The BLTS Archive - Survive the Night
by Maddie (mystwood60@hotmail.com)

---
Published: 03-29-01

Updated: 03-29-01

Author's Note:  This story takes place early in the series, during the
episode in which Jadzia's symbiot was forcefully removed and she is
dying.  This is a "missing scene" from that ep that was originally
published in the Orion Press fanzine OUTPOST 2, 1994, edited by
Randall Landers.  As always the characters of DS9 belong to Paramount
but the plot belongs to me.  Feedback and constructive criticism
always welcome.

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.

---

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