"If I had my liberty, I would do my liking. Until then, let me be as I am, and seek not to alter me."

(Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing.)

Bashir's quarters were dark at first, and slightly musty from lack of use. He wondered how much of what his senses told him was real, and how much was merely imagined - deceptions based upon the time he knew he'd been away. Arms swinging freely at his sides, he stepped forward and called for the lights.

He flinched reflexively before releasing the sudden tension in a slow, outward breath. There was no ambush from the shadows - no-one waiting to apprehend him and escort him back to the Infirmary. But as he glanced around him, he was met with a twinge of mild disappointment. Not one thing was out of place. If anything, the room was immaculately tidy. Even his travel bag remained propped against the sofa, neatly packed as if for a long trip back to Earth.

Dax had not found anything, and part of him reasoned that if she could not and neither could Odo, then he was unlikely to find much either. But he had so much more to prove than Dax or the constable. There was every chance that determination alone would allow him to discover what they had missed.

Passing the door to his bedroom, he was briefly startled as something flashed past the edge of his vision. A face. He froze. Muscles taut and ready for action, listening to the heavy rise and fall of his own chest. He span towards it. His heart was beating fast, hands tingling.

Fight or flight…

…Kukalaka.

Get a hold of yourself, Julian. Eyes closed, he slumped against a wall and rubbed his neck where he'd felt the sharp pain of strained ligaments.

But the bear was watching him. Reminding him.

"I wish you could tell them," Bashir despaired. But it seemed that his only other witness would be taking its secrets to the grave - or wherever else it was that teddy bears went to once their stuffing had fallen out and their outer coats had worn away to nothing.

And then the lights in his room went dark.

"What now?" he whispered, stepping forward to glance around him. He raised his voice. "Computer, lights."

Nothing happened.

"Computer." A little more insistent this time. "Lights."

Nothing. Not even an acknowledging chime. He shuddered.

"…Please?"

Even in the dark, Julian Bashir was at least familiar with the layout of his own quarters. Tiptoeing back into the living room, pushing away a slithering chill that crept along his nerves, he traced a path to where he knew there was a small computer console. Those engineering extension courses at Starfleet Medical must have taught him something, after all. He could attempt to fix the lights from there.

Something was pressed against the small of his back, hard and slender, although not at all sharp. He stopped, holding his breath and dreading to guess what it would turn out to be.

"Don't turn around," said a voice from behind him.

Bashir's already acute senses were suddenly as focused as they had been in many days. He could hear every soft outward breath, and felt the discomforting warmth of air on the back of his neck as a gloved hand reached forward to place something hard and slender upon the console. An isolinear rod. The scarce light was scattered and refracted along its amber surface.

"Put it in the computer. And don't turn around. If you turn around, I will kill you."

"There are some who might say I'm dead already."

"But I don't believe you really think you're one of them. The computer, Doctor. I won't ask again."

Clenching his jaw, Bashir lifted the rod between his thumb and forefinger and inserted it into the console. An image spread across the monitor - round, organic, suspended in a colourless and shady void. Data scrolled up the left hand side, catching his attention. He leaned in closer.

"Recognise it?" asked the voice.

It was not entirely familiar, but everything fitted horribly easily into place. RNA sequences, chemical composition, basic nucleotides… "It's a virus."

"And am I supposed to believe you know nothing about this?"

"I've never…"

"Don't turn around."

"I've never seen it before in my life," Bashir insisted in a deliberately level tone.

"You were not at all involved in its conception?"

"What? Of course not."

"Then what was he doing here?"

In the absence of anything else to draw his gaze, Bashir stared at the soft blue-grey of his computer screen. The virus floated - silent and oblivious - within its darkened cage. "Listen to me," he began, speaking slowly. He would have to take the greatest possible care in his choice of words. "That man, whoever he is - I'd never even seen him before the other day, and I've certainly never been a party to any of his nefarious schemes. As to why he was here… I'm guessing you already know more about that than I ever will."

"That's a lie. He was in your quarters. You must have been working for him."

"You're in my quarters, and I'm not working for you," Bashir reasoned, and winced at the sudden acidity in his voice.

Whatever the reply might have been was cut short by a series of soft clicks just outside the entrance. The unseen stranger slid his data rod from the console, and the room was once again shrouded in darkness. "Stay where you are," he hissed, his breath wet and rancid in Julian's ear.

The shadow that came through his door this time was smaller than Chief O'Brien, with a tight fitting uniform to accentuate the subtle inward curve of a female waist. Athena Nikos looked around her. "Julian?" she called. Met with no answer, she stepped forward and continued to peer into every dark corner.

"You have to go." He spoke to the silence, fighting to conceal an anxious tremor. Both hands gripped the console, and he felt the ache of it travel up his wrists. He could see the glint of light from outside reflect across the surface of her eyes.

"You know I can't do that." Bashir was disappointed. But then, he chided himself, he could hardly have expected her simply to agree.

"Please." He allowed a little urgency to seep into his voice. "I'll explain later but, please. Go. Now."

The slightest of movements, and Nikos zeroed in on his barely defined silhouette.

She regarded him with a sidelong frown. "Julian? Why?"

Bashir's gaze flicked warily to the right, although he took care not to turn. "Whatever it is," Nikos was saying. "You can tell me."

He shook his head. "You don't understand…"

"Then come back with me." She beckoned, one arm extended towards him. "Help me to understand."

"No." Frustration transformed Bashir's voice to a rising growl. "It isn't what you think. You're in danger, Athena. You have to get out - now!"

Nikos stood upright, now more puzzled than concerned. "What do you…?"

A sharp buzz from behind, and a slender energy beam cut through the surrounding darkness. Smells, acrid and painful. Something burning. With a cry, Athena Nikos' body was tossed back across the room. Sparks flared and died on the fabric of her uniform.

"Stay back!" the stranger commanded. Bashir turned to find the disruptor trained on him.

"Or what?" Cold fury lent power to his challenge.

The stranger glared, and raised his weapon slowly to be level with the other man's head. "Stay back," he repeated.

"Do you want to know what your friend told me, or don't you?"

Silence.

"If she dies," hissed Bashir, pointing. "I swear I won't tell you a thing. So either you let me go to her, or you may as well just shoot me now."

The stranger paused, muscles tensing slightly around his eyes. But then he nodded, and pulled the gun away to scratch himself lightly behind his right ear.

Bashir dived forward to where Nikos was slumped against the outer wall, her face unnaturally pallid and twisted in pain. She coughed, wincing with every movement.

"Let me see," he said. As gently as he could manage, he pulled up the hem of the woman's uniform jacket and stifled a grimace at what he saw.

"And I expected to be the one helping you," she told him through clenched teeth.

He forced a smile. "I assure you, the irony isn't lost on me," he said, and paused to tear a length of cloth from the end of his sleeve. "I'm afraid this is going to hurt."

Nikos held back a cry. Tears escaped from her eyes as the makeshift bandage was pressed hard against the side of her abdomen.

"You!" Bashir rounded on the pale and dark haired man still standing in one corner. "Whatever your name is."

"It's Appleton," the stranger challenged him. "Lawrence Appleton."

"Appleton, then. There's a medkit in that cabinet over there. Go and get it."

The man straightened, cold hostility showing in his eyes. "Might I remind you, I am the one with the disruptor pistol?"

"And I'm the one with the information. Get me a medkit."

"Do you have his… information?" Nikos whispered in a voice barely loud enough for Bashir to hear.

He remained silent. Nikos' blood had already soaked all the way to his hands. She needs surgery, he thought distractedly. But I'm in no position to give it to her.

"Julian… You're bluffing. Aren't you?"

She was fighting to take a breath, but her watery gaze was level with his own. He felt a rush of despair that he struggled to push back down to the depths of his stomach.

"Doctor?"

Bashir looked up, startled. "Don't talk," he said. "You need to save your strength."

"Is it that bad?"

Frowning, he tore away his other sleeve, and quickly swapped one bandage for the other. And then Appleton came back with his medkit.

"I have an apology to make," Bashir told the wounded doctor as he clicked it open and rifled efficiently through the contents. "I'd give you something for the pain, but it appears that someone has appropriated my hypospray."

Not to mention almost half of everything else he ever kept in there.

Nikos smiled tightly. But then she coughed, and her expression of mild amusement turned quickly to one of pain.

"Just lie still." But without a proper medical facility, the best Julian could offer her was a quick patch up with a dermal regenerator and a few clean bandages. At least that would go some way to covering the deep burns around her wound. There would be less chance of infection. But the woman would still have to get into surgery, sooner rather than later. Or she would die.

It really was that simple.

"Time's up," said a now familiar voice behind him. He felt the cold touch of a gun pressed against the top of his spine.

"She needs to get to the Infirmary," Bashir protested.

"You're coming with me." Appleton's voice was clear and slow. Back in control. "If you don't, I'll kill her first. Then I'll hunt down all your friends, and when I'm done, I'll kill you last of all. What was the name of Chief O'Brien's son again?"

Damn you.

Bashir turned his attention back to Doctor Nikos, whose eyes were closing, tears trailing down the sides of her face. Even without the lights, he could see that she was dangerously pale. "I need to borrow your combadge," he whispered. He took it from her, guessing that she would not object. His fingers were deft, working quickly, and his hands were steadier than he supposed they ought to have been.

"Just a little something the chief taught me once," he explained in answer to her silently questioning face. "I'm setting up a distress signal. They should have help to you in seconds."

Her mouth moved. "What… about… you?"

"I've been in worse situations than this before," he assured her. "And your only job is to get well, you hear? Not to be worrying about what happens to me."

Nikos' voice was fading even as she struggled to speak. "Who am I - to… argue?"

"Enough stalling," growled Appleton. His grip was rough and painful on Bashir's arm as he hauled him away. "Let's go."