A brief summary of the action preceding the story:
In the episode, an approaching storm has forced the evacuation of the station
leaving only a skeleton staff on board. Taking advantage of the deserted
station Verad, a Trill, in the company of mercenary Klingons has slipped
on board with the intention of stealing the Symbiot Dax whom Verad believes
is rightfully his. Bashir is forced to surgically remove Dax
from Jadzia and implant it in Verad. Without Dax, Jadzia is doomed
to die.
Survive the Night
by, Maddie
Hovering the barest millimeter above the acceptable range,
the indicators threatened to dip lower with each passing second. Pulse,
respiration, brain activity each wavered, steadied for a few seconds, then
fluctuated again. Hardly what one could call stable, Julian Bashir thought.
He had spent half the night cajoling life readings out of those sensors,
and he stared, bleary eyed, at the multicolored chips of light that mocked
his efforts. A pall of helplessness settled over him. There was nothing
else he could do, no more miracles he could work. The fact that he had
kept her alive this long was, in itself, miraculous. Now, it was up to
her. She had to want to live, and he was not sure she did.
Glancing at his patient, he rubbed his gritty eyes, blinked
and watched. She lay motionless, her face waxen, breath barely easing in
and out as her chest rose imperceptibly beneath the surgical sheeting he
dared not remove. He had to be prepared to act the instant Jadzia's symbiot
was returned. There would not be a moment to waste. After all, had he not
promised her everything would be all right? Had he not assured her that
the surgery had gone well? How laughable. Yes the surgery had been
a complete success, for Verad, who now possessed the symbiot Dax.
But Jadzia was dying, and regardless of who tried to reassure
him otherwise, Bashir knew it was his fault. Had he refused there
would have been no one qualified to perform the procedure and Verad would
have been foiled. He, Bashir, was directly responsible for the violation
of Jadzia's symbiotic relationship with Dax, and that thought gnawed at
him. As the night dragged on and his world narrowed to focus on the sensors
flickering above Jadzia's still form, the knowledge that he had placed
her in jeopardy insinuated itself into his thoughts. The guilt became more
firmly entrenched each time he looked at her, each time the indicators
took a fatal dip.
Standing, he walked to her side, as he had done countless
times during the interminable night. Placing two fingers lightly against
the side of her neck, he felt her pulse fluttering at his fingertips -
weak, erratic, but still a pulse. What was it about feeling that soft beat
that was more reassuring that the ultra sensitive instrument readings he
knew were more accurate? He felt the slightest swell of hope. She was still
alive, so all was not lost. Brushing aside a strand of dark hair, his hand
rested a moment against the softness of her cheek. Her skin was icy cool
and she did not respond to his touch.
"Why do you continue to waste your time, little Human?"
Bashir bristled. He was growing tired of the snide nickname.
Despite his exhaustion and concern, he was angered by the Klingon's continued
presence in his infirmary. He turned to where Yeto lounged against a computer
terminal. A smug look creased the Klingon's face along with the grin that
reminded Bashir of a death's head. Yeto seemed as fresh as he had when
he and his companions had arrived, how many hours ago? Did Klingons never
tire? Bashir had browbeat Yeto into helping him when he needed four hands
to stabilize Jadzia, but ever since the warrior had taken great delight
in taunting his efforts.
"I can finish what is left honorably. Then we can move
on to more interesting pursuits." The Klingon drew his weapon, a vicious
blade designed to wreak maximum havoc with minimum effort. He took two
steps closer to where Jadzia lay. "I would make it quick." He mimed a slashing
motion across his throat, and laughed, a deep, guttural chuckle.
Bashir walked around the examining table on which Jadzia
lay, placing himself between the Klingon and his patient. His long fingers
clenched into fists. He knew damned well he was no match for the massive
warrior who continued to advance one slow, deliberate step at a time. Even
unarmed, the Klingon outweighed him by kilos. Slight and wiry, Bashir had
spent much of his childhood tormented by his peers because of his frailty,
until he learned that, though lacking in size, he was gifted with the speed
and agility which would often best a larger opponent. Relying on quickness
and wit, he had excelled in sports suited to his skills, but the reality
of the present situation was, the Klingon could break him without breaking
a sweat.
"You do have spunk, little Human." The Klingon had stopped
just out of Bashir's range.
"And you have no honor," Bashir snapped back, hoping to
distract his opponent. He could see the Klingon's face cloud with anger.
"What would you know of Klingon honor?"
"Nothing. As I told you earlier, Yeto, I don't give a
damn about your warrior ethic. But I do know an honorable warrior would
not sneak onto this station like a thief, and hold its unarmed crew hostage
to serve...who? You call me 'little Human yet take orders from Verad. I
haven't been able to figure that out yet. He's certainly not worthy of
commanding a warrior of your obvious prowess." Bashir had slowly stepped
to the side, away from Jadzia, hoping the Klingon would follow him. "What's
in this for you? Money? I didn't think Klingon honor could be bought so
cheaply. But, perhaps, I was wrong. Perhaps, you're no better than a common
Ferengi."
Bashir took one more step to the side. The Klingon had
turned toward him, his face a darkening cloud. There was a low, feline
rumble in his throat. Bashir continued to back slowly away, baiting Yeto,
luring him away from Jadzia. If they jostled against her, the delicate
life he had coaxed into her might easily be lost. He looked past Yeto to
where Jadzia lay and in that split second of inattention lost his edge.
Yeto closed the gap between them with blinding speed, lashing out backhanded.
Bashir dodged, but not quickly enough. Yeto's gloved hand caught him a
glancing blow across the face that felt like the kick from a power hammer.
Bashir stumbled backward, off balance, and unable to avoid the booted foot
that caught him in the ribs, crushing the air out of his lungs and knocking
him to the deck. As he fell, he rolled, but the Klingon dropped atop him,
his weight pinning Bashir face down on the plated deck. Twisting his hand
into Bashir's hair, Yeto jerked his head backward his arm encircling the
Human's throat, arching his back against the Klingon's knee.
"I could break your back, little Human, with no effort.
But that would be too easy."
Bashir felt Yeto's breath hot on his neck, felt his spine
strain. A few more centimeters, a snap of Yeto's arm, would end him and
the other life that depended upon him. Bashir stopped struggling.
"You annoy me, little Human," Yeto laughed, "but you also
amuse me. I wouldn't want to hurt you. At least not fatally. Not yet.
So I suggest you watch your tongue."
Bashir's breath came in short sharp gasps. His ribs ached
where the Klingon's boot had caught him. Long seconds passed in a wordless
tug of wills. Then a plaintive bleep from the panel over Jadzia's head
made Bashir's blood freeze. He tried to break Yeto's grip, but he could
not budge the Klingon.
"You've got to let me go," Bashir said. The warning from
the medical sensors became more insistent.
"Why?" growled Yeto. "So you can continue to hover over
your patient? You'll only buy her a few more minutes. She's going to die,
Human. Why not let her die?"
"Because that goes against my ethic, which you
would never understand."
"I could make you beg." Yeto laughed, tightening his hold.
Bashir could barely breath, the bleep rose to a demanding wail. He heard
Jadzia gasp, the air rattling in her throat. "Fool." Yeto spat his contempt.
In an instant, he had released his grip and bodily lifted Bashir to his
feet. Spinning the young Human around, he held him by the front of his
uniform so that their faces were bare centimeters apart. "Go tend to her.
But do not look to me for help."
Bashir did not need a tricorder to tell him what was wrong.
Jadzia's blue lips and gasping breath told him everything. He quickly injected
tri-oxy-adenine and waited, willing her to breathe. "Come on, Jadzia, I'm
not going to let you go yet." The blood pounded in his own temples and
he felt his hands trembling as excess adrenaline expended itself in useless
tremors. Finally, Jadzia began to breathe in short shallow gasps, her eyelids
fluttered open, her eyes glazed.
"That's a girl," Bashir said softly. "Breathe. Slowly
and deeply. One breath at a time." He again felt for the phantom pulse
in her throat. As he spoke, she struggled to focus on his face. She looked
confused, then concerned. Her hand touched his mouth, and when she pulled
it away, her fingertips were red with blood. Only then did Bashir realized
he'd cut his lip in the tussle with Yeto. Quickly, he wiped the blood from
his face, but Jadzia continued to stare at her hand.
"I didn't want anyone else to be hurt," she said, her
voice raspy and disoriented. Drawing a deep breath, she was racked by a
shuddering sob. "Julian, I didn't want anyone else to be hurt."
Bashir saw the tears forming. Jadzia was lost, vulnerable,
not the cool efficient Dax they all knew.
Not even the equally capable woman he knew Jadzia must
have been before their joining. This
Jadzia was alone and terribly frightened.
"I'm all right." Bashir took her hand and gently cleaned
away the blood. "It's nothing, really."
"Not nearly enough blood to cause concern," injected Yeto.
Bashir looked over his shoulder to where the Klingon stood,
playing once again with the blade. He was not sure Jadzia had heard Yeto's
comment, or even knew the Klingon was present, but a shadow of emotion
played across her face. It looked like anger and, Bashir hoped, a flash
of fight. She would need more than a flash if she were going to survive
the night. Jadzia's eyes closed, her fingers clasped his convulsively and
she shivered. Wrapping his own fingers around hers, Bashir spoke softly
reassuringly, until the trembling stopped. She lay so still, Bashir thought,
for an instant she might have died, but a quick glance at his indicators
told him what he already knew. She was hanging on. Her vital signs were
no better, but no worse either.
"I'm sorry, Julian," she whispered.
He had to lean very close to hear what she said. "You
have nothing to apologize for. What happened was not your fault."
Bashir felt again a wave of guilt. "I should apologize
to you. I should have found a way to resist. Refused to perform the surgery.
Refused to remove Dax and transfer it to...to Verad."
Jadzia looked confused, her vacant eyes slowly focusing
on his face. "That's not what I mean. You did what I asked because you
are a good friend."
"A good friend." Bashir heard the contempt in his own
voice.
"Yes," Jadzia whispered. "More than a friend."
Bashir waited silently, stroking her velvet cheek with
the back of his hand. He dared not encourage her to expend precious energy
talking. He could only listen if she chose to do so. She closed her eyes,
resting, then took a deep gasp of air and looked at him. This time, her
eyes focused easily, more alert than she had been in hours.
"That wasn't what I meant," she said again. "I meant I
was sorry I couldn't be what you wanted."
"N.. nonsense," Bashir stammered, taken aback by her statement.
"You've been a wonderful friend."
"That's not what I mean," she said, agitation causing
her voice to rise. "You want more. I can't. But--"
"No," Bashir whispered. "Don't say anything else." Don't
say anything you'll regret later, he thought. Don't ruin a delightful
fantasy with false hope.
"I will," Jadzia continued, her voice so soft it was barely
audible. "I want you to know because I may never tell you again. Part of
me, the Jadzia part, finds you very attractive. I'm flattered by your attentions--the
flirtation." Jadzia fell silent, her eyes liquid with tears. "But Dax isn't.
He still thinks like an old man. It's been a long time since he's been
a young woman."
"That's enough," Bashir said firmly, his face flushing
with embarrassment. Jadzia was his patient now and his ethics told
him it was not proper to play with the emotions of a patient, regardless
of how one felt on a day-to-day basis. Jadzia was not herself.
"Listen to me, Julian," she said firmly. "I understand,
and in his way, so does Dax." Suddenly Jadzia sobbed. "I miss him."
"You'll have him back. I swear," Bashir said, then realized
she had drifted. He sat for several minutes waiting to see if she would
awaken again, but only the soft electronic hum of his instruments broke
the silence. She was asleep and would sleep the rest of the night. He adjusted
the delta wave inducer on her forehead, assuring that her sleep would be
deep and, hopefully, free of nightmares.
****
Hours later, Julian Bashir sat, his hands cupped over
a steaming cup of Tarkhalian tea, capturing the fragrance. The plasma disturbance
had ended, leaving D59 structurally intact. The evacuees were scheduled
to begin returning in less than one hour.
The doctor tried to clear his mind of the events of the
last twenty-four hours. After Verad's death, Mareel and her Klingon companions
had been confined to Odo's security facility. Dax had been returned to
Jadzia and both Dax and O'Brien felt sufficiently well to be released from
the infirmary. All appeared to be peaceful. Bashir had gratefully
retired to his quarters, but although he was bone weary, he found himself
tossing and far from sleep. Dressing, he had gone first to the infirmary,
now deserted and quiet. Wandering the dim, silent corridors of the huge
space station, he eventually came to the Promenade. Passing Garak's locked
shop and Quark's uncharacteristically hushed casino, he had settled at
the deserted replimat, hoping the walk and a hot cup of herbal tea would
relax him sufficiently that he could sleep a few hours before reporting
for his duty shift. Closing his eyes, he marveled at the absolute silence.
Activity on the Promenade was often slow, but rarely ceased, and the stillness
now fascinated him as the violence of the storm had yesterday.
"It's hard to imagine that there were ever people here."
Startled, Bashir jumped to his feet. "Jadzia," he blurted,
"you were supposed to remain in your quarters and rest." He felt uncomfortable
as Jadzia Dax scrutinized him, her face once again serene and implacable.
"I seem to have had a good night's sleep," she said. "All
things considered. You, on the other hand, look as though you could
use some rest."
Bashir ran his hand through his hair, wondering if he
had remembered to comb it before leaving his quarters. He did remember
how he had looked, with dark circles under his eyes, disheveled and dreary.
"Please, sit down, Julian." Jadzia indicated the seat
he had so abruptly vacated. "I didn't mean to disturb you. If you don't
mind, I will join you. Raktajino?" she asked, indicating the liquid in
his rapidly cooling cup.
"Tarkhalian tea."
"That sounds good." She walked to the replicator, filled
her order, then returned and sat with him.
As he watched her, Bashir wondered how much of last night's
conversation she recalled. Precious little, he hoped.
"I wanted to thank you," Jadzia said after a long pause.
"I--"
Jadzia raised her hand, indicating she did not want him
to speak yet. "I wanted to thank you for making me live."
"Any good doctor-
"I don't mean the medical aspects, Julian," she interrupted.
"When Dax was gone. When I felt the loneliness. I wanted to die."
Bashir studied his tea with inordinate interest. It appeared
she would remember everything.
"You gave me a reason not to." Jadzia reached across the
table and placed her hand on his arm. "You mean something special to the
Jadzia part of us. The memory of that, gave me something to live for."
"But, I'm responsible--" Bashir began softly.
"For nothing," Jadzia silenced him before he could continue.
"Except saving my life. By biding your time and acting when necessary."
Bashir could feel the blood rising in his cheeks, honored,
yet embarrassed by her candor.
"I understand," Jadzia said casually, "that because of
your actions, there is a Klingon in security complaining bitterly about
a headache and cursing some 'little Human'."
"Yeto," Bashir said, "provided a certain incentive to
keep you alive. Not that any was necessary." Bashir leaned back in is seat.
He realized he was very drowsy and was having difficulty keeping his mind
on the conversation. "I shot him with enough sedative to give an elephant
an overhang... um, I mean a hangover."
"Julian," Jadzia spoke with a hint of sly amusement. "I
believe you're beginning to babble."
"Nonsense."
"You should try to get some sleep," Jadzia continued.
"Would you care to tuck me in?" Bashir mumbled half-heartedly
unable to stifle a yawn.
"Finish your tea, Julian."
the end
