TITLE:  Paying the Piper, Part 1 - Truth and Lies 
SERIES TITLE: Destinies, Section 3 
Author:  Valerie Shearer 
Contact: thenightbird@earthlink.net 
Series:  DS9 
Rating:  PG 

Summary:  

This is a sequel to Seduction and Shadowdance, the third part of the story which will eventually include a fourth story concluding the series.  It is advised that the reader read Seduction and Shadowdance first as it all related. 

This story also uses as background Paula Stiles "Isolation".  It is now available in the a.s.c archive.  

In this part, Bashir must deal with the immediate results of his "test" of Garak, while Sisko is faced with a new decision. 

Note to a.s.c Archivist:  Permission is given to archive this story. 

Note on Distribution:  This story may be passed onto others provided this entire header is left intact and my name and e-mail address goes with the story.  No permission is granted for its publication in fanzines.  Permission must be obtained before it is posted on fanfic websites, and if permission is given all parts of the story must be posted. 

Note on Feedback:  Please let me know what you think.  Posts in the newsgroup are very welcome as well.  Constructive comments are welcome but flames will be ignored.  Reply at thenightbird@earthlink.net.  All reasonable mail will be answered.  If you are missing parts of this story, e-mail me and I'll gladly send them.  If you tell me which kind of word processor you use I'll send it in that format.  When the series is finished I plan to offer a printed version at my cost. 

Disclaimer:  This is a work of fiction.  Julian Bashir, Miles O'Brien, Ezri Dax, Ben Sisko, William Ross, Elim Garak, Luther Sloan, Kira Nerys, Kai Winn, Worf, Jules, Kukalaka, Quark, Vic, Odo, William Ross, Kassidy Yates, Damar, Jake Sisko, DS9 and the cannon portions of the trek universe are the property of Paramount Studios.  Jaro Sarre, Garak's "customers", Dr's Rand, Halbert, and Russel, Lt. Barnes, the man in the new suit, and the planet Zas'sanna are mine. 

I wish to offer a special thanks to my beta readers, Paula Stiles, Matt Edwards, and Cathrine Hansen, who offered many good suggestions which have made this complex story better.  


Acknowlegements: 

Part 1 - Truth and Lies 

Les Misarables, a novel by Victor Hugo 




                         Paying the Piper 

               sequel to Seduction and Shadowdance 

                        by Valerie Shearer 

Part 1 - Truth and Lies 

    Elim Garak had been released from the infirmary a day before, still suffering from bouts of sudden exhaustion.  He hadn't yet opened his shop, but had taken the day to organize it in preparation for the next morning.  Nobody had touched anything.  Everything in the shop was familiar, but as if from a distance.  No matter what actual time had elapsed, for Garak it had been a long time since he'd been here. 
    Poking behind a stack of fabric in his storeroom, he heard the sound.  A vole had taken up residence and Garak had disturbed it.  With a notable squeak, it ran away. 
    He froze.  For a flash he wasn't there, no longer on the station.  He was standing in a cave, with a gun at his head.  Bashir was as good as dead already.  He soon would be joining his friend.  He heard the shot.  Shivering, he came back to his shop and collapsed on the stack of fabric.  Taking deep breaths, he forced himself to calm down.  It hadn't been real.  It could not have been.  He was alive to remember it.  But he knew that particular nightmare would never leave him.  He took out one of the padds he'd been given and tried to work but was still too disturbed by the memory to do anything with it.  He put it away. 
    Starfleet Intelligence had already been in contact with more padds on the way by special courier.  The temporary CMO had refused to allow contact until his official release.  They'd kept him longer than they needed to just to treat his few physical problems.  But they'd noticed the nightmares, and his withdrawn state of mind.  They'd tried to get him to explain.  But Garak never intended to tell anyone what it had felt like when the gun had fired and death had been certain.  He would have someone get rid of the voles.  Standing in his shop, surrounded by the fabrics that he was so skillful at manipulating, he felt in control.  
    He'd only seen Bashir in glimpses, the doctor confined behind a wall of machines in the intensive care unit, and he was concerned about his fate.  Still, Bashir had drawn him into that hell.  Garak had his nightmares, but he kept them quiet.  He thought Bashir would understand the resentment he felt over having this inner demon become so public.  But he would tread carefully.  He'd seen the look in Sisko's eyes. 
    He'd been there when Sisko had marched into the infirmary, and seen the fear in his eyes as he had lit into Bashir.  The doctor hadn't said a word, still too sick to get out of bed.  Garak knew Sisko had no business being there.  He should have waited until Bashir was more recovered, and at least tried to look more impartial.  Garak was unsure if he felt sympathy or satisfaction for the doctor.  Sisko's actions were far too close to revenge, and it deeply intrigued Garak.  
    He decided to have a quiet lunch in his shop.  He remembered when Julian Bashir, secret agent, had shot him in that ridiculous James Bond world.  That was the first time Bashir had made Garak doubt his judgement.  Zas'sana had been the second.  He'd expected to die.  He still went to sleep, if he could, wondering what reality would be there when he woke.  But no one would ever know.  Garak would keep the secret.  He would never allow Bashir to know how badly he'd been hurt.  But he would remember.  
    Something had happened to the doctor in the last year that had changed him, and Sisko knew what it was.  Garak wanted to know, but would proceed with extreme caution.  He was already aware that his friend could be a very dangerous man.  He was not entirely certain that the good doctor had not already become just that. 
    He finished his lunch, sitting the dishes aside, and sorting a shipment of new fabric which had recently arrived.  He forced himself to think about dresses, and how the fabrics would have to be cut to fall just right.  He was looking forward to the simplicity of it when a noise broke his concentration and someone came in the shop. 
    "I'm still closed," he said to the man, dressed in Starfleet uniform with a small emblem representing the judge advocate's office. 
    "I'm sorry to disturb you, but we needed to review your deposition and I hadn't had a chance yet."  He said it with perfect ease, but Garak knew.  The first thing he'd done was review the records of the people they'd sent.  This one might be working with the office, but that wasn't who he was working for. 
    "Certainly," said Garak pleasantly.  "I was just sorting this shipment, if you don't mind." 
    "Go right ahead," said the agent for someone.  He and Garak traded phony smiles.  The tailor let his visitor begin. 
    "Let me do a quick review," he said.  Garak had picked up a fabric that shimmered in translucent blues and greens.  It was lovely, and both men paused.  "That is wonderful.  If I gave you the details, could you make my wife a dress?  I'd love to surprise her." 
    Garak smiled at him, somehow doubting he had a wife.  A mistress perhaps, but he recognized the technique.  It was meant to catch him off guard.  There was really no need.  Garak intended to cooperate fully.  "Certainly, and when you have the time look at my file of styles." 
    "I'll do that."  Garak wondered if mention of the dress had been an honest interruption, from the way the man continued to gaze at the fabric.  But he was soon back to business.  "You and Dr. Bashir were trying out a new holodeck program, something 'special'." 
    "Yes," said Garak moving fabric around without real purpose.  "I was quite intrigued." 
    "You were concerned about the safeties, but you continued in the program."  His tone was smooth and calm.  
    Garak shrugged.  "There was little choice.  By the time it got dangerous, Dr. Bashir was rather ill and it would not allow me to shut it down." 
    The man looked at Garak, his face full of personal concern.  "Would you say your friend was in an odd sort of mood?"  
    Garak put down the fabric and stepped forward.  "He was in a very distracted mood.  I nearly called it off fearing he was ill." 
    It was the right answer.  "His illness, it was very sudden?" 
    Garak confirmed it.  "I believed so at the time, though in reflection he was rather disoriented before.  I was unaware of how fast the symptoms could appear." 
    The man nodded.  Garak knew what they wanted him to say now.  He'd go along because he found them too dangerous to toy with, at least this openly.  Bashir would be excused because he was sick.  He was still confined to his quarters, and under medical orders to rest.  But he had friends. 
    He wondered if Bashir knew how careful his new friends were to insure Sisko's revenge would fail. 

    Benjamin Sisko stared at the alien curves of his quarters, so different from those on Starfleet built stations.  He remembered how strange it had been at first.  Now, it was a comfort.  It was home.  He had become a part of the station and the culture that it belonged to.  He really couldn't say which identity was the strongest anymore.  He was a Starfleet officer, but his heart was here.  
    He thought of those who'd emigrated from country and family to take a new start, so often repeated in the history of his home planet.  Had they felt the same, sitting in their homes with their families in the wilds of Canada, or the dusty plains of America, or the Australian outback?  Perhaps those crowded into the cites of 19th century America had even shared the feeling.  There would always be a tie to home, and a loyalty to the culture of birth.  But it wasn't home anymore.  The place he'd come to was home.  Bajor had given him back his life.  He mattered to these people.  
    What did they do when they had to choose, he wondered?  Did the question hurt as much for those of old as it did for him?  What would he do when the time came to pick which to give his loyalty? 
    As the war started to inch towards the end, discussion of Bajor's future had again begun.  Except it wasn't working out the way Starfleet and the Federation hoped. 
    Not everybody thought it was a good idea to join.  The Federation was nervous.  He had balanced between the two for such a long time.  Eventually, he would have to pick one or the other. 
    He hadn't been sleeping well, contemplating the dilemma.  But that wasn't what kept him awake that night.  It was his other problem, by the name of Julian Bashir. 
    The woman from the Judge Advocates office had insisted on a meeting that evening.  She'd had all the depositions at hand.  She hadn't bothered to hide her feelings that it was all a waste of time and was his fault.  He hadn't bothered to mention the odd questions that had been so carefully explained away.  He didn't dare tell her what had driven him to forcing the situation.  
    When Bashir had come to them, still stunned by the kidnaping and interrogation he'd been put through, he'd made his first mistake telling Bashir to go along.  What had he been thinking?  How could he have forced Bashir to betray what he believed in?  But all had been lost in the lists of dead and the fear that it was only the beginning of a greater darkness. 
    It wasn't until Bashir had come to him that night with his threat that he'd understood.  By then it was too late.  The genie was out of the bottle and he couldn't catch it again.  Bashir was no longer under his control. 
    He still remembered the message that Bashir and Garak were in the infirmary, Bashir seriously ill.  He'd stayed away, instead gathering information.  He'd been worried about what the doctor might do.  When he was well enough to talk, Bashir had admitted suspending the safeties.  Sisko hadn't been able to resist the chance to assert his own authority. 
    Were it anyone else, a reprimand would have been enough.  But, like that first mistake, he'd just reacted.  He was sure no one else had seen it, but he'd never forgotten the cold look Bashir had given him that night.  There had clearly been a threat implied in his tone.  He still dreamed about the anger he'd seen in the cold eyes.  The charges had made him feel in control.  He'd forced the issue when Bashir was still rather sick, and vulnerable.  He could not forget the look in the doctor's eyes when he'd laid out the charges.  Bashir despised him.  Worse was Garak, who had just watched, not saying a word, not even reacting to the tirade.  It must have taken a lot to shake him up that badly.  
    Even walking out of the Infirmary, Sisko had felt a few doubts.  Since then, the doubts had turned to worries.  Bit by bit everything had been explained.  Someone was manipulating the stories into a perfectly fitting puzzle.  They were protecting Bashir.  He had done nothing but drive the doctor further away.  
    As the long, quiet night wore on, he thought about the consequences.  Whoever was behind this had badly intimidated Garak, and was handily reconstructing all the details.  He wondered who of his people was with them.  He hoped it was someone who had some control over the doctor. 
    But as the long night drew to a close, another thought came to mind.  He preferred his own life to Bashir's.  He was certain that suspending the safeties hadn't been part of the plan.  It had ended very publically and been very messy.  Sisko was sure whoever he belonged to didn't like that. 
    If Sisko had done nothing, Bashir would still be punished.  Except these people would not be so gentle.  He had the feeling that he would remember their discipline long after he'd forgotten Benjamin Sisko. 

    Bashir knew he wasn't in his quarters before he opened his eyes.  The bed was too lumpy.  The room was too cold.  The noises were all wrong.  It would fit several places, none desirable.  Cautiously, he opened his eyes. 
    "I thought we would have to wake you," said Sloan, cutting through the fog of sleep.  He was in a small plain room, probably a detention area.  The lights were too bright. 
    "I'm awake," he muttered. 
    Sloan moved to where he could see his face.  "And you were worried about Captain Sisko's little punishment," he said.  "Of course, the good captain is making it personal.  I can assure you that is not my motivation," he finished.  Julian said nothing, worried and a little disoriented.  "Do you know how lucky you are?" asked Sloan, studying him with a cold appraising look.  "Do you have any idea how close you were to dying?  Fortunately, the doctor I sent knew what was wrong with you.  Nobody will know you didn't have that fever from Abersand Station again."    
    He took a deep breath, shaken despite his control.  He hadn't suspected the doctor.  He'd been too normal.  "I'll thank him," he said with as much sarcasm as he could muster. 
    Sloan shook his head.  "You need not worry, Doctor.  The hearing will decide that you and Mr. Garak accidentally walked out of the working holosuite to the malfunctioning one and were both stunned by a random charge."  Julian only looked away, very aware of his mistake.  Sloan fixed an uncompromising stare on him.  He squirmed under the gaze.  "You received direct orders to leave the safeties in place.  You decided for some reason to disobey them.  I'd say you are very lucky." 
    He was nervous.  "Garak had to believe it was real." 
    "Yes, he did.  But he would have come to believe just as quickly with the safeties on.  That was why you were ordered to leave them in place.  Even if the results were not so messy, it would still be necessary for you to be disciplined.  I do not tolerate disobedience." 
    He was still off duty, confined to his quarters, and a severe reprimand had been put in his record.  Quark had been unhappy about his holosuite being torn apart, and he didn't know if he was still welcome in the bar.  But none of that had any meaning when he compared it with the sort of discipline he would receive from Sloan.  The icy stare scared him, knowing what the man was capable of.  "I trust you won't disobey orders again," Sloan said. 
    "We've played a lot of games, even dangerous ones.  The safeties would tell him it was a game.  He wouldn't be himself."  It was almost the same reason he'd given to Odo and the others.  At the time it had been his real motivation.  He didn't want to lie to Sloan. 
    "Undoubtedly, but it remains that you'd been specifically ordered to use them.  Before you leave here, you will understand that I mean my orders to be obeyed." 
    Julian felt a chill run down his spine.  "I understand," he said, nervously. 
    "That isn't enough."  Sloan gave him a hard stare.  "You'll believe when I'm done."  Sloan smiled a little, and he motioned someone forward.  The new arrival was holding a hypo.  "Until later, Doctor," he said, stepping back.  The man with the hypo advanced, and touched it to his neck.  He relaxed, and fell unconscious instantly. 

    The walls were hard and smooth, metal with sealed seams, and his clothes soaked through from the little dribble of water from one side.  He was in complete darkness.  It wasn't exactly like the one the Jem'Hadar had put him in.  The walls felt different.  He could not tell where the door was.  The tiny vent that supplied air was keeping it very cold, but the walls themselves weren't as bad.  But is was close enough.  He was still shivering. 
    Worse, the rations came from a slot in the wall, when he pressed a button.  He didn't know how many there were.  They were the most basic Starfleet supplied, in solid form.  Each had three days worth of nutrition, but it didn't fill his empty stomach.  He still had to have something to drink.  But that required that he lie on his side in the puddle under the spigot, and got completely soaked in the process.  He had no idea how long he'd been here, having awakened in his tomb.  But he knew who had put him there.  He remembered that part. 
    It wasn't just the uncertainty of the rations that made it worse.  He had no idea how long Sloan was planning to keep him there.  In a little part of his mind he knew the time might be an illusion, but it didn't matter if it was a complete illusion.  And there was Kukalaka.  He'd never told anyone about the teasing, dancing bear that had come to him in the Jem'Hadar prison, and especially not about the hallucinations that had followed when he'd returned home.  But he was sure Sloan knew.  He wouldn't have picked this particular torment if he didn't. 
    It wouldn't take days this time, and he had no desire to provide anyone with entertainment.  He was silent.  He repeated basic medical text, but to himself, without using his voice.  He tried singing the words to songs again, but without sound.  None of it was working.  He finally resorted to another ration, and another soaking as well.  He moved away from the puddle as best he could, and forgot about songs while he thought of all the hot places he'd been in his life and shivered. 

    He'd fallen asleep, and woke to a growling stomach.  He was still cold, but his clothes had mostly dried.  That would take time, he thought, and reached for the lever that would bring another ration.  But he hesitated.  He wasn't quite so cold.  He wasn't sure if it would be worse to listen to his growling stomach or be freezing cold.  But he took the ration anyway. 
    He felt a little clearer after sleep, and had an idea.  He put the ration in the puddle.  He'd still have to drink, but it would be easier to eat it this way.  Maybe he could stay a little dryer.  
    He'd given up trying to remember things.  It was all connected with one of his nightmares now.  Even pleasant things like lunch with Garak had been spoiled.  He vividly remembered Sisko's visit to the infirmary, when he'd been informed that he was relieved of duty and would be confined to quarters until further notice.  Privately he worried that somehow the reprimand would give those who still wanted to be rid of him a new opportunity.  He wasn't sure Sloan would interfere this time.  And he had the feeling Sisko hadn't been sorry at all. 
    He dozed, waking only when his stomach demanded food.  He fished the now soggy ration stick out of the puddle.  It broke into three pieces and made his hands all sticky, but it was easy to eat.  He was still thirsty, though, and hunched down under the drip.  The ration had made the puddle sticky as well.  He got his drink, but instead of just being soaked now he was sticky and soaked.  He moved away from it, leaning against the wall again.  Trying to think of something other than how cold he was, he fell asleep. 

    The next time he woke, he heard the noises.  Voices, whispers of people he knew, even recognized, but couldn't make out the words.  There was Kira and Sisko, and even Quark.  Garak spoke once in a while too.  But it was all slurred together.  He knew they were talking about him, but not to him.  He could hear the disappointment in Miles voice, but it was so quiet it wasn't audible over the others most of the time.  But it was company.  He knew, somehow, that they were in his head, but any sound, any company, was welcome by then.  Even Sloan, as long as it meant the door being opened.  Almost any company, he though.  No bears.  Please no small brown stuffed bears. 
    He ate, soaking the ration again but not so long, and not minding the soaking or sticky feeling.  He no longer cared.   Sloan had won.  He belonged to Sloan.  The man could do anything he wanted and nobody would stop him.  Nothing mattered anymore.  He just wanted to curl up and sleep and drive all of it away. 

    By the next waking, some of the voices had faded.  He tried the slot on the wall and nothing came out.  No more food.  He drank more water, and tried to ignore the cold.  He leaned back in a hazy fog, no longer able to tell what was real.  Even the cold and hunger had lost their edge and it all blended into a hazy mist.  
    He was leaning back, letting the images of hot sun comfort him, when a voice clearly cut through the fog.  "Next time he invites you to join his little group, you say yes," said Sisko.  He looked around wondering where the Captain was.  It brought things into focus again.  "First, you are relieved of duty pending a review of the incident and will be confined to quarters until further notice.  Further, your permanent record will bear a reprimand for the unnecessary risk in which you placed yourself and Garak."  He could hear the gloating in the voice.  He forgot about Sloan for a little while and concentrated on Sisko.  He wondered how Sisko would like one of these little boxes. 

    It was some time later, he no longer cared, that he heard the laugh.  He recognized the little sing-song voice in his head.  It was just giggling like a malicious child.  He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see the little bear.  It was bad enough to hear him.  He remembered how it had been months before he could touch his bear. 
    But more time passed and the giggles turned to words, childish words little Jules had gotten to know well.  "I don't want to play with the dummy," someone said.  He felt the tears come.  That had almost been a kind word, compared to the others.  Children could be cruel to anyone different from themselves.  They had been very cruel to little Jules.  
    The other children never let him forget that he wasn't smart.  It was hard for him to make sense of things around him.  When he made a discovery, or suddenly came to understand a mystery, there was no one to tell.  They would just laugh at him.  Even before his parents had him "fixed" he had started to hid the things that mattered. 
    He remembered as if he was still there.  "We know you're doing your best," said his mother's soothing voice.  But not good enough, he thought.  He'd never be good enough for them.  He cried for little Jules, lost and destroyed by good intentions.  He fell asleep again, this time not bothering to try to drink.  He just didn't have the energy. 

    Eventually, he woke again, startled awake by the drum.  He tried not to look, feeling the little feet as they marched up and down his leg.  Kukalaka wore the same top hat and tails.  The bear marched in time to his drum, occasionally pausing to giggle to some childish joke.  He could see the marching toy quite clearly and it never occurred to him that it was impossible.  Hungry and dehydrated, cold and wet, he just stared at the stuffed tormentor. 
    "You're smart now," said the bear, in a squeaky, childish voice.  "But they know.  See where it got you?"  He banged on the drum, missing it and hitting Julian's leg, giggling uncontrollably.  The little sticks bounced against him, banging his knee.  
    He couldn't stand it anymore and shoved the bear and his drum away, screaming loudly at him, "Go away, leave me alone, all of you."  But the puddle was bigger.  He slipped on the floor of the box, and hit his head on the wall, hard, as he was pushed back by his fall.  Kukalaka disappeared.  He started to sob and could not stop.  His head pounding, he began to slip into nothingness. 

    He didn't know how long he'd been out, not asleep this time but unconscious.  He accepted the darkness and the cold and even the empty stomach.  He just wanted to curl up and disappear.  But there was talking.  The voices were much louder now.  This time the voice was Sloan's.  He didn't move as Sloan explained his second assignment.  'We want you to test the Cardassian's loyalty.  It will be simple, really, and if he passes you'll both have had an adventure.' 
    'But Garak's my friend,' he said.  'He already thinks of himself as a traitor to his people for the code work.'  He hadn't said it to Sloan, hadn't said anything, but had wanted to. 
    'He's a former Cardassian intelligence agent.  He may be out of favor now, but that doesn't make him any more trustworthy, even if he does work with Starfleet Intelligence.  We just want to know if he'd betray us.'  Sloan had given that as the only explanation of his assignment. 
    'I don't want to,' he told Sloan.  He hadn't told Sloan that either.  He didn't dare. 
    'It doesn't matter,' said Sloan, but he *saw* the little bear.  'You'll do as your told.'  Kukalaka/Sloan started to giggle.  'Dummy,' he added in a taunt.  All the mumbles in his head started to giggle too. 
    The bear started to dance up his chest.  Julian pushed him away, as hard as he could.  He sat up abruptly, hitting his head on the top of the metal box.  He slipped on the wet floor, and fell sideways.  His head crashed to the floor, cutting himself on the spigot.  He lay still, the water soaking through his clothes and the cut bleeding freely, out cold. 

    He came to, stretched out on a bed, covered with a blanket.  He remembered waking in the infirmary after Garak's adventure, and wasn't sure where he was.  But Sloan's voice abruptly clarified things.  "Was that real enough, Doctor?" 
    The last he remembered his head had been pounding and bleeding freely and he was soaking wet.  He could feel his vision getting fuzzy, and a strong feeling of confusion.  He must have been badly hurt.  He felt his head.  There was no bump or cut.  He didn't feel hungry or thirsty.  He was quite warm.  But he could still hear a little giggle in the background.  "Quite real," he said. 
    "If the safeties had been off you would have been in surgery now, with severe cranial bleeding.  You couldn't tell the difference.  Do you believe me now?" 
    It had been one of Sloan's programs, based on the secret technology he'd used with Garak.  Sloan had proven his point.  It hadn't been real and the safeties had been in place.  But a sing-song voice teased him with another giggle.  He heard the tapping on the drum.  It depended on where you'd been.  He didn't care if that box had been solid and the days he'd been there real, the nightmares would be as bad.  He had to stop himself from looking around the room for Kukalaka, the giggle was so loud and close.  His head still *hurt* even if there was nothing wrong with it.  But that was his business and would not be shared with anyone. 
    "It was real enough," he said, not looking at Sloan. 
    "Now, I'll have something for you to do soon.  I believe the good Captain is going to release you from confinement to quarters.  We'll let you know when to expect another visit by moving that bear of yours."  He looked up at Sloan, certain he knew the bear's meaning.  Sloan still wore the same calm expression.  He was holding a hypo.  "Time to go back to your own bed, Doctor." 
    He watched as it came near and closed his eyes before the hiss.  Everything was replaced by blackness. 


    He was asleep when he heard the buzzing, curled up in a bed.  He was too lost in his dream to be sure where he was.  His head hurt too much to move.  He ignored the sound, hoping it was part of a dream.  He kept very still, his eyes closed, and shaded from light.  Half lost in nightmarish dreams, he cowered from the sound. 
    He heard the whoosh as the door was opened.  Someone was coming in.  Hands touched him and he shuddered, jerking away.  Slowly, he opened his eyes to see someone from Starfleet security standing above him in his own bedroom.  Still confused, seeing them through echos of the dreams, he peered at them as if they were not real.  "Come on, Doctor.  The Captain wants to see you." 
    The dream faded, and he covered his eyes and rested his head.  "I need some time," he said. 
    They did not budge.  Waiting impatiently, one of them shook him, and he tried to control the shudder.  "Don't go back to sleep.  He said he wanted you now." 
    Aware of where he was again, Bashir reminded himself of his current situation.  Sisko could order it if he wanted to.  The security people would not consider an appeal. 
    He rose, slowly.  His pounding headache got worse.  Everything was blurry.  He shook his head to try to clear it.  "I've got a very bad headache," he mumbled, as he sat down again.  
    "We'll take you by the Infirmary first," said the guard, tapping his communicator.  Julian suddenly remembered how his had been taken, along with the medkit he kept in his quarters.  They'd turned off the replicator as well.  Sisko had made his point and at that moment the Captain was the last person he wanted to see.  He sat on his bed, the world hazy and moving around him.  The guard continued, "He says he has a bad headache.  I'm taking him to get something for it first."  
    "Certainly, bring him here as soon as you're done."  It was Sisko's voice.  
    'The next time .... you say yes.'  He heard Sisko's voice again as plainly as if he'd just said it.  Pulling himself to his feet, he let the security people help steady him.  He could feel the resentment growing inside.  He had to keep it under control.  Sisko would not be allowed to see it, just the coldness. 
    He heard the giggle in the background.  There was something in the other room, marching with a drum.  He closed his eyes.  'No,' he thought.  'Not that again.'  He couldn't cope with both Sisko and the bear. 
    "May I get dressed," he asked the man. 
    "Sure, but hurry up." 
    He watched as they left, but noted the door was still open.  He pulled on his uniform, fighting the headache and dizziness which went with it.  He stumbled out into the other room, hesitating at the door, but the giggle and drum had gone.  The security people stood waiting.  He walked between them, glancing at Kukalaka.  He froze for a second.  The bear was smiling. 
    "Let's try to hurry this up," said one of the security people, as he forced himself to look away and stumbled out the door. 

    Bashir sat on the bio-bed while the doctor conducted his examination.  He still acted and looked so absurdly normal.  But now Bashir knew, and it was almost like Sloan himself was standing there. 
    "How long have you been having these headaches?" asked Dr. Rand, or whatever his name really was.  
    Bashir noted he was being closely watched.  "Oh, on and off.  But not nearly this bad," he half-way lied.  The doctor nodded, still observing him too closely. 
    "This should help.  Come by anytime you need another one.  Nobody's trying to hurt you."  Rand was watching him in a way that spoke of many small assignments, before he got one this important.  Bashir just wanted to get rid of the headache.  The doctor took a hypo from Jabara. 
    Jabara stepped back as he pressed the hypo to Bashir's neck, and the pounding began to quiet immediately.  "You'll have headaches for a while," said Rand, and he'd stopped his examination.  Bashir hadn't known the man was one of Sloan's people before.  He suspected the man knew what had happened last night.  "If it comes back, just come by and we'll give you something for it."  Someday, he wondered, would he be assigned that sort of duty too?  
    He wished Sloan would pull him out of here soon.  He didn't want to see Sisko, not today or ever again.  He suspected Sisko shared the desire. 
    They escorted him to the conference room, and he was ushered inside by himself.  Sisko wasn't alone but he'd never seen the woman sitting with him.  "Doctor, this is Lieutenant Barnes, of the adjacent's office.  We've been discussing your case." 
    He didn't sit.  Nobody told him to.  He tried to look attentive, but the giggling in his head was so loud it was hard to concentrate.  The woman leaned forward. 
    "It is our decision to release you from confinement to quarters.  You may move about the station freely, as long as you stay out of the docking ring and Ops.  You will still be relieved of duty until this matter is settled at the upcoming hearing.  Do you have any questions?"  Her voice was calm and professional, and he was glad she had delivered the news.  
    He glanced at Sisko, carefully looking at some reports.  He did not look at her.  "No, none," he said, distracted.  
    She nodded.  "Then you may go," she said in dismissal. 
    Just once, as he was walking out the door, he looked back at Sisko.  The Captain was wearing his most neutral expression, but Bashir could tell.  He was worried.  He'd already figured out there was much more going on than met the eye.  He saw danger when he looked at Julian Bashir. 

    Sisko watched as Bashir left the room, noting the arrogance.  He'd always been a little arrogant.  That was one of the things that fit so well with his genetic status.  Sisko has always thought it was just the training and respect doctor's normally received.  Perhaps all along it had been the advantage he held over the rest.  Now it was more.  Bashir was cold about things now.  He thanked the woman with a nod, and gave Sisko a quick glance in parting.  
    For a passing second, Sisko noticed the look.  The doctor's dark eyes focused on Sisko, and for a heartbeat the doctor dropped his guard.  There was an unmistakable threat in that look, a warning that dared Sisko to try to intervene again.  It was far more deadly than the first, delivered months ago when Bashir had first been compromised by them.  Then, he'd chosen to make sure Sisko knew how complete the damage from his rash decision had been.  Now, watching the doctor leave, he carefully ignored they way the woman was closely watching him. 
    As the door shut, she spoke.  "I'll be very glad when this is over.  He made a mistake, but I don't like the way you've made us look.  A reprimand on his record would have been quite sufficient." 
    Sisko was grudgingly beginning to agree with her.  He didn't know what had gotten into him, but at the time it had been a way to assert his authority over Bashir.  The doctor would do as he was told, on the surface, but Sisko worried about the other things he'd do.  He couldn't miss the cold gaze Bashir gave him when nobody noticed.  "You're probably right," he said, resigned. "But it's too far along to do anything now." 
    "It would just call more attention to the debacle," she said, but he wasn't really listening.  He remembered the shock on Bashir's face when he'd told him to go with Sloan.  The doctor had gone out of his way to avoid him after that.  He'd heard of late night visits to Quarks, and when he did have to deal with Bashir there was an undercurrent of resentment impossible to ignore.  If he could do it over again he didn't know what he'd say.  It hadn't worked.  All he'd done was drive Bashir into their waiting embrace.  And now he didn't know what sort of man he was dealing with, only that it was necessary to be careful. 
    "I looked over the depositions.  I don't see it going anywhere, at least," he said wearily, wishing she had a little more sympathy. 
    Sisko remembered Bashir's surprise visit to his quarters after he'd come back from Abersand station, and the hard, dangerous stare he'd given Sisko.  He shivered a little.  
    She noticed.  "Are you okay?" she asked. 
    "Fine," he said, distracted.  "Just thinking of ... things."  She shrugged.  The people on the station would never buy it, but she didn't know him that well.  He would have to be careful.  'It better work out,' he thought.  He chose not to consider what Bashir might do, even if it cleared him completely. 


    Outside the room, still with no job or communicator, Julian wandered aimlessly for a short while.  The headache had abated, but not the disorientation.  All he had to do was shut his eyes and the small dark room closed around him.  His replicator had been turned off, and he'd been getting whatever Security picked for meals.  He decided food of his own choice might help. 
    He paused before entering the replimat, scanning the customers.  It was neither deserted nor crowded.  He felt comfortable with that.  Then he noticed a figure sitting near the back and nearly went past. 
    Garak was there.  He didn't remember any of the end of the "adventure", but was certain something had scared the Cardassian.  All he remembered were bits and pieces after leaving the rendevous to hide in the hills.  If it had been as real to Garak as Sloan's personal torture chamber had been to him, he didn't want to pry.  But the way Garak was acting now reminded him of the edgy mood he'd had at the Internment camp, forcing himself to go into the wall. 
    Perhaps Garak had felt the same back then as he did entering the replimat.  But he'd been at the mercy of others for his meals for too long.  And the lingering echos of Sloan's little room told him he was hungry.  He waited in line behind two people and selected scones with jam and tarkalian tea.  It was comfort food. 
    The only table was too close to Garak, but he wanted to sit and eat a meal of his choice with people.  His feeling of vague discomfort vanished as he tasted the first bite.  He even relaxed a little.  Maybe he could carry out the charade of being two people after all. 
    Then he noted that Garak was watching him.  He knew now that disengaging the safeties had been a mistake.  Sloan had quite clearly demonstrated that with his little room.  But at the time he'd had a decision to make.  He'd believed Garak would not be himself if they were left in place.  He'd have failed the test and Sloan would have killed him.  Bashir had enough blood on his hands already.  
    Garak did not look any more understanding than Sisko had.  The relief he'd felt at being able to move about vanished, as did the comfort of the food.  He ate quickly.  He ignored all of them.  Suddenly, he just wanted to be alone again.  He picked up the empty dish and walked without haste to the bin and deposited it inside.  He passed near Garak's table, and it was hard not to rush by.  But that would be too obvious.  He thought Garak was going to say something and couldn't deal with that now.  He moved through the now crowded replimat as if preoccupied, hoping his haste was not so noticeable.  
    He took the shortest route to his quarters, and collapsed in relief at the narrow escape.  He never wanted to leave the room again. 

    Elim Garak had discovered an odd pleasure in eating again.  He knew the whole experience on Zas'sana was not real, but he found that food tasted better after the meager meals they'd had.  He looked forward to his food, and savored it.  After opening the shop that morning, he had become fatigued, and had taken an early lunch.  He chose to dine alone.  He missed the lively talks he'd had with Bashir,  but wasn't really in the mood for conversation. 
    His peaceful mood was spoiled a little when Bashir arrived.  For a moment Garak though he might say something but was relieved when Bashir just walked past.  Apparently preoccupied, he ate a leisurely meal without taking note of much.  But in the practiced way that was second nature to Garak, he was closely watching the young doctor. 
    Bashir was trying to hide it, but Garak couldn't miss the nervous demeanor.  Julian scanned the room for a table, carrying his food, and only with reluctance took the table near Garak.  A little smile crossed the Cardassian's lips as the doctor started on his meal.  Garak noticed the choice, a long noted favorite, and the tarkalian tea.  Bashir had chosen that for his first lunch after the internment camp.  With a vague sadness, he recalled the young idealist they had destroyed.  He had changed, even then, but the Jem'Hadar had taken what was left of the innocence.  His friend had never said what they'd done before Garak's arrival at the prison, but the guards were both vicious and bored, and he could guess.  Bashir had not been the same since he came home. 
    But he'd been an even better friend.  Bashir took a long sip of his tea, glancing up, and Garak suddenly realized that he too was being watched.  The doctor was still learning, but Garak could not help but admire the skill he showed.  There was the man from the Judge Advocates office, with his helpful suggestions--who had known the truth of Bashir's program.  He wondered who had ensnared his friend and stolen him forever. 
    Abruptly, Bashir stiffened, and it occurred to Garak that he'd noticed that he was being observed.  He was good.  Once he learned to hide his body language, Bashir might even be a dangerous rival.  But not yet.  The doctor became distressed, hurrying his meal suddenly, as if all the pleasure had gone.  
    In full retreat, the doctor passed very near, and Garak nodded to him.  Distracted, Bashir looked toward the tailor, momentarily dropping his guard.  
    Garak saw the self-loathing, colored by his guilt.  He saw no traces of his friend.  Watching as Bashir fled the room, he wondered who had stolen the man he knew. 

    The first thing Bashir did was to rid himself of the uniform.  He did not tear it off, restraining himself, but wadded it into a ball and deposited it in the furthest corner of the room.  Searching through his wardrobe, he spilled it all over the floor, settling on a comfortable workout suit.  Pushing the clothes out of the way, he collapsed into his bed. 
    Sleep would not come.  Awake, a childish giggle teased him.  It grew faint, and then suddenly was close and loud.  The padded feet scurried across the floor towards him, and something poked into his arm.  He whirled to push it away before he stopped himself.  He would not give into figments of his imagination.  'So smart now,' giggled the bear.  He shivered.  'More bad people,' it said with a sob. 
    He thought of the bullies that had teased little Jules without mercy.  There would always be new ones.  Sloan's people were just better at it than most.  Little Jules had often cried himself to sleep.  It was not so simple now.  There were more terrors waiting when he slept.  Sleep brought back the little room, all the little rooms.  
    He could hear Kukalaka crying, sobbing out all the misery of his own life.  There was a space between himself and the bear, one he dared not cross.  He could not possibly deal with the pain.  He let the bear do it for him.  
    He glanced towards the hiding place of the hypo, but knew he could not take the risk.  The temptation was still enormous.  It would make the bear quiet and all the pain stop long enough to sleep.  He could hear the little padded feet as them moved nearer, 'Hurt,' begged the bear, in a tragic tones.  'Make it go away.' 
    He could see little Jules as he'd begged his parents to help with the bullies, to make them stop.  In a way they had, but had just accommodated bigger ones.  He wanted to make the bear, and himself, stop hurting, but knew he couldn't.  It would just create more problems. 
    But there was someone who could help, Sloan's doctor and his cure for "headaches".  Kukalaka stopped his sobbing for a moment.  'Please,' said the bear.  Bashir grew more tense and stiff.  "No," he whispered to the little bear, who began sobbing harder. "No, I can't let him win." 
    As long as Kukalaka could still cry there was a little of the man he'd been still alive. 

    Garak woke with a start.  He remembered the dream with absolute clarity.  He could smell the musty odor of the cave, and see the murky light beyond the dark hole where he and Bashir were hiding.  The echoing rumbles of the patrol filled his mind, and then the animal squeaked and ran.  He remembered the vole in the shop, and the memory of that moment came back very suddenly.  He was relieved to be alone.  
    He was grabbed by someone and shoved forward, and the gun was planted in his face.  He remembered what it had sounded like when it was fired.  And then he'd awaken, lying still in the dark room, lost in the half-reality left by the dream.  
    It had all been a staged fantasy, but that did not make it any less real.  He didn't even know when he'd entered the story.  Bashir's injury and sickness had nearly killed him.  And Garak's near death had been a very close thing. 
    The end had been a warning.  He had lived this time.  And there were worse places they could send him.  He saw no reason not to cooperate with them, in their rigging of the hearing that would clear Bashir.  It wasn't as much fear as respect that convinced him.  There had been no trace of the program left when Quarks holosuite was dismantled.  Garak hadn't expected there to be.  For all its shiny image, the Federation had a dark side as ruthless as the Order at its best. 
    He gave up on sleeping.  He picked up the book Bashir had given him a week before their last lunch, one they'd never discussed.  Bashir had said it was about truth.  Raising the lights, Garak decided to read for a time. 
    The title was printed in a fancy curved script, Les Misarables.  He began reading.  He didn't know how much time had passed. 

      Can human nature be so entirely transformed from top to 
      bottom?  Can man created by God, be made wicked by man?  
      Can the soul be changed to keep pace with its destiny 
      and become evil when its destiny is to become evil? 
                      Les Misarables,   Victor Hugo 

    He kept reading for a time, pausing to sort out the images it wove in his mind.  He didn't care so much for the style, but it drew him into the man's life like few of Bashir's books had.  Pursued and tormented, the man had lost everything.  Garak wondered if in the end he would lose himself as well. 
    Suddenly, he lowered the book, realizing it was a message Julian could not tell him in any other way.  The doctor had become Jean Valjean, the hunted man.  Carefully marking his place, Garak strolled to the replicator.  "Kanard," he ordered, and the machine obediently whined.  Sipping the drink, the Cardassian picked up the book without opening it. 
    Julian had changed drastically with the war and the Jem'Hadar, but the biggest change had come quite suddenly.  It had happened around the time of the business with Sisko and the Romulans, and Garak assumed it had to do with Sisko's forcing him to release the biomemetic gel.  But that was not all.  Thinking back, it had started just before. 
    The man he *knew* would never have lured him into that trap.  Someone had deliberately changed his friend to the stranger he was now, and Garak was going to find out who.  It would be a challenge.  Mindful of his visitor, he would have to be very quiet about it and take extreme care.  He must make sure that the people the man worked for did not discover his interest.  
    Having made that decision, he began reading again.  The tailor shop opened slightly late the next day, and Elim Garak spent most of the day reading a book.  He had already decided how he would have written the end. 

    Miles had, as usual, been working late.  Keiko had again left for Bajor with the children, and he missed them.  He wished she had stayed, and someone else had gone to study the plant blight afflicting Shaldar providence.  But he understood.  She had enjoyed being a teacher, but it wasn't her passion.  Just as he could spend hours putting starships together, she found deep satisfaction in the wilds of places like Bajor, surrounded by open spaces and mysteries to be solved.  If it hadn't been for that, he wondered if she'd have stayed on the station so long.  Even the children were learning to love that life.  Yoshi was uncertain seeing his father wave good bye, but Molly was clearly excited.  For her, Bajor was almost a second home, and she spoke the language quite fluently. 
    But it had been harder to see her go this time.  There had always been a friend to fill the empty hours.  When she'd been gone such a long time, before Yoshi came along, Julian had been there.  They'd explored all sorts of adventures in the holosuites.  They'd established the little corner of Quarks that had become theirs, with their dart board now a permanent fixture of the place.  He'd had a friend to depend on when he felt all alone. 
    The dart board had been untouched for several weeks.  The last time, before Julian had played his near-deadly game with Garak, he'd been half-hearted at best.  He'd even let Miles win.  Once, he'd done it out of fear, and then occasionally consideration.  Now it was out of expediency, to get things over sooner.  But Miles would settle for that, over the empty evenings of late. 
    He'd tried to see Julian, but been told he could have no visitors.  He'd heard how close to dying his friend had been.  He was only grateful that the doctor had lived and there might be a chance to see him again. 
    He'd almost finished his dinner when he noticed Ezri.  She wandered to his table, and paused.  "Care for some company?" she asked. 
    He was depressed enough, and didn't need her moping.  But she'd been busy, counseling those who had lost themselves in the bloodshed that had taken over life.  He figured she deserved some company.  "Sure.  I'm almost done, but I don't have anything to do."  He looked around the room.  "At least I hope not."  He could never be too sure of that. 
    "I've eaten," she said.  "I was thinking of desert.  Maybe Quarks." 
    Miles finished his food.  "Quarks sounds good," he said. 
    They moved to the bar after that, the room full of people trying to forget how life had changed in the last year.  It was sufficiently distracting to keep him from leaving.  He glanced at the dart board.  "Any of your past hosts like darts?" 
    She looked up, wearing the same half-lost expression she'd had when she first wandered into the replimat.  "No, but there's always a first time," she said softly. 
    She wasn't very good, but she tried.  It didn't remind him enough of Julian to have the memories interfere.  "I guess I need to practice," she said. 
    "It's ok," he said.  "If you want." 
    "You miss him," she said. 
    He took a deep breath.  "He's been different for a while.  But I keep hoping.  It's the war, I think." 
    She stared across the room.  "He's not bad.  I haven't had him as a patient." 
    Miles tried to remember when he'd been young, and had been suddenly thrown in the middle of the vicious war the Federation had fought with the Cardassians.  Maybe Julian had reminded him of the young man he'd been.  Now he wasn't sure who either of them were.  "Yeah, but maybe he should be." 
    She sipped the drink she'd been ignoring.  "He manages.  I don't have time for him.  It's the ones that can't that I have to deal with."  She stared at the dart board.  "I have to try to put them back together so they can go back out there."  She took several big drinks. 
    Miles almost argued, but figured she had enough problems.  But he wondered how much of the man Julian had been before his visit to the holosuite with Garak was a front.  He'd kept up a good one for twenty years.  He could do it again. 
    Ezri left, drifting out in much the same way she had come.  But Miles stayed, with nothing to do and nowhere to go.  He watched the crowd, milling around desperately trying to pretend.  He remembered how lucky he'd been, when he'd nearly been lost so long ago.  But he had friends, and in the end they had saved him.  
    Eventually, Julian would come out of hiding, and when he did Miles would be waiting.  He would not give up on his friend. 

    He had made the lights as bright as they would go without hurting his eyes.  Then he had locked his quarters.  Briefly, it occurred to him that before he'd longed for them to be open and now it was too much of a threat.  This time he'd chosen to lock the door.  It made all the difference.  And there were no shadows with the room bathed in light for anyone to hide. 
    His crumpled uniform and the other clothes were left where they had fallen, and every dish he'd used sat where he'd pushed it out of the way.  He'd gone through his things, and they lay scattered where they'd landed as he tossed them out of his view.  He couldn't stand his life, but he couldn't bring himself to destroy it either.  Kukalaka was the only item left untouched, sitting alone now on the shelf.  
    The little bear sat softly crying, mellowed from the earlier sobs, but still in much distress.  Bashir lay in bed, his sheets half tossed on the floor and his clothes rumpled.  He needed a shave.  He wasn't sleeping for more than quick naps when he couldn't resist sleep anymore.  The replicator had been turned on, for food only, but he hadn't eaten much.  He wasn't hungry.  He just stared at the ceiling.  He was very calm, and almost cold, having vented his rage earlier on the room. 
    It had been two days since his encounter with Garak, and his retreat back to the safety of home.  But there was no home anymore.  Sloan had taken it.  Sisko had made sure.  He never wanted to see either of them again. 
    He tossed the covers on the floor, going to the replicator.  "Scones and redleaf tea," he ordered.  It materialized instantly.  He picked up the dishes one at a time off the tray, tossing them carefully on top of his uniform.  The food ran off the plates and soaked into the material.  The tea he poured directly over the mess, soaking it completely.  He tossed the tray across the room, ignoring it as it skidded into the wall.  
    'A pity I can't burn it too,' he thought to himself.  But he kicked it into a smaller heap, and smashed it with his foot.  It felt good.  He kept kicking it until he broke one of the dishes, and his shoe was all wet.  He still would have preferred its total destruction, but was satisfied.  It was as if, for the moment, he'd exorcized both Sisko and Sloan.  Calmly pulling off the wet shoe, he ordered tarkalian tea.  Clearing a chair of things, which he pushed on the floor, he sat reflecting on the soggy mess. 
    He sipped his tea.  Kukalaka was quiet.  All the emotion inside him was burned out, and there was no sorrow or rage left.  He felt nothing.  It would work out.  The hearing would clear him, and Sloan would use him however he chose.  But at least he would have something to do.  Maybe he'd be able to stand it then. 
    Kukalaka had fallen asleep.  Yawning, he felt the wariness left from the two days of restless emotion and picked up a blanket off the floor, crawling into bed and joining the bear in sleep. 

    The bed was wrong, too neat, and the pillow too hard.  He'd warmed up his room and this was too cold.  He made a guess where he was and wasn't particulary surprised when Sloan stood above him, smiling.  "Feel better now?" he asked. 
    He looked Sloan in the eyes.  "Yes.  A pity I couldn't burn it too."  He despised him, and didn't care if the man knew.  He understood that wouldn't matter at all. 
    "Ah, yes.  If you'd like I'll beam it in and you can finish with it.  I'll even put it in a firepit for you."  Sloan smiled a little.  
    It wouldn't mean the same if Sloan helped.  "No, that's enough."  
    "Good, then we can get down to business."  Sloan did not appear to be bothered by his behavior.  But he wasn't pleased either.  "You need a shower, Doctor, and I'd suggest a shave as well."  Sloan sat in a nearby chair.  "They aren't watching, but your absence has raised a few questions.  I'd do some housekeeping if I were you.  I've taken the liberty of creating a new uniform for you."  He pointed to a bundle on another table.  
    Bashir stared at him.  "I hope your not surprised.  It's what happens when you steal someone's life.  And you did have to bring back all the nightmares."  He kept his voice very cold. 
    "You'll get over them.  You did before.  Perhaps you should go to the infirmary.  Mention you're having headaches again and the doctor can help."  Sloan smiled again.  "It won't be long until you'll be back there yourself.  But you'll need to get some sleep and not make people question your stability.  Anger they will understand, but not the sort of eratic behavior I'm seeing." 
    "I'll think about it," said Bashir.  He wanted the little room and the nightmares gone.  But he didn't want to owe Sloan. 
    "I mean it."  Sloan wasn't smiling.  His eyes fixed on Bashir in a way that equaled Sisko's best look of intimidation.  "I don't care if you sleep," he stated flatly, with unquestioned authority.  "You will act reasonably normal, however.  I don't care what you do in your room, but you aren't hiding in it anymore."  There was a pause, and Sloan's voice became cold as ice.  "If you don't, I may have to withdraw my personal support from your case." 
    Without Sloan's help, the hearing would end his career.  He could end up in custody.  The Institute might get its hands on him.  That possibility was even more scary than Sloan.  At the least, he'd be transferred.  They wouldn't know him and would wonder about the genetically-engineered curiosity.  It had been bad enough on the station.  He didn't want to stay, but he didn't know if he could take that. 
    Sloan was staring at him.  "I'll behave," he said.  
    "As I expected.  You'll eat some of your meals at the replimat.  Dress how you want, but you're known to be very neat and I expect you to continue to be.  You don't have to be very sociable now.  I think people would understand.  But in a short while your 'problems' will work out.  Is this understood?" 
    Bashir got the message.  "I'll recover right on schedule," he said coldly. 
    Sloan smiled again.  He decided he liked him better when he was giving orders.  "Good, because you did very well on your last assignment.  Aside from the safeties, you passed quite handily.  I don't think we'll have that little problem again." 
    Somewhere in the corner he heard Kukalaka whimper.  "No," he said.  He felt a growing coldness inside him.  He hadn't wanted to trap Garak into the test.  He believed the Cardassian would pass, that he hated the Dominion enough to do anything that might destroy it, even if he didn't survive himself.  He knew Garak would keep the secret.  He understood the sort of people who had created the test. 
    Sloan continued.  "As to Mr. Garak, he passed as well.  With flying colors."  Sloan abandoned the false cheer.  "It would be preferable if you limited your contact for a time, however.  There are too many awkward questions which could come up." 
    Bashir didn't expect that to be a problem.  He didn't particulary want to see Garak at the moment.  But he was curious about something.  "We don't often have lunch any more," he said.  He didn't know if Sloan would answer his next question.  "Just one question, what happened to Garak at the end." 
    Sloan was thoughtful.  "He was terminated.  The weapon fired, and was aimed at his head.  It never made it, but I'm sure he has much to think about."  
    Bashir understood now.  It explained the caution he'd seen in Garak that day.  He'd led him into the test.  Garak would never trust him again.  It explained the withdrawal and depression as well.  Sloan had gotten to the untouchable Cardassian.  He, himself, had never had a chance of escape. 

    He'd been send back awake that time, the transporter leaving him only a little dizzy.  It wasn't like the ones on the station or any other standard Federation design.  He wondered where they'd gotten it.  If they were so determined the save the Federation why would they withhold that kind of technology? 
    He'd taken the warning to heart, and by morning his quarters were as clean as normal.  All the scattered items were put away, the dishes and soaked clothes recycled, and the clothes folded neatly.  He'd washed and shaved, and eaten a normal breakfast. 
    After eating, he'd slipped on the new uniform.  It fit perfectly, but it was not comfortable.  What it represented didn't fit him anymore. 
    Sloan believed he was saving the Federation and its way of life.  There were no limits to his methods.  He and Garak should understand each other quite easily.  But he wasn't like them, and could not wear a Starfleet uniform and not uphold the full meaning it carried.  
    But he knew what Sloan would expect, and no longer saw a choice.  The uniform would be a ruse.  He would have to show some kind of loyalty to Section 31, or the safeties would be off in the little box.  He'd have to wear the uniform on duty, but not elsewhere.  He took it off, careful to keep it neat, and changed into civilian clothes. 
    But he thought a new outfit would be nice.  Perhaps he might have a conversation with Garak while the tailor fit his new outfit. 

    He'd come into Garak's shop that evening, just before closing.  Garak was arranging a display.  "I think I'd like a new outfit," he told Garak.  He almost sounded cheerful, but he didn't know if the Cardassian would buy it.  Garak nodded, and Bashir looked at the selection, picking several things he liked.  Entering the fitting room, he tried them on.  He was dressed entirely in black.  He stared at the image in the mirror, thinking to himself it was somehow proper.  Garak was adjusting the fit when he came to a sudden decision.  Sloan could throw him in another little room again if he wanted.  He knew Garak would keep the conversation quiet.  He dropped the cheer, growing grim. 
    "It suits you," said Garak, and he thought it was sincere. 
    He couldn't suppress the bitterness that surrounded him.   He heard a little whimper, and Kukalaka sniffled a bit.  He felt the little room close around him.  Sisko told him to join Sloan's little group.  He remembered the wariness in the man's eyes after he'd told him it had been done.  The clothes did suit him.  Sisko had made sure.  He said, his tone icy, "Now it does." 
    Garak eyed him curiously, but Julian could see the caution.  He knew something had changed, or perhaps broken inside Julian, and was worried. 
    "You look quite attractive," said Garak, trying to change the mood. 
    "I didn't before," he answered, overcome by a sense of loss.  He was different now.  Garak saw it quite clearly, and was afraid of him in some small way. 
    Garak busied himself with a few minor adjustments to the fit.  Bashir thought he was stalling.  Finally he stood up and looked at him, "What happened in that holosuite?  Don't tell me it was an accident." 
    Julian watched carefully, aware of a bond that hadn't been there before.  Garak knew not to ask.  Julian knew not to answer.  But he would tell his friend, whatever Sloan thought.  "Call it a test.  Your lucky, you passed."  He'd already said too much.  Garak picked up on the smallest of hints.  "It wouldn't be a good idea to ask anymore questions.  Just some friendly advise."  His nerve had failed him and he couldn't dismiss the fear.  Kukalaka was crying now, afraid.  His tone at the last wasn't friendly.  But he knew Garak would understand. 
    But Garak was pushing.  Cautiously, he asked, "You said it wasn't supposed to go that way.  Did you mean you didn't expect to hurt yourself?" 
    Julian thought of the way the night had ended for Garak, how close he'd come.  He was endangering both of them.  It had to stop.  "I should not have said that.  For both our sakes, please never repeat it."  He let Garak see the fear and recognized the wary look the tailor wore.  Garak met his gaze with unspoken understanding.  Kukalaka got quiet. 
    "Certainly.  Why did you run the program with the safeties off?"  Garak's voice was steady, and very calm.  Garak had taken the control.  Julian thought of the small box and heard a whimper.  He shouldn't say anything.  But Garak had nearly died as well.  He deserved an answer.  "The danger had to be real.  You would not have believed it otherwise."  There was another sniffle.  At least, he had thought so.  He was sure Garak could see the fear.  But it was the truth. 
    Garak was apparently satisfied.  He looked at Julian, a little sadly.  "This conversation never took place."  Garak made eye contact.  Julian nodded, finally looking away.  Kukalaka sighed in relief. 
    He found a normal voice.  "How much do I owe you for the clothes?" he asked. 
    Garak was still studying him.  "Nothing.  Call them a present for your last birthday."  Or a farewell gift, thought Julian, for a friendship that had nowhere to go now. 
    He nodded, gravely, "I won't be around much.  I can't take the chance.  It's nothing personal." 
    Garak nodded, and he took his leave.  He didn't run.  He walked away in a confident stride.  It was what they would be allowed to see.  He would not let anyone ever know what lay underneath, and that way nobody would know how it was gradually fading away. 

    His quarters remained as neat as he always kept them, and he had eaten his dinner in the replimat.  But he still kept the lights on.  That way he couldn't *see* Kukalaka.  But he could always hear him.  The little bear waited in the back of his mind for any distress and took it away.  But the noise was so constant.  He didn't know if he could work properly with a bear blubbering in the background.  
    When he slept he still had nightmares.  Sloan's little box closed around him, and became the one the Jem'Hadar had used.  Things he'd forgotten about during combat, exquisite moments of horror, came back in full details.  The worse moments of the Vorta's interrogation stood out in sharp relief.  And there was no bear to blunt the memories.  Instead, now and then the giggle and drum would come.  He slept, but only with frequent waking. 
    There was too much time and nothing to fill it, and he dwelled too often on his future.  He wanted his life back.  But he knew it had been slaughtered as coldly as the man he'd killed in that Dominion cell.  He'd buried the last of it when he drew Garak into that holosuite.  He could not go home again. 
    The hearing was very near, and he waited with impatience.  He has ceased to worry.  As long as he cooperated with Sloan it would go smoothly.  He would get back his job.  It wouldn't be everything, but he believed he could live with it.  And most of all, he was looking forward to watching Sisko as he lost. 

    Garak displayed the dress, flowing in shimmering waves over the mannikin.  The customer smiled broadly.  "It's wonderful," he said, carefully feeling the silky touch of the fabric.  "I only wish you could see Erica wearing it." 
    The hearing was in a few days, and he was sure this visit was in part a reminder of the plan.  But the man did like the dress.  He was certain that Erica would not disappoint him.  In a way Garak envied him.  He was a very good tailor, and he had come to have pride in his skills.  But he *missed* the challenge of his former profession.  His occasional dabbles into the art only whetted the taste for more.  "I wish I could as well," said Garak.  "A dress like this can never be properly viewed on a lifeless frame." 
    "Hmmm," said his customer, "Maybe I'll see you again." 
    Garak nodded carefully.  He was sure they were no longer discussing a dress.  He was intrigued but proceeded with great caution.  It was tempting to hint at interest.  Their motivation aside, Garak longed for something more challenging than making dresses.  At the very least, it might give him an idea who had turned Bashir into a stranger.  "Perhaps ... " he said. 
    Looking at the dress, the man smiled.  "Perhaps I will.  I know people who appreciate such fine workmanship."  
    Garak packaged the dress, taking care not to crumple it, and the man paid him twice the normal price.  He noted the careful look on his face as he stepped into the crowd.  
    Returning to his shop, he straightened a few items just to be busy.  Decidedly uneasy, he told himself these people had changed Bashir into someone he did not recognize.  They were as dangerous as Tain.  He must be extremely careful. 

    Julian Bashir yawned uncontrollably, noting the time.  It was early morning.  He'd been eating breakfast in his quarters, and thought he'd try to get a little more sleep.  After the hearing he'd be able to work.  He'd have something to do with his time.  The bear's noise was tiresome, but he could live with it.  What he could not cope with was the nightmares.  He had to get sleep.  Sloan would not listen to any excuses if he didn't behave. 
    Ever since his recent conversation with Garak he'd hardly slept.  It wasn't just the nightmares now.  Garak had understood.  He had forced Bashir to see what he was becoming.  He did not particularly like what he saw. 
    Now the real nightmares were about his future rather than his past.  The problem was sleeping at all.  The hearing was only two days away.  It would give him back medicine but take the last traces of himself.  He would owe Sloan too much to ever escape. 
    He was so tired that he fell asleep.  The nightmares came immediately.  He woke a little while later, the little bear sobbing.  He just stared at the ceiling, trying to shut it out. 
    There was no escape.  Kukalaka could mourn for his lost life, but he couldn't have it back.  There was nothing left but Sloan. 
    He just couldn't take the little bear's grieving anymore.  It was time to end it.  He dressed, still in civilian clothes, and ate a small breakfast.  He held the bear for a moment, and said goodbye to himself. 

    For all his resignation, he still hesitated, standing just inside the infirmary door.  In a few days it would be his again.  Sloan's doctor would go to some other assignment.  No, he corrected himself, one of them would leave.  Sloan's other man would go.  He would stay.  He hesitated, stepping forward only a little as the doctor arrived. 
    "Headaches?" asked the doctor. 
    He took a deep breath, resigned to the inevitable.  "Bad ones," he said.  "Every night." 
    Rand nodded, motioning him inside.  "Lie down," he said, indicating a biobed. 
    Julian hesitated.  He wasn't used to being a patient.  Or of late he was a little too familiar with it.  He couldn't decide.  He started towards the door, retreating.  He stopped in his tracks when the doctor dropped all the friendly tones.  His eyes were cold.  "I'd suggest you let me see what's wrong.  You do have your hearing coming up."  The threat hung in the air.  Julian realized Sloan was expecting his "headaches" to need treatment.  It was a standard problem with and already planned solution. 
    He went to the biobed, wondering how the readings would be changed.  He hadn't had any headaches since the initial one.    
    He lay down, as he was told.  He thought he'd check the readings later, when the temporary CMO was gone.  He was sure they'd match perfectly to the diagnosis.  The doctor was scanning him, and he couldn't see the readings.  It was most frustrating.  
    Rand ambled over to him.  "I think I see the problem.  There's an area of damage from the holodeck accident."  He went on to explain there was a chemical imbalance which was overstimulating portions of his brain.  
    "Do what you have to," said Bashir.  But he noted with great interest that their program had a few flaws. 
    "You'll feel better when you wake up," he said as Bashir grimly wondered if the new beginning was worth the price. 

    He woke to a fuzzy quiet.  He was still in the infirmary, and the doctor was standing over him.  "How do you feel?" he asked. 
    Bashir couldn't really say.  "Different," he mumbled. 
    "You'll feel a little foggy today.  The initial dosage is a little higher.  But you'll feel much better tomorrow."  The man was relaxed.  He came closer.  "Would you rather stay here or go to your quarters?" 
    "My quarters," said Julian, softly. 
    "I'll help you walk," said the doctor. 

    He'd gone to sleep almost immediately when he got into bed.  He felt utterly peaceful.  They had used some sort of drug.  He was sure it would never show up on anyone's records. 
    Waking, he asked, "Computer, what time is it?" 
    It was late afternoon, and he was hungry.  He didn't remember having such a good appetite in a long time.  He'd slept quite peacefully as well, for the first time in years.  It was not just the drug that made him feel so euphoric.  It was as much the relief at having escaped his demons.  He was as close to being the man who had first come to Deep Space 9 as he'd ever get. 
    He was sitting up, enjoying a late lunch, when the door buzzed.  "I wanted to see how you were feeling," said Rand. 
    He continued to eat his meal as the man entered.  "Fine," he said.  "A little better than that but I assume that's temporary." 
    "True.  I had to give you a higher dose before I got a response.  If you're curious, it's all here."  He was handed a padd. 
    It surprised him.  "I assume this won't show up on any other records." 
    "Not entirely," said the doctor.  "The small details may be different." 
    He watched the man, looking around his quarters.  He saw a hint of recognition in his eyes.  Perhaps they shared a beginning.  He didn't want to share anymore than that. 
    He scanned the padd.  Their program had overstimulated some areas of the brain.  The drug had returned them to normal.  That was all.  But he didn't recognize the drug.  "Did you give this to Garak too?" he ask. 
    "Of course."  He noted the book Bashir had moved off the table, a gift from Garak.  "I'm not sure how effective it was.  It did draw him out of the withdrawn state." 
    "Garak would never tell anyone if there were more problems," he said.  "What about me?" 
    "You were way too ill."  He paused, sitting down near Bashir, "and a second exposure so soon afterward didn't help." 
    Bashir wondered what Sloan, or somebody, had done to this man to make him theirs.  He recognized the resignation.  He was an excellent doctor.  It must have hurt to have to compromise and hide so much, at least at first.  He wondered what he would do himself when the order came. 
    "I don't plan on needing a third," he said. 
    "Good, but if you do have anymore headaches let me know.  You may need one more treatment." 
    Bashir nodded.  "I'll let you know."  There was something odd about the test results.  He couldn't quite pin it down.  But when he could do it himself, he wanted to see what the padd had left out.  It was one more reason to look forward to the hearing. 

    Bashir's hearing was the next morning.  Ben Sisko readied himself for bed.  He was both dreading the hearing and looking forward to it at the same time.  Bashir would be exonerated, and on the surface things would look normal again.  The woman and her staff would leave and he could pretend for a little while. 
    He had sacrificed a lot of himself in the last years.  The cost of being the Emissary was as great as what he had gained, and he could no longer deny the internal battle he fought between the two identities he carried.  It was harder to find middle ground as time went on.  There were those on Bajor who were opposed to union with the Federation, and what they saw as the loss of Bajoran values.  The decisions he made would make a large difference in the outcome.  Starfleet was concerned, and he was sure someone was watching. 
    He had lost so much already.  Conspiring with Garak to bring in the Romulans had cost his self respect.  For a long time, the lists of names he posted each Friday were just words, and he didn't dare see beyond that.  Perhaps that was why he'd made such a mistake with Bashir.  But he was convinced it was the worse choice he'd ever made. 
    He could have changed his mind.  He could have told the doctor he'd reconsidered for such a long span of time.  He could have seen the signs that Bashir was being torn apart by his order.  But he had not.  It was only when Bashir had issued his bitter and dangerous warning not to ask that Sisko had realized just what he'd demanded of the young man. 
    Sisko had not anticipated that.  It had left him stunned, and then worried.  Bashir was smart, and resourceful.  Sisko had no idea what he might try.  After he'd been found half-dead in the holosuite with Garak, leaving too many questions, Sisko had simply reacted.  He saw a growing coldness in the doctor, the holosuite incident and example of what it had wrought.  But lying in that bed, he saw a man who was vulnerable.  He'd taken advantage of the weakness to strike back.  He was scared of what the man had become, and took advantage of the weakness he saw.  It had been his final mistake. 
    All the questions had come to have answers.  The outcome was already set, almost like an old Cardassian trial.  He would go through the motions and be done with it.  He'd not bother Bashir again.  He only hoped Bashir shared that philosophy. 

    On the morning of the hearing that would restore him to his position, Julian Bashir woke after a comfortable sleep.  It was the second in a row.  He'd had a dream, but the images had been distant, of the Jem'Hadar and the Vorta.  They had been easily banished.  He could still remember the details, but the were just words.  Their power to torment was gone. 
    He had done some discreet research.  The drug, if it was what it was claimed to be, was exactly as it was described in the padd.  Sloan had kept his word.  Kukalaka was just a stuffed bear representing childhood memories.  The terror of little room was kept at a distance.  But it had done much more than that.  It had banished all the nightmares.  He couldn't remember when he'd slept so peacefully.  He still didn't trust the padd, but no longer regretted his choice. 
    He picked up the uniform.  It was the one Sloan had given him, and he'd taken good care of it.  It was somehow fitting that even it had come from Sloan.  He dressed slowly, making sure he looked absolutely proper.  When he was done, he studied his image in the mirror.  
    Oddly enough, he was reminded of his graduation from Starfleet academy.  He'd stood, tall and proud, on the verge of a new life.  Once or twice, he'd wondered what the people around him would say if his secret was known.  He'd celebrated with the rest, sharing the moment, but a little of him not a part. 
    This hearing was just another transition in his life.  Once it was done, he'd be back in the family.  He could play darts with Miles, and eat lunch with Dax.  But he wouldn't be a part of them.  He owed Sloan too much now.  He'd changed too much to go back. 
    Taking one final survey, he left his quarters, and headed for the Replimat.  He'd decided to eat out this time.  He watched the people hurrying through breakfast, knowing most of their names.  Miles and Dax were almost done and left while he waited in line.  
    He picked a table by himself, most of the morning rush over.  It wasn't until Garak came in that he even looked up, and realized that the Cardassian was the only one that was real.  Garak knew.  He was eyeing the doctor carefully, as Bashir was studying him.  Garak was very nicely dressed for the occasion.  He'd hardly noticed anyone else.  Even Miles and Dax had been just *there*, filling space.  He still valued his friendship with them, and didn't want to lose it.  But what would he say?  How could he allow himself to feel the friendship without seeing the lies that would have to be told?  
    He finished his food, and made his way to the hearing.  His advocate was waiting.  Bashir remembered seeing him carry a box out of Garak's, and gave him a curious look.  "You look well," said the man. 
    "I'll be glad to get it over with," he said, feeling nothing.  
    "I wouldn't worry about it.  I think it will all work out fine."  He smiled, and the smile reminded him of Sloan's.  

    Julian Bashir accepted his communicator from Sisko, the hearing having returned both it and his position as Chief Medical Officer.  He said, "Thank you, Sir," with perfect calm.  There had been a brief moment when he'd made eye contact with Sisko.  The look in his eyes had been rather different.  It had been a warning.  Sisko would not interfere again.  He knew it had been understood.  Sisko had looked at him for a second utterly stunned by what he saw.  Bashir no longer noticed that his manner had become distant and occasionally rather cold.  He knew about the arrogance.  It had always been there, but he was using it now.  It kept people away.  He wasn't in the mood for small talk anymore. 
    The hearing had gone just as planned.  The doctor of record had testified that the virus he'd been suffering from did indeed show sudden, incapacitating recurrences.  Quark had been called and verified that Bashir had been absent minded and vague that night, another symptom of the onslaught of the disease.  Bashir had been treated for it, and recurrences were likely to be mild at best from now on.  His arm was explained as a complication of the injury and contamination, along with the fever.  All the medical terminology was kept deliberately vague.  One could interpret it however they wanted. 
    It had been concluded that, disoriented, he and Garak had wandered through the door into the malfunctioning suite and been stunned by the charge generated by the damage.  Rom had testified it was possible.  Even Garak had given carefully worded testimony about his worry over the lack of safeties, and his friend's odd mood.  He'd verified the sudden illness.  Julian had repeated, honestly repentant, that he had run it with safeties off since otherwise it was so tame.  The reprimand would stand, and he lost the next promotion in rank, already in the works.  His promise never to repeat it was sincere.  He didn't add that he knew it wasn't necessary now. 
    He'd shown little reaction to the results, but he commonly hid feelings so it wasn't much of a surprise.  He had taken the communicator and left immediately, in measured strides that were not quite a run.  He ignored all the friends who had waited to congratulate him.  He wanted nothing more than to be away from all of them. 

    It had started when the hearing had been called to order and he watched Sisko take his seat.  He'd thought of Miles, and the distance he'd felt that morning.  Garak knew, and the knowledge had poisoned their friendship.  But it would be worse with Miles.  He could never be himself with his friend.  Miles would be able to tell.  There was no chance of a normal life anymore.  He couldn't pretend with his friends.  It would cheapen what had been real to yet another image.  
    Sisko had not looked at him, but Bashir had been watching the Captain.  He had created this situation.  He sat there calmly in judgement of his own handiwork.  Behind the controlled expression, Bashir despised the man. 
    One after another, the witnesses testified.  Each told a carefully orchestrated story, and someone had fit them together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.  He had no doubt who that was, or someone in his employ.  He would not call what he felt for Sloan respect, but the man kept his promises.  Sisko had just abandoned him.  He didn't care if he was sorry.  It was too late for that. 
    The hearing had taken forever, and he couldn't wait for it to end.  He added his own words to the web of lies and insinuations that was being woven.  The board met for a few minutes and delivered its judgement.  He was not responsible.  Glancing at Garak, he wondered if the Cardassian would agree.  But Sloan had won.  Bashir owed him medicine now too.  
    If it was Sloan's victory, he thought he should dress properly for the occasion.  He went to his quarters but nothing was quite right.  For this night, it had to be perfect.  What he needed was a good tailor. 

    Garak had been busy when he arrived, catching up on his tailoring duties.  Julian had wandered around the shop, reveling in the quiet.  He was still in uniform.  It was his first order of business to do something about that.  Sloan had won, and it only seemed right to celebrate for him.  He picked out a new outfit, this one all in black, and rather severe.  It seemed appropriate.  
    Garak finally came over to him, eyeing the clothes.  "Perhaps I should start a special section.  You may start something with this new avocation of yours." 
    "Let's hope not," said Bashir, almost sarcastically.  "I presume that your still open." 
    Garak looked at him oddly.  "Certainly," he said carefully.  "Would you like to try that on?" 
    Bashir changed in the room pointed out by Garak.  He followed with the tools of one of his current trades in hand.  "It does suit you, whatever the reason," said Garak, but with caution.  He closed the door.  Bashir suspected this was a safe place to talk.  He'd tossed his uniform in a heap on the floor.  Garak glanced at it.  "You don't strike me as someone who's just been cleared of charges that could put you in the brig." 
    "Somehow, I hardly feel victorias," he said.  "You gave very good answers, by the way." 
    Garak paused, and he guessed who had gotten to the Cardassian.  He spoke cautiously.  "It was the truth," he said, somewhat ironically.  
    Julian thought to himself that once he'd never have believed Garak would be so careful to be honest.  But then he didn't know about Sloan then.  He wouldn't have believed in him, either.  He looked at himself in the new outfit.  It did suit him well now.  "As was my testimony," he added, aware both were using a rather loose definition of truth. 
    Garak concentrated on fitting the clothes and Julian watched.  Whatever other talents his friend had, tailoring was among his best.  They would never discuss the others again.  Garak was nervous.  He wondered what trick Sloan had played.  It would be so easy to turn the officer on Zas'sanna into a Cardassian or Jem'Hadar, given the guilt Garak still carried over his code work.  Perhaps Sloan was right.  It would be best to keep things official for now.  Garak finished with his adjustments.  "I'll have this ready for you tomorrow morning." 
    This unaccountably annoyed him.  He didn't mean to, but snapped at Garak.  "I expect it tonight." 
    Garak didn't openly react, but became more cautious.  He surveyed the outfit.  "Twenty minutes, perhaps, if you're willing to wait."  He sounded worried.  Most people wouldn't have heard it but he knew Garak too well. 
    "That will do," he said pleasantly, hoping Garak would take it as an apology.  He didn't feel like explaining.  Garak nodded, and he guessed the Cardassian had understood. 
    A half-hour later, he left the room in his new black clothes, not looking back.  He doubted Garak would ask any more questions.  He even wondered if Sloan might make Garak an offer someday. 

    The replimat was full of people he knew.  Sisko wasn't there, but Miles was sitting with Kira and Dax.  He ignored them.  He found a small corner table to eat his food.  But Miles wouldn't leave well enough alone. 
    He noticed Miles approach, and ignored it, hoping he'd get the point.  But the Chief could be stubborn.  "We're glad things worked out," said Miles. 
    "It was fortunate," said Bashir, his tone icy. 
    Miles was hurt, he could tell, and he wanted to explain.  He could not deal with his friends.  He could not lie to them about what Sloan had done.  He could only push them away.  But Miles kept trying.  "Um, maybe you'd like to try darts later?" 
    Part of him wanted to, just to hold on to all that was fading away so it might last.  Sloan would even approve.  He was supposed to act "normal".  But there was no such thing anymore.  He felt as if he'd been splintered into a series of images and he didn't know which one was real.  He wouldn't lie to Miles.  Kira was too perceptive to deceive.  He didn't know about Dax anymore.  Perhaps Ezri would understand.  He had to get rid of Miles.  It hurt too much.  "I'm sorry," he said, cold and mean.  "I seem to have lost interest in darts." 
    He could feel the hurt.  He drew his armor around him to shut it out.  Miles was still standing there, looking stunned.  "If that's how you feel ... " he said, backing off. 
    Julian briefly hated himself before he shut out all feeling.  "I'm afraid I do," he said, colder than before. 
    "Well, then ... " Miles muttered to himself as he retreated.  Bashir went back to calmly eating his dinner.  He noticed Miles sat down with the others , all of them looking at him, before they left together. 
    He felt a little more of himself fade as they walked away. 

    Bashir had been given several days of leave, while the paperwork was finalized and recorded.  The night before, he'd not slept as well.  He had heard a little giggle out of Kukalaka that morning.  
    The drug sometimes required repeated treatments, and before he left, he made a visit to the Infirmary and Dr. Rand.  He had one more day off.  This time there was no hesitation.  Rand was finishing some reports. 
    Julian didn't waste any time.  "I've had a few more headaches," he said. 
    The doctor watched him closely.  Julian didn't have to elaborate.  His manner was just open enough to show the worry.  "I guess you could have one more treatment.  You shouldn't need any more, though." 
    This time it had been simpler, and Rand had walked him back to his quarters later.  He'd gone to bed.  He woke up in a few hours, and took a blood sample.  Rand had no reason to lie, but he didn't trust anyone now.  He kept to himself that last day.  The blood test was carefully hidden.  He hoped it would be defined enough in a simple screening.  Tomorrow he'd do his own lab test.  

***end, pt. 1, Paying the Piper ***