The Dancer

Julian Bashir pelted down the corridor of the dance school, no firm plan in mind except that he had to get closer somehow to that lovely ballet dancer.

He skidded to a stop in front of a schedule of classes posted across from the lobby desk and eagerly looked up when master classes were offered.

As he noted days and times and tried to correlate with his own busy schedule, he realized there was no way he could crash a master ballet class. And he also realized that simply loitering after her classes were dismissed wouldn't be enough to catch her attention. How would that prove to her that he was worthy of her regard? Anybody could sit outside of a door. But if he could show her he was serious—that he understood what it meant to be a dancer! That was it!

It shouldn't be too hard to pick up a beginning class of some kind, he thought as he perused the schedule anew. A beginning class wouldn't take too much away from his other studies, and if he could find a class that was down the hall from hers and ended when hers did...

The young cadet turned and went to the lobby desk. The receptionist looked up and smiled pleasantly at him. "May I help you?"

"Ah—yes," Julian said, flashing a smile back. "I'd like to sign up for your beginning tap class."

Cadet Bashir, having changed into the low-heeled leather oxfords with metal taps attached to the heel and toe of each shoe, sat on one of the benches lining the waiting area outside one of the dance studios. He had arrived early, hoping to catch a glimpse of the master ballet class, but now watched an advanced-level Vulcan rhythmic movement class through the large window facing the waiting area. The cadet understood the principles behind this particular dance form—the achievement of perfect balance within oneself and in conjunction with others—but it was still eerie to watch the eight dancers, with no sound except for their feet when they moved across the floor, move in such synchronous harmony when there had been no choreography, indeed no premeditated movement patterns at all, before they had started dancing.

Other people started to enter the waiting area, and Julian joined in the small talk of introduction and first-day-of-class jitters as people wondered about their dance master, an award-winning performer and choreographer, and whether they'd like tap or not. A young Andorian wearing a Starfleet cadet uniform was one of the last to arrive, and Julian made room for him on the bench.

"I guess us Academy types should stick together," Julian said amiably. "I'm Julian Bashir; I'm in the medical program."

The Andorian paused in changing his shoes in order to rotate his antennae forward and incline his head in greeting. "Farov, psychology. Pleased to make your acquaintance," he answered, his soft voice hissing slightly on each sibilant. "You'll excuse my ignorance—"

"Of course."

Farov indicated the leather oxfords on his feet. "What's the method of fastening used with this foot covering?"

Julian stared at the tap shoes as if seeing them for the first time, nonplussed. But suddenly he remembered his own first shoe-tying lesson: hearing his father tell him sternly that he was going to show him only once, concentrating so hard so he wouldn't miss a thing, and then laboriously tying and retying his shoes until his father was satisfied. Julian mentally shrugged the memory away and undid his own shoe so he could tie it again along with Farov, showing him how to tighten the laces and make them stay. Then he improvised, "Now you make a bunny ear with—"

"Bunny ear," Farov repeated, looking askance at the medical student next to him.

Julian blushed. "Um—a loop...like this..."

By the time Farov had tied his other shoe, whispering Julian's directions to himself as he did so, the dance students were moving with a discordant clatter of taps against wood into the studio for their class.

"So why are you taking a dance class?" Julian asked the Andorian as they put their things on the shelves near the door of the studio and took up positions in the back of the room for the first lesson.

"I'm trying to understand the Human psychology. Dance, painting, literature—the arts, I believe, are the key. So I'm learning to dance. And you, Cadet?"

"Call me Julian."

"I shall. And you'll please call me Farov. Are you taking dance in order to supplement a kinesiology or physical therapy course?"

"Actually, I'm trying to meet a young lady," Julian said, watching the students passing the window on the way to other dance studios.

Farov nodded with a sigh, one antenna swiveling slightly towards the other in inward contemplation. "Sexuality and reproduction, too, are key to the Human psychology."

"There she is!" Julian said, and Farov turned to see a slender Human female stride with grace and strength down the hall. "Her name's Palis Delon, and she's a ballet dancer. Isn't she lovely, Farov?"

"The determination of who is lovely rests entirely on a person's point of reference, Julian."

Julian turned back to Farov and grinned, paraphrasing, "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

The antennae flared outward as if in surprise. "Yes! Exactly."

From the ballet class next door the beginning strains of a classical music piece could be heard through the open door of their studio. Then a slim, elderly Human with thinning white hair and penetrating blue eyes entered and closed the door. At the sight of him, all the affability of the past few minutes disappeared and Julian's guard went up. The older man's keen eyes scanned the room efficiently and Julian felt scrutinized, even judged, and he tensed, ready to prove himself.

"Good afternoon, everyone. I'm Stannis Kahn, and this is Beginning Tap Dancing. Let's get started, shall we?" the older man asked in a confident, friendly manner, fairly radiating energy and good humor as he did so. He programmed the music he wanted to use into the wall console. "For our first class, I want you to dance." He beamed at them all and announced, "You walked in here ordinary Federation citizens, but in one hour, you'll walk out of here dancers."

Stannis took his place at the front of the room. "The essentials are that you know your right from your left." He looked at the two cadets in the back of the room and winked. "For our Academy friends, that's starboard and port. Okay! Everybody, weight on your left foot, raise your right foot from the floor!" he said, demonstrating by bending his right knee and bringing his foot back. "Good. When you let that foot drop and follow through, with your toe tap sliding across the floor as you do so, that's called a 'brush,'" he said, suiting his actions to his words and keeping his foot raised in front at the end of the movement. "Everyone—brush forward!"

In ragged unison the class brushed their right foot forward.

"When you bring that same foot back and slide that toe tap back with it, that's also a brush. Everyone, brush back!" They did so, and practiced forward and backward brushes with both feet. Then they combined the forward and back brush into one step, which they learned was called a "shuffle," and tried out toe taps and heel drops.

"Almost all other steps are built on variations of these four steps," Stannis informed them, and then proclaimed, delighted, "So now, we're dancing! Let's put it all to music."

To Julian's surprise, the music Stannis played wasn't classical, but bright, brassy jazz. Farov's antennae perked up at the sound, which made Julian grin. The strong bass beat of the music combined with the dance master's enthusiasm made it easy to dance, though, made him want to dance, and even as Julian and the rest of the class tromped heavily through a simple routine, he didn't have to forcibly remind himself he was only there for fun, as a means to an end. He'd already unconsciously relaxed and was smiling as his taps clacked and jingled in time with the music.

And even though Julian hadn't intended to become involved in the class, he couldn't help becoming avid about anything he tried his hand at and putting his best effort into it, and he found that learning to dance was no different.

After the class the students who were lined up for the next class grinned at the beginning tappers, who they had watched through the window.

"That looks like fun," one person commented as he passed by.

"It is," Julian said, and meant it. He sat down on the bench in the waiting area with Farov and showed him how to untie his shoes, and they both changed into their regulation boots.

"Julian, it's your lovely young lady," the Andorian suddenly hissed under his breath, and Julian looked up in time to see her back retreating down the hallway.

"Damn!"

"If you weren't teaching me how to do and undo bunny ears, you would have been ready to talk to her," Farov said so solemnly that Julian forgot his momentary anger and had to stifle a laugh.

"Don't worry, Farov! Tying shoes is important." He smiled. "And so is making friends."

"Yes?"

"Yes," Julian said, lengthening the "s" sound a little just as Farov did to show that he meant by the word the same that Farov did.

The Andorian's antennae curved a little more, and Julian knew he was pleased. "She'll be here next week," Farov pointed out.

"And so will we."

"You should stay by the door so you can be the first one out after class," Farov suggested as they walked into the studio for their next lesson.

"But then I'll be in the front of the class, Farov! I don't want to—"

"Are you here to learn how to dance or are you here to meet a lovely young lady?"

"You know! But I don't need to be in front when someone who actually wants to be a tap dancer can learn more from being in—"

"You're shy, Julian, and making excuses," Farov observed. "No need. We're all beginners, and we're all constantly watched. If it's not the mirrors, where Stannis Kahn can watch us and we can watch each other, it's that window where anybody walking by can watch us."

Uncomfortable with being seen through, he asked defensively, "So where are you standing today?"

"Next to you." Julian stared at him, surprised, and Farov went on, "I believe that the performance aspect is important in understanding dance and the Human psychology, but I didn't want to stand without a friend in the front of the class."

Julian shook his head, grinning. "You are—! Well, if you're not getting A's in your psych classes, I'd be very, very surprised, Farov. You are a master at manipulation."

The Andorian inclined his head politely but his antennae looked outright impudent as he said, "Thank you."

The elderly dance master entered and programmed music into the wall console.

"Hello, Master Kahn," Farov greeted him.

"Stannis, please—no formality here," Stannis told him, and after he'd finished with the music looked at who had spoken. He grinned. "Starfleet! Love to see you Academy cadets in my classes. What's your name?"

"Farov."

Good to meet you, Farov." His gaze went to the Andorian's compatriot. "And you are...?"

"Julian Bashir," the medical student said.

"Good to meet you, too," he said, then added, hearty and straightforward, "Liked what I saw last week, Julian. Have you ever taken dance lessons before?"

"No, si—Stannis."

"Hm." And Stannis looked very thoughtful. "Well, time to get started. Glad you boys aren't shy and came right on up front."

Julian elbowed Farov goodnaturedly. Farov smiled a small smile and pretended to ignore Julian.

They practiced the steps from their previous lesson, learned a few new ones and again put together a simple routine. As they tried it out, someone's misstep, a tap out of rhythm with the rest of the class, rang discordantly through the studio.

Julian's head came up at the sound and he briefly caught Stannis's eye in the mirror as the dance master scanned his students, and the young cadet froze as Stannis turned and said, "Mm-hm!"

And suddenly it wasn't Stannis coming towards him but his own father, and the false sound wasn't a misstep but a tennis ball striking the wood of a raquet and not the strings, and his father came around the net, deliberately bouncing the edge of his racquet against his open palm in measured rhythm—

—just like Stannis's steady heel-toe as he headed, not for Julian, but for someone in the middle row. Julian blinked and shook his head, stunned at the vividness of the memory, and took a deep breath, centering himself in the here of the studio, the now of a dance lesson.

"In tap dancing, you don't even need to see someone dance, you can hear him plain as day. But that's part of the fun, isn't it?" Stannis asked. "What we had going there was called 'syncopation,' a special kind of rhythm. We're not quite there yet, so we're all going to try to keep to the same beat. Is that all right with you?" he asked his errant pupil, who agreed, grinning. "Good enough! Let's try that again, shall we? All together now—!"

After class the cadets were ready to make a dash for it but Stannis halted them, or rather Julian, asking him, "Is this the only dance class you're taking?"

"Yes; it's the only one I have time for."

"Ah. I was going to suggest that you take another class that was more movement oriented, maybe beginning jazz or ballet, to go along with this one. It seems to me with the right training you'd turn into a first-rate dancer."

Julian, whose only thought when Stannis had called him aside was that he might miss Palis again, now gave him his full attention. "Really?" he asked, taken by surprise by the elderly man's assessment.

"Yes. Your friend Farov here is a hard worker and if he keeps at it he'll be a very good dancer. But you've got something innate, an aptitude, a style. It needs to be nurtured."

"Uh..." Julian shook his head, smiling. "I don't know what to say, Stannis. I'm very flattered, but...I'm going to be a doctor, I don't think—"

"Well, what do you know?" Stannis asked, smiling. "Another one!"

"Another what?"

"Medical student with a dancer's instincts. Have you heard of her? Beverly Crusher."

Julian's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Yes, I have."

"No reason you can't be a Dancing Doctor, too, Julian."

Nonplussed at the turn of events, Julian looked to Farov, whose antennae took on a rakish tilt as he mouthed "Dancing Doctor Bashir" at him and then looked up at the ceiling, innocent. Julian frowned. "Are you sure you're not mistaken, Stannis?"

"I'm not. Here, Farov, you and Julian watch this, and then repeat." Stannis did a triple time step and break. Farov made a valiant effort and faltered when he couldn't figure out which foot his weight should be on, but Julian executed the time step and break with ease.

The dance master looked at him, his blue eyes keen with the weight of decades of experience behind them. "Think about it, Julian."

As Julian and Farov turned to get their things from the studio shelves, they saw someone looking in at the window. She was young and, to Julian, lovely, and she smiled at them as if she'd witnessed the whole exchange. Julian froze, torn between trying to fathom Stannis's words and working up the courage to talk to a ballerina who had just seen the cumulative effects of a total of two dance lessons on a Starfleet cadet. But the Andorian gave Julian a strong nudge without seeming to, and Julian retrieved his things and with a steady heel-toe march went outside to finally meet Palis Delon.

A few weeks later Julian paused in the entranceway of the dance school and hailed Farov as the Andorian walked up, asking, "Have you been practicing that new combination? I came up with a variant for the last eight bars that—"

Farov looked at Julian. "This isn't about Palis anymore," he stated with absolute certainty.

"What do you mean?"

"Palis doesn't care how well you dance, and you've met her and you're dating. You don't need to keep taking this class."

"Of course I do!"

"Why?"

Julian stared at his friend. "Why would I stop in the middle of this, Farov? I always finish what I start."

"You started in order to meet Palis. And that's finished."

"Well, the class isn't finished. I paid good money for it, it'd be a waste to drop it now."

"Why are you so defensive, Julian?"

"I'm not—!"

"Yes, you are," Farov pointed out evenly, and Julian subsided. "Think with me for a moment. What are you rationalizing?"

"I don't have to finish this class, but I am."

"Taking time away from your other studies, from your lab classes...even from Palis. What's going on?"

"You're acting like there's something wrong with being good at this. What's the matter, are you jealous?"

Instead of the expected gesture of anger, Farov's antennae remained forward and still as he observed, "It's an interesting Human phenomenon, the accusation of jealousy to deflect attention from the original issue. To seem to go on the offensive but in reality employ a defensive tactic. Please, calm down, Julian."

"What makes you think you know everything?"

"I don't. That's why I'm trying to help you to articulate what you're feeling." Farov looked at him, clearly concerned, and hissed gently, "Your actions aren't making sense. I'd like to understand."

Julian sighed deeply. "Okay. Where do you want to start?"

"What does the dance mean to you?"

He started to shrug, then stopped, giving the question more thought. Finally, he said, "I'm good at it. I never thought I would be, never thought of myself as a dancer, as graceful or physical or creative."

"And that's important to you?"

"Well, no, not really." He folded his arms across his chest, frowning, then finally said, "I think what it is...is that I never thought I could be good at something and not have to work hard at it. I never thought I had a real talent like that."

"Until Stannis said something."

"Right. He recognized it, he encouraged it. He expects great things from me, Farov!"

"You sound surprised. Who hasn't expected great things from you?"

Julian stared at his friend, puzzled by the question. Then he suddenly took a sharp breath as something fell into place—two men, Stannis and his father, judging, analyzing, evaluating him, and while one gave Julian his approval warmly and without reserve, the other's approval had been given with a kind of calculation, had never quite been earned no matter how hard Julian had tried.

"What is it?" Farov asked, leaning forward, anxious.

"Nothing."

"Julian—"

"Nothing!" he said too quickly. "Come on, we'll be late for class."

As the other students filed out after class, Julian went up to Stannis and told him, "I've enjoyed being in this class and I appreciate your offer of private lessons to learn even more. But I won't be coming back. I need to concentrate on my Academy coursework."

The dance master looked at him and said frankly, "I can't say I'm not disappointed, Julian. You have great promise, and I hate to see that wasted. I can't even say that I understand, since I don't. Dance has been my whole life. It's helped me through some rough times; it's been my greatest joy. And I think it could have been the same for you. But if Starfleet and a medical career can do that, well, I wish you all the luck in the universe." He turned to Farov. "You're not going anywhere, are you, Farov?"

"No. I'm staying in the class."

"Good." He clapped the Andorian on the back. "Stay in the front of the room. People learn from you." He held out his hand to Julian. "You know what's best."

He took Stannis's hand and shook it. "I believe I do."

Stannis grinned at him. "You'll do just fine, Julian."

Julian swallowed around a lump in his throat, realizing suddenly that acceptance and support could be so easily given. "Thank you, Stannis."

As the two cadets walked out of the dance studio, Julian said carefully before Farov could ask, "If someone expects great things from you, that's one thing. If someone doesn't expect them, then you have to make things happen."

"I see," Farov said softly. "You have nothing to prove to Stannis."

"No."

"But how do you feel about all your promise remaining undeveloped?"

"Like I did the right thing," he said flatly.

"Do you?"

"I can't do two things at once, Farov. I work on my Starfleet career or I don't."

"And prove something to someone."

Julian nodded.

They parted company at the dormitories, making plans to see each other for lunch the next week. Julian went to his room and slung his dance shoes in the far corner of the closet, not sure why, if he'd made the right decision, he felt so empty.

FIN