand resting on his shoulder. As the world swam back into focus, Bashir straightened, turning his gaze to the worrying figure. "I'm fine, just got a little dizzy."

Dax didn't look convinced. "Maybe you should run some tests to make sure."

Bashir grabbed the fallen object, zigging through the maze of tables, zagging through the maze of patrons. "Don't worry, Dax. It was only a reaction to standing up too fast. That's all." However, she did and proceeded to follow him to his quarters. "Not very gentlemanly of me. I'm supposed to accompany you home."

"I'm a liberated woman, Julian." Kissing his cheek, "Get some rest." She continued on to her quarters, her lilting voice wafting back to him. "Oh, and shave tomorrow."

He moved about the room randomly, picking up stray items only to move them a few feet from their origins. She studied every movement, each ripple of muscle or hint of smile sending quivers through her nervous system. Bashir readied himself for bed, retrieving a steaming cup of tea from the replicator and a book from the shelf. Excitement sent electrical shivers through her, like billions of tiny insects running throughout her body. Tonight, after he'd fallen under her spell, she'd go to him, witness her achievement first hand, and hopefully reap its rewards.

A hand had been flung over the edge of the bed, the empty cup slipping from his fingers to fall silently to the floor, landing along side the PADD. Bashir existed in the realm of dreams, all housed securely in his head. The physician was flying, soaring constantly upward through trees, clouds, and the upper atmosphere before finally breaking through all barriers. Julian found himself moving throughout space, felt its cool vacuum closing around him until only a thin pocket of air enveloped him. Brightly lit stars surrounded him in a vast multitude, so close he felt as if he could reach out and capture one.

Bashir turned a circle to examine his environment, on one side lay Bajor, on the opposite the station. Quickly his attention wavered, drawing him toward the swirling maelstrom of color and light; the dancing kaleidoscope engulfed him, urged him further in its midst, wrapped possessively around him as if it would never let go. He wouldn't mind if it didn't.

Lorrah moved into the hallway, looking both ways to make certain no one would notice her. Quickly the young woman made her way toward the section of officer's quarters. The door opened instantly for her, just as she had coded it to do. Cara walked over to him, her prize, her own personal possession, and joined him in bed.

Bashir's vision became distorted, something blocking his view; a shadow drew over him, covering him like a blanket. Silken fingers stroked him, setting his skin ablaze. Sensation took over, obscuring any remnants of rational thought. A name hovered on his lips, a face filling in to match it.

Jadzia Dax leaned down, brought her lips to cover his in a passionate kiss. She murmured his name; the voice didn't fit the woman. The figure rose up to look into his face; brown eyes stared back at him, the peculiar Bajoran scroll work on her nose. Within seconds he blinked, and the image returned to his Dax. With a smile Julian reached out, drawing her into his arms.

Jadzia Dax awoke with a start, confusion shrouding her mind. An unsteady voice filled her ears, begging her to stop the pain. Pushing herself to her elbows, the Trill called for lights, searched for the person beckoning to her, only finding an otherwise empty room.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Dax swiped long hair from her face, tucking it behind an ear. Recognition tugged at her; she knew that voice. Grabbing a robe, Dax wrapped the soft fabric around her body in an effort to stop the shiver threatening to run up her spine. Abruptly the voice clicked in her mind. "Computer, location of Dr. Julian Bashir."

"In his quarters." answered the smooth mechanical tones.

Forcing herself to walk, the Trill prayed that the voice coming over the intercom was somehow distorted, that Julian was only in the grips of a nightmare. Dread washed over her as she neared the door, weighing her down with each step she took.

Not bothering to buzz for entrance, Dax drew a deep breath and walked in. Instantly her skin prickled, the voice heightening her fears once more, forcing the pleasantly conceived rationalities from her head. Was it only last night she'd been here, putting Julian down to bed? That seemed an eternity ago.

Dax spotted him just as she turned into the bedroom. He lay on the tiny bed, naked, bathed in sweat, and trembling uncontrollably. "Julian," managed to squeak past her closing throat. His eyes opened barely a slit, darting in her direction without focusing.

Jadzia coerced her muscles to work, hoped her legs wouldn't fold beneath her. Wrapping a blanket around the form before pulling him close, she soothingly whispered, "Don't worry, Julian, I'm here. I'll get you help." Calling out, "Dax to Ops." An unfamiliar voice answered. "Medical emergency, two to beam to the infirmary."

Bashir's bedroom slowly faded from view, the infirmary coalescing before them. The beam released them, and Dax found herself being dragged down by the dead weight in her arms. From behind, "I can't seem to get a hold of Dr. Bas----" trailing off as her eyes fell on the burden. "Let's get him on a table." Between the two of them, Dax and the head nurse managed to situate Bashir and begin bioscans.

Nurse Anderson carefully studied the readings. "There are traces of a foreign substance in his system, not exactly positive to its identity. Computer's searching for a match. No hits yet." Abruptly the screen filled with information. A frown marred the woman's face; sparing Dax a worried glance, "I think Commander Sisko should be here."

Eyes widening in shock, "Why? What's wrong?"

Shaking her head, "I'll explain what I know after he's here. It'll be better this way."

Minutes later a blurry-eyed Benjamin Sisko walked into the infirmary. "What's this all about?"

Dax blocked his view of the form on the bed. "It's Julian." The young woman stepped away, letting him see the haggard-looking figure.

Sisko returned his stare to the disheveled woman, not quite grasping the situation. "Bashir? What happened to him?"

Running a hand through her hair, the form before him crossed her arms over her chest, as if to protect her heart. "I awoke to a strange voice in my quarters, pleading for help. After realizing it was Julian speaking over the intercom, I went to his quarters to find him in bed, barely cognizant of his surroundings."

Nurse Anderson approached, a grim expression set on her face. "I've got him stabilized. Commander." A pause broke in, as if the words were reluctant to come out. "The substance in his system is a narcotic with hallucinogenic properties; the drug's of Bajoran design, and in reaction with a human metabolism the level was four times too high. At those levels I'm surprised he didn't die from a massive overdose."

"A narcotic?" Sisko's tone conveyed disbelief. "How did it get there?"

"Ingestion, sir. Tissue scans indicate small dosages have been absorbed for weeks. It appears he finally increased the dosage tonight." Anderson glanced in the doctor's direction. "Perhaps he was beginning to experience withdrawal symptoms."

"Withdrawal? Are you saying Julian's become addicted to this narcotic?" Dax's face remained impassive; only a tinge of worry crept into her voice.

The human's face was unreadable. "That's my opinion."

"Hold on." Sisko's voice was dangerously loud. "Are you telling me that the C.M.O. of this station is a substance abuser?"

Despite the fact that most would fidget beneath his commanding officer's hostile gaze, the young nurse didn't even blink. Sisko vaguely wondered how she reacted to Bashir's orders. "Sir, the evidence shows that the Bajoran drug releases toxins into tissues over a period of time; the build-up, if administering continued, would have reached dangerous levels in a week. And drug traces were found in food contents in his stomach."

"Food contents?" Dax's tone held caution; Sisko could see an idea forming behind her eyes. "As in from supper tonight?" After the nod, Dax forced a tricorder into the nurse's hand, "Check me." While the woman complied, the Trill explained her thoughts to the human. "Julian and I had dinner together, and he convinced to try something different after I'd already placed an order. I complied, and he offered me his plate when it arrived, sending back for another. if my theory's correct, traces of this substance will be in my system as well."

Nurse Anderson looked up from the scan. "There are traces, Lieutenant, but no where near the amounts found in Bashir. Besides, it appears that the effect is minimal on Trillian anatomy."

Prodding for more information, "Can you isolate exactly what the substance was in?" At the woman's confused expression, Dax answered, "Tea. Julian always drinks Tarkalean tea. I know he had at least three cups that night, if not more, while I drank only one." Skepticism hung in Sisko's gaze. "If Julian were taking this drug intentionally, you know he'd never give any to me for risk of detection or for my own protection."

"If Bashir didn't give it to himself, old man," worry clouded his eyes, "then how did it get there?"

Major Kira Nerys shuffled across the room, drawn by the blinking beacon on her computer console, and pressed the retrieval button before indulging in a stretch. Instantly Kira stood ram rod straight, her feet glued to the floor, her eyes to the screen. The message's luminous letters drew her undivided attention. Within five minutes the Bajoran had dressed and charged to a lift, making a bee-line for the Promenade.

She peeked into the security office and found Odo still at rest in his pail; more likely than not he had not been notified last night. Somehow she knew he was not going to be pleased. Kira left, uncertain when the shapeshifter would emerge from his regenerative cycle, but positive she didn't wish to be anywhere within ear shot when he did.

The infirmary was empty. Kira glanced toward the treatment bed, only to find it empty and in disarray. Her jaw clenched. Doctors always made the worst patients. She found him in his office, seated behind the desk top terminal, a discarded blanket draped over the back of the chair.

"What are you doing out of bed?" she snapped automatically.

Bashir's gaze shot up, dark circles hanging beneath weary, bloodshot eyes. "Working, Major. I'm attempting to get some answers, like who the hell wants me to nearly overdose on some Bajoran drug, and why," he snapped back. A fist clenched at her side, but she bit back the retort; under these circumstances, she'd let it slide. Sighing, he fell back against the chair, allowing drooping lids to slip completely shut.

Taking the chair in front of his desk, the Bajoran couldn't help but notice the height differential. Had Bashir been sitting up, he would be towering over her, glaring like some hard- nosed judge. Intentional intimidation or just coincidence? She wasn't sure which. Doctors always did like those little psych games.

"Tell me about it." Bashir's eyes remained closed, but like a man robbed of his sight, he turned toward the sound of her voice. "The drug, what was it like? What did it do?"

Hauling a deep breath through his teeth, "I got dizzy and light-headed, a bit nauseous at first. Then I went to bed..."

"And the dream came." Startled eyes popped open, searching the brown depths of hers. Nodding slowly, "Yes, Doctor, I've been exposed to," she said a Bajoran word the likes of which Bashir could barely understand, much less pronounce. "In our language the term is associated with flying, psychological journeys of the mind. Under its influence some claim to have seen the Celestial Temple of the Prophets..." Disappointment laced her words and shadowed her eyes. Obviously this revelation had not occurred in her case.

"The wormhole." A corner of her mouth lifted in a trace of a smile, affording a slight nod in acknowledgement. Sighing, "Oh, it was so beautiful. A vast array of color and light swallowed me, a warm rush cascading through my body..." His eyes no longer focused, his vision turning inward. "I never wanted to leave the security, the overpowering feeling of exhilaration and wonder, the sense of belonging." Finally seeing his companion again, "I haven't experienced anything remotely like that since I was a child."

She envied him that: his childhood. Kira's nostalgic expression caught him off-guard. "Although I didn't see the Temple, my experience was similar...the feelings. So clean and pure, such clarity. I never knew emotions existed in such a state."

"Infancy, that's what I think it's like, when everything's new, and, of course, you can't convey this information to adults cause we can't decipher baby." A small chuckle sounded, an eyebrow raising in inquiry. "Just a theory I cooked up after delivering my first baby."

A grin broke out on her face. "For some reason, I can't picture you delivering a child."

Shrugging, "I really didn't deliver him; I just caught him." As he hoped, a laugh sounded. If only his gloom cloud would move on so easily. Bashir's thoughts wandered, his expression turning somber. "The second dream was very strange."

Kira's lovely smile froze. "Second dream?" Bashir nodded, confused by her reaction. "You didn't awaken after your vision of the Temple?" Cautiously he shook his head. "Are you certain?"

"Positive, unless Dax paid me a visit in the night." To his displeasure the Bajoran prodded him to be more descriptive. "I dreamed Jadzia and I..." For some reason Julian felt an uncomfortable rush of heat wash through him, in spite of the fact that after the incident in which imagination wove itself into the fabric reality, everyone on the station knew his fantasies.

"In this dream you had sex with Dax." Kira suppressed a smile as the man squirmed in his seat. "I'll take that as a yes." The Bajoran was curious, but didn't want graphic details. "Exactly what was strange about it?"

Brow knitting in concentration, "It's hard to say exactly; that one wasn't as clear." Chewing on his lower lip, "Dax's eyes were brown, and....and for a moment the Bajoran scroll work was on the bridge of her nose." Major Kira blinked. For some reason that wasn't what she'd expected. "And, of course, the fact that she removed the bed sheets and made me take a sonic shower was rather suspicious."

Kira sat back, an unpleasant, almost morbid thought skittering along the edges of her mind. "Doctor." He looked up from the computer terminal which had held his attention. "What if it wasn't a dream?"

Bashir scoffed, "Of course it was a dream; I couldn't have actually had sex with some strange woman."

"Why not? Anyone could have taken advantage of you in your state." A shiver threatened to climb up her spine as she weighed the probability. "With you we discovered the drug is much more potent when interacting with the human metabolism. The first two dosages alone should have killed you."

Bashir was white as a sheet. "Thanks for enlightening me, Major." The sarcasm didn't quite come off as naturally as he wished; he hated the quiver which crept into his voice.

Bashir's eyes lost focus, only vaguely noting that his hands were trembling. Coldness seeped through the thin material of the standard infirmary pajamas and into his skin, shooting straight to his bones.

A hand reached out and blanketed his, causing Bashir to jump. Kira was surprised by the coldness of his skin. His features were completely blank, only the troubled brown eyes giving away the hidden turmoil held just beneath the surface. "We'll get whoever did this; they'll pay for what you've been put through."

"That so?" Running a hand through disheveled hair, "Then why doesn't that thought make me feel any better?"

The statement caused Kira to shift her gaze downward before drawing a deep breath and settling on him once more. That told him exactly what he thought: that she had no answer to his question. He'd also seen her eyes when he asked, how they had widened in shock to the bitterness in his voice.

Abruptly the physician stood, wrapping the blanket about his shoulders. "I think a nap is called for. If you'll excuse me..." Kira got to her feet, following closely behind his retreating form. "I think I'm capable of finding the bed, Major," he mumbled back to her.

With a knowing smile, "I have every confidence you can, Doctor. Question is, will you use it?" With an impatient scowl the man conceded, allowing her to stand to the side as he climbed onto the small bed, pulling the strewn covers into some semblance of order over his body.

"Happy, Kira?" Instantly the feel of a hypo on his skin registered, as did the hiss of injection. Before he could open his mouth a sense of lethargy washed over him.

Above stood the blurry, smiling image of a Bajoran woman. In the back of his head some small voice prayed that it be Kira. "More than happy, Doctor." Her voice became sincere. "If you do dream, please let them be pleasant ones." The sentiment barely registered in his brain like the fingers lightly brushing his cheek.

Bashir managed to pry open his eyes one more time before finally succumbing to darkness.

"No, Benjamin, I haven't found the culprit yet." Dax was in her lab, answering Sisko's inquiry for the sixth time since beginning hours ago. "Whoever did this knows our system very well; it's not going to be easy to rummage through the computer and dig out the appropriate files."

Over the intercom came the distinctive noise of a baseball hitting his palm. "Understood, Dax. I'll let you get back to the search. Sisko out."

With a shake of her head her attention returned to the probe. If she weren't so old, she might feel the need to lash out in anger at the seemingly futility of her attempt. Dax's hand drew back; she gave the terminal a good whop. "Did the computer offend you?"

Glancing over a shoulder, she saw Kira standing in the doorway. "No, but it's here and the culprit isn't."

Clasping her hands behind her back, Kira strolled further into the room, coming to lean against a computer. Dax refrained from asking her to remove her rear end from the console's edge. "Have you seen the good doctor yet?"

Leaning back in her chair, "Yes, I've seen him; I found him." Kira's expression transformed with surprise. "Last night I awoke to hear his voice calling out to me, pleading for help." Dax shook her head as if to clear out the unpleasant memories. "Is there anything specific I can do for you, Major?"

"As a matter of fact, Lieutenant, there is." The direct approach seemed best, as it always did. "I want you to check the systems and see if Bashir's sonic shower was in use last night, a few hours before you found him."

With a nod her fingers began dancing over the panel. "Why?"

Kira tried her best to figure out a way to dodge the revelation of the dream's other participant. "The dear doctor had a dream in which he had a physical encounter with a young woman---"

"Me?"

"Yeah, you." If Trills didn't engage in such activities and she had no interest in Bashir, then why did Nerys see a tiny smile of satisfaction slip by. "Only I don't think it was you, and I believe the dream was reality." That instantly caught Jadzia's attention. "That's why I need you to check this out for me; confirmation of a theory."

Dax returned to the search. "So if this rings true, we'll know the person behind these acts is a woman...or one of the various shape shifting species. Then again it could have been a sophisticated holographic projection." Dax continued searching her mind for other possibilities. "An experiment in virtual reality----"

"Whoa. Don't over complicate." Dax nodded half-heartedly. "Let's rule out the simple possibilities before chasing shadows."

The Trill sat back, inputting all she could, awaiting the computer's response. "I wish all this were just a dream or some bizarre holographic program gone awry. Julian doesn't deserve to be put through this nightmare."

"No one deserves this hell. He's young though; it might be difficult, but he'll rise above it and move on." Kira blinked, drawing a deep breath and rising to her full height. "Call me when you have an answer. I'm sure Odo's up by now and probably ready to bring down the walls."

As Kira approached the door, Dax called out, "Watch for the debris."

"You're so stupid!" The resonance bounced off the walls; the harshness would have grated against another's nerves. "How could you make such a foolish mistake? Risk losing him like that? You should have thought of every contingency from the start. Don't ever do anything like that again. You can't risk it." Cara lashed out, smashed balled fists into the mirror. It shattered, missile-like shards embedding in her flesh. In reaction she let go a small yelp of startlement and pain.

Blood welled up, oozing around the splinters of glass and across her skin in tiny rivulets. Lorrah gaped at her hands in a mixture of revulsion and exhilaration. Carefully she picked through the layers of glass, searching as diligently as a gold miner for the perfect treasure.

Light glinted off its edges, rainbow colors glittering before her eyes; her hand steady and sure, Cara moved the object across her skin, cutting as cleanly as Bashir with a laser scalpel. Bright and glistening, blood spilled along the wound, making the mirrored fragment slippery, hampering her detachment. The pain was excruciating, but her reward would be worth every second of it.

Cara continued cutting; in a few minutes she would make her way to the infirmary. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, seemingly of pain. However, any assumption would be mistaken for they were tears of joy. Just to see him in person, to be able to express her worry---somewhat toned down, of course--- to another. Sheer euphoria. Hinting to the delight to come when he finally belonged to her forever, when no one or nothing could part them...not even death.

Constable Odo sat behind his desk, impatiently fiddling with the PADD in his hand. Angry with himself and his superiors. Last night he should have been instantly notified, no matter what the circumstances were. This fiasco gave him something other than Quark to brood about.

Kira inched into the office to see that the characteristic scowl was even more noticeable today. "Let me guess, you aren't a happy camper?"

The derisive sneer formed on his face before he even set eyes on her. "No, Major, if this station is summer camp, then I am not aware of too many happy campers." His voice hardened. "I should have been notified---"

"I agree." Odo trailed off, awaiting the excuse. "No one notified me either; I found out just like you, by a computer message."

Returning his attention back to work, "I assume you're here for a reason, so spit it out, Major."

Planting herself in a chair, "Have you done a sweep of Bashir's quarters?"

Indicating the PADD, "Analyzing it now, Major. Although I seriously doubt I'll find anything crucial. So far nothing's in the computer, not that surprises me." Odo shook his head at the readouts scrolling across the small screen. "Nothing. We might as well be dealing with a phantom. Just like Dax's break-in."

Kira opened her mouth to respond but got cut-off. "Dax to Kira."

Slapping her comm badge, "Kira. Go ahead, Jadzia."

"The sonic shower was activated at 0200 last night. Looks like you're right on the money." Jadzia waited for a response; when none came, "Kira?"

A sigh traveled across the comm line. "Thanks, Dax, see if you can dig out anything else, like who activated the shower for him. Kira out." The Bajoran noticed the hawk-like gaze before she even finished the conversation. Turning back toward those eyes, "Yes, Constable?"

"Perhaps you have something you'd like to share with me, Major." He leaned back, fingers forming a steeple.

"This is going to take some time, but here it goes..."

To her disappointment the nurse treated her injuries in the center of the room; he lay on a bed in one of the far corners, and the infernal woman blocked her view. Treatment hadn't taken long, and Cara slipped from the bed almost as soon as the woman stepped back. Lorrah forced one foot in front of the other, making her way across the distance casually.

Pounding blood echoed in her ears, so loud she held her breath for a moment, fearful the nurse would detect her rapidly beating heart, the exquisite pleasure coursing through her body. After an eternity he lay within a hair's breadth; trembling fingers reached out, merely centimeters from contact. A sigh built within her. To be able to touch his skin again.....

"It's okay, honey; I'll show you that Dr. Bashir's all right." Cara jumped back like an electric shock had leapt from the man's skin, or someone had startled her. O'Brien assumed the latter. The usual pleasant smile popped up on the man's face. "Hi there....Lorrah, isn't it?" She could barely nod. "Sorry for scaring you. It's as quiet as a tomb in here. Don't see how he stands it," nodding in the physician's direction.

O'Brien felt a tug at his pant's leg; his daughter looked up between fingers clamped over her eyes. "Molly," scooping up the little girl, "heard Nog say that Doc here had turned into a monster which ate little girls. Just had to show her that wasn't true." Hesitant brown eyes peeked between tiny fingers. "See, honey, looks the same as always."

Molly reached out, touching his jaw. "He's scratchy."

Chuckling, "Yeah, I guess he's pretty scraggly." Turning to the young woman, "Do you know...." She was no where in sight, had simply disappeared into thin air like a specter. Shrugging, "We should leave now, sweet heart." Molly waved bye-bye and allowed her father to escort her back to the school...after he gave her a cookie, of course. After all, she was daddy's little girl and had him wrapped around her dainty little finger.

Odo walked through the door and into Bashir's quarters. The faint hum of the reinstating force field was the only sound in the room. Scanning his surroundings, the security chief noted that nothing appeared out of the ordinary, but then again, he hadn't really expected anything to. Whoever did this was far too intelligent to make foolish mistakes until some stress undermined his abilities, led to sloppiness.

Unfortunately for the perpetrator, Odo refused to wait that long; if necessary he would question every individual on the station, check and recheck every alibi, peel away the layers until only one person remained: the guilty party. Then Odo would see that justice, preferably Bajoran justice, was found. He would settle for Federation punishments and sanctions only after a fight, believing the Federation was far too soft on criminals.

To him the best way to deter criminal acts was to place criminals in prisons and keep them there for a very long time. But then again what did he know? After all, he was only a law enforcement officer who dealt with such people and events on a daily basis. Apparently, he wasn't qualified to decide.

Various items were scattered about the front room in a half-semblance of neatness and order. Odo started yet another search, more out of frustration than the thought he might actually find some clue. The constable carefully rifled through Bashir's belongings, trying his best not to disturb things any more than necessary.

It was ironic: if a person were a victim then police would tear apart his domicile in an attempt to find a clue, often without consulting, but it almost took an act of the Bajoran Chamber of Ministers to obtain a search warrant for a suspected criminal. Laws were funny that way.

Odo was well aware that a lot could be learned by a person's belongings, had always known it as an observer. Often the little things, seemingly miniscule and unimportant, could break a case wide open. Here, however, he was getting more insights into Bashir than the person who wanted him to be a drug addict or a corpse.

Several memory chips were stored in a desk; Odo guessed they contained all those medical papers Bashir seemed so gung-ho to complete. He would check later to be certain. Further inspection found that the physician's musical tastes were eclectic, ranging from Vulcan and Bajoran classics to Old Earth rock-n-roll. Trophies were in a small chest, awards for winning at minor tennis competitions; the shapeshifter stumbled upon a racket to go with the awards in the top of the closet. Hard copies of medical journals were wedged between old-fashioned bound books on a set of shelves.

Most peculiar to the chief was the holographic entertainment chip stored under the file name Indiana Jones. He had no idea what an Indiana Jones was but was pretty sure he didn't wish to find out.

Odo refrained from touching things around the area of the bed. DNA trace and fiber scans were inconclusive so far, but he hoped that once Bashir was up, the man could perform a more in- depth study.

The sonic shower was next under his focus of scrutiny; the bathroom appeared unsuspicious. To Odo's disappointment, no clues screamed out, begging for his attention. That had a way of making investigations more complex. Just his luck not to get a bungling, clumsy assailant. Even to his trained observatory eye, the sonic shower looked like a sonic shower.

In disgust he whirled away, staring at his reflection in the mirror. "Come on, you can do better than this, Constable." Something caught his eye as his gaze shifted. He stared in contemplation at the silvery surface, attempting to reproduce the peculiar angle from which he'd discovered the anomaly. Once more he saw it, a tiny object nestled into a ceiling corner, almost invisible against the dim light and metal background.

Odo's first impulse was to run and snatch it away, carry it back to his office and pry out all of its secrets, but some inner sense stopped him. He would be patient, play out this hand. For several more minutes he continued examining the rooms before finally making his exit. The constable made a bee-line for a turbolift...and Ops.

Constable Odo left the lift before it came to a full stop, stalking straight across Ops and up the steps to Sisko's office. As the doors parted, the commander looked up in surprise; after all, no one had announced the impending entrance. Of course, it was Odo. The man had a tendency to forget social graces when he was onto something. "I hope you have some good news, Constable."

"Marginally." He didn't bother to take the chair offered to him, preferring to stand. Odo was a pacer. "I just completed a visual of the doctor's quarters; at first I found nothing more than my men had...until I examined the shower---"

"And found out who activated it." A hopefulness tinged his voice.

"No." Sisko's shoulders sagged. It had been worth a shot. "But I did find something wedged in a corner of the ceiling; from appearances I think it's a surveillance device." If Sisko's office were carpeted, Odo would be wearing a good rut into it. "A hodge-podge of materials, something constructed with spare parts. Now this finding narrows our search a bit more. We know it's a woman who has some technical skills---"

"Whoa." Obviously Sisko had missed something. "Where did you find out it was a woman? I mean Dax explained someone activated the shower, but that was it."

Hesitantly, "Major Kira hasn't told you her theory yet?"

"No." A perturbed frown marred his features. "And where did my first officer come by this theory?"

"From Dr. Bashir's dream."

Holding up a hand for silence, "Sisko to Kira, please report to my office." To the shapeshifter, "Make yourself comfortable, Constable. After Kira so kindly relates her escapades to me, you can continue." A moment later the metamorph complied to Sisko's wishes, but he didn't look happy.

Kira's stance gave away a certain amount of impatience. "I was running a check on the Bajoran women on the station."

"All of them?" Sisko asked in disbelief.

A verbal shrug laced her words. "Considering the skills we were forced to learn during the Occupation, it could be any---"

Behind them the doors parted for a third time. In front of her Kira watched Sisko's mouth drop. It didn't take more than a second for him to regain his composure. "Doctor---"

Kira and Odo turned as one. Bashir held up a hand for silence, shuffled into the room to drop heavily in a chair. Inhaling sharply and forcing himself from a slump, "Reporting for duty, sir."

If the circumstances hadn't been so grim and Bashir more dead than alive, Sisko might have laughed. But he didn't, couldn't muster up the energy. Delicately, "Doctor, have you taken a good look at yourself?" Bashir's gaze swept downward, skimming over pale hands and exhausted legs. "You barely look capable of walking down here, much less returning to duty."

The man's jaw tensed, lips pursing in annoyance. "Commander, I may look like something the cat dragged in, but my mind is still working." Sisko looked far from convinced. Desperation clung to Bashir's words. "Sir, I can't just sit back while my life is being sent on some bizarre roller coaster."

"That's exactly what you're going to do, Doctor."

He and his tone rose, anger seeping through the normal calm. "My life's become this runaway train careening from Hell and back, dragging me along, and all the while threatening to jump the track. I can't live like that. I refuse to roll over and let this maniac dictate my life! I won't be reduced to nothing more than a worrying layabout by him or you, sir." Bashir seemed to be standing by sheer force of will, leaning heavily on Sisko's desk in support and frustration.

Benjamin Sisko drew in a steadying breath, an insightful gaze. After a beat, "Limited." Bashir's mouth opened in protest, but the words died in his throat as his brain processed the comply. Nodding, "You may report for limited duty, the catch being that you must follow any restrictions set by Mr. Odo. I have no wish to find my medical officer in the morgue."

With a sigh the young man collapsed into the seat behind him, shoulders sagging in exhaustion and relief. For a moment everyone remained motionless, watching as if expecting Julian to fall unconscious on the spot. Instead he turned to Odo. "Where would you like to discuss these minor restrictions, Constable?"

"In my office, Doctor, and I'm sorry to inform you that they won't be as minor as you'd like." To Kira, "Come along, Major, I've got some news for you as well."

"Very well. Dismissed." At times such as this Sisko wondered who was really in charge. Odo was out the door before he'd gotten the words out of his mouth. Bashir actually popped out of the chair with his usual energy and followed. Cdr. Sisko guessed the second the lift safely passed Ops he'd collapse. Kira exchanged a look, for once being the only one who waited for the order. Within moments she was behind the physician, in the perfect position to catch him when his legs folded like a house of cards.

Sisko's gaze returned to the PADD, filled with forms given to him by the provisional government, who kindly requested he complete them in triplicate. Eyes darted from the tiny object to the baseball. A hand snatched up the leather ball, tossing it up. The forms could wait; for a change he'd let the bureaucrats stew for a while.

"Absolutely not!" Bashir emphatically shook his head. I refuse to be flanked by security at all times like I'm the Queen Mother. No way, nothing doing. Next proposal please."

Odo's fingers clenched the PADD which contained the carefully time-tabled schedule as to who would be Bashir's wet nurse. Kira smothered a smile. "For a man who's supposed to be just climbing from his death bed, you certainly are annoying." He didn't have another course of action; he'd expected Bashir to be unconscious when he implemented it, and by the time he'd awakened nothing could change the arrangements. He would never understand Starfleet. They were all so rule crazy, but when it came to following them, individuals often out up a fight.

Kira stared at him expectantly. Bashir seemed intent on memorizing the insides of his eyelids. Odo leaned back in his chair, ideas skimming through his mind. Abruptly inspiration dawned. The good doctor probably wouldn't like it, but it was the constable's job to keep him alive, not necessarily content. "This, Doctor, is the only way I'll let you out of my sight...."

Miles O'Brien walked into his quarters after one of the longest, most infuriating days of his career. All he wanted was to see his wife, play with his daughter, have a nice dinner, and get a good night's sleep. Unfortunately a kog had been thrown into the works. "Keiko." He knew his wife wouldn't mind because she never minded these things. He wondered how she did it. "Um...we have a guest tonight, dear."

She walked over to the replicator, ordering another meal up, her back to her husband. "I suppose as teacher Cdr. Sisko thinks I'm the best candidate to take care of any new-found children. Boy or girl?"

O'Brien chewed his lip. "Uh...boy." Behind him the door chimed. "Keiko, wait."

Just his luck, his wife was already across the room, bending slightly at the waist to greet the youngster. The door opened, and Keiko smiled pleasantly at a pair of legs. "My, you're a big boy." Her gaze swept upward to be met by a tired Dr. Bashir. She couldn't help but notice the case slung over his shoulder.

"Hello, Mrs. O'Brien, I hope this isn't too much of an inconvenience."

"Oh, no, no. No trouble at all." Taking the small case, "Miles said a guest so I assumed the visitor to be a child." She shot her spouse a dirty glance. Bashir's gaze had shifted over her shoulder, and Keiko recalled the dinner. "Forgive my manners. You must be starved."

Bashir thanked her, practically flying to the chair she indicated. He leaned over the plate, ready to eat with relish. O'Brien thrust a tricorder over the food, scanning it before nodding. "Okay, it's clean." A pit opened up in his stomach. Now the meal didn't look so appealing.

She paced from one corner to the other, her entire body tense with panic. "They are keeping him from me. Why?" she spat. Anger and impatience built within her, threatening to explode in a fit of rage. Her arm flew out, her palm slamming against a Bajoran religious statue; it toppled from its perch, shattering on impact with the cool metal grate. Her expression bled away, her eyes glazed and empty. Finally Lorrah faced facts and the cold harsh light of reality...and screamed.

Collapsing to her knees, her hands hovered before her, resembling claws. She fought the urge to rake them along her skin. Doubling over, her breath bounced from the carpet back into her face; small whimpers arose from her throat. After a moment Cara gathered her breath, pulled herself up. Ice clipped her words. "You can't throw me away so simply, Julian Bashir. By the Prophets, I swear you'll regret this. I will not allow you to get away, not ever..."

"Baby, leave him alone and let him sleep." Molly O'Brien's little fingers stopped carding through Bashir's dark hair for a moment; a tiny giggle bubbled from her throat. Miles greeted the next watchdog who now stood outside the O'Brien family quarters. "Major." With a nod the woman crossed the threshold. "He's still in dreamland; you can wait here until he comes to."

Her gaze swept over the sleeping figure. "Seems like the best course of action to me. Have a nice day, Chief."

"Yeah, you too. Um...just make yourself at home." To Molly, his hand outstretched, "Darling, time to go to Mommie's school." With delight the tiny elf of a girl clapped her hands together, whispered good bye to their guest with a quick kiss, and ran to her father. Shaking his head, "I know he's got a way with the ladies, but must he have my daughter under his spell." The angel in question gazed up at him with a dazzling smile and sparkling eyes. "Come on, sweetie, Daddy's going to be late."

Kira moved further into the living room, feeling vaguely like a trespasser. On the sofa, the man shifted position, a tiny smile of contentment weaving its way across his lips with a soundless murmur. For lack of anything better, the Bajoran plopped down into the chair across from her charge, staring relentlessly. Kira sighed, and realizing how good it felt, sighed again. Something told her this day was going to blow up in her face before it was over; she sensed it like an oppressive wave hanging over her.

Eyelids fluttered and opened on a groan. "It wasn't some horrific nightmare." Bashir clamped his eyes shut once more, grinding the heels of his palms over them. Leaving his eyes and moving onto the remainder of his face, "Morning, Major." Before her response he was on his feet, stumbling toward the bathroom. "Would you order me up a cup of tea?"

Her question as to his preference was drowned out by the swish of a closing door. With a shrug she walked to the replicator. "Two ginger teas." Light shimmered on the little platform, cups appearing, complete with rolling plumes of steam. Before venturing a swallow she scanned the contents; thankfully, both drinks were clear of anything besides tea.

Bashir came out again, still clad in rumpled hair and pajamas. He downed the contents in one gulp, collapsing in a heap on his bed. "What's our itinerary for today, Major? No, let me guess. I follow you around like some lost puppy for a couple of hours, completely bored silly until I become giddy? You don't want to see me giddy," he warned. "Ask O'Brien."

Despite the sympathy she felt for him, she had no inclination to put up with any crap today. "No, Doctor. Later we're going up to Ops and then back to my quarters. Two trips, that's it. Otherwise, you can entertain yourself, Bashir."

"I still don't like being dragged all over this station like someone's favorite rag doll." His protectress smother a smile, probably picturing him as Raggedy Julian or something. "I want to go back to my quarters." Kira's mouth dropped open on nothingness, and within two seconds flat impatience had etched its way onto her features. "Just to retrieve a few things," he reassured. "Believe me, I have no inclination to entertain this person anymore."

Her life-wizened brown eyes studied him. "Are you up to that? Just go in there without giving away in any fashion that you're aware of the cameras?" Am I? she thought.

A heavy sigh replied. "Well, I'm getting sick and tired of doing nothing. When the commander granted my request for limited duty, I assumed I would be taking part in the investigation, doing something to track down this person. Odo, however, seems to have other ideas." Slumping back against sofa cushions as if he hoped they'd swallow him, "If this lasts much longer, you're going to witness Julian Bashir pitch a conniption."

Either the major wasn't impressed or misunderstood the slang. "Last time I threw a fit I strained my vocal cords and lots of ears while destroying numerous instruments. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's helplessness. Major, doctors always have to do something, be in charge in someway." Pushing to his feet, "I'll get cleaned up now. Give you time to think, let me try to feel human again. If you'll excuse me." An absent nod replied as he grabbed the small case and escaped to the only haven available to him as of late: the bathroom.

Nerys got to her feet, gathering the sheets and neatly folding them. Bajorans hated idle hands too. The task didn't take long, and once more she found herself with nothing to do but wait. She hated waiting...

After an eternity which encompassed all of twenty minutes, Bashir emerged, looking almost like himself once more. Again the exterior was that of a youthful, exuberant doctor; what was going on inside, however, didn't fit the package. Along with the creases on his forehead, dark circles hung beneath his eyes, and harsh lines surrounded his mouth, betraying the turmoil he was going through. Sighing, "May we get this over with?"

Within minutes they stood outside Bashir's quarters, all too quickly for its occupant. He clamped his eyes shut, drawing air into suddenly empty lungs to steel himself. He walked through the door.

Kira followed, studying her surroundings in curiosity. She could not recall ever paying him a visit. Surprisingly, the living room gave off a homey, lived-in feel; the decor was a bit cluttery, but that gave it a certain human charm. Not bad... for a bachelor. At least she didn't spot any uniforms on the floor or lurking under any sofa cushions.

Her host turned back. "Would you wait out here? I've got some demons I'd rather exorcise in private." Kira took the case, lightly squeezing his arm in a gesture of moral support.

Nerys smiled to herself; she'd better watch out, he was beginning to grow on her. Obviously reluctant, he faced the bedroom door for several seconds before plunging ahead. Just across the threshold Bashir skidded to a dead halt, a desolate moan slipping past his lips. In no time flat, Kira was at his side, a hand clamped over her nose and mouth.

Over the bed hung Julian Bashir, or rather what must have been a holographic projection of him. Ropes were wrapped around his wrists, digging deeply into his flesh; he was dangling by those bonds in mid-air. Sightless eyes stared out, seeming to fall directly on the duo; his mouth was lax, his tongue creeping over bloodless lips. Jagged cuts marred his throat, slashes made in a fervent frenzy. Blood still dripped in tiny droplets onto the stained bed.

At her side Bashir announced, "Holographic except for the blood." Disbelief gripped Nerys and plopped onto her features; obviously she wanted an explanation. After a scan, "It's mine from the emergency supply. Human and Bajoran blood isn't compatible, and the blood synthezation unit goes on the fritz far more than I like. Anyway, I've been giving a little along and storing it in stasis in case something came up. Myself and one of the techs are universal donors so we've parted with a pint here and there. This blood is from my stash." His gaze fell on the mirror image, brown eyes meeting, caught between revulsion and fascination.

The major grabbed his arm, attempted to drag him from the room. He refused to budge. "Doctor, come into the outer room so we can call Odo." Instead he yanked himself away from her grasp and walked further inside. "Bashir." Pleading, wanting to talk some sense into that thick head, "Julian, you can't stay here." Following him inside, "Let's just get the hell outta here. Leave it and let someone else take care of it." A hand found his shoulder, and she came to stand beside him, staring up into his face. Brown lashes met as eyelids slid down; his exhaustion was so palpable it hung in the air around him, threatening to drag Kira with it.

Absently his right fingers flexed around a tennis ball, the origin of which his companion had no inkling. Of course, she had no idea what hat he'd pulled the tricorder from either. His knuckles stood out starkly against the yellow-green color of the sphere, blindingly white. Julian spun on his heels, so quickly the Bajoran was knocked back, and hurled the ball with a cry of frustration and rage at the gruesome self-portrait over the bed.

It bounced off with a melodious thud, and the image shimmered slightly on impact. Small smatterings of blood flew, alighting the air before gliding down with gravity. The tiny projectile hit the wall inches from Bashir's left shoulder before sliding to the floor. A perfectly circular crimson stain marred the surface.

Bashir's eyes clamped together, hands plunging into dark hair. Kira prodded once more, escorting the suddenly docile man from the room, away from the all too realistic scene. Without uttering as much as a syllable, he sat where she indicated, brown eyes somber and a brooding quality cut into his features.

Kira didn't like the picture; it reminded her of a desperate man silently contemplating his venues of action. In such a state one had the propensity to commit fool-hearted acts, jump head- long without looking, only to find themselves in jaws of a shark, one of those monstrous white fish which still prowled the oceans on Earth.

Odo appeared, striding through the door and straight into Bashir with the single- mindedness of a rabid pit bull. "I thought you understood I wanted you no where near here." The person in question didn't respond, abruptly finding an intense fascination with the carpeting.

Kira pulled the security chief aside, confessing, "I brought him here, just to pick up a few things." Realizing Bashir hadn't purposely lost his watch dog, the smooth features recast; was that compassion in his eyes? A battle of wills seemed to be raging inside the metamorph: to come down on the physician so hard his teeth would rattle, or give the kid a break. To Nerys' relief he chose the latter.

Jutting his chin in the human's direction, "Get him out of here." Before Kira could turn her attention to the task, "Just don't let him out of your sight for a second, Major. I've seen that look before; once the shock wears off, you're going to have your hands full."

Nodding, "I'll take him to my quarters, lay low for a while." Her companion bobbed his head in approval. And Kira, she coaxed her charge away from the flux of security, the horrific image hanging just beyond the bedroom door. The Bajoran was all too happy it was just mid- morning. She wasn't too sure she could've kept the haunting image of Julian Bashir out of her dreams...

 An hour after stumbling across himself, Julian Bashir was putting the queasiness and horror behind him; presently his dominant emotion was anger; it engulfed him, enhancing rather than hindering his mind. A plan was forming, rather risky, damn foolish, but he'd reached a point beyond caring. All that mattered was bringing this nightmarish turn of events to an end, regaining his life, and obliterating all of it from his mind. However, he was running into a burr: namely, Kira.

The thorn in question wasn't lodged in his side; instead she hovered about him, playing the role of mother hen to the hilt, much to Bashir's astonishment. The Bajoran catered to his every whim. Except his wishes to go up to Ops. That, of course, she would not hear of, and Bashir, after hearing no for what seemed the zillionth time, threw up his arms in exasperation.

"Kira, if I don't get out of this prison soon I'm going to lose it. I need to do something to get all this off my mind, be surrounded by the bustle of humanity." At her cross look, "You know what I mean. A necessity of being a doctor is the trait of being a people person." Bashir stopped, a wave of helplessness and despair crashing over him.

From behind, "Okay, you win this time. But, if I think it's too much for you, we're back here before you can whine But, Major!."

"Thank you, Kira. You have no idea how much this means to me." No idea at all. 

He would have to admit it was nice to be back to work, nice to have his colleagues around him in a form other than watchdog. He'd never thought Ops could look so pleasant.

Despite his newfound freedom, impatience gnawed at him, wishing for---demanding instant gratification. He forced it down, tightly reining the impulses until the proper time, the precise moment. He hated deception, but there was no other way.

Barely an hour after his arrival the time finally presented itself; the security teams had vacated his quarters. Bashir gave into the fatigue threatening to consume him, into the exhaustion and sickness he'd kept at bay for so long.

Its intensity astonished him, bearing down like a steel clad fist; he swayed in response, his skin instantly draining to a sickly gray. "Julian." The concerned voice belonged to Jadzia Dax, who now stood at his side, her hand firmly clasped about his wrist, her arm snaking around his waist.

"I think I'm going to be sick," he whispered, hoping the lie wouldn't turn to truth. Dax whispered softly into his ear, soothing him as she began to escort him to the bathroom. Out of the corner of his eye he spied Kira vacating her post, tailing the two of them up the steps and across to the far side of Ops.

Bashir turned to the Bajoran, a perfect mask of sincerity. "Please, Major, this is about the only place I can have some privacy; when one gets sick, he usually doesn't prefer an audience." A trace of a smile skimmed across his lips; he couldn't manage to make it reach his eyes.

Kira nodded her agreement, retreating back to her station along with Dax; after all, how much trouble could he get into in the bathroom?

Bashir entered the small lavatory, stumbling to the sink and hitting the cold water button release; he splashed his face, attempting to overcome the dizziness jeopardizing his plans. He clutched the sink, afraid his legs would buckle, and hung his head low to inhale deep, measured breaths. Finally Julian pushed up to stand completely vertical, detecting the mirror's reflection. Who was this haggard stranger staring back at him?

The image held him spellbound for almost a minute before the physician finally tore his gaze away. "What are you doing, Julian? You haven't got all day."

He cast a glance to the ceiling and climbed up onto the sink.

Kira glanced to the computer chronometer again, impatiently shifting her weight from one foot to the other. He'd been gone twenty minutes, and worry began to niggle its way into her thoughts. Every second ticking away compounded the concern even more. Five minutes, that's all she'd give him before sending someone in after him. Five more minutes, that was it.

Luckily, or perhaps by fate, no one noticed the man dropping from one of the ceiling access panels into the dimly lit corridor. Standing on tip toes, Bashir secured the panel before forging ahead to his destination. He had already used up ten minutes, and he had no idea how long he'd have before Kira sent out the troops.

With the single-mindedness of a man possessed, the physician walked straight into his quarters and headed to the bathroom. His vision fell on the tiny object that had watched him for so long, and Julian Bashir began to speak. 

Major Kira Nerys left her post and climbed up to Chief Miles O'Brien's station; the Irishman was running a check on some sensor array at the moment and afforded her a glance. "Anything I can do for you, Major?"

The woman seemed torn between responding or shaking her head and tucking tail between her legs back to her post. O'Brien remained silent, let her decide. Finally, "It's probably nothing, just Bashir savoring his moments in solitude, but would you check on him, Chief? Just make certain that's all it is."

With a nod, O'Brien walked across the deck, buzzing and calling, "Doctor?" No response issued forth so he shrugged and barged into complete silence. It didn't take long to search the small room and find neither hide nor hair of Julian Bashir. Kira wasn't going to be happy, and he'd rather get this all over with.

Passing the sink, something caught his eye; dust clung to the rim, patterned with tell-tale boot treads. His scrutiny moved upward to the access panels in the ceiling. A smirk flitted across his lips. He'd have to give the kid credit; it was a pretty good plan. The first officer wasn't likely to see eye to eye though, and after a sharp whistle, the ensign walked back onto Ops. 

Prior to O'Brien's discovery, Julian had let it all out, stood in front of the surveillance device ranting and raving like a lunatic, challenging his tormentor, daring her to come after him. Now he sat in the living room, chest heaving and sweat pouring from him with the exertion. If throwing a tantrum made him this tired, then how in heaven was he to be able to stop this person?

Bashir retreated to his bedroom for a moment, opening the top drawer of his bedside table. His heart skipped a beat before plummeting to his boots. The tiny space was empty except for a scrap of paper explaining that his phaser was temporarily in Constable Odo's custody. A pit opened beneath him, and Julian felt as if he'd been plunged into the depths of Hell, Satan just outside the door, ready to take possession of this new prize.

Someone buzzed for entrance, and the physician nearly jumped out of his skin. Now he had the overwhelming urge to retreat, to run and hide in the closet, cowering like a little boy. Again the person asked for entrance, the noise sounding rather demonic to his ears.

He wasn't quite sure what he expected when he bidded entrance; irrationally, he waited for the doors to part and reveal a tall, red-skinned figure with horns and a pointy tail, grinning with the mouth of a Ferengi; his next image was that of a mad-eyed Bajoran woman wielding an ax or some other horrific weapon of destruction.

To his relief, mild-mannered Lorrah Cara strolled hesitantly through the door, gently cradling the wrist she'd shattered days ago, centuries before this moment. "Dr. Bashir." Once more her eyes never met his, probably in deference to his authority; obviously that tactic had been ingrained in her by the Cardassians. "I know it's been a rough few days and all, but you said stop by anytime."

Nodding wearily, "What do you need, Lorrah?"

Extending the injury, "It feels funny. I went to the infirmary, but the nurse didn't even scan it, just told me you'd fixed it and it was fine."

Sighing, "Let me get my tricorder." Bashir turned his back to the young woman, heading to his desk and the scanning device he always kept there. Twenty minutes had elapsed since his escape from Ops. 

Kira's gaze locked on him faster than a phaser site when he reappeared. She didn't like that expression on his face. Expectantly she waited for him to answer her unspoken demand. With a head shake, "He's long gone, Major; the kid climbed the sink and straight into one of the access tunnels. Not bad." If Kira weren't so ticked off, she might've shared O'Brien's admiration.

"Computer, location of Dr. Bashir."

"Dr. Julian Bashir is in the infirmary."

Making a bee-line for the lift, "Kira to Odo. Meet me in the infirmary, Constable. Time to play truant officer again." Thirty minutes after Bashir's getaway, Kira followed his red herring, where she would lose another precious five minutes. 

Lorrah extracted the knife from the interior of her jacket. It was of Klingon design, the handle large for an easy grip, the blade curved and serrated; the weapon was noted for its efficiency in inflicting damage on humanoid bodies. Lorrah continued to extend her left hand while the right held the dagger close to her body. Her prey would never notice it until it was too late.

Bashir returned to his patient, taking her hand in his to hold it immobile; his left hand cradled the tricorder. Attention completely focused on the readouts, confusion popped onto his features. "Lorrah, I see nothing here that would indicate----"

Had he been looking elsewhere, or had he been expecting it, his reflexes might have acted in time when he finally laid eyes on the knife. Unfortunately for the human, his reflexes were nonexistent at this point.

Lorrah's hand abruptly reversed to clamp around his with astonishing strength; she brought the knife across his right wrist like a violinist playing a bow across strings. For a moment, he simply stared at the breaking skin, not fully comprehending what his eyes were showing him, but then the pain receptors kicked in, sending a screeching protest along Bashir's nervous system. To his horror, blood began to spurt from the wound, at a greater frequency as his heart pounded in fear. Dimly his mind was screaming at him, telling his idiot body to do something, to react.

Bashir flung her away, falling back himself to land on the floor. A hand slapped his chest automatically, meeting only fabric; at the time it'd seemed brilliant to ditch his comm badge in his office. "Bashir to Ops, one to beam to the infirmary." He waited for a response, desperately clutching the severed artery. No one answered, and he scanned the room for his attacker.

Lorrah, on her feet two meters from her victim, smiled down on the man, at his terror and helplessness as much as her ingenuity. Softly, "I disengaged the intercom, Julian. We're all alone." Light hit the weapon in her hand, reflected off the silvery blade, the jagged edges, and its bloody film. The Bajoran stalked forward, closing the distance.

In sheer panic Bashir scrambled to his feet, leaving bloody palm prints smeared into the carpet. Blindly he ran for the door, hitting hard and stumbling back. It was locked.

He was trapped. 

Kira slammed a palm against Bashir's desk in anger and frustration. When she finally did get her hands on that man, her grip would be on his neck, squeezing ever so tightly. Beside her, Constable Odo glared expectantly, I told you so written all over his crude features. "Surely he wouldn't be foolish enough to go to his quarters." The forced disbelief and hopefulness was all too evident.

"Where else?" Turning to leave Odo muttered, "Next time something like this happens, I'm getting that man a tighter leash." Thirty-five minutes earlier the man in question had managed to slip from that leash. 

It would be fifteen minutes before help would charge through his door, and Bashir had no idea how to untangle himself from this woman's web...well, at least without gaining a harp and a set of wings. Death would solve the problem, of course, but in a more permanent fashion than he had in mind.

Julian's gaze shifted from the woman to his wrist, which incited a wince. As a doctor, he'd seen grizzlier injuries, inflicted deeper and longer incisions; however, when it came to himself, he hated boo-boos and doctors as much as the next guy. Finally he tore his eyes away, his stomach doing somersaults; despite constant pressure on the wound, he was still losing a great deal of blood. That factor, aided by his already taxed energy reserves, would begin to take its toll on him shortly.

Bashir's voice, raspy from pain, weak with fear, reached out to the young woman; somehow, he knew he'd get more sympathy from a rock, but it was worth a shot. "Lorrah, I don't understand. Please, just let me go." A chiding voice echoed off the walls of his skull. No backward glances now, Julian. You wanted to face your tormentor, so do it. "Lorrah, stop this madness. I don't want to have to hurt you."

Ice crystals filled his blood, little daggers slicing at his remaining warmth, formed by the tell-tale sound of bleak laughter. "Strong words from such a brave man." By her features and intonations the sarcasm came off appropriately, but absolutely no emotion resided in her eyes. It was almost as if the woman before him was devoid of a soul.

Bitterness, like a frigid winter wind, cut through him as surely as her weapon. The blade in her hand flashed out, taking a slice of Bashir's uniform and chest, a slice of his courage. "How could you? After all we shared, all we meant to each other? How could you turn your back so easily?" Once more he found himself looking beyond her appearance, into eyes remarkably like slabs of wood, reminiscent of a mahogany coffin lid.

For once, the physician found his over-eager, babblably-brook mouth at a loss for words. Groping for some intelligent thought to convey, "Wh---I've treated you a few times, Lorrah, acting solely on a medical basis, nothing more." For once, his mind added silently. He told it to butt-out.

Her fury and derangement grew by leaps and bounds. "Liar!" As if totally unaware of the danger her weapon presented, she waved the knife about frantically. "You can pretend with everyone else, Julian, but not with me. Don't you dare deny our relationship---"

"Relationship? I barely know you." Panicky, the doctor searched his mind, attempting to recall the numerous psyche lectures he'd endured; at the moment, however, his brilliant salutatorian brain was as empty as a dry well. Bashir mused exactly how far this woman's break with reality had escalated, how far she'd slipped away. The thoughts weren't very comforting.

The blade cut through the air with a swish. "You said you wanted to marry me, or did you forget that, darling? Are you going to throw that away too, toss it aside like garbage?" Finally she took the charade on last step. "Our baby..."

Julian nearly choked on that one. He simply stared at her, astonished by the depth of perversion, her ability to mask it so brilliantly. So sure that sweet, little Lorrah Cara meant him no harm, he'd let her into his quarters, turned his back on her! Words the likes of fool, idiot, and moron ricocheted like a rapid fire machine gun in his head.

He had to keep her talking, win her over. An idea popped into his brain, and he simply let it go. "I didn't want to, Lorrah; they brainwashed me." Did she know what that meant? Mentally shrugging he supposed the Cardassians had that in their bag of tricks. "Help me remember, honey, help me..." Bashir opened his arms in welcome, praying they wouldn't tremble. Blood flowed freely, or jumped rather, from his wrist once more. This gamble had to work; he couldn't feel his hand anymore.

Lorrah smiled, a tiny, shy smile of relief, and tears formed in those coffin-lid eyes. Julian wrapped her in a tight embrace and closed his eyes with a sigh. A soft hiss sounded against his skin, startling him. Lorrah pulled back to look into his face, her once pleasant features flat, blank. "Did you really think a lame story like the one you concocted would fool me?" Waving a a hypo before his watery eyes, "Remember this? In a few minutes that numb feeling will return, dragging you down with it. And then, sweet heart," her voice a sensuous whisper against his lips, "I'll kill you." Like a bolt of lightning the tip of the Klingon blade flashed across his cheek, a bolt of fire following in its trail.

Bashir toppled forward, used his weight to his advantage, and forced the small woman to the floor until she lay pinned beneath him. With a twinge of guilt, barely a flicker, he drew back his good fist and slammed it into the woman's face. Shock transformed the features staring up at him, etching lines of fear and anger profoundly deeper.

For a second Julian choked back laughter. The expression painting her features reminded him of a highly offended, haughty cat.

In her panic Lorrah's death-like grip on the weapon loosened, enabling Bashir to wrestle it away and throw it across the room. With that distance no self-respecting baseball team would take him, but the knife might have impaled Bajor and he still wouldn't feel safe. If Lorrah managed to slip away and regain...

He shivered.

"Lorrah, end this madness." He winced, wrong choice of words. In reply the Bajoran slammed her knee into his groin; Bashir managed to grunt weakly before being rolled away on his side where he curled into a fetal position. He struggled to draw air into his lungs. Eventually respiration accompanied the small whimpers emanating from his throat.

Cara scurried up, kneeled over the collapsed man, vehemently balling her tiny fist to bring it crashing repeatedly against Bashir's face. Amazingly, he was barely aware of the blows; the drug was beginning to affect him, a muzzy sensation spreading throughout his brain. Inside him an extremely tiny whisper encouraged him on, demanded that he do something. It might just be his last chance.

A hand darted up, clamping over the smooth throat to apply pressure to pulsing arteries lying just beneath the skin. Fingers locked about his wrist, nails clawing and tugging at his hold. Mad eyes bulged as her complexion drained to a ghostly white. Julian's grip contracted, his grip increasing incrementally. His teeth were gritted with anger and determination as much as pain as Bashir squeezed one last time, shaking Cara as if she were nothing more than a rag doll.

Eventually, Cara's eyes rolled back in her head like the wheels of some demonic slot machine and her posture caved in, sent her dead weight crashing onto him. Sluggishly, with spagetti-limp arms, Bashir pushed the burden from his chest and rolled to his stomach.

He crawled, dragging himself by sheer force of will, his physical strength completely sapped. All of his hopes lay across the room, snugly and securely housed in his medical case. Bashir's will, however, had limits, and soon he surrendered to his weak flesh.

After all, he was only human...

 "Open the door!" Obviously Kira was in no mood for proper etiquette. Beside her, O'Brien positioned the hydraulic wedge, attempting to force the door. "Speed it up, Chief, we may already..." The words died in her throat, and finally, although not to the major's satisfaction, the door inched open, giving just enough clearance for her to squeeze in sideways.

She stopped on a dime at the sight of blood shading the room in its crimson hue. Her mouth went dry, her blood went cold, and her hopes flew out the window. Surely no one could survive such massive blood loss. Not this much.

She shut her eyes as a wave of nausea overcame her; it wasn't the blood that sickened her. It was the memories it invoked: countless, nameless, faceless compatriots dying in brutal battle after battle; Julian Bashir hanging like some perverse decoration.

Raspy breathing behind the sofa. It was all too easy to hear. Even in its fear it was controlled, kept as quiet as possible. Unfortunately for this person, Kira had played out both the role of huntress and prey, and even after her time on the station, her skills remained razor sharp.

Nerys held up a hand, halting O'Brien's entry; it didn't deter Odo who silently oozed between the Starfleet officer's feet.

Kira, with her usual no-nonsense approach, walked over to the furniture blocking her view; as she neared, a boot clad foot came into her line of vision. Bashir was back there! From the looks of the situation his attacker had apparently hid with him because there was no way the Federation doctor was the source of the nervous respiration.

For once in her life shock slowed her reflexes and thought processes. Over Bashir knelt a form resembling the tech Lorrah Cara. In scarlet colored hands she clutched a knife, a nasty- looking implement encrusted with blood just beginning to dry to a dark brown. The weapon was poised over Bashir's heart, ready to plunge through his back and pierce the vital muscle.

Could she pull her phaser in time?

"Cara, put down the knife." Mjr. Kira could usually render rogue tigers docile and bring grown men to tears. Now, however, this woman scowled in response to the order, tensing her arms at ready. "Bashir's a good man; don't do this." To her satisfaction Cara's lower lip trembled, hopefully revealing second thoughts. Instead---to Kira's horror---those arms drew up to bring the weapon searing through Bashir's flesh.

Abruptly the knife was gone. Behind Lorrah the form of Constable Odo fully constituted, jerking the bedraggled figure away from Bashir. She struggled against his hold, managed to break free.

The whine of a phaser filled the room, and at last Lorrah Cara fell to the floor. Out cold.

Kira reholstered the weapon to kneel beside the prone Bashir and turn him onto his back. The frigidness of his skin seeped through the material of his uniform. A pulse---though weak and fast---throbbed in his neck. "O'Brien, get an antigrav stretcher in here and ready a runabout. We've got to evacuate him to Bajor." To the injured man, a whisper which escaped every ear but his, "Come on, Doc, hang on just a bit longer. We don't want to have to import someone to make O'Brien's life hell."

"How long?"

Although they were merely words, Kira found they didn't want to leave her throat, clawing for a hand hold the whole way up. After a moment though she managed to mutter, "Three weeks, Commander. Hopefully he can return to duty following the treatment."

Despite the fact that she had nothing to do with Bashir's apparent addiction---had no more control over it than her planet's orbit---she felt responsible. Responsible as if she had been the narcotic's inventor, had introduced the drug into the man's system, and then had rammed it down his throat.

"And Lorrah?" Sisko's eyes harbored a darkness, an anger brimming and roiling; despite all the tragedies he'd witnessed and endured, Ben Sisko still believed in justice. Somehow, he felt that the young Bajoran woman's deeds would go unpunished, simply be swept under some bureaucratic rug.

"Lorrah Cara has been remanded to the custody of one of Bajor's best psychiatric facilities." Kira delivered the answer dead pan, completely flat, but Sisko had already heard from the Bajorans, who all too outraged by the major's tantrum, asked the commander for disciplinary action. He'd agreed to see to the matter.

Which meant giving Kira a commendation and his personal thanks. He only wished he could've witnessed her verbally decimate them first hand. "They will attempt to repair the psychological damage caused by the Occupation which resulted in this breakdown." Obviously she was reciting the official report word for word. Her speech sounded just like how government-speak read.

"That it?" Hell, why not give the girl a seat on the Chamber of Ministers.

"From the official report, yes, sir, that's it." Kira remained in her seat, stifled the urge to squirm. After a tiny flicker of indecision, "Commander, an old acquaintance of mine did some digging. Apparently, this isn't the first time Lorrah's gone off the deep end. During the Occupation she became fixated, enamored---whatever you wish to call it----with a key leader of the resistance. She killed him, and the Cardassians did nothing. After all, to them it was a favor. For some reason it's sealed on her record."

Flabbergasted, "A psychologically unstable individual was let aboard this station to work as a technician, and no one on Bajor felt a need to share this little bit of information."

"It's a cover-up, sir; by whom and for what reason I can't say, but it's pretty obvious. As a matter of fact some of the lessons and techniques Chief O'Brien taught her helped pull-off this caper." Across the way Sisko simply shook his head in disbelief.

"I'm no psychologist," she continued, "but they say that erotomania is the most common delusional disorder, and that the culprits are quite intelligent---at times bordering on brilliance--- and very adept at hiding the problem. To this day the professionals don't have any definite answers as to its cause. Best guess is something to do with the person's childhood."

"During the Occupation..." Although he empathized with the young woman, his anger did not diminish. Others Bajorans grew up during Cardassian rule and survived, scarred but whole. The woman before him was a key example of that fact.

She let go a frustrated breath. "Lorrah is pitching a fit, rambling on about all the things Bashir has supposedly done to her. In reality, Dr. Bashir was the victim. Amazing how so many people seem to overlook that..." Kira's gaze rested over Sisko's shoulder as if attempting to bring some meaning to her thoughts. She shook herself, as if to slough off the unpleasant conclusions. "Dr. Hanas says that visitors will be good for the doctor and his recovery."

Sisko nodded. "I'll grant permission to anyone who wishes to pay the doctor a call."

Kira rose. "He's requested a few personal items which I'll collect and ferry to him."

He nodded again. "Take your time, Major." Calling out as she approached the exit, "And tell Bashir I'll be down to see him soon." With a smile the major walked through the doorway, leaving Sisko to ponder the anger growing inside him, pulsing and beating in an attempt to break free. "Computer, give me a channel to Bajor...." 

"Chancellor Rian, I can very easily make this a Starfleet matter." Sisko was one second away from raising his voice to a shriek. "She almost killed the C.M.O. of this station, a Starfleet officer."

On the screen the man gave him an oily smile. A born politician. "I realize that, Commander, and the Bajorans extend their deepest regrets, but this is a Bajoran matter. Thank you for your concern." The link was cut, and the smooth features winked off the screen. Sisko was forced to swallow the angry reply.

Benjamin rammed a fist into his palm. The woman had better be put away so she could never even wink at another man or there'd be hell to pay. He'd see to that.

"I don't know if he's ready for company yet, Major. He may not be too hospital right now so be understanding." Kira walked beside Dr. Hanas, Lieutenant Dax just behind and between them. The man's house was warm and pleasant, matching his personality. "Of course I will have to search through the items you brought, make certain there's nothing to impede his progress."

"How is he, Doctor?"

Pausing at a door, "He still has a long way to go, Lieutenant." Keying it for entrance the barrier finally slid into the wall. Apparently Bashir was locked in.

Their host walked into the room; Dax and Kira lingered at the threshold. "You have visitors, Julian."

Bashir stood across the room, his back to them. "I told you I don't want to see anyone. I don't their pity." His voice was flat, the voice of a man who'd given up on everything and everyone, himself included.

Kira felt another tear in her heart. She'd heard that voice many times. Of course he didn't want their pity; he had more than enough to wallow in. The human poured himself a glass of water before moving back to the bed in the room's center. "Please leave my things and go." He pushed himself up and walked to the far wall.

"I don't think that would be wise, Julian. You need the support of your friends right now more than ever."

Whirling on the physician, "Are you deaf? I said I don't want them here." Raising his voice, "And stop patronizing me like some errant five year old!"

From her spot beside Kira, Dax stepped forward. Her voice was full of sincerity and concern. "We only want to see how you're doing, Julian, because we care."

A hollow laugh echoed in the room; Bashir opened his arms wide. "Take a good look, Dax, and tell me how you think I'm doing." He couldn't seem to keep still, fidgeted from one spot to the other. "Cause my prognosis isn't good. Matter of fact, it's downright lousy."

His voice was completely cold, no more friendly banter, just a cleverly wielded verbal knife. Tears actually formed in Jadzia's eyes. When she had seen Bashir's cruel streak taking shots at O'Brien she had never pictured him aiming it at her. "Let's face it, my career is shot, my whole life has been chunked into the proverbial garbage can, so why don't you and Kira take yourselves and your obligated concerns back to the runabout you two rode in on."

Dax inhaled sharply. "We're not here out of obligation, Juli---"

His temper exploded, and he hurled the object in his hand at the wall. The eruption of glass and liquid was deafening, and caused Jadzia to jump, to realize that the man before her wasn't the Dr. Bashir she knew. And she disliked this man.

"I don't give a flip what this marvelous regard stems from. I don't want you here. Is that too complex for you to grasp? My grave's been dug, and if you don't mind, I'd like to see if it fits." With that Bashir plopped down onto the small bed, brooding.

"Call me if you need any help filling the hole," Dax shot back icily. She turned away, stalking toward Kira. "You coming?" The Bajoran shook her head. "I'll be at the runabout if you need me."

"Take the doc with you. I've got a few things to get off my chest." Before the man could protest Dax drug him from the room, and Kira closed the door behind them. Approaching the bed, "So you've decided, you're going to give up on everything: your career, all your hopes and dreams."

Bashir shifted his gaze from her scrutinizing eyes. "I don't want to discuss it. Just let it rest, let me rest."

"You know it's probably a good thing this happened so early in your career. Hate to think you'd waste too much of your life before just quitting. Yes, better to live to a coward's full potential early than late."

Bashir's head popped up. "What did you call me?"

"You've already given up so why should you care if people think you're a coward?"

"You have no right to call me that!" he nearly yelled.

Kira leaned toward him, so close she felt his breath fanning her face. "I call them as I see them, Doctor. You came to the wilderness to help my people, and now that you've encountered an unfriendly native, you're sinking back into your safe, secure civilization."

"Don't you understand, Kira. I'm fighting a losing battle here." For the first time since laying eyes on him the Bajoran saw his fear, heard his silent pleas for help. "A snowball in Hades has better odds."

With quiet reassurance, "That's what my people said in response to the rebellion. Guess what, we didn't melt."

For once she felt completely calm, empty of the internal fires, devoid of passion, and her serene exterior was fueling Bashir's rage, like oxygen to a barely suppressed blaze. "That was different, Major. The Bajorans weren't fighting against themselves."

"Yes we were, Doctor, more than you believe. But finally we were pushed too far, and the Cardassians turned tail and ran." Julian turned away; if he couldn't see her eyes, then the words couldn't be true. "And the government sent out a call for aid to the Federation. At the time I thought that was almost as self-destructive as giving Bajor back to Cardassia on a silver platter. I didn't know how to ask for help."

"That wasn't the same---"

"Yes it was. Doc,...Julian, don't give up. You can beat this."

"I told you I can't win! Just get out, Kira. I don't want anyone to see me like this, witness my life ending in so miserable a state." Bashir stared at the wall, head hung low, voice ragged from a dry throat or encroaching tears, she didn't know which.

A callousness arose in her calm voice, her eyes darkening with fury. "I should have known you'd give up. It's human nature." Bashir spun, his expression a mixture of anger and astonishment. "Worthless species always give up when faced with opposition. The Cardassians for instance. Amazing how they turned tail and headed straight back to their miserable excuse of a planet. Cowards and bullies have a tendency to do that, you know."

She paused a moment, noticed that Bashir was shaking, trembling uncontrollably. A tiny, guilty flicker of satisfaction coursed through her veins. "Then again, your people have done their fair share of raping and pillaging throughout the centuries. All humans, it's in your blood." Leaning forward, her voice menacingly low, "You're no better than the butchers who raped my planet."

Had she blinked, Kira never would have seen the hand which struck her for it was only a blur of motion. The blow stung, hurt like hell, but the psychological shock more than the physical discomfort forced her to step back, shrink away.

Before her eyes the human's complexion drained completely ashen, his eyes turning glassy. A just-awakening expression hung on that gray face. His lips moved, but he was suddenly struck mute.

Bashir stared at his hands as if they were alien to him, not the tools of his trade he'd so meticulously polished at the Academy, but the hands of a monster. Just as scary as if they were tipped with savage claws and covered with dark fur. Sluggish alarms sounded in his head.

He had hit a woman. Not a criminal but a friend. The words wrenched past his throat, as burning as battery acid. "What is wrong with me?" It was painfully obvious he was repulsed by his actions and their memories, the pain he had inflicted.

A fist constricted around his heart, its companion pummeling the air from his lungs. Somehow he stumbled forward, his legs shuddering so violently he nearly fell twice. He wasn't sure what she'd do, half expected her to beat the tar out of him, but he kept going, closing the distance until he was finally able to wrap icy arms about Kira.

"I'm sorry. So, so sorry." She didn't respond, arms dangling limply at her sides, voice mute in her throat. The tell-tale trembling increased in frequency and strength. His vision blurred, eyes stinging as he vainly attempted to hold back tears. Damn his silly male pride. He drew a cleansing breath. "Help me."

And Kira returned the embrace, enfolding the chilled form, holding him tight. She whispered, "You took the step; the hard part is over now." Drawing back, a finger brushing tears from his cheek, "If I'm not mistaken, there's someone on the runabout you'd like to see."

A trace, minuscule but still a trace, of a grin formed. "Bring the old coot in here."

Her smile widened in return. "Be right back."

With her departure the air became heavy, the room felt empty. Bashir opened the one tiny window, allowing light to filter in, to warm him. Outside, the sun-dappled meadow was an abundance of wild flowers and butterflies. The scene was peaceful. Not a single dark cloud marred the azure sky...

Three weeks from this day he planned to be back on duty, back in his infirmary, and nothing was going to stop him...nothing short of death.

Lightning flashed across the twilight sky, setting the dusky area ablaze. Fat rain drops lazily splashed down from bloated gray clouds, a foreboding of heavy showers to come. Kira wiped moisture from the tip of her nose and scanned the darkening setting while approaching the tiny house. "Call me paranoid, bit it seems like one good wind and it'll topple."

Dax chuckled. "If we're lucky, the big bad wolf will refrain from putting in an appearance." A blank stare was all the response she got. "A human anecdote." Kira blinked and pressed the announcement button by the door. No response. Jadzia shrugged. "Maybe they're running late."

A teasing quality filtered into her voice. "Bashir late for a date?" Why the concept's infathomable, she thought. Behind her the door swished open, and Kira nearly knocked heads with the Bajoran physician. "Dr. Hanas, nice to see you again." She hated chit-chat, despised it even more when it came from her mouth.

The man absently ushered them in, more than a little frazzled in both demeanor and appearance. "Yes, Major. Julian's right in there. If you'll excuse me, I have an urgent matter which needs my attention." Before either Dax or Kira has a chance to reply the man bolted down the hallway, disappearing into his office.

The two women exchanged a glance. "I realize you scientists can be eccentric, Dax, but...wasn't that a bit too strange?"

"That's his right. He's brilliant."

"Explains why you Starfleet types are so boring. Low I.Q.s." Nerys met the responding gaze and realized Sisko was right. The Trill could convey the most infuriating mother-chiding expressions. She knew when she was beat. "You win, no more verbal fencing. No need to keep the doctor waiting." Without further preamble the Bajoran went to the double doors and proceeded to throw them open with a flourish. Dax merely shook her head at her companion's impatience and followed.

Jadzia strode into the parlor. Its colors complimented the domicile's cozy decor, intending to elicit a cheerful and soothing effect on its occupants. The intention was lost on her. Instead, for an instant, her intuition went wild, sending her nervous system into high gear. Suddenly Dax was awash with fear.

It was over in a millisecond. She blinked, drew a deep breath, and listened to the pulse beat in her head slow down. The Trill shivered, and goose bumps popped up on her flesh. The reaction startled her, especially since she was at a loss as to its cause. For the moment she'd dismiss it as a young mind running rampant with an old intuition to turn her focus back to the events at hand.

He stood in front of the window, hands in his pockets, a shoulder against the frame. He faced the approaching storm so the Trill couldn't tell if he knew about their presence or not. Kira hadn't spoken yet, and Jadzia opened her mouth to take the initiative.

"It rains a lot here." His voice shattered the thick shroud of stillness in the room. "Some people consider it depressing. Personally I like the rain. It reminds me of home." Bashir spun about, sparing the women a fraction of a smile instead of the usual mile-wide grin. He was so reserved. No babbly-brook chatter or nervous gestures of habit. Simply stood there with his hands rammed into his pockets. "Nice to see you again, ladies."

Dax took the time to take in his appearance. Dark circles which looked almost like bruises hung beneath sunken eyes in the middle of gaunt, hollow features. His lips were thinned nearly to the point of invisibility. Lines of tension bracketed his mouth, and deep furrows had dug into his forehead. His voice was cracking ever so slightly, the accent thicker. He appeared thinner. Not exactly his best.

"Likewise, Julian." No matter how silly it felt to, she had to ask; hopefully he wouldn't bite her head off like one of those marshmallow Easter bunnies. "How are you feeling?"

Mustering a shrug, "Expectant, a tad nervous. I'm ready to get back to work though, been idle a bit too long for my tastes." Twin nods answered him, and silence proceeded to form a trench between the sexes.

He wished they could stop walking on egg shells, just get everything out in the open. "I'm scared." There. He'd said it. The crushing weight lifted somewhat from his lungs. "Not everyone will be comfortable to receive treatment with a doctor with a drug problem."

"No one needs to know. After all, who's going to tell them?"

Bashir regarded Kira incredulously. "Try all the gossip-mongers on the Promenade, for starters. Oh, and let's not forget Quark. He's probably making a tidy profit selling all the gruesome, overblown details. Then there's Command and the Bajorans."

"I still see no problems. Quark's been persuaded by Odo to be discreet. Seems the Constable just ran across your report of certain health code violations occurring in a certain Ferengi-owned establishment."

Dax took over. "Starfleet holds you in no way responsible for this turn of events, Julian. You were assaulted, physically and emotionally, by a very disturbed young woman. Command has full confidence in your abilities, and as long as nothing drastic occurs, will allow you to continue in your capacity as C.M.O."

Reading through the diplomat-speak his father was so adept at pulling off, "In other words, keep my nose clean and Command won't throw my butt in a sling." Still, he didn't feel relieved. The words were just that: words. Actions spoke so much louder. "And the Bajorans?"

If a knife were accessible, Bashir could've used it to cut through the tension clouding the room. Kira shifted ever so slightly, her discomfort nearly imperceptible. "Listen, Doc, the last thing they're going to do is send you packing. If we'd done our duty in the first place, none of this mess would've happened because Lorrah Cara never would have laid eyes on you."

Amazing how rapidly the blood drained to his feet, even before it could transform to ice cubes in his veins. For several seconds, years to his brain, his lungs simply stopped, refused to do their designed function as if on strike.

His heart, however, diligently performed its assigned task, almost ready to burst forth from his chest with its vigorous beating. That was one thing he hadn't yet overcome, the panic attack which swept over him every time he thought about how close he'd come to dying.

There was no question that Lorrah had meant for him to die. She'd sabotaged his medical equipment. They'd been reduced to the Stone Age.

The lengthy ride to Bajor he'd spent in complete unconsciousness, while Dax and one of his nurses frantically pumped plasma into his body, desperately fighting to keep him from slipping over the edge into death's domain.

They'd lost him once, just as the runabout had cleared the launch pad, forcing the only human, and remarkably, blood match to relinquish a pint of the whole stuff on the spot. Now, to his horror or honor, depending upon his mood, he had little drunken blood cells running rampant through his system. He'd have to thank O'Brien sometime...maybe. Aw, later he'd part with a pint for the ornery man.

Snapping fingers broke him from his revelry. "We lost you there for a moment, Bashir. You all there?" A quick jerky nod was all he could manage. Kira inhaled before plunging ahead through the murky waters. "I just wish she hadn't gotten off so easily, been remanded to a tighter facility---prison or hospital."

The point is that she's getting help, Kira." In this conversation Bashir played the role of fifth wheel. He hadn't asked, and Dr. Hanas hadn't devulged any information on the young woman's punishment. "The Occupation left irrevocable scars---"

"On all of us, Dax. You don't see me or most other Bajorans out there drugging some poor guy and then carving him up like a roast pig. If she was so disturbed, then her file should not have been sealed after the Withdrawal, and she should have received this great outpouring of help long before now. Fat lotta good it'll do Bashir now," she grumbled.

"She's remorseful."

"That he lived maybe." Julian shivered visibly. Kira bit her tongue on the rest of her opinions. "Sorry, Doc, not your favorite subject." Time to change it. "Where is our host? I thought we were supposed to get on with the celebration dinner before carting you back to DS9."

Bashir's brow drew tightly over thoughtful brown eyes. They could see the gears ticking inside his brain like a finely crafted precision time-piece. The old Julian. "Good question." He arose, leaving his companions in search of the man, wandering a house now as well-known as his own. Most likely he would find Ferran in the kitchen, preparing the meal. There was no sign of the man though, and only cold food on the half-set table indicated he'd been in the dining room.

Perhaps there had been an emergency call. He headed for the office; the door was closed. Bashir pressed an ear against it, heard no signs of occupancy. Rapping against the old-fashioned barrier, "Ferran, are you in there?" Opening the entrance a crack, the human peeked inside. The chair was behind the physician's desk, rotated toward the window so Bashir couldn't view its occupant. "Doctor?" The door swung open with a protesting squeal of rusting hinges, and Bashir entered.

A slow dread built within him, surely just the product of an overactive imagination. After all, he had concocted some award-winning tall tales as a boy. His favorite was the six-headed Rigellian man(or boy)-eating spider hiding in his closet and the subsequent revenge after his parents' laughter. Of course young Julian was never allowed to play with a hologenerator again, but he'd shown them all the same.

Presently, the adult Bashir now sympathized with his father who had been the one with the responsibility of proving that no boogieman resided in his son's closet, unsure what nasty might be waiting behind the door. When he made it back to the station, he owed his dad a letter. If he made it back...

Vehemently, silently he cursed the voice echoing in his head, that pessimistic soothsayer of doom who was always eager to throw a catastrophe in the winds his way. The rational Julian Bashir yelled to just go ahead and spin the chair around to prove to the flighty, castle-building portion of his mind that monsters didn't lurk in closets, reindeer didn't fly, and a dead man wasn't waiting in that chair.

Drawing up all of his courage, a trembling hand reached out, taking the large seat's back by a corner. With minimal effort it swiveled toward the human.

So much for rational. Bashir went through the motions of checking for life even though he needed not to; no question about it, the Bajoran now resided in the Celestial Temple. "Dr. Bashir?"

The live doctor nearly jumped out of his skin, and he clutched his chest in hopes of keeping the heart about to leap from its niche. Meeting Kira's gaze, "He's dead."

Reminiscent of the worst of genre horror movies, thunder clapped outside. Bashir had to swallow the giggle building up inside his throat. He was living some abysmal plot line for which there seemed no end, no rewrite in sight.

Kira side-stepped further into the room, careful to avoid contact with any objects. "How?"

After scanning the scene he came up with a tentative conclusion. "From the hypo kit scattered beneath the desk, I would presume he fumbled and dropped his medication when his condition overtook him."

"Condition?"

"Weak heart. With the shortage of available physicians on Bajor he was in line for surgery, minor repairs." A gasp punctuated the announcement, but Dax almost instantly regained her composure. He chewed on his lower lip, and both his companions caught the nervous habit. "Usually in response to stress. I don't see any reason for it to happen now though." To Kira, "Better contact the authorities as a precaution." She nodded, retreated from the room, and took Dax along.

Julian perused the office one last time. The sigh within him withered before reaching his lips. His return to society wasn't off to an auspicious start. Without glancing back, he closed the door.

Kira glanced back over her shoulder one last time, hugging the jacket closer to her body before running headlong into the pouring rain. The stupid communications were out, and of course, as the Bajoran liaison officer, she volunteered to fly out for help. Should have let Dax go, she grumbled to herself.

Splashing puddles saturated her boots and legs. Thank goodness for the heavy coat Bashir had loaned her, or she'd been completely soaked to the skin.

And where the hell had Dax parked the runabout? Ah, the patch of trees hiding it came into view. Not much longer. Her feet caught on something which sent Kira sprawling.

Her face landed smack-dab in the middle of a puddle, and she pushed to hands and knees, sputtering and choking.

Nerys, growling a curse, floundered around to a sitting position, glaring daggers at her feet. Tangled cloth covered her boots and had led to her swan dive. She unwrapped the soggy material, shaking it out into its natural form. Apparently it was a shirt of some type although she had no idea what it was doing out in the boondocks.

Twigs snapped beneath the weight of a foot; for a moment all other noises faded to nothingness as Kira focused on a breathing pattern. Just as surely as a fist slamming into her stomach the sound forced the air from her lungs. She'd heard that rhythm before, knew it as surely as her own name. It had been implanted into her mind by fear and likely to stay there for a long time.

Nerys forced a swallow past the lump in her throat, clutched Bashir's pajamas in bloodless hands. Somehow she made her vocal cords cooperate. "Lorrah?" No response came following the bare whisper, making her feel silly and heightening her fear in one fell swoop. Fully anticipating a phaser blast to the face, the Bajoran officer gradually pivoted.

To meet the gaze of a nightmarish figure. Lorrah Cara, bloody and bedraggled, stood over her, eyes wide and wild. Her mouth moved, formed the semblance of words, yet no sound escaped, as if the rain greedily swallowed up the noises. Finally that haunted, and haunting, voice made it to her ears. "You shouldn't have done it, Kira. He deserved to die."

Nerys battled for coherent thought. She never had been adept at negotiations, always more content to just fire a phaser than deliver a speech. "Lorrah, don't do this. Leave Bashir alone. You've put him through enough torture."

"Him? Do you have any idea what the doctors did to me, what he ordered them to do?"

"Bashir had nothing to do with your treatment---"

"They tried to take my baby!" Kira's mouth dropped. Rain water hit her tongue. The woman had definitely plunged over the edge. Lorrah was adamant, passionately defending her delusion. "I couldn't let them do that. To ensure our safety the father must die. I have to kill Julian, or he'll get to us, hurt us."

Her heart constricted. Dax and Bashir had no idea they were in any danger, probably asleep by now without any hope of receiving any warning until it was too late, until Lorrah was on the door step. And other than telepathy, which wasn't in her repertoire, Kira knew of no way to get word to them. So she could only focus on her predicament. She wished the woman would make her move. Patience wasn't her strong suit.

Lorrah raised the weapon.

Kira's muscles tensed automatically, ready to dodge the phaser blast or go down trying.

A soft hiss sounded against her skin, and the major felt the strong urge to kick herself. Just as an illusionist, Lorrah had focused the major's attention on the weapon, and Kira never even saw the hypospray.

Immediately the world went hazy, the rain transforming into murky sheets. Her muscles turned to the consistency of jelly, and Nerys slid down to the wet earth. Above her loomed one of those demons humans always seemed to have nightmares about. "Sorry, Major, you picked the wrong ally." A hard object connected with the side of her face, but Kira felt no pain from the boot's impact. A soft rain caressed her skin, and the woman drifted into drug-induced dreams.

Julian had felt foolish earlier. Now, however, he'd reached a new low. Much to his dismay he had let the body spook him. Her was a doctor for goodness sakes! Bodies came with the title.

Dax hadn't cracked a joke, refrained from inferring about a possible attempt to put the moves on her when he had inquired about sharing the bed. She simply retrieved a pillow and asked to borrow more appropriate sleeping attire.

Some might think it callous for them to want to get some shut eye, disrespectful to the deceased man, but with the worsening weather Kira wouldn't return until morning, and life had to go on as usual. Which meant Dax assumed he would sleep.

The Trill emerged from the bathroom, donned in the procured shirt, and crawled beneath the covers, relishing the warmth.

Time to face the music. Bashir went to dress for bed himself, lingering as long as possible without arousing suspicion. But how many times could he brush his teeth? Finally, unable to think of any new noises to fake activity, the man opened the door, killed the light. It was dark as pitch, but he was far too proud to request more illumination. Night lights were for terrified little boys, not grown men, no matter how deep the fear ran.

Bashir stumbled through inky blackness, fumbled to locate the bed, cursing when his toe found it first, and climbed into the sheets. A mumbled good night later, Bashir turned on his side, his back to Jadzia. He would have felt more secure facing her, holding her in a sleeping embrace, but wasn't brave enough to try to pull that off.

Instead Julian listened to the steadying of her breath, attempting to let the rhythm calm him. Instead he stared at the window with hawk-like eyes, squinting against bright flares of lightning. In the trees he saw movement, dismissed it, and instead tumbled into dreamland.

Outside, Lorrah Cara moved across the grounds, a cancerous anger coursing through her. He'd tried to kill her. After all she had done for him, all she had given him, he wanted her out of his life. He wanted her dead.

That sole thought drove her, made her move forward rather than run away. It was time to finish this dance. End his betrayal here and now. She had to make him pay.

In the darkness she made out the vague outlines of the tiny cottage amid trees swaying with the wind and driving rain. It was so cold as the rain slammed into her, slicing through the grime coating her skin, sending dried blood down her form in tiny rivulets. Despite her physical discomfort, she trudged onward.

He wouldn't be alone, that much she knew---probably with that tramp again. It had been a mistake to give the woman a chance. Instead of simply trashing her quarters Cara should have just removed the slug-holding slut from the picture completely.

If the opportunity arose, she would discard of the woman, a gift to every other female who had lost her love to those beautifully lying lips. With Dax she would be forced to be more creative, messier. The phaser had just enough energy for one shot, no more. She had to make it count.

She knew for certain that at least one person had leave this realm tonight. And if she had her way, it would be Julian Bashir. 

Bashir jolted out of the dream in an adrenaline rush and cold sweat, panting and shivering uncontrollably. Despite the reassurance that he was far too young, his heart felt as if it were about to explode. Slowly his eyes crept open, adjusted to the darkness to take in the shadowy features of his room. Beside him Dax lay as still as a corpse, barely breathing.

Julian leaned over the form, attempting to view her face which was presently buried in a pillow mound. Brushing her shoulder, "Dax?" The voice was a hoarse whisper, the product of a dry throat. A murmur rippled from her, reluctant to climb from her dreams and into consciousness at his request. "Dax, I need to talk. Come on, open up those pretty eyes and amaze me with your wisdom and experience."

Apparently, since no reaction was forthcoming, Dax didn't care to enlighten the youngster at three o'clock in the morning. He raised his voice. "Dax, wake up!" Julian gave her shoulder another, more forceful tug. Dax swiftly lifted up, and Bashir swallowed, readying himself for one helluva smack.

Although she turned at a normal speed, the time frame was enough for several discrepancies to click in his mind. One was her hair, both lighter in shade and shorter in length. Next was the absence of the tell-tale Trillian spots he always found so seductive.

The figure turned on him, and Bashir didn't even have time to draw the breath for his scream before Lorrah plunged the knife into his chest.

The point hit its mark perfectly, perforating his heart. Insane laughter echoed inside his head as Bashir collapsed back against the bed, aware for an instant that his heart was no longer beating. And then darkness washed through him. 

Julian Bashir awoke in darkness, a hand desperately clutching his chest, thankful to find it whole and free of knives. His lungs burning, Bashir dragged in air, labored to slow his hammering heart.

All too abruptly he became aware of the form nestled against him. With more than an ounce of trepidation Julian snuck a peek at his companion. Spots and all, it was Jadzia.

A sigh escaped as he settled back against the soft mattress. His heart rate slowed to normal. His respiration returned to a steady and even pace. Just a nightmare. Only a dream.

A vivid imagination could be as frightening as a physical homicidal maniac. At least in the corporeal world a phaser could stop lunatics; in the realm of dreams, at least his, they were invincible.

Outside the rain pounded against the window as if in a frantic entreaty for entrance. He closed his eyes, snuggling deeper into the bed's---and woman's--- soft contours. Behind his lids the inky blackness tinged red as more lightning slashed its way across the sky.

Bashir squirmed.

There was something poking in his back.

The physician expelled a drawn out groan of annoyance and popped up, fumbling to locate the perpetrator. His fingers touched smooth, damp plastic, and he snatched it up. His heart began to pound.

Even in the dark he recognized the object, having dealt with one for his entire medical career. Empty of contents, the hypospray sat heavily in his palm.

The thoughts could not be held at bay. The implications held more terror than if he were sharing the bed with a Klingon targ ready to trample the life out of him. A hand slid to the form beside him, brushing against supple--and frigid---skin. "Dax?" he managed to squeeze from his constricted throat.

Fingers found the inside of her wrist; the thumping sensation was fainter and slower than in the normal stages of sleep.

Kira wouldn't be back until morning. Dax wasn't coming to anytime soon. And of course Dr. Hanas never would be any help to anyone anymore. Bashir was alone. Kilometers from civilization with no means of transport, no communication, no contact with the outside world. The pounding rain ruled out even the possibility of smoke signals.

He was alone. Or was he?

Blindly he dove across the bed, probably half-smothering his companion but she'd survive. His fingertips skimmed over the polished bedside tabletop, frantically searching for Dax's phaser.

Lightning flashed, momentarily obscuring his vision. Despite the impairment, he swore someone stood outside the window, a hellific figure studying him with a demonic gaze. His palm slammed repeatedly against the nightstand, unable to locate that stupid phaser.

Cold, clammy fingers seized his wrist, inciting a sourness in his stomach, the bitterness of bile in his throat. The leaden grip on his arm lifted the limb, slowly moving it until his hand came in contact with the phaser's familiar form. While his heart beat out a stunning rendition of the 1812 Overture, he forced himself to cast his gaze to the figure looming over him.

A sinking sensation hit him.

She hadn't been outside the window.

She'd been inside.

Lorrah Cara peered down on him with furious eyes. With each flash of luminescence from outside the soft brown irises turned a fiery orange. "Hello, Julian."

The voice barely sounded like a woman's, far too gravelly, too low in timbre for a female. Rage shook her body. The phaser clutched convulsively in her hand waivered from her target minutely. How fast could he draw and fire?

He was good, but no sharpshooter. Even at point blank range he seriously doubted being quick and accurate enough to make the shot count. Probably not. "Why are you doing this?" Where had that come from? Surely not his lips.

"No more questions, my love. I'm in charge now." Her arm extended and steadied, in preparation for discharge.

Bashir swallowed the watermelon lump in his throat. "What are you going to do?"

"Kill you."

Light burst from the weapon's tip, flash-blinding him in the darkness. The beam hit him squarely in the face, and he catapulted against the headboard with a shout of pain and denial. An explosion went off inside his brain as his skull collided with hard wood.

So this is death, he thought. Ice seeped through him, and then he thought no more.

Lorrah released a sigh of relief. Now no one stood between her and blessed freedom. At last, Julian Bashir could no longer pose an obstacle to her happiness, other than reaching out beyond the grave. Security felt so right without the worries about the man who had betrayed her. Once and for all, he was dead. Gone. Finito.

Then why was he breathing?

He should have been dead. The phaser should have taken care of him. And would have, had it had enough energy to initiate a fatal beam instead of merely stunning him. Cara squeezed the object in her hand, as if in an attempt to crush it, expelling a screech of annoyance.

She scanned the room in search of another means of eliminating her troublesome doctor. The slut's phaser! A scant two feet away. It was a simple means of ridding the world of the man and his woman. Lorrah snatched it up and jabbed the tip against the human's head.

Not even a millisecond of hesitation. The Bajoran depressed the weapon's trigger, holding her breath in anticipation of discharge. None came, and she banged the item against her palm in frustration.

Why wasn't it working?

At that point a sane person might begin to ponder the futility of the whole situation. Too many unfortunate circumstances had arisen and another Bajoran might begin to think the Prophets conspired against this man's execution.

But not Lorrah Cara, oh no. One way or another she planned on enacting out the demise of the Federation doctor, and nothing short of the Prophets taking her soul would deter her.

The woman's elimination could wait. The drug dosage in her system---nearly twice that of the Bajoran officer---would probably hold her in its grip well into the morning. Following her handling of Bashir, Lorrah would return, knife in hand, to finish her business with Dax, to turn those pretty features to mush.

The image brought a smile to her face. She would enjoy that a great deal. Plus the Trill could no longer endanger the doctor's complete devotion to his Bajoran lover if she were disfigured.

First came the question of how exactly was best to rid herself of Bashir and the unique danger he presented to her well-being. Something symbolic yet effective. The letting of his blood had proven unsuccessful thanks to the coconspirators who had saved him at the last minute.

Fire would be a trusty means to bring him to an end if not for the house's safety precautions. Besides, she wished to witness his demise as proof of her freedom, and smoke inhalation would not be good for her in her present condition.

Outside the rain continued to hammer against the Bajoran countryside, drawing her mental ramblings elsewhere. Somewhere she had read that water had been a trial of a witch in ancient human cultures. It would be fitting to kill the man who'd bewitched her in that very fashion.

Nearby, less than a quarter mile, a tributary of Bajor's largest river flowed. Just over a small hill and through the woods she could throw Bashir over the bank's edge and into the brink, toss him into the very jaws of death. Why she could even watch as his last precious ounces of air came bubbling to the surface. It would be perfection.

Lorrah proceeded to the basement, where she procured a more than adequate supply of rope. Returning to her captives, she rolled the human onto the floor, proceeded to bind his hands behind his back, his feet for good measure. Once finished she wrapped her arms beneath his and locked her hands around his chest. Time to drag him over the quarter mile of rough terrain.

Despite the long and arduous trip, burden and all, the tiny Bajoran technician reached her destination and collapsed to the ground in exhaustion. Julian was just beginning to show signs of consciousness.

Vague awareness of the insistent pounding inside her head registered before the sensation of being suspended on damp earth. Kira, with much protest from her aching body, forced her eyes apart. She tried to recall the encounter which had led to the undignified manner in which she now found herself sprawled on the ground.

For the moment, her mind was just a tad too groggy to provide that information so Kira pushed herself to a sitting position, wishing to get a look at her surroundings. Well she certainly wasn't on Risan holiday, that was for sure.

The view was by no means spectacular or even very memorable. Solitude and quiet would be the major perks listed on the brochure. No one to interrupt her thoughts---or attempts at them---at the moment.

Now how had she gotten here?

Dread caused her throat to seize up and capture the gasp before it could escape. Memories flooded her mind.

Dax. Bashir. Danger.

And here she was, sitting in the mud and musing about the view. Kira pushed to her feet, instantly wished she'd been content to stay at a lower altitude.

The forest spun like a top around her, and Nerys collapsed back to the watery ground. Like it or not, as long as her body mutinied against her mind's commands, she'd just have to wait until it decided to cooperate.

Seemed like she'd waited a great deal lately.

A jack hammer slammed into the interior of his skull, attempting to extend and open the normal lines of separation in the bone. A muffled groan climbed from his throat.

One doosey of a hangover.

He went to stretch, found ropes restricting his movements. What the hell had he done last night and with whom?! Julian Bashir considered himself as quite the lady's man, but in some ways he was a bit conservative. To his knowledge, he'd never been into bondage.

Fingers dug into his hip, more on his arm. He was rolled backward, and a tide of moisture seeped into his clothing. Bashir's eyes shot open to be met by a body of water looming before his face. Another push. Bashir found himself on his back. Above, Lorrah prepared to fully submerge him in the river.

The physician gulped in air before Lorrah began to haul him by his hair, face down, deeper into the rushing current. He struggled. A swift kick in the gut responded, prompting Julian to go limp. How long could he hold his breath?

He was about to find out.

The steel grip on his skin vanished, replaced by an undertow which welcomed him into the swirling black depths. For a second, he bobbed to the surface, replenished his air supply. Unwilling to release its hold, the current sucked him back under, dragging him completely to the rocky bottom.

After years of the steady rush of water over the stones, he had expected their surfaces to be smooth. Not so. Rather the jagged, razor-like edges slashed through his pajamas, tore at his skin.

He dragged his hands along the bottom, fingers raking the dirt bed, attempting to catch the various nooks and crannies of stone. His head was having far more luck connecting against possible speed bumps. With each blow he forced himself not to inhale or exhale. Either action could prove deadly.

Heedless of his peril, the rushing river carried him on. Pain seared through his torso and arms, abrupt and bright. He had been wrenched to a halt. Miraculously, Bashir's bonds had straddled one of those hazardously sharp speed bumps; had he attempted the tactic, he never would have been successful, not in a million years.

Water cascaded over him, pounding against his now immovable body in agonizing torrents. Slowly, deliberately, ever so careful not to lose the connection with the river bed's tiny stalagmite, Julian rubbed the taunt rope along the roughness, sawing away at it.

His attempts at hewing away the restraints appeared fruitful, but thus far with his cautious nature, he'd be dead long before obtaining freedom. Rapidly, with more force, he ran the entwined length along the make-shift saw, slashing his palms more than the objective restraints.

His vision---not that there was much to see---began to take on a deeper blackness. His lungs seemed to expand inside his chest, achingly full inspite of the fact that the air was nearly absent of oxygen. Barely sixty seconds. He realized he would pass out, breathe, and subsequently drown.

Bashir continued hacking, not yet ready to forfeit his life, not after surmounting so many obstacles. That determination empowered him to go on, ignore the self-inflicted pain. That and the promise he wasn't going to give Cara the satisfaction of his death. It was spiteful, petty, and low, but he figured he could allow the slip, just this once.

As the finale of the young doctor's life passed by on the screen in his mind, the bonds snapped. Propelling himself with his arms, he shot to the surface.

Never in his life had the stars looked so brilliant---well the three or four twinkling bodies he could make out across the cloudy sky. Never had the rain smelled so sweet, the air tasted so fresh. Julian Bashir drank it all in, relief and ecstasy bubbling inside him.

Reluctantly, he let it slip away, dove back into the tumultuous rapids, wildly tugging at the bonds entrapping his ankles. He fought his way back to the surface three more times before managing to slip out of the ropes. Once free, the physician battled the surf and paddled toward the bank, reaching calmer waters.

He crawled up the shore and collapsed in an exhausted heap, laboring to inhale steadily, struggling against the impulse to hyperventilate.

He had no idea how long he'd lain there, sprawled on the saturated ground and content to simply make a Julian-shaped imprint in the mud. Meanwhile he dozed somewhat, half conscious, half slumbering, just above the level of dreams, just below the level of reality. Stray thoughts, images, memories hop-scotched around his brain; his face lit up as Jadzia's lovely features popped up before his eyes.

Reality smacked him like a brick. He shot to his feet, stumbling into the woods, searching for a path to the cottage. Dax was in grave danger, at the mercy of that mad woman, a woman whose jealousy and warped notions of romance had jeopardized Bashir's life.

What threat had Dax posed to Cara's imaginary relationship with him? To what extent did the Bajoran blame the Trill? How far would revenge take her?

At last he slowed his breakneck pace as the cottage came into view; there had actually been instances during the journey where he wasn't sure if his feet had touched ground, that he hadn't actually achieved flight.

His qualms of apprehension were the hazards toward Dax. Cara had tried to kill him three times, and facing death unscathed had numbed the power it held over him. As long as Jadzia remained unharmed he didn't care what happened to him.

Thank goodness Kira was safe.

He entered the dwelling from the rear; once inside he hugged the walls, straining to pick up any minuscule noises as he moved through the maze of rooms, searching the house thoroughly except for the tiny bedroom. He saved that inspection for last.

Along the way, in the process of opening a door, he'd finally noticed his hands. The pain would have been excruciating if not for the kind blessing of shock. Despite the fact that the skin was ripped to shreds---or rather what was left of it---and the majority of the surface area of his palms was a pulpy mess, Bashir didn't give the extremities more than a second glance.

He had more pressing problems on his mind.

So far, so good. Apparently he'd beaten the woman back. Unless, of course, the deed had been completed, and he was too late. Julian tried to push that thought out of his mind.

Upon entering his room and find an unconscious, extremely attractive Trill decorating his bed, he surmised that Cara was still on her way. He mused cynically that she was probably savoring his death. Well, wouldn't she be disappointed.

Jadzia was a sitting duck in her present location, and he decided to remove her from the line of fire.

Feeling terribly corny, he stuffed pillows beneath the covers and switched off the lights once more. The tactic would fool Cara for only a few seconds, but it would also frustrate the hell out of her. Bashir smothered a smile as he wrapped the sleeping form in a quilt and carried the bundle to the basement.

Once finished he set about to locating a weapon. The task wouldn't be difficult. Among the supplies and personal items he'd requested was the antique projectile weapon which Dr. Hanas had confiscated and hidden in his office.

If necessary, Bashir was willing to tear down the walls. When his insane tormentor showed up, he planned to be ready.

Eventually the world returned to its normal state of stillness, and the major struggled to her feet, forced a step, then another. At her present pace she'd never make it before dawn, much less in time to offer any help. Except maybe identifying the bodies, ran through her head before she could stop it.

Cursing the rain, cursing the mud, cursing her soaked attire, Kira trudged on over the treacherous terrain and back to the house. All at once, with one foot precariously planted in the mud, Nerys stumbled and tripped. A short but loud cry tore from her throat.

Pain, hot and sharp, radiated from her ankle, and a sour sickness proceeded to pervade her stomach. The bone felt as if it had snapped, but she tested it anyway. The agony rushed clear up to her hip, but she could stumble around.

Nerys limped onward, mentally chiding the string of complaints which probably led to her limping through the woods with a fractured bone.

It had not been her night.

Bashir struggled with the drawer, his hands no longer functioning as well as when he'd first began his search.

The tiny handle slipped from blood-slicked fingers once more, jerking the drawer open only scant centimeters. So far his injuries were hampering his brilliant plans. Julian Bashir swore below his breath, blasting human frailties. Like so many other Starfleet personnel, the doctor suffered from a classic Superman complex; every once and a while, though, a person had to remind himself that even the man of steel was vulnerable to kryptonite.

A green slab of rock wasn't the item hampering Julian Bashir. No, the tiny, minuscule handles fashioned for a baby's fingers were his obstacles.

Once more he slipped his adult digits into the small passage, tugged forcefully, winced as metal bit deeper into his injuries. Finally the compartment flew from its niche, crashing to the floor with a thud, its contents spilling across the burgundy carpet.

He dropped to his knees, rifled through the pile, casting aside items left and right, seemingly useless junk. He tossed aside data clips and paper files without a glance, flung a picture to the peak of the growing little mountain.

The hairs on his neck rose, a slight alarm registering in his brain. The physician grabbed the object before it even touched down. His fingers trembling, he rotated the picture so it was visible.

The image: a warm spring day; Dr. Hanas smiling at the imager. Bashir's attention shifted to the back of the old-fashioned photograph, studying the scribble etched on its smooth surface.

He flipped it again, numb with disbelief, staring at features scrunched into a scowl. My beloved daughter. The words echoed in his head, as mocking as laughter. The anger, rage of betrayal failed to ignite, snuffing out without sufficient momentum. Hanas was Cara's father. That was why he had come out of retirement to treat Bashir.

The portrait slipped from his grasp, fluttered down to its former perch. Bashir paid it no heed, his unfocused eyes hooded by half-shut lids. He drew a deep inhalation to clear away the stale air clogging his lungs.

Julian's gaze tore away from the mocking image, focused on the cluttery pile.

Inside his chest the dull beat of his heart skipped once in its normal pattern, gaining speed with an abrupt rush of adrenaline.

Julian reached out to clutch the gun firmly in hand. He held it to his chest, to his heart as if to make certain it was real, not a figment of his wishful mind. Finally he possessed a weapon more deadly and accurate than his wit and charm. Humanoid bodies could seldom deflect hot lead trucking along at 350 m.p.h.

If, of course, the bullets hadn't been removed.

He fumbled with the catch, almost losing his grip, before ejecting the clip; the projectiles lay there, securely housed in the magazine. He slammed the clip back in place, yanking back the slide to load a bullet into the chamber before flicking the thumb safety.

Deadly force... He thought he could kill Lorrah if necessity forced it, but thinking and doing were two entirely different things.

His breath came shortly, whisking through his dry mouth, endeavoring to extract moisture from the humid air. Only thing left now was to wait, so Bashir extinguished the lights and sat in pitch blackness. Lorrah would be back. He only had to be patient.

A scream echoed throughout the forest. Ice ran down the length of his spine as the physician bolted upright, ramrod straight. He strained to pick out subsequent cries but none came.

He knew that voice, but it couldn't be...

Kira was retrieving help kilometers from here. She's supposed to be safe.

Unless Lorrah had been on the grounds the majority of the night. Unless Lorrah had found a way to kill her father, to separate them all.

It dawned on him. Dax wasn't the first target or Lorrah's primary concern. Kira, on the other hand, presented a possible danger as long as she lived.

Julian leapt to his feet, ran headlong through the blackness. The shadowy forms of furniture got in his way, seemed to be trying to hold him back, but within moments he rushed out into the height of the storm.

Kira hobbled onward, the pace of her advance barely greater than a snail's. A crippled snail's, she thought. So far her grumbling was giving the grumpy constable a run for his money.

Above her and the looming treetops nature's electricity lightened the sky, cast an eerie luminescence over the forest. The rain pelting her body became harder, the wind rougher. Precipitation dripped into her eyes, blurred her vision. Her ears only discerned her own ragged breathing.

There was no possible way for Nerys to pick out the twigs snapping behind her as anything more than the wind. No possible way for her to hear Lorrah closing in on her.

A blur of a hand jerked her short auburn hair, forced back her head to expose the pale skin of her throat. The sleek edge of a blade bit into her skin, and a trickle of warm blood slid a lazy path downward. "I've tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, Kira, but you won't seem to let me do that." The accusation was hissed against her ear, and Kira fought the urge to squirm away from warm breath.

"What did you expect me to do, Cara, allow the senseless murders of Dax and Bashir?" Her teeth gnashed against one another, partly in response to her discomfort, partly in an attempt to keep a civil tongue.

A diabolical giggle joined the exhalations caressing her ear. "You're a little late, Major."

Kira stopped breathing; her heart constricted painfully. "What---what do you mean?" Her dry mouth barely formed the words.

"I did it, Nerys. I did it." Prophets, she was proud! "I took him to the river, watched as he sank helplessly into the murky depths." Nerys could barely decipher the slurred words, wasn't sure she wanted to. Her world had just plunged into the hole opening beneath her feet. "Just think of it, Nerys, the sacrifices I made for our child---the baby he sought to murder."

Finding her stray voice, "Now the Temple is closed to you, Cara. You'll never enter into its sanctity."

"No, Kira, my cause was just." She actually believed cold-blooded murder had been necessary. And for what, some sickly-perceived romance with Bashir? "I had no choice," she responded, but it sounded to Kira that she wasn't trying to convince the major as much as herself. "He gave me no choice!" Lorrah's body quaked, the knife in her grasp threatening to slice straight through Kira's throat. Her voice hardened in resolve. "And neither did you." The dagger pressed into tender flesh, commenced to slice across it.

And then the form was no longer there.

Cara's head rocketed back. The knife flew into the air, landing harmlessly amid wet leaves.

An explosion hit Kira's ears, inciting a mute scream. The pain echoing in her head diminished with encroaching shock, and her eyes scanned for her fallen assailant. Lorrah lay on her back, empty eyes contemplating the ebony sky.

A hole marred the upper right portion of her forehead, blood gushing from a neat little circle. The blood mixed with the rain, rolling to the earth. The land and the people are one echoed in her mind.

Lorrah could no longer harm anyone else. She was dead. Apparently the Prophets had spoken.

Nerys shifted her attention, sought the person who'd granted her salvation. Ahead, with his arm still extending the pistol, stood an apparition.

Julian Bashir lowered the weapon, allowing it to slip from his grasp and land in a muddy puddle. His blank face reminded Kira of a robot. Only his blinking eyes indicated he simply wasn't off. Physically Bashir appeared to be functioning; emotionally the young doctor's mind had simply flipped a switch, cut off the neural pathways initiating his emotional breakdown.

Kira pressed on, limped until she stood by his side. She placed a hand on his shoulder for support, his emotional and her physical. He ventured a step toward the prone figure. "She's dead, Bashir."

His eyes cut to hers, that haunted gaze seeming to go through her. "I have to see."

Rather than hearing him, she read his lips. She hoped permanent ear damage wasn't in her cards. Bashir left her standing there in the cascading rain, forced one foot in front of the other until he stood over the lifeless body of the woman who had shattered his life.

Instead of remorse or regret his companion thought she saw fear in his eyes. He stood there for minutes, as if etching the lines of Lorrah Cara's corpse firmly into his mind.

Bashir pivoted, marched straight back to the Bajoran. He ignored her protests and carried the injured woman back to shelter. As the ungainly couple approached the entrance, a groggy Jadzia Dax burst through it. "Did I miss something?"

Despite the hellish events, Kira couldn't stop laughing.

He sat alone, his eyes fixed on the untouched drink clutched in his hands as if it were a crystal ball revealing secrets of the future.

Quark's emptied as the loyal patrons left the establishment to mill about the Promenade, their masses broke, drunk, or scheming, if not all three. Kira had studied him for quite a while, unaware of the time slowly ticking by. It was amazing how to the simple observer Bashir just seemed to be engrossed in thought, more likely than not, tossing about complex medical theories in that brilliant head. But she was far from a casual observer.

Kira advanced toward the forlorn form. "Mind if I join you?" He didn't bother to look up, merely responded with an indifferent shrug. She'd practiced long and hard on how to broach the subject with him, but now when the time came, her mind was an empty slate.

"You've never killed a person before, have you?" His eyes darted up in surprise before shifting down to the beverage once more. A hesitant shake of his head was her answer. "In your mind you can still see her, and you agonize over the events, if you could have done something differently, spared her life.

Bashir's eyes slipped shut, and his lungs gathered a deep breath in a vain endeavor to hold back tears. Sighing and vehemently shaking his head, "That's not it, Kira, far from it. I---I feel nothing: no guilt, no remorse, no...absolutely nothing in regards to Lorrah's death." The Bajoran blinked hard, fought to contain her astonished reaction. "I---I just wanted her gone. I didn't care how, what means it took as long as she was out of my life and far, far away from me. I didn't even think before pulling the trigger. I just did it."

"And that's what's eating you?" she quietly inquired.

In exasperation, unsure if it were directed at his companion or himself, "I'm a physician, Major, a man who has dedicated his entire existence to saving lives." Irony laced his tone. "And I just casually extinguished two entities with one bullet as easily as blowing out a candle."

Nerys sat there in silence, unsure how to respond to the confession. As his words ran over and over in her mind, she noted a discrepancy. "Wait a minute. You said two---"

"We're closed now, have been for two hours." The two jumped at the Ferengi's unwelcome entrance into the private conversation. "Would you two please leave so I can go get some sleep? You have no idea how tiring earning and counting profits can be."

A look of pure disgust came over Bashir's features as he stood and drained his drink in a single gulp. He made his exit without a word.

"I'll---I'll just put that on your tab, Doctor," he called out to the retreating form. Aside to Mjr. Kira, "He's been a real friendly chap tonight, hasn't he?"

The major inhaled sharply, and Quark took note of the red washing over her face while she debated if she should take the time to pummel the Ferengi or simply follow the Starfleet officer. "You're a real compassionate guy, a real humanitarian," she snarled and left it at that, trailing in her companion's footsteps onto the deserted Promenade. Once there she scanned for the human.

"Bashir?" The whisper was unbelievably loud in the absolute stillness, obscuring only the faint hum of machines. "Bashir?"

"Up here." Her eyes responded automatically to the command. Bashir stood above her on the Promenade's second level, leaning heavily against the rail and staring down at her.

Kira ascended the spiral stairway, the one Bashir always compared to a DNA molecule, and approached the ghastly figure. Prophets, he looked more like a corpse than a living and breathing man. With his gaunt features sporting a four-day growth of beard and eyes sunken so far into his head they nearly disappeared into the dark circles surrounding them, Bashir really did remind Nerys of a dead man.

He stared down at her in silent expectation. "So where were we before being so rudely interrupted?"

He lowered himself so he sat before the railing, his legs dangling over the edge. "Ah, how my life as I knew it has collapsed in ruins at my feet."

Kira followed his lead, settling down beside him. It was a good thing Odo was presently napping in his pail, otherwise, he'd try to make them leave. Unsure how to approach the subject delicately, again, "Earlier you said you killed two entities," she prompted.

Bashir's breath stuck in his throat. He turned his face, his eyes upward, as if seeking some sort of revelation from a deity. A humorless chuckle rumbled in the back of his throat. "Lorrah was pregnant." Tears rimmed his bloodshot eyes. "I killed my own child." He lowered his face into his hands, prompting the Bajoran to place a reassuring arm about his shoulders. Time, to Kira, seemed to stand still so she was uncertain how long they simply sat there in a silent punctuated every so often by muffled sobs.

Eventually human pride incited Julian to gather himself, rein in the turmoil and torment until he could grieve in private. Now, after all that had been shared with her, he found himself unbelievably shy. Besides a half-hearted shrug he could only muster up a self-depreciating smile. "Kira..."

"Dr. Bashir, please report to the infirmary."

He softly whispered, "Duty calls."

She gave him an understanding nod as he got to his feet, watched his retreating back until he disappeared from her line of vision and onto the level below. Kira remained, unwilling to break the rhythm of her thoughts with movement.

Moisture tickled her eyelashes, slipped past as one lone tear rolled down her cheek. A fingertip swiped it away.

Under her dangling feet shopkeepers opened their businesses, readying them for a new day as the Promenade gradually burgeoned to life.