Chapter Eight: Exchanging Doctors
"Dr King, can you find out the exact time Sir Charles will be driving down?"
"I don't want to be involved, Steed; I'm a doctor, not an agent."
"So am I," Bashir said quietly. "And I have to treat that patient."
Dr King sighed. "For your sake…and the patient's," he agreed, recognizing in Bashir a kindred spirit. "I'll go see what I can find out."
"Thank you," Bashir told him sincerely.
Miss Gayle walked Dr King to the door, and then the four of them began discussing plans.
oOo
"I still think you should be the one playing the victim," Bashir insisted, riding in the passenger seat as Steed drove down a wooded country lane.
"I would think a doctor would be better at faking injury," Steed pointed out. "If I were the victim, you'd look too much like you knew what you were doing, and he might not stop."
Bashir sighed, recognizing that Steed was right. And considering that he would only be pretending to be injured, it hardly mattered whether Steed knew how to treat him or not.
"This looks like a good spot," Steed said, pulling the car to a stop at a slight widening of the road and parking slightly cockeyed. "Better get in position," he told Bashir, jumping out before consulting his pocket watch. "If Dr King's timetable was right and nothing's happened to delay Sir Charles, he should be here in about five minutes."
Bashir nodded, joining him on the roadside. Lying down half on the pavement a little way in front of Steed's car, he bent his leg at as unnatural an angle as he could manage.
"That's looks uncomfortable," Steed commented, wincing.
"It is, rather," Bashir admitted. "But the important thing is that I don't think it's cutting off the circulation; I shouldn't have any trouble walking when I get up." Closing his eyes, he let his head roll to the side as if unconscious. "I hear a car coming; better get in position," he muttered, barely moving his lips. As Steed bent over him, he made his breathing as ragged as possible and willed his heart rate to slow down. He flattered himself that even a doctor of his own caliber would practically need to scan him to tell he was faking.
Steed bent over Bashir as if attempting to aid the injured man, looking up as a car came around the bend. Half turning, he waved an arm, signaling the driver to stop.* As the car pulled over with a screech of brakes, Bashir suddenly found himself wondering what they would do if they got the wrong man.
"What happened?" the man asked, leaving his car door open as he ran toward them.
"Found him lying here," Steed explained tersely. "Looks like someone hit him."
"I'm a doctor; let me see."
Steed moved aside with an air of relief. As the man knelt to check Bashir's pulse, Steed hit him with a well-aimed blow to the head. With a soft moan, he collapsed on top of Bashir.
"Sorry about that," Steed apologized, pulling the man off him.
"That worked almost too well," Bashir muttered, rolling to his feet and bending to help Steed carry the man back to his car.
"Afraid the double's onto us?"
Bashir gave him a wry half grin. "More like feeling something's bound to go wrong to make up for it." They lay the unconscious man in the back seat, and Bashir got in with him, checking his eyes as Steed went to move his car farther off the road and out of sight of passing cars.
"Doesn't look like you did too much damage," he reported as Steed got in and handed him his medical bag between the seats. "He has a mild concussion, but it should resolve on its own."
"Good. Better give him something to keep him from waking up too soon, though."
"Not with a concussion, I'm not," Bashir said firmly. "Anyway, my guess is he'll be out for at least an hour."
Despite his wish not to be involved, Dr King had offered to keep Sir Charles at his flat, wishing even less for Miss Gayle to be involved in what was, for all intents and purposes, a kidnapping.
"Hurry; don't let anyone see you," he urged, opening his door as Steed and Bashir carried the still unconscious Sir Charles up the stairs.
"Give us a hand, then," Steed puffed. Walking sideways, they lay Sir Charles on the couch as Dr King hastily shut the door.
"Just how hard did you hit him, Steed?" Dr King demanded, bending over the back of the couch to lift an eyelid and check the man's pupils.
"You doctors think alike," Steed remarked.
"I already checked; he's fine," Bashir assured him. "Probably going to wake up with a pretty bad headache, but nothing to worry about. My main concern is whether we got the right man; you said you'd seen photographs?"
Dr King nodded. "That's him…unless someone else replaced him with their own double before we got to him."
"Horrid thought," Steed muttered.
"Well, if they did, it's a good thing I'm replacing their double," Bashir said wryly. "You have my disguise?"
"Right here," Dr King replied, producing a wig and false beard and mustache, a pair of gold wire-rimmed spectacles, and a case of theater makeup. "The glasses have ordinary glass for the lenses, so they shouldn't affect your vision any."
Bashir nodded, trying them on.
"You should have had Miss Gayle do your makeup," Steed suggested.
"No, thanks; I can manage," Bashir replied, flushing slightly. "Dr King, do you have a shaving mirror you can bring in here so I can use Sir Charles for reference?"
"Of course," Dr King agreed.
Soon Bashir was carefully applying the stage makeup, drawing on the wrinkles the other man bore, and adding a birthmark just beside his eye. At last he turned around. "Well?"
Steed's eyes widened. "Were you ever in theater, Doctor?" he questioned.
"You can pass as Sir Charles as long as no one sees you together, and you don't run into anyone who knew him too well," Dr King determined. "Just don't let any nurses sponge sweat off your forehead, or those 'worry lines' will smear."
"Some of those are real," Bashir muttered under his breath.
Sir Charles groaned, attempting to sit up. "Ooh…"
Blast it! Bashir thought; he had hoped to be safely out of the flat before Sir Charles woke up, though as a doctor he couldn't help being relieved the man was regaining consciousness.
"Lie still, sir," Dr King told him, a hand on his shoulder. "You've had a nasty knock on the head." He glared upward at Steed.
Sir Charles blinked, struggling to focus on the faces around him. When he saw Steed, he gasped. "You —! But you're the one who shot —" Then he caught sight of Bashir, his double now for all practical purposes, and his eyes widened in horror. "No! You can't — Oooh!" He had again tried to sit up, but his hand went to his head and he fell back with a moan.
Bashir stepped forward and knelt beside the couch. "It's not what you think, sir; I'm not a charlatan Steed got to replace you to be sure of the admiral's death. I'm taking your place, yes, but I'm a doctor with a legitimate medical degree; I'll be doing all in my power to be sure Admiral Westlake survives."
"Why should I believe you?" Sir Charles groaned hoarsely.
Bashir smiled tightly. "Because you don't have a choice," he said, getting to his feet. "You just lie still and let Dr King take care of you. He can give you something for that headache, but I have to get to the hospital."
* I have an illustration planned for this scene, but at the rate I'm (not) finishing old illustrations, I decided to go ahead and post without it! (Especially since Bashir's position is really hard to draw, and I probably should never have attempted it in the first place…) I'll add it to my DeviantArt account if and when I ever get it finished. Barbie
Next chapter coming next week!
I proofread all my stories at least once before posting, but if you see any mistakes I might have missed, please let me know! (Note that the spelling of some Avengers characters' names has been changed intentionally.)
Please note that I have internet access only once a week, and may not have time to respond to all reviews/messages. If you have questions regarding my Deep Space Nine or Avengers alternate histories, check my profile first to see if they're answered there. Thanks for your understanding! Barbie