Chapter Nine: Hidden Aces

"Are you sure you know how to drive?" Steed questioned, accompanying Bashir to Sir Charles' car.

Bashir grinned. "It looks the same as the cars in the holosuite, so I should be fine. Gas on the right and brake in the middle, right?"

"Yes," Steed confirmed. "And you know the way to the hospital?"

"Dr King went over everything with me," Bashir assured him.

"Good luck, then."

Bashir nodded and got into the car. He spent a moment familiarizing himself with the feel of the controls as he drove away, then tapped his hidden combadge. "Bashir to Defiant."

"Defiant," came Jadzia's voice; Bashir knew Sisko had updated her on the situation while he and Steed had been busy "kidnapping" Sir Charles.

"Dax, have my team prep the sickbay for surgery, and stand by for emergency beam-in straight to sickbay."

"Acknowledged. Is the captain —"

"He's fine," Bashir cut in, immediately understanding her fears. "I have to remove a bullet from an admiral's brain; if I run into complications I can't handle with primitive technology, I want to get him to my equipment on the Defiant."

"Julian, be careful," Dax warned. "You could do irreparable damage to the timeline…"

"That's just what I'm trying to prevent," Bashir said grimly. "Bashir out."

He pulled into the parking lot at the hospital and hurried up to the entrance where Dr King had assured him someone would be awaiting his arrival.

"Sir Charles Ellery?"

"Yes," Bashir responded. One good thing about Sir Charles waking up, he mused, was that he had been able to pick up at least a little of the neurosurgeon's voice. "Has the admiral's condition changed any?"

"No, sir. We have him ready for surgery as soon as you are."

Bashir nodded. "Have the room cleared except for the anesthesiologist and one nurse; I feel cramped with too many people in there with me. Where are the x-rays of the bullet's location?"

"This way, sir," the man told him, pausing to pass Bashir's orders on to an aide before leading him to the room that held the primitive scanning equipment.

Bashir spent several moments studying the x-rays and planning the surgery, then followed his guide to a small washroom, where he carefully scrubbed his hands before donning the sterile garments. As he clipped the mask in place, he hoped the makeup's claim of being "smudge-proof" was accurate and that the mask wouldn't smear it too badly.

Admiral Westlake lay ready for him as he entered the room, the bandage already removed from the wound on his forehead. The small, neat hole gave no hint of the true damage beneath the surface that would almost certainly take the admiral's life if Bashir couldn't repair it sufficiently.

"Scalpel," he ordered, wishing he knew a little more about twentieth-century brain surgery to be able to do what his observers expected of him.

Carefully palming the scalpel the nurse handed him, he deftly switched it for the laser scalpel he had hidden up his sleeve, and hoped he could avoid cutting himself on the unguarded blade.

He carefully angled his body to hide the tool in his hand from the nurse as with careful precision he began the delicate surgery.

When at last he saw the brain itself, the damage was greater than he had feared, renewing his surprise that the man was still alive.

He employed old-fashioned forceps to remove the bullet; even if he had chosen to use all of his own tools, he had nothing to improve on them. He dropped the bullet into the tray the nurse held, then as she turned her back for a moment slipped a neural regenerator from his other sleeve. Working with infinite care, he rebuilt the damaged brain tissue, bending low over his work to hide the blue glow from the nurse. He was grateful for the noise of the old-fashioned respirator that would cover the low hum to her ears.

He had no monitors to gauge his success, but trusted to his skill and the effectiveness of the regenerator. When he at last switched it off and returned it to its hiding place, he was confident that the admiral would regain full cognitive abilities.

"Sutures," he ordered. He glanced at the nurse's face as she handed them to him, and saw no sign that she had observed anything out of the ordinary.

He stitched the wound closed without betraying the fact that he had done so only a handful of times before. He had brought only those of his tools that he felt were absolutely essential, and in any case absence of a line of stitches would raise too many questions.

He straightened his aching back and spoke briefly with the nurse and anesthesiologist before leaving the room.

"Well, Doctor?"

Bashir offered a weary smile as he removed his mask and gown. "He'll live; I can't promise more than that."

The man nodded his understanding. "You should get some rest."

"Yes," Bashir agreed. "I'll be by to check on him later."

Getting into Sir Charles' car, he let his head rest against the back of the seat for a moment as he ran through what he had done and tried to determine if it had damaged history.

At last he sat up, satisfied, and tapped his combadge. "Bashir to Defiant."

"Julian?"

"You can have the medical team stand down, Dax; surgery was a success, and the patient is stable in good condition."

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