A thousand apologies to those who have been waiting, especially siddigfan. I will try to get 7 up sooner.

6

When Simon Tarses replaced the acerbic EMH the next morning, Bashir's fever had gone down considerably and he was feeling much more alert and more himself. Tarses released him on the condition he rest for two more days, until he was fully recovered, and that he wait until Dax could come and meet him to take him back to their quarters. It was about an hour before she came, carrying Renzia in one arm and some clothing for her husband in the other. Bashir changed gratefully out of the infirmary pajamas. Dax wrapped an arm supportively under his shoulders; he still felt weak and tired, but not nearly as bad as he had only two days ago. The pox marks still blazed red on his skin, but at least Tarses given him something to stop the itching.

They walked out into the bustling promenade, and Bashir was surprised by the number of people who had shown up over the last couple of days. Federation citizens, predominantly Bajorans and Cardassians, were walking in groups, talking and laughing, and gawking at the station. Bashir wondered how many more people Terok Nor could possibly hold before they reached their limit. Even then, he was willing to bet people would be staying on ships docked here. As if to prove him right, he saw two people he recognized, but did not know, from the Enterprise: her captain, Picard, and the chief medical officer, Crusher. So the Federation's flagship was already here.

Two Cardassians walking together caught his attention. One was in a Starfleet uniform, but the other was dressed in well tailored, richly coloured clothing that merely hinted at how expensive it was. Bashir frowned.

"Garak," he said.

Dax followed his gaze.

"Yes, he got here yesterday, before First Minister Shakar."

"What's he doing with Dukat? I thought they hated each other."

Dax turned to look at him.

"I'm not sure Simon should have released you," she said frankly. "You seem to be hallucinating again."

Bashir shook his head, as if to clear it.

"I think my brain is a bit addled," he agreed.

"A bit?" Dax asked wryly, arching one dark eyebrow. In her arm, Renzia started to fuss. "Come on, let's go home. I thought those enhancements were supposed to augment the performance of your brain."

"So did I," Bashir agreed, giving her a small, sly smile. She shook her head at him and led him away from the crowd, toward a turbolift. As they passed under one of the upper promenade walkways, Bashir raised his eyes, expecting to see Jake Sisko there. But of course, he was probably in his father's quarters, resting, just as Bashir and Tarses had instructed him to. It was unfortunate; had he had the day off from the processing center, he would have loved to stand and watch all these people mill about.

They made it home slowly; the corridors were almost as busy as the promenade, filled with the faces of Starfleet officers Bashir had never seen before. He watched for people he recognized, but didn't think any of his old friends from the academy would be here, or at least not yet. People gave him odd looks as they went past. He knew he must be a bizarre sight: a bedraggled man with red welts all over his face and hands, being supported by a young woman in science uniform.

Their quarters was a peaceful, silent haven from the bustle in the corridors. Bashir sank gratefully into a chair, and Dax handed him the baby. Renzia met her father's eyes and smiled her wide, toothless baby grin. Bashir fished on the floor for a toy and found a rattle, which he held up for her.

"Gung, gung, gung," he said softly, shaking it for her, and she laughed and reached for it.

"What?" Dax asked.

Bashir looked up.

"Nothing, just making noises. Do you have work to do today?"

"I can see if I can put it off," she replied.

"No, go," he said. "I'll be fine. I sleeps, she sleeps. We have a lot in common."

"I'll see if Miles can come over–"

"Zia," Bashir said, smiling at her, raising his eyebrows. "I can take care of my daughter."

"You're sick," Dax pointed out. "And this is–"

"I know, I know, she's my first child. And you've been a mother before. And a father. And I'm sure you occasionally had to deal with being sick when your children weren't."

Dax crossed her arms, leaning on the arm of the couch, but smiled at him.

"There's a subspace anomaly orbiting the Bajoran sun. Benjamin and I are going to take a run about and look at it. I can't get any concrete readings scanning it from here."

"Any idea what it is?"

She shook her head.

"None."

"I'm surprised Captain Sisko's able to go."

Dax laughed.

"I think he was relieved to find out I needed to go. I'm sure the last thing he wants to be doing right now is greeting more dignitaries. This station is so packed with politicians; even when it came under Starfleet jurisdiction, I don't think this many people were here."

"Much fewer," Bashir agreed.

"Are you sure you'll be all right?" she asked, coming to crouch down in front of him. Renzia's eyes shifted to her mother and she waved one hand. Absently, Dax let her daughter curl a tiny fist around her index finger. With surprising strength, Renzia yanked it toward her mouth and tried to chew on it. Dax pried herself loose and stroked the baby's thin dark hair.

"I'll be fine," Bashir assured her. "If I need help, I'll call Miles, or someone else if he's not available."

"All right," Dax relented. She leaned forward to kiss him and Bashir returned the kiss, feeling like it was the first time they had ever done this. Two days he had been ill, and already being at home with his wife felt brand new again. He smiled as Dax pulled away.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing. I love you."

She kissed his forehead.

"I love you, too, Jules."

He caught her hand and kissed her palm as she stood up.

"I'm a lucky man," he said.

Dax's eyes sparkled as she looked down at him.

"You'd better remember that," she replied. "I'll see you in about four hours."

"Have fun," he said as she walked back to the door. She tossed him a grin over her shoulder and was gone. Bashir watched the door hiss shut and turned his attention back to Renzia. "Now, what do with you?" he asked. She grinned her baby grin and drooled on her chin. Bashir set her on his lap, glanced around, picked up a thick, brightly coloured book from the table beside him, and opened it to read to her.

Bashir took a nap when his daughter did, sleeping on the couch, Renzia sprawled on his chest. He awoke before she did, feeling even better. However he'd contracted the chicken pox, it seemed his genetically enhanced immune system was picking up and fighting back. For a rare moment, he was grateful that his parents had done to him. It had given him distinct advantages, he knew, but he had never expected that recovering quickly from a children's illness would be one of them. At least, not at the age of thirty-three.

He sat up carefully, making sure to support his daughter's small head, and glanced around.

"Computer, time," he said quietly.

"The time is thirteen hundred twenty-two," the computer replied at normal volume. Bashir winced, but Renzia didn't stir. He stood up, balancing her easily, and went into his bedroom, putting her down gently on the bed. Then he washed up, keeping one ear open for any sounds from the baby. She was just waking up when he walked back into the bedroom, so Bashir changed her and fed her, then wondered what he was going to do. He felt bored, which he knew was a good sign about his health. He had been cloistered in the infirmary for two days, with Dax and Tarses as his only real company, unless he counted the EMH that always drove him nuts. Sometimes, Bashir considered he should have accepted the LMH of himself; at least he would get along with it.

He decided to head down to the promenade, knowing he'd probably regret it later when exhaustion caught up with him. But the prospect of sitting at home with only an infant for company was too much to face right now. He strapped Renzia into her baby carrier, which she loved, because she faced front and could see everything. Satisfied she was secure, he headed out of the habitat ring, nodding at the officers he recognized, which, at the moment, was only about half of them.

The promenade was just as a crowded as it had been when he had been released from the infirmary. Bashir stood at the edge of the press of bodies for a moment, just watching. There were already some people from the Trisepat here, of course; trading ships came and went all of the time. Bashir watched two tall female Gri'Thethi make their way through the crowd with an easy grace. A Bajoran-looking woman caught his eye as she shouldered her way past the shrine. Bashir recognized her immediately; she was Tenas Lar, the only other Changeling who lived on the station. She was a much more adept shape shifter than Odo, having been found adrift almost seven hundred years ago. Unlike Odo, she was much more social and interested in humanoid culture, and was considered just as Bajoran as any other Bajoran by most people. She vanished a moment later in the sea of faces.

Bashir headed toward where she had been, entering the sanctuary of the shrine. It was empty, for which he was grateful; with this many Bajorans and Cardassians on the station, it was usually occupied. Its peaceful silence beckoned him, so much different than the silence of his empty quarters. There, it was just boring; here, it was serene. Renzia looked around, making baby sounds to herself, as Bashir walked quietly toward the orb at the front of the room. He thought he recognized it as the Orb of Contemplation, but he wasn't certain. Kira or Bareil would know. He stared at it pensively for a moment, then absently took one of his daughter's tiny hands. When he and Dax had decided to have a baby, Kira had come here to say a prayer for them. Bashir wasn't a believer in the prophets, but he was a doctor, and he knew that any help in cross-species mating would be beneficial. He wondered if the wormhole aliens actually listened to any requests their followers made, or if they even knew they had followers.

A noise behind him distracted him and he spun quickly to see a Cardassian man entering the shrine.

"Ah, Doctor, forgive me, I didn't mean to startle you," Dukat said.

Bashir felt his mouth go dry for a moment, and felt an inexplicable need to get his daughter as far away from the admirable as possible. Chastising himself sharply, he reined in his emotions and nodded at Dukat.

"I think it's only fair, considering how much I startled you two days ago."

The Cardassian chuckled a quiet, almost arrogant chuckle.

"Water under the bridge, Doctor."

Bashir nodded and headed toward the shrine's exit, leaving Dukat alone to his prayers or meditation. He emerged onto the promenade again, glancing around, then frowned, standing still. Renzia kicked her small legs and waved her arms, distracting him slightly. Bashir studied the crowd intently, then realized with a start what was missing.

There wasn't a single Romulan to be seen.

He stepped down one of the steps leading into the shrine, then paused again.

What the hell was a Romulan?

He suddenly had a very vivid image of a race of people related to Vulcans, but with harsher features and attitudes. Bashir blinked, then shook his head, sighing to himself. His mind was still playing tricks on him. He probably needed nothing more than to return home and rest. Suddenly, coming to the promenade seemed like a bad idea.

"Hi, Julian," a voice said next to him and he looked round to see Ezri Reth. Bashir's face relaxed into a smile.

"Ezri, hi."

"How are you feeling? You look much better."

"I'm getting there," Bashir replied wryly. "Although my brain is still porridge. I keep coming up with ridiculous ideas that have no bearing to reality."

Ezri laughed. Renzia, aware of a new person, make noises of protestation from her baby carrier.

"Oh, all right," Bashir conceded. "Would you like to hold her? I think she's aiming for that."

"Sure," Reth agreed and Bashir lifted the baby out of the carrier and handed her to the counselor. He took the carrier off and slung it over one shoulder. They stepped into the crowds together.

"So, what kind of things is that genetically enhanced mind coming up with?" Reth asked.

"I just invented an entire race of people and wondered why they weren't here."

Reth laughed again, shaking her head.

"Did they have a name, this mystery race?"

"Romulans."

Reth raised a dark brow.

"Romulans? That's inventive."

"Not really," Bashir said dryly. "Romulus was one of the two founders of Rome, which is a city on Earth and the capital of one of Earth's ancient empires."

"Yes, and how many people on this station just happen to know that?" Reth asked. "I didn't. It's inventive to me that you'd base a whole race off of one possibly historic figure from Earth. What did these Romulans look like?"

"Angry Vulcans."

Reth grinned at him.

"I sense a deep-seated resentment of Vulcans and a need to vilify them without expressly indicating that it's them."

Bashir rolled his eyes.

"Right, I hate all Vulcans. I sense the mind of a man who's still sick, and a counselor who likes to make up problems."

Reth laughed.

"On this station, I don't need to make them up. I never knew there were so many crazy people in the galaxy."

"Me included?" Bashir asked.

"Of course," she replied smoothly.

"Well I hardly think it's fair–" Bashir was abruptly cut off by a tall, imposing figure pushing brusquely past them, jostling Ezri and Renzia, causing the baby to start crying.

"Hey!" Bashir snapped, reaching out automatically to grab an arm and spin the stranger around. He was confronted by a looming Klingon man accompanied by a tall, stately Klingon woman. The Klingon man's eyes narrowed, drawing his already prominent brows together.

"What?" he rumbled.

"Watch where you're going!" Bashir snapped. "She's carrying a baby!"

"Perhaps she should watch where she's going," the Klingon replied, his voice low and taut.

"She wasn't in the way," Bashir retorted. "You could easily have moved."

The Klingon swung , but Bashir reacted faster, catching the man's arm and pulling him into the direction of the blow. Bracing himself, the doctor heaved, using reserves of strength he rarely ever called up, and flipped the Klingon over his back, onto the floor. Stunned, the Klingon landed on his back and Bashir was kneeling on his chest immediately, nose to nose with the alien.

"That's my daughter you hit," he hissed. "And Ezri is my friend."

He became aware of a shocked silence around him, then a rich, appreciative laughter rang out. The Klingon woman said something in her own language, to which the Klingon man growled a reply. Shocked at himself, Bashir pushed himself to his feet and saw the Klingon woman grinning approvingly at him.

"There are not many humans who would dare to do that, let alone succeed," she said. "Get up, Worf."

Bashir was jarred by the memory of the name; he'd said that same name to Dax just the day before. But his shock over that was subsumed by his shock at his actions. The Klingon man pushed himself to his feet and gave the doctor an approving nod before turning and walking away with the woman. Bashir turned back to Reth, who had one hand over her mouth and was, amazingly, trying not to laugh. Bashir looked around, saw the stunned onlookers, and grabbed one of Reth's arms, towing her out of the way, into the relative security of a support pillar.

"What?" he hissed.

Reth's blue eyes were glinting.

"I had no idea you knew so much about Klingons," she whispered. "Do you know who that was?"

"I don't know anything about Klingons!" Bashir replied. "I have no idea who that was!"

"That was Worf, son of Mohg. The woman with him was his wife, Trelke, daughter of Kena. She's the Klingon ambassador to the Federation and the Trisepat. Klingons set great store by their ability to stand up to any kind of adversity. You really impressed them."

Bashir sagged against the wall.

"I didn't know that," he muttered. "I just– no, I did know that. Or I felt like I knew it."

Reth took his arm gently.

"Come on, Julian. You've been in enough altercations to last you awhile. You're still sick. You need to get back to your quarters."

Shaking his head at himself, Bashir fell into step beside her, too bewildered to protest.

"What do you think, old man?"

Dax studied the readings on her console, then shook her head.

"It seems pretty boring, as far as subspace anomalies go, Benjamin," she admitted.

"I can't even see it." Sisko sounded disappointed.

Dax laughed.

"What did you expect to see, Benjamin?" she asked.

"I don't know." Sisko waved one hand vaguely. "Something… blue."

"Blue," Dax repeated, arching one eyebrow. "Interesting. Well, it's not giving off any radiation as far as I can tell. I'm getting the same readings I was getting on the station, which is nothing. No chronotons, no tachyons, not even normal background radiation."

"Well, that's odd, isn't it?"

"It is," Dax agreed. "Let's get in a bit closer so I can do a detailed sensor sweep."

"Taking us to fifty thousand kilometers," Sisko agreed. Dax inputted the scan details into the computer and waiting as the shuttle approached the coordinates. It slowed again, and she initiated the scan.

"Now I'm picking up trace amounts of some sort of radiation. The computer can't seem to identify it. It's almost as if it's leaking from the anomaly, Benjamin."

"Like it's coming out the other side?" Sisko asked.

"Precisely."

"Could we be seeing the formation of another wormhole?"

Dax shook her head.

"I doubt it. I see no evidence of verteron nodes, or any of the neutrino patterns that characterize our wormhole. And the radiation coming through isn't the normal background radiation for the Alpha, Beta, or Gamma Quadrants."

"What about the Delta Quadrant?"

"Well, I suppose that were possible, but again, it doesn't look like a wormhole."

"It isn't a Borg transwarp tunnel, is it?"

"If it is, we're in for a huge surprise. It doesn't have a transwarp signature, though. I don't suppose the Trisepat have any transwarp technology we're not aware of and are building a tunnel here?"

"If they do, we're not aware of it," Sisko pointed out. Dax rolled her eyes at him.

"Let's get in a little closer," she said. "I can do a better gravometric analysis."

"All right," Sisko agreed and brought the shuttle closer.

"Initiating gravometric scan."

"How's Julian?"

"He's doing much better, he's–"

The words were lost suddenly as a jarring sensation of displacement hit her. It was the same feeling she'd had the other day in ops, the certainty that there were two of her, in the same spot, only somewhat different, as if someone had held up a slightly warped mirror that showed a not-quite accurate reflection of herself. She felt different emotions, different memories on the edge of her mind. Moving as if through syrup, she looked over at Sisko, was looking just as stunned as she felt. For a moment, he blurred, and appeared in a different uniform, a black jacket with grey shoulders, and a red mock turtleneck underneath. And no hair. That Sisko's image turned to her, his dark eyes widening in surprise.

"Get us out of here, Benjamin," she managed to say, hoping the Benjamin who came with her was the right one. She saw him move, but slowly, then the shuttle began to move backwards and whatever had ahold of them vanished. Dax gasped, hearing Sisko echo her, and sat back in her seat.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded.

Dax shook her head.

"I think we may have found an interdimensional rip," she replied.

"Into what?"

She turned her head, meeting his eyes.

"Another universe."