The BLTS Archive - Of Two Minds
fourth in the Greensleeves series
by ScopesMonkey (melanie.crisfield@gmail.com)

---

Author's Note: At the request of a couple of people, I am
writing some stories set in the Greensleeves universe. If
you haven't read Greensleeves, I suggest you do so, or else
this won't make much sense.

If anyone knows the names of Jadzia's family members (her
mother, father, and sister) please send me a PM and let me
know, because I just made them up for my own purposes.

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine or
anything associated with Trek. I am not making any money off
of this. Any original characters, settings, or events do
belong to me and may not be used without my permission.

And now:

---

"I've decided not to do it."

Julian Bashir swung his legs from the arm of the couch and
pushed himself quickly to his feet.

"What?" he asked, putting aside the PADD he'd been studying,
his physiology reading immediately forgotten.

Jadzia Idaris looked back at him with obvious trepidation on
her face. She was anxious about his reaction, but he could
see the faint hints of resolve underneath.

"Why?" he asked.

"Jules, if I went through with this, I'd risk losing you. I
can't face that. I don't want a life where I'm not
interested in you anymore. I don't want to change!"

Bashir took her hands.

"Zia, people change all of the time. We can't avoid that.
You and I have both changed since we met. That's no reason
to throw away a lifelong dream!"

"I've made up my mind, Jules," she said.

"No, we need to talk about this," he insisted. "Zia, listen
to me." He pulled her down onto the couch beside him, noting
her disinclination to sit down. She met his eyes squarely,
and he saw the reluctance in them. She didn't want to talk
about this; she had been hoping to avoid a confrontation.
Hoping he wouldn't question her decision not to let herself
be considered for joining should a suitable symbiont be
found for her. He reached out, tucking a strand of her dark
hair behind her ear.

"Zia, I don't want to lose you, either. But being joined is
something you've wanted to do ever since you were a little
girl. I don't want you to throw away something you've worked
so hard for because you're feelings for me might change."

"Jules, if I got a symbiont, I would change," she stressed.

"Yes, I understand that," he said, and he meant it. After
meeting her two years ago, he had done a lot of research on
Trill, particularly joined Trill, and talked to several of
them to get an idea of what the joining was like, and what
it meant to live with a symbiont. "But there's no guarantee
that your feelings for me will change, and there's no
guarantee that the person you'd become wouldn't interest me,
either."

"I know that," she said. "But I don't want to take that
chance."

"But you're taking a chance on this," he replied. "What if
being joined worked out really well for our relationship?
You've told me yourself that being a host enhances the
host's life as well as the symbiont's. What about the people
around you?" He paused, pursing his lips. "And how can you
benefit from regretting making a decision like this?"

"How do you know I'd regret it?" she asked.

"Because it's something you've wanted to do all of your
life," he replied. "I don't want to be the person
responsible for denying you something you've always wanted."

"It's my choice," she said.

"But you're making it because of me. Zia, look, I can tell
this doesn't make you happy. I know this is something you've
always wanted to do. You can't make a decision for me that
would make you unhappy, no matter what the consequences are
later. This is your life, and your dream."

"And my decision."

Bashir sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He thought
for a moment, then looked back up.

"Zia, when I found out about my genetic engineering, I
thought I was going to be kicked out of med school. It was
the worst week of my life, while my professors fought
Starfleet Command to keep me in. I was going to lose the one
thing I'd wanted most from my life because of a choice that
was made by someone else sixteen years before that. I don't
want you to go through that. And I don't want to lose you."

"Jules, that's the point," Idaris said. "You could lose me
if I'm joined. That's what I want to avoid."

He put one hand on her cheek, tracing cheekbone with his
thumb.

"No, if you decide not to be a candidate, then I am losing
you. Part of you. I'm losing the Jadzia who worked so hard
to fulfill her dream. I'm losing the Jadzia with a goal.
What's worse is that you're losing her, too. If someone
asked you to chose between me and your career, what would
you pick? If you were given a great assignment before I'm
finished med school, would you stay here with me? Or would
you follow the dreams you had before you ever met me?"

"Being in a relationship requires compromise, Jules," Idaris
pointed out.

"Of course," he agreed. "And if you were joined, we'd have
to learn whole new ways to compromise, Zia. We'd have to
adjust to a change in our lives. But didn't we do that when
we met, and when we first moved in together?"

"Yes," she agreed.

"From what you've told me, I don't think the symbiosis
committee would give you a symbiont that's utterly
incompatible with you. And, although you wouldn't be Jadzia
Idaris anymore, you'd still be Jadzia. You told me that the
host has to be strong enough not to let the symbiont
overwhelm her. So you'd still have Jadzia's interests and
affections. You'd have more, too, of course. Zia, I love
you. And I think you're pretty fond of me."

She smiled, dropping her head for a moment, then looking up
again.

"You could say that," she replied.

Bashir smiled, too, kissing her quickly on the cheek.

"Zia, being a doctor is the most important thing in the
galaxy to me. But you are the most important person. I know
I can be a doctor and have you in my life. I think you could
be joined and have me in your life. You don't need to trade
it for me, or me for it."

"What if it doesn't work out?" she asked.

"Why can't we cross that bridge if we come to it? Why deny
yourself something like this for something that might not
happen?"

Idaris sighed and leaned back against the couch. Bashir
watched her look around their apartment. Although they
couldn't see the bay from where they were, they had a good
view of the San Francisco skyline and they got a lot of sun.
Idaris had loved it from the moment she'd seen it; Bashir
was content to live pretty much anywhere, as long as there
was a roof over his head and he was warm and dry.

"I suppose so," she said at length.

"Please think about it. Some more," he added.

She looked back at him and gave him a gentle smile. She put
her fingertips to his cheek and nodded.

"I'll think about it."

"Thank you," Bashir said and gave her a quick kiss. Idaris
kissed him back, then sighed and leaned him. He wrapped one
arm around her shoulders and settled back against the couch
cushions, gazing out of the living room windows without
really seeing the city around them.

---

The outdoor cafe was busy, but Bashir spotted Ensign
Shannon Tanner immediately. She was seated in the far
corner, near the patio's wrought iron fence, with a large
flower pot on either side of her chair. She was bent over a
PADD, playing absently with the straw of her milkshake while
she studied. There was a small pile of PADDs beside her left
elbow, too. She wasn't dressed in  her Starfleet uniform;
they had found this cafe the first year they had known each
other, and both of them liked it because so few cadets went
there. Or officers, for that matter. It was small and out of
the way, but always busy.

There was a spare chair opposite her own, and she had one
foot hooked around one of the legs, to prevent anyone from
snatching it up. Bashir wound his way through the other
tables toward her, pulled on the chair and smiled as she
tightened her grip on it, looking up quickly. Then she
smiled as well, letting it go.

"Hi, Jules," she said, shutting off her PADD and putting it
aside.

"Hi, Shan, how are you?"

"Busy, as always," she replied with a smile. Although she
had graduated the basic program and was now an ensign,
Tanner had been assigned to one of academy's astrometric
analysis labs, and they had made it a condition of her
position that she take a two-year advanced program. She had
accepted happily, and would be graduating in four short
weeks, after which she was being assigned to the Soto for
her first deep space mission. It was something she had been
looking forward to for years.

He was slightly envious of her limited time left in school.
He himself had one more year of medical school before he
graduated. Idaris, who was now a junior lieutenant, had been
able to secure an assignment here on Earth, at a Starfleet
lab in Vancouver, so that she could stay with him. Once
Bashir graduated, however, they would both be putting in for
deep space assignments. He hoped that they could get
assignments on the same ship or starbase. He had no desire
to live a life where he saw her only at rare intervals.

Tanner pushed her milkshake glass in front of her.

"Has she decided yet?" she asked.

Bashir paused as a server came to take his order, then
answered:

"No, but it's only been a few days. This isn't something I
want her to rush into. Either way."

"Want me to talk to her for you?"

Bashir shook his head.

"No, I don't want her to feel pressured. This really has to
be her choice, Shan."

"And what will you do if she chooses not to?"

"Live with it, I suppose," he replied with a frown.

Tanner sat back in her chair, shaking her head. She had
recently cut her hair and wore it short and messy. Bashir
had preferred it long, but he had a preference for women
with long hair. It was one of the many things he loved about
Idaris.

"You don't sound very happy about that," she said.

"I'm not," he admitted. "But it really isn't my life, nor my
choice. I just don't want her to lose her dream because of
some insecurity."

Tanner nodded as Bashir's own milkshake arrived. She
wrinkled her nose when she saw it was strawberry flavoured,
then gave him a look to suggest that, while he was entitled
to make his own decisions, she questioned his mental
stability.

"I want to give her enough time to think about it, though,"
Bashir said. "And I need to concentrate on my exams for the
next two weeks anyway."

Tanner snorted.

"Yeah, right, Mister Genetically Enhanced. I'm sure you have
to study so hard."

"I said concentrate, not study. And it's not like you aren't
breezing through, either."

Tanner shook her head. Bashir knew she wasn't vain about her
intelligence, and didn't like calling attention to it, but
the simple fact was that she was, like him, a genius. She
had been born into it, coming by it naturally from her
parents, while he had had his given to him. Tanner had never
held his genetically enhanced intelligence against him,
though. He had been terrified she would. It still amazed him
sometimes how normally most people treated him. It amazed
him even more to meet people who hadn't heard about the
scandal and didn't automatically associate his name with it.

"If she is joined, will she be smarter? Not that Jadzia
isn't brilliant as it is, understand."

"No, I know what you mean, and, yes, she will. She'll know
more anyway, because she'll have the experiences of all the
previous hosts."

Tanner shook her head once.

"That would be so strange," she commented.

"Apparently, it's very hard for humans to understand it,"
Bashir said.

"Something about our independent streak? I'm just not sure
I'd want all those other voices in my head. Experiencing
other people's thoughts and memories? No, thanks."

"Lucky for you that you're not a Trill, then," Bashir said.

"The spots are interesting," Tanner commented and Bashir
chuckled. "Well, I hope she makes a choice that's really
good for her."

"Me, too."

"I should hope so," Tanner teased him. She picked up a PADD
and checked the time on it.

"What time do you have to be in London?" Bashir asked.

"The concert is at eight, so Meg said to arrive by seven.
Time zones hurt my brain. I have another hour."

"Good," Bashir said, leaning back in his chair and sipping
his milkshake. "Tell me, Ensign, how's that research of
yours going?"

---
The next two weeks passed in a flurry of activity for
Bashir and his fellow med students, not to mention every
cadet at the Academy. He hardly saw Idaris, but she had
always been good about his med school responsibilities,
especially since he needed to put in far less time studying
than his peers. But his friends called upon him to help them
study, and, given the gift he had, he couldn't turn them
down.

Bashir knew Idaris was still thinking about being joined,
about their conversation regarding that same topic. He also
knew her well enough to know that she needed the time and
space to think about it, without him pressing her for an
answer. Idaris was very thorough in her decision making
processes, and very possessive about the fact that they were
her decisions. The fact that he had convinced her to
consider changing her mind spoke volumes to him about how
uncertain she had been in choosing not to be joined.

He finished his last exam of the year one sunny Thursday
afternoon and left the exam room with his head swimming
mildly. The corridors of Starfleet Academy were abuzz with
students hurrying to and fro, meeting in groups to study, or
rushing off to exams of their own. Bashir sank gratefully
onto a bench just outside the classroom and stretched his
legs out. He leaned his head back against the wall and
closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh. He had a whole
three months of clinical work ahead of him now, but he was
looking forward to it greatly. He enjoyed the time with the
patients. The PADDs and lectures just weren't the same;
there was no helping anyone, no contact with people. He had
been lucky enough to secure two weeks off, however; Idaris
wanted to go to Trill to visit her family and he knew he'd
never hear the end of it if he stayed behind.

Many of his friends sympathized with him for having parents
who were in jail and therefore having no real family. It
struck Bashir as odd, because, other than the first month or
so after finding out the truth, he had never felt alone in
the world. He hadn't known Idaris when the secret had come
to light, but he had known Tanner for three years by that
time, and her parents had more or less adopted him as a
second son. He'd been included in all the holidays and
family events, and been scolded if he hadn't gone.

Then he had met Idaris and her family had also taken him
into their fold. He had been worried they wouldn't approve
of him; after all, he wasn't a Trill and he had no idea what
it meant to be a joining candidate. But Idaris' mother had
loved him from the start and her father enjoyed having
another man around, no matter what race Bashir was. Keila
Idaris had three daughters and a wife and, although he was
still outnumbered, it was somewhat less so. Idaris' sisters
seemed to like him, too, but he saw less of them than her he
did her parents. They were always off in school or on some
trip somewhere. Like Idaris, they had never been bound for
lives just on Trill, and certainly not dull lives.

"Don't tell me that drained your brain," a voice said next
to him suddenly and Bashir opened his eyes to see the
smiling face of Fahad el Naser, a med student in the same
year as him, and one of his friends. Bashir gave el Naser a
grin and the other man sat down beside him, shaking his
head.

"I'm just glad it's all over for a few months," Bashir
replied.

"So you can warp off to Trill and then take that cushy
position in New Amsterdam?"

Bashir snorted.

"Cushy? I'll only get to be home four days out of every
sixteen. Not like you, beaming back to Mummy and Daddy's."

El Naser punched him lightly on the shoulder. Fairly
lightly.

"Mummy and Daddy's my ass, Julian. I'm going to Iran, not to
the U.A.E."

"Close enough."

El Naser's grin widened.

"What, you think I'm going to beam home every night? No,
thanks. I get enough harassment while I'm here. It's all
�Fahad, why aren't you married yet? I know a nice girl you'd
like.'" I don't need to get that in person, too."

Bashir grinned mischievously.

"If it's women you're after, I know a few I could introduce
you to."

El Naser raised an expressive eyebrow.

"Cadet Bashir's match making service. I'll take my chances
on my own, Julian, if it's all the same to you. Come on,
let's go get some lunch."

"I can't. I have to go home and meet Zia. Promised."

"Ah, the lovely lady Jadzia. All right, but you'd better
come visit me in Iran."

"If you come to New Amsterdam."

"Wouldn't turn down a trip to the moon for all the latinum
in the galaxy."

"What would you need latinum for?"

"Sold my soul, now I need to buy it back," El Naser joked.
"Have a good time on Trill."

"Always do," Bashir replied. Both men shook hands and Bashir
rose to go. "Keep in touch."

"Only if you do," his friend replied. Bashir smirked and
nodded; they were usually moderately successful at keeping
their word to stay in contact. And Bashir had never actually
been to Iran, so the prospect of visiting there was
appealing.

"See you," Bashir said and el Naser waved before Bashir
turned and head down the corridor. He made his way outside,
into the brilliant sunshine and warm early summer air.
Pausing, he took a deep breath and appreciated the moment.
The air smelled sweet from the blooming trees and flowers in
the gardens around him, and the pathways were alive with the
buzz of conversation. A pair of full fledged doctors walked
past, discussing something, and Bashir anticipated the time
when that would be him. He could imagine having his own
sickbay, his own nurses, his own patients. Maybe another
doctor to work with. He could imagine really contributing,
making a difference in the lives of people stationed in deep
space, so far from the places where they had been born. He
was eager to leave Earth as it was, to leave his parents
behind. His past he knew he would always carry with him � it
was either a burden or a gift, perhaps both � but he could
leave the sour relationship he had with his parents.

He caught a transport back to his apartment, deciding to
skip the walk because he knew Idaris would be waiting for
him. She had taken today off of work as well, to begin
packing and do all the last minute things that always
distracted her.

She was in fact waiting for him. It looked as though she'd
done all the packing she could do and she was just sitting
in a chair, waiting, when he returned home. She rose when
she heard him come in the door and Bashir toed off his
boots, giving her a puzzled look.

"Zia? Is something wrong?"

"I got a message this morning from Trill. Curzon Dax is
dying."

"Curzon Dax? Your field trainer?"

Idaris nodded. He crossed the living room quickly to her and
gave her a quick hug.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Idaris hugged him back.

"It's all right. I didn't like him much when I was doing my
field training. It's not that, Jules. The symbiosis
committee suggested I request the symbiont, so I did. I got
a reply saying I've been selected just a couple hours ago."

Bashir felt momentarily overwhelmed by the flood of
emotions. There was instant anxiety over finally being
presented with the fact that Idaris was going to be joined,
nervousness about losing her, happiness that something she'd
waited for all of her life was finally happening, surprise
that it had happened so quickly. She was watching him,
twisting her fingers together gently, and Bashir knew she
would remember this moment for the rest of her life. So he
embraced the positive feelings and pulled her into a tight
hug, weaving one hand into her long hair.

"That's great, Zia," he said and meant it. She hugged him
back and he could feel her smile. He had wondered, over the
past couple of weeks, if push had come to shove, what she
would choose. Now he knew. It was gratifying to know his
instinct had been right about her answer.

"Do we need to leave earlier?" he asked, pulling away from
her gently and taking her upper arms. Idaris was still
smiling and Bashir was relieved; when she looked back on
this day, she'd remember she had his support, not his
questions.

"I told them we were on our way to Trill tomorrow anyway.
Since it's only three days away, they said that was fine."

"What if Curzon dies before we get there?"

"They can keep the symbiont stable in the pools," Idaris
replied.

"Good," Bashir said.

"We have good transport anyway," Idaris replied. "I doubt
we'd get anything better on such short notice."

Bashir nodded at that. They were booked onto a Federation
transport shuttle for the next morning, which would take
them all the way to Trill. Idaris had managed to get them a
good suite on the ship, too, since they had booked so early.
On the way back, they were coming home on the Kubai, a small
Starfleet ship that was scheduled to pass through the Trill
system on its way back to Mars to pick up new crew and some
new parts. From Mars, they could easily catch one of the
daily shuttles heading to Earth.

The return trip was going to be far different than he'd
anticipated.

"Are you nervous?" Idaris asked, searching his face.

"A bit," Bashir admitted, nodding. "But only a bit."

She smiled her brilliant smile and kissed him. Bashir kissed
back, wondering how this would be different in a week's
time.

"I suppose you packed for me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Idaris blushed mildly.

"Mostly," she admitted. He grinned, shaking his head. She
was so organized. He went into the bedroom and she followed.
He checked his open suitcase, tossed in a couple more
things, then began peeling off his cadet's uniform. Idaris
leaned against the dresser, watching him with a small,
amused grin.

"I hope you'll be graduating head of your class again this
year," she said.

"Of course," he replied, his voice slightly muffled as he
pulled of his shirt. He snagged a black, short sleeved shirt
from the closet and pulled it over his head, then changed
his pants, throwing his uniform in the laundry pile, and sat
down on the bed.

"I feel sorry for the other students in your year," she
said, sinking down beside him, running a hand through his
hair.

"There's always second place to strive for," he replied,
giving her a quick kiss.

"Mmm. I hope your friend Fahad gets it."

Bashir grinned.

"Me too, but some woman named Elizabeth is giving everyone a
run for their latinum. I wouldn't be surprised if it was her
next year."

"As long as she doesn't supplant you."

"She's not genetically enhanced."

"As far as you know," Idaris pointed out.

"Maybe it's a huge conspiracy," Bashir agreed. "To populate
Starfleet with genetically enhanced doctors. First the
medical community, then the whole galaxy."

"And I suppose you're spearheading the entire operation?"

"Of course, my dear. Who else?"

Idaris chuckled, shaking her head. Bashir took her hand and
tugged her to her feet.

"Come on, we're going out for lunch. We have to celebrate."

---

That evening and the following morning passed in a flurry
of activity. There was last minute packing, calling Idaris'
family to let them know about the joining, calling Tanner to
let her know the same and to finalize arrangements to be at
her graduation, and getting to the transporter pad on time
the next morning. They arrived with a few minutes to spare
and a short line of passengers in front of them. They were
the last two on the pad to be transported to the ship, and
they had no sooner arrived and had been shown to their suite
when the captain announced over the com that they were
leaving for Trill. Bashir felt the ship go into impulse, a
capability granted by his enhancements, as they put their
luggage on the generously sized bed. The cabin was almost as
large as their apartment, with thin, elongated windows
stretching from the floor to the ceiling in the bedroom.
Currently, they were shuttered. Bashir opened them and
Earth's moon as they sailed past it. He caught a glimpse of
New Amsterdam on the edge of a new lunar dawn, then it was
past and they were headed toward the Jovian asteroid belt.

The three-day trip to Trill flew by much faster than Bashir
had anticipated or liked. He spent many of his hours poring
over the information available in the Federation database on
the past Dax hosts. Curzon Dax was the most well known now,
of course, as the foremost Federation diplomat who
negotiated the merger between the Federation and the
Bajoran-Cardassian Alliance. But Bashir had also heard what
Idaris had to say about Curzon and was uneasy about
accepting the popular image of the Trill diplomat. He knew
that Curzon was a hard, demanding man. He wondered what that
would give to Idaris.

He wondered what all of them will give to Idaris. The first
host, Lela, had been a politician. Another, Tobin, had been
an engineer, which complemented Idaris' scientific interests
well. Audrid had been head of the symbiosis commission.
Emony Dax had been a gymnast, and Bashir was surprised to
learn she had traveled to Earth to compete in the Olympics,
back in a time when it was believed if a host died so far
from Trill it would automatically result in the death of the
symbiont. The host prior to Curzon had been a pilot named
Torias who had died in a shuttle accident. Bashir hoped that
the symbiont had suffered no permanent trauma that could be
passed onto Idaris.

When they arrived on Trill three days after departing from
Earth, Bashir's head was swimming with names, dates,
personalities, life stories and random facts. They beamed
down directly to the symbiosis center, not even allowed time
to beam to Idaris' parents' house and deposit their bags.
Idaris' family met them there, along with several purple
clad symbiosis doctors.

They were at least allowed a few minutes to greet Idaris'
family. Her sisters congratulated her enthusiastically, and
her mother, Zarin, pulled Idaris into a tight hug. Her
father, Keila, took Bashir aside.

"Julian, are you ready for this?" he asked.

"Are you?" he replied.

Keila gave him a small, wry smile.

"I'm a Trill, Julian. I'm used to this."

"I'll just have to get used to it," Bashir replied.

Keila clapped him lightly on the shoulder and nodded toward
the group of women. They were being approached by the
doctors.

"I think you two are on," he said. Bashir nodded and
rejoined Idaris, her mother and her sisters. Her father
pulled Idaris into a tight hug, holding her tightly for a
full minute before releasing her. He gave the doctors a nod
and stepped back. The head surgeon gestured toward the door
to the prep room. Idaris took Bashir's hand and followed the
surgeons. They had arranged for Bashir to be there in the
operating room. He was a med student, so this was of
professional interest to him, and Idaris would be conscious
during the procedure and did not want to be without him.

They stepped into the small prep room and Bashir glanced
back to get a final glimpse of the Idaris family before the
door hissed shut behind them.

---

Curzon Dax was already lying on an operating table when
Jadzia Idaris entered the room. He looked so different from
her last memory of him; back then, he had been towering and
imposing, commanding her life with a harsh, unyielding
manner. He had had a way of charming everyone around him or
cowing them into doing what he wanted. Once, he had been a
ladies' man, dashing and charismatic.

Now, he was withered and frail, his once dark hair a faded,
wispy white. His eyes were rapidly losing the fire Idaris
had come to fear during her field training. The skin on his
face looked fragile, like old paper which would crumble into
dust at the lightest of touches. He was barely a shadow of
the Curzon who had terrified her. It was an unnerving sight
to say the least and only a little gratifying. She wondered
if he knew she'd requested the Dax symbiont, or if he even
remembered her. She had no idea how good his memory was
right now, or if he had bothered to recall a young initiate
who he had flushed from the program. Perhaps she had been so
far beneath his notice in the first place that he saw her
not as his former student, but just as another Trill host
coming to be joined.

She glanced back at Bashir and gave him a soft smile and a
kiss on the cheek, which he returned. Idaris knew he was
nervous this� so was she. But she knew he was willing to
take the chance, and, out of all the considerate things
anyone had ever done for her, this one topped the list by
far. She hoped with all of her heart that Dax would not
change her so much she would no longer love him the way she
did now. She couldn't imagine not loving someone who was
willing to give so much for her without a single complaint.

She had been dressed in a thin, pale green cotton gown in
the prep room and was starting to get cold. Her feet were
bare, as were the lower half of her legs, her forearms, and,
of course, her stomach. She rubbed her arms gently and the
surgeon gestured to her to get onto the operating table.
Idaris climbed up carefully, conscious of the fact that her
gown didn't cover much, and lay down. The nurse covered her
legs with a thin blanket that didn't really do much in the
way of heat. Bashir came to stand beside her and she raised
one hand, searching for his. He enfolded her hand in his
owns, pressing it gently, and smiled down at her.

"Love you," he mouthed.

She mouthed the words in return, aware of the silence in the
operating room and not wanting to break it. The surgeon,
whose face was now almost completely covered so that only
his brown eyes showed, injected an anesthetic into her neck.
There was a moment where Idaris felt the influx of the drug
into her system, then she could feel nothing in the lower
half of her body. She tightened her grip on Bashir's hand;
she could still feel that. He squeezed back and Idaris
raised her head slightly to see the surgeon making an
incision into Curzon's torso. Carefully, the doctor eased
the symbiont from the dying man's body. Idaris watched as
the last of the light began draining from his eyes.

"Curzon," she whispered. He turned his eyes to her and gave
her a weak smile. Still, Idaris had no idea if he recognized
her or not.

The surgeon turned his back on the dying host and passed the
symbiont to the waiting nurse. He made an incision into her
stomach and Idaris saw Bashir's jaw tighten. He didn't like
watching others perform surgery while he did nothing,
especially when the procedure was being done to her. She
gave his hand another squeeze, then winced slightly at the
pressure of the symbiont being inserted. Idaris took a deep
breath and closed her eyes, trying to will away the
nervousness and unease. Then her features relaxed and she
took a moment for a deep breath to allow a sense of peace
and well being to return.

---

Jadzia Dax opened her eyes.

The first thing she saw was Julian Bashir's deep, bright
eyes looking back down at her, questioningly. She was
startled by his appearance for a moment: he looked so young.
Then she realized she felt so young. She could feel the
vitality of a body in its mid-twenties, all the energy, the
passion, the life. It was shocking, as it always was, to be
returned to such a healthy state after accompanying a past
host until the moment of his or her death.

She gave Bashir a smile and his face relaxed into a smile as
well. Then Dax raised her head, glancing across the room at
Curzon, who was now lying still, dead, on the other
operating table. She glanced down at herself and was frankly
surprised.

"I haven't been a woman in a long time," she commented.

The sudden sound of laughter surprised her; the noise was
deep, rich, full of emotion. It was Bashir, she realized.
She had never been aware of how beautiful his laugh was. She
felt a tiny flicker of hope; if she could feel a deeper
appreciation for him now, maybe things would work out.

"How do you feel?" the surgeon asked from behind his purple
mask.

"Fine. Great," Dax replied, and meant it. The body she was
in now was strong, young, and fit. Starfleet, of course. She
would have known even without Jadzia's memories. She propped
herself on her forearms carefully, watching the surgeon's
eyes crease with a frown, but Bashir, the future doctor,
simply gave her a helping hand. He trusted her. She knew
that.

"I want to see my family," she said. Dax tried to swing her
legs from the bed and failed miserably.

"You're still anesthetized," Bashir reminded her with a
grin.

She gave a short laugh and ducked her head for a quick
moment before the surgeon injected her with another dose of
medication.

"Give it a few minutes," he advised. "We'll move Curzon,
then your family can come in. I wouldn't recommend walking
around until the feeling has fully returned. You should know
that, by now."

The surgeon and the nurse transferred Curzon's body to a
stretcher and guided it from the room. A sudden silence
engulfed Dax and Bashir, who looked at each other like two
strangers meeting for the first time. But only for a moment.

"How do you feel?" Bashir asked.

"I feel fine, Jules, I really do."

"It's going to take some getting used to, calling you
'Dax'."

She squeezed his hand.

"I'm still Jadzia," she reminded him. " 'Zia' will be fine."

"You look different," he commented.

"How so?"

"Stronger, more confident."

"I feel more confident," she replied, then gave him a bright
smile. "It's a great feeling. Like I can do anything, take
on any challenge. Now I know what's it like to feel like you
do."

He chuckled and sat down on the bed beside her. The feeling
was beginning to return to Dax's legs and she winced
slightly as the pins and needles sensation spread through
the lower half of her body. She shifted her legs gently and
wiggled her toes.

"What's it like, being over three hundred years old?"

"So nice to be in a young body again," she replied, to which
Bashir smiled.

"I'm pretty fond of that body, too," he said. Dax made a
face, sticking out her tongue and he laughed, shaking his
head. She was relieved they were getting along, at least.
She had been afraid the symbiont would find Bashir too
young, too inexperienced for her new tastes. She was still
afraid that would happen; she'd barely been joined and all
the of the memories of her past lives hadn't surfaced yet.
When they did, her experience would be greater. Bashir's
would be the same as it was right now, plus a few days. She
was worried that a gulf might open between them, one that
was unbridgeable.

It left a cold feeling in her stomach, right where the
symbiont was.

The doors hissed open then and her family came in. Dax's
worries vanished immediately when she saw their smiling,
curious faces and she grinned back at them, beckoning them
to come in. She was delighted to see them again; it had been
so long since she and Bashir had last been to Trill, or her
family to Earth, and being rushed into the operating room
wasn't the most leisurely of greetings. And now they looked
so young and vibrant to her. She had Bashir help her from
the bed, now that the feeling had painfully returned to her
lower body, and embraced her parents warmly. She understood
so much more about them, now, having been a parent several
times before. It was so odd to have those experiences
suddenly, when just an hour ago, she still had no idea if
she ever wanted children.

Her sisters crowded around her, pestering her with questions
and hugs until their father intervened and told them to calm
down. Dax could only grin; the enthusiasm the three of them
had always shared was still there, and still contagious.

"I assume there's a joining counselor waiting to talk to
me?" she asked.

"You'd be right," her father replied. Dax nodded, although
she had no desire to talk to a counselor. This was her
seventh joining and she knew what to expect. And she wanted
to leave the institute as soon as possible; Jadzia had many
unhappy, stressful memories of this place. But she knew that
it was her responsibility as a newly joined host to go.

They left the operating room and met with a smiling nurse
who offered to show them to the counselor's office. Dax
accepted to avoid a disagreement and draw this out any
longer. They followed the young woman � who was really
probably about Jadzia's age � through a sunlit corridor and
down a set of wide stairs that led to a bright lobby. There
were people coming and going in the lobby, some of them
young initiates. Dax found herself amazed by their
appearance; had she really been one of them only a decade
ago? They seemed so unconcerned by the pressures of being
initiates, which was not at all how she felt back then. A
young man on the stairs behind them cried past them:

"Ezri! Hey, Ezri!"

Dax spotted a young, dark haired girl turn and look up
toward them, past them, to the boy who had called her. She
grinned and waved.

"Jarlan!"

"Wait up!" the young man cried and slipped past them, giving
them an apologetic but confident grin for any jostling, and
hurried down the stairs. The girl Ezri waited for him, then
they vanished from the building into the fresh air outside.

The group made their way down into the lobby. Dax recognized
the psychology wing; she had spent too much time here as an
initiate, being screened to determine if she was mentally
capable of accepting a symbiont. The offices were toward the
back of the wing. They all had wide windows and overlooked
gardens, but Dax had never felt comfortable in those
offices. The view of the gardens had seemed mocking, as if
reminding her that she was trapped in a psychology session,
cut off from the outside world until she'd satisfied some
doctor's requirements.

Now, however, she knew what to do, how to act, how to
reassure them. And she knew when she did so that she would
not be lying. Dax carried all these memories for her,
letting her know things would be all right.

"I can beam home after I'm done here," she said. "Why don't
you all go on ahead?"

"Are you sure you don't mind, darling?" her mother asked.

"Not at all. I know the way to the transporter station," she
replied with a smile.

"All right," her mother agreed and her father nodded. Dax
gave Bashir a kiss on the cheek.

"See you later," she said softly and he nodded, returning
the kiss. She felt strange kissing him, as if she didn't
quite have his permission. She knew he was the same Julian,
but she was not the same Jadzia. Would he like this new her?
Would he love her? Mild anxiety churned in her stomach; she
didn't know if she could imagine a life without this medical
student who had become so important to her over the past two
years. But could a young human man satisfy her emotional
needs now? Could she do the same for him?

"You bet," he replied and Dax heard a familiar warmth in his
voice. She was heartened to hear it and gave him another
quick, impulsive kiss. Then she followed the nurse, who was
waiting patiently for her. She glanced back once over her
shoulder to see Bashir watching her leave and just his gaze
made her feel better, more confident about what she was
about to face.

---

It took two transporter trips to get to the Idaris home
almost on the other side of Trill. On that side of the
planet, it was already dark. They lived in a small town
which was quiet at this hour, a peaceful quietness that
Bashir appreciated. The stars were out, the constellations
so alien from those the medical student was used to seeing
on Earth. The house was a two story modern building with
large windows and an airy interior. Bashir turned down
dinner, truthfully claiming tiredness from the trip and the
whirlwind surgery, and headed into the bedroom he and Dax
normally shared when they visited. The bed had been made up
for them, and the curtains had been drawn back from the
window so that moon- and starlight gave the room a soft blue
glow.

Bashir put Dax's suitcase by the wall and put his on the
bed. He flipped it open and pulled out the T-shirt and
cotton pants in which he slept and changed from his day to
day clothing. He cleaned up and crawled into the soft,
comfortable bed. Although his mind was spinning with the
events of that day, his body overruled it and he was asleep,
in the alien moonlight, within minutes.

---

When Dax arrived at her parents' house, there was still one
light on in the otherwise dark dwelling. She guessed
correctly that her father was awake and waiting for her. She
had inherited her night-owl tendencies from him. Her mother
preferred a full night's sleep, while her father didn't
require very much sleep at all and liked to spend a few
quiet hours reading after everyone else had retired. She had
never been allowed to join him: it was his time to himself,
but he'd never stopped her from staying up and reading in
her bedroom.

Which she could see was dark as well; Bashir was probably
asleep. He had an amazing talent for being able to sleep
anywhere, anytime, if needed. Dax suspected it was something
they taught in medical school. She'd never known a doctor
who couldn't do that. Although Bashir was still technically
a medical student, Dax had been thinking of him as a doctor
for about a year now. In one more year, he'd be officially
recognized as such, and she knew he'd be a brilliant
physician.

She slipped into the house and made her way by memory to the
small library her parents had built up over the years. The
door had been left open and she poked her head inside. Her
father looked up and smiled, beckoning her inside. Dax
stepped in and sat down in one of the two large, leather
armchairs.

"How are you doing, Zia?" Keila asked.

"All right," she replied. "Glad to be out of that counseling
session. I don't think I ever want to go back there again."

He laughed, taking one of her hands and squeezing it.

"How's Jules?" she asked.

"He went to bed as soon as we got home," Keila replied.
"He's either exhausted or didn't want to be prodded with
questions."

Dax frowned slightly, leaning back in her chair.

"You're worried," her father observed.

"To say the least," she replied with a sigh. "Dad, I don't
know what's going to happen and it scares me."

"You were never one to back down from a challenge," her
father told her.

"Jules isn't a challenge, he's a person."

"Of course he is," her father assured her. "But making any
relationship work is a challenge, Zia. The two of you have
managed to do so for the last two years. Do you really think
you'll change enough to make that impossible now?"

"I don't know," she replied honestly. "I have no idea how
this is going to affect me. I can remember all the other
hosts and I have all their experiences, but it's like wading
into a sea of pages torn from old books. I can't make sense
of any of it yet."

"It takes time."

"I don't want to lose him."

"So don't. You're still Jadzia, regardless of what last name
you take. The other hosts, none of them can tell you how you
feel about Julian. None of them have the right to, and none
of them know him. He's your partner, your friend. And this
is your life. Not theirs."

"I know," Dax replied, nodding. "It's all so confusing right
now."

"I understand," her father said and, even though he wasn't
joined, Dax felt that he really did understand. "And humans
do have a hard time with it, as most other aliens do when
someone becomes joined, or a host switches bodies. You'll
have to be aware of that. But remember Julian does know you,
Jadzia, and he's willing to work this out."

"I am, too," she replied.

"I know." He paused, and touched her chin with two fingers,
a small gesture of support. "Don't worry about it too much,
darling, or else you might worry it to pieces. Take it a day
at a time for now, and you'll sort it out."

"I hope you're right," Dax replied, rising from her chair.
She leaned down to give her father a kiss on the cheek,
which he returned. "I'm going to bed now."

"Sleep well."

She nodded and left the soft glow of the library's light,
heading back into the darkness of the rest of the house. She
went upstairs, trailing the fingertips of her left hand
along the wooden banister, then along the wall until she
reached her old bedroom.

The curtains were open on the window and Bashir was indeed
asleep, on his back, in the moonlight. Dax found her
suitcase, which he had left next to the door for her, and
changed from her street clothes into her pajamas. She sat on
the edge of the bed and looked at him for a moment, hand
hovering just above his chest. She felt like waking him, but
didn't know if she should. Maybe she didn't have the right
to anymore. Maybe he wanted to sleep.

With a sigh, she drew her hand away and refrained from
giving him a quick kiss in case it woke him up. Instead, she
settled under the covers next to him and closed her eyes on
the first day of her new life.

---

When Bashir awoke in the morning, Dax was gone, although he
could see where she had slept. And he had the faint memory
of being half-awoken when she'd kissed his temple before
leaving the bedroom. He sat up, blinking in the sunlight,
and glanced around. Her suitcase was open on a chair, and
his was on the floor beside it, on its side but unopened. He
felt a glimmer of relief that the Jadzia he knew must still
be present; leaving his suitcase at the ready was something
she would do.

He got up and changed into some civilian clothing and
brushed his hair. He was just sitting back down on the bed
to put his socks on when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," Bashir said and the door hissed open to reveal
Talan, Dax's youngest sister. She leaned against the frame,
crossing her arms, grinning at him. She was only seventeen
and going to university in about a month. In appearance, she
looked like her sisters and her mother: fair skinned with
dark hair and startlingly blue eyes.

"'Morning, Jules," she said casually. Very few people called
him that anymore, not since he'd found out about the genetic
engineering and realized Jules Bashir had effectively died
as a small boy. But he couldn't shake the habit from some
people, including Dax and her sisters.

"Good morning, Tal. Where's Jadzia?"

"Just went downstairs about fifteen minutes ago. Breakfast
is on. Are you coming?"

"I'll be right there."

"Had a chance to talk to the new Zia yet?" she enquired.

"Not yet," Bashir replied.

Talan gave him a one-shouldered shrug and another bright
grin.

"Don't sweat it, human," she said. "Most of you can't wrap
your heads around Trill you knew that were just joined. But
you're pretty bright."

With that, she pushed herself away from the door frame and
headed off. Bashir watched her leave; she was wearing a
skirt and no shoes, so he could see the distinctive Trill
markings, remnants of camouflage, running down her legs and
feet. He looked at his own feet, without any spots, then
closed his eyes. He had never felt more alien on Trill than
he did right now. Most humans couldn't get used to a newly
joined Trill they'd known before he or she was joined. He'd
heard that before. He'd just never really believed it.

He told himself Talan hadn't meant to cause him any doubts.
After all, she was still young and had no plans of being
joined herself. And she was a Trill. If she ever faced a
friend or loved one being joined, she'd naturally be able to
deal with it, the way unjoined Trill had been dealing with
it for millennia.

He was just a human. An alien.

Setting his jaw against his own doubts, Bashir pulled on his
socks and went downstairs to join the Idaris family for
their first breakfast with Jadzia Dax.

---

"This is stupid."

"What is?"

Bashir stopped and Dax turned to face him. For the past
hour, they had been walking in one of the government managed
natural parks just outside of the town in which she had
grown up. Her family had given them time to themselves and
they had decided to get away from everyone, to spend some
time alone.

"I spent the last hour trying to think of things to say
to you!" Bashir complained. "Since when do I need to do
that? I never feel pressured to make small talk with you."

"It is a bit weird," Dax agreed.

"A bit?" Bashir asked. "Zia, I haven't felt this much at a
loss since we first met. No, that's not true. I didn't even
feel like this when we met."

Dax nodded, but said:

"It is somewhat like getting to know each other again,
Jules," she replied.

"I know," he said.

"I think you know, but I don't think you understand. It
takes some getting used to."

"And what about for you?" he asked. "Is this taking some
getting used to for you?"

"Of course it is."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in agitation. He
began walking again and Dax fell into step beside him.

"I wish I knew what was going to happen," he said halfway
under his breath.

"If we knew what was going to happen, what would be the
point in experiencing it?" she asked.

"Hah!" Bashir said, pointing at her. "That's definitely
different. Jadzia Idaris didn't like being ignorant about
outcomes."

"I still don't," she replied. "But I can accept it far more
easily."

"I wish I could," Bashir sighed, tilting his head back and
looking at the clear azure sky. He tripped on a root in his
path and Dax caught him, righting him. "Thanks," he said.

"Don't hurt yourself," she said with a smile. "I'm not the
doctor, remember?"

"But Audrid was," Bashir pointed out.

"That's true," Dax mused. "It could probably come in handy."

"I bet having been a pilot could, too."

"And an engineer."

"Maybe a diplomat, if you have to make peace with any
Cardassians."

Dax laughed.

"It could help in first contact situations," she pointed
out. "And Curzon didn't make peace with Cardassia."

"I know, I know," Bashir said, waving a hand. "Just hammered
out the agreement that merged the Federation and the
Alliance. Nothing major."

Dax laughed again.

"Well I'm glad you still have your sense of humour, cynical
as it may be."

"I'm not the one with three hundred years more experience,"
Bashir pointed out. "How's your sense of humour?"

"Better, I think," Dax replied. "I can handle you, after
all."

"Haha," Bashir replied but shot her a genuine smile. She
grinned back. They past another two Trill who were walking
in the opposite direction. They nodded to Dax but stared at
Bashir, who stared back.

"Strange, isn't it?" Dax asked.

"What?" Bashir asked in return.

"Being the alien."

"Do you feel that way on Earth?"

"At the Academy? No, but Emony felt it. The gymnast.
Personally, I like humans, but I'm far more used to them
than some of my hosts were."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that," Bashir said. "I'm sure your
human friends will, too."

"Hmm," Dax said pensively. "Well, I hope so. I wonder about
those who knew Curzon. I don't know what they'll think of a
young female Dax."

Bashir raised his eyebrows, looking at her.

"I doubt they'll be anything but impressed. And I know your
friends, Zia, will like you no matter what."

Dax nodded.

"For the most part, I think you're right," she agreed.

Bashir thought the ones who wouldn't like her now weren't
really worth having anyway. He didn't say so, because it was
Dax's right to choose her friends, not his.

They were nearing the end of the path, where the transporter
pads were located, and where the shuttle service stopped.
They had come by shuttle, because Dax enjoyed seeing the
scenery of her home planet and Bashir hadn't seen all of
Trill. He appreciated the chance to see what he could; the
planet was large and he was biased towards its natural
beauty, perhaps because it was so foreign to him. He'd been
to more places on Earth than he could count, and, after
awhile, it had all begun to look familiar. Trill was still a
novelty.

"I'd love to go to the Hoobishan Baths," Dax said as they
stepped out from the shade of the trees into the dappled
sunlight. Bashir squinted until his eyes adjusted to the new
level of light, then nodded, flashing her a grin.

"You're offering me the chance to be massaged by beautiful
women and you think I might turn it down?" he joked.

She grinned back.

"I don't expect you will, at that," she replied.

"Then by all means," Bashir said, gesturing at the
transporter pad. They registered their destination while
waiting for a trio of hikers to materialize, then climbed up
onto the pad. Dax gave the command to energize, and Bashir
felt himself dissolving as the standard Federation
transporters converted him from matter into energy. A moment
later, he was rematerializing at the Hoobishan Baths.

They weren't the only ones with the idea of a day at the
renowned spa. The transporters were busy with people coming
and going, but Bashir had been here before, and knew they
wouldn't have a problem getting in. There was more than
enough staff to accommodate the busy schedule.

Dax grinned at him and stepped down from the transporter
pad. It had been one of Idaris' favorite places before being
joined and Bashir suspected it would remain so. They joined
the line for admittance, gave their names and chose their
treatments, then were given towels and bathrobes. They
parted ways to change, then met up again for a short wait
until their masseuses became available.

Dax was able to get in before he was, so Bashir was left
waiting alone, surrounded by Trill who were in small groups
or sitting by themselves, reading. He looked around,
wondering who here was a joined Trill, who was not, and who
intended to be one day. He wondered if there were any new
symbionts in first hosts, a circumstance that was fairly
rare, from what Dax had explained to him.

Bashir felt a stab of relief to see a few other aliens
wander in and take comfortable seats. A Bolian woman nodded
to him and he nodded back. A Bajoran woman was chatting with
a Vulcan man, which surprised him. Not the conversation, but
just the presence of the Vulcan in a place like this. He
seemed at ease, however, as much as a Vulcan ever was, and
was involved in the conversation with his companion.

A stunningly beautiful Trill approached him, smiling
radiantly. She had red-gold hair that fell to her waist and
was pinned loosely back from her face. The shade of her hair
seemed to sharpen the colour of her Trill spots. Her eyes
blazed a vivid, chocolate brown from underneath red-gold
lashes. She was the masseuse Bashir had had the first time
he'd come here, and the one he always went back to.

"Hello, Julian," she said.

"Hello, Shelar," Bashir replied and rose, following her. She
led him into a private room lit by candles and filled with
soft, soothing Trill music, the style of which he did not
recognize.

"Good to see you again. I was wondering if Starfleet would
ever give you and Jadzia any time off to come back."

Bashir smiled as he sat down in her massage chair. She
rubbed some oils on her hands, a fragrance that was similar
to lavender. The first time he'd been here, she'd used
something on him that was fine for Trill but apparently not
for humans; he'd developed a rash all over his back and
shoulders.

"We had planned this for awhile," he said. "But we would
have ended up having to come anyway."

"Why?" Shelar asked. "Nothing serious, I hope."

"No," Bashir assured her. "Jadzia was joined."

He could feel Shelar's surprised in the momentary pause of
her hands.

"Really? Good for her? To whom?"

"Dax."

There was a quick intake of breath behind him.

"Dax? Very impressive," she said. "Must be interesting."

"It was just yesterday," Bashir replied.

"I remember hearing that Curzon Dax had died," Shelar said.
"He'll be missed."

Not by Zia, Bashir thought, but kept that to himself. The
people of Trill had good reason to hold Curzon Dax in high
esteem, as did everyone in the Federation. Whatever he had
been like as a man didn't change what he'd accomplished.
Federation history, Starfleet history in particular, was
riddled with characters like that, men or women who had
accomplished amazing things, but may not have been the most
tolerable people to know personally.

"Well, I hope things work out between you," Shelar said.
"I heard it's difficult for non-Trill to adjust to a
newly joined Trill."

Bashir felt his stomach tighten as it had this morning when
Talan had made her offhanded comment about the same thing.
Why did people keep saying that to him? He took a deep, slow
breath, pretending nothing had bothered him, and nodded his
head once.

"I'm sure it will," he said with a confidence he was no
longer really feeling. If it was such a problem for
non-Trill to adjust, then why did he think he was any
different? Jadzia was a completely different person now. He
understood there were still elements of her personality in
there, but she would be forming a new personality based on
the experiences and memories of Dax's past hosts. Both she
and Bashir were essentially being dropped into a
relationship with a two year history without knowing each
other anymore.

He felt sick.

He kept up his side of the conservation to keep Shelar from
realizing how much her comment had bothered him, but inside,
he was mulling it over, dissecting everything he and Dax had
said to each other since she'd opened her eyes on that
operating table the day before.

It felt like an eternity, but less than a day ago, she'd
still be Jadzia Idaris, the woman with whom he had fallen in
love. Now he wasn't sure who she was, if she would love him,
or he could love her.

When Shelar was finished his massage, Bashir headed into a
steam room. There was no sign of Dax, but there were plenty
of other Trill lounging around on the fragrant wood benches.
The Bajoran and the Vulcan were there, too, although now
they weren't talking. The Bajoran was lying on her back,
eyes closed, and the Vulcan was sitting up straight, eyes
also closed, probably meditating. Bashir was always struck
by how easy it was for Vulcans to meditate anywhere, no
matter what their surroundings. He wished he had that mental
discipline now, but the conversations between the other
patrons distracted him. It seemed so easy for them. Joining
was part of their way of life. He wondered how many here
were joined and how it had changed them.

Half an hour in the steam was enough, and Dax still hadn't
shown up. Bashir left and changed back into his clothes,
heading down to one of the baths' bars for a drink. He was
surprised to find Dax inside, sitting at a table with a
Trill man about her age, chatting and laughing. She glanced
up when he approached their table and grinned brightly at
him.

"Jules, there you are!" she said as he gained a chair, sitting
beside her. She gestured at her companion, a tall, black
haired, green eyed man with an equally bright smile. "This
is Metian Nen." she said. "Met, this is Julian Bashir." She
turned back to Bashir. "Met and I were in the initiate
program together. He was just joined a few months ago. My
second host knew his first host."

"Catching up on old times?" Bashir asked, deliberately
keeping his tone light, shaking Nen's hand.

"Not so old as that," Nen replied. "On the time since we
graduated the program."

"Which was such a relief!" Dax exclaimed, then gestured to a
waiter who made his way through the tables toward them. She
asked him sweetly for another drink, then flashed him a
smile when he took her order. Bashir was a bit surprised;
before, she had never been much of a flirt.

"That place was a bit demanding," Nen agreed.

"A bit?" Dax asked, shaking her head. "I think all consuming
would be a better description!"

Nen grinned again and stood.

"I need to get going," he said. "I'm having a tongo night at
my place tomorrow. Kelandrar and Chec are coming over too,
and a couple other friends. You two want to join us?"

Dax glanced at Bashir and he shrugged one shoulder, nodding.
He could tell she wanted to go, and, although he'd never
played tongo, he was a fast learner.

"I'd love to," she replied. "Curzon was an avid tongo
player. I may have picked up a hint or two."

Nen flashed them another dashing grin.

"Great," he said, pulling out a small pad from the pack he
was carrying. He jotted something down and handed it to Dax.
"My address. Around eight."

"See you then," Dax replied and Bashir gave the other man a
nod. Nen waved at them and left the bar. "Hungry?" Dax
asked. "I am."

"I am, too," Bashir replied and they took a couple of
minutes to decide on meals, then placed their orders.

"Have a good massage?" she asked as drinks arrived, one for
each of them.

Bashir gave her a smile that wasn't entirely heartfelt.

"As always. I was surprised you didn't come to the steam
room."

Dax waved a hand, sipping her drink.

"I ran into Met, so I took the chance to catch up with him.
And I don't like steams anyway."

"You always used to," Bashir pointed out.

She looked surprised for a moment, then put her drink down
thoughtfully.

"I suppose I did," she admitted, then gave her head a shake.
"I mean, Jadzia always did. But Dax doesn't. I� how odd."

"Why doesn't Dax?" Bashir enquired.

Dax thought about this for a moment.

"It was Audrid, I think," she replied. "She had trouble
breathing in them and didn't like to be hot."

"So what does that mean for you?" Bashir asked.

"Something I have to sort out, certainly," she said. "My
previous hosts, the ones after Audrid never bothered with
it, but I love steam rooms. I hope I can overcome her
dislike for them. It's something I always enjoyed doing,
especially with you."

Bashir was touched so deeply by her last comment that it
surprised him. He hadn't realized how much he had been
wanting some reassurance from her in regards to their
relationship.

"It's something I like doing with you, too," he replied.

Their food came then and Dax ate with more enthusiasm than
Bashir had ever seen her do. He smiled into a mouthful of
food and she gave him a curious look.

"What?" she asked, covering her mouth with one hand.

"Has your sense of taste improved with being joined, too?"
he asked.

She chuckled, swallowing, then taking a sip of her drink.

"I suppose so. Curzon was a big fan of fine food. And drink,
too, I might add."

"And women, from what I hear."

Dax grinned at him.

"And women." She shook her head. "What a man."

"Do you understand him better now?"

"I'm beginning to," she replied, nodding. "That doesn't mean
I'm going to be his biggest fan."

"I think there would be a long line of women ahead of you,"
Bashir said dryly.

Dax snorted sarcastically.

"You've got that right. I'd prefer not to follow in those
particular footsteps."

"So you aren't going to start chasing after every pretty
woman who catches your eye?" Bashir asked, arching an
eyebrow.

"Ha!" Dax retorted. "It would serve you right!"

"I don't chase," Bashir pointed out "I just look. Why waste
my time? I didn't have to chase the woman I really wanted."

Dax looked down, but Bashir saw the corners of her mouth tug
upward. It was amazing to him that she could still retain
some shyness with so much experience behind her now. But
perhaps she was still adjusting to the extra confidence that
must come with the memories of Dax's past hosts. He hoped
he'd still be able to make her blush.

They finished their meals and took the transporter back to
the park they had been hiking in that morning, then caught a
transport back to Dax's parents' house. On the ride home,
Bashir was uncharacteristically quiet, watching the scenery
whiz past. Dax did the same and he didn't have the heart to
interrupt her, nor would he know what to say. He found this
whole situation unbelievably confusing; nothing Dax had ever
told him had prepared him for this. He felt like he was
walking on thin ice, never sure if his next step would lead
him to safety or send him crashing down to drown.

He wondered if the comments Shelar and Talan had made would
hold true for him. Would he be unable to cope with the
change from Jadzia Idaris to Jadzia Dax? The prospect that
he could not cast a black pall of his thoughts that he found
very difficult to shake.

---

The remainder of that evening and most of the next was
spent with Dax's parents and sisters. Close to seven in the
evening, Bashir and Dax wandered down to the town's nearest
transporter station and beamed five hundred kilometers to
the city in the neighbouring province where Nen lived. They
found his apartment easily; it was only a few hundred meters
from the transporter station, and they arrived with a group
of other Trill about their age, two of whom Dax recognized.
They were Kelandrar Manis and Chec Labbean, fellow initiates
of Jadzia's. Dax introduced them to Bashir and they were
ushered inside by Nen, who introduced the other two: a blond
woman named Elina Trec and a man with pale brown hair and
eyes to match named Geon Medel.

They took seats at the kitchen table in the center of which
was a wheel supporting a bowl. A deck of cards was set in
front of Nen's place and he began shuffling them as he
explained the rules to Bashir. It was a Ferengi game, it
turned out, and the rules were fairly simple, at least they
were to the human. Dax passed him a handful of latinum she
kept at her parents' for gaming with her friends on Trill.
They were each dealt a hand of cards, then went around the
table and placed their bids. Once the game was in full
swing, the conversation and catching up began. Dax's friends
pressed her for news of her joining, then battered Bashir
with questions about being in medical school. He learned
that Manis and Labbean, the other former initiates, were not
joined yet, and that Trec's older brother had been joined
two years ago.

"It's good that you're working things out," Trec commented,
upping a bid Medel had just made. "My brother was dating a
Bajoran when he was joined and they split up right
afterwards. But then, Bajoran women aren't the most patient
women in the galaxy."

Bashir could only nod since it was his turn to bid. He saw
Trec's ante and raised it himself.

"It's hard for any alien. Usually only Trill can handle it,"
Manis pointed out, considering her cards.

"Now, now, don't frighten him," Dax chided them gently as
Bashir's already battered heart sank even further. He
glanced around the table and saw the telltale spots on each
of their faces and felt more out of place than he ever had,
even after learning about his genetic enhancements. He began
to wonder if the difficulty non-Trill had lay in the fact
that Trill kept reminding them that they had trouble. He was
sick of hearing it now, but was afraid, in the back of his
mind, that they might be right.

The worst part, for him, was that he couldn't set out to
prove them wrong. It wasn't like finding out about the
enhancements, when he was able to show to Starfleet Command
that he was nothing like Kahn Singh. This depended on Dax,
too, and he couldn't make up her mind for her. And she was
the one who had changed. She was the one with three hundred
years of experience now and could easily start to see him as
too young and immature for her.

She was the one who seemed to be slipping away from him day
by day as the memories began to add to her experience and
her personality. Already he had noticed she was far more
flirtatious than she ever had been, trading jokes and
laughter with her friends around the table with barely a
hint of the shy Jadzia she had been only a few days ago.

---

Jadzia Dax lay in bed in the middle of the night, gazing at
the ceiling which was illuminated a pale blue from the
moonlight coming through the window. The window was open,
and the drapes pulled aside, so that the cool night breeze
wafted into the room. With it came the faint, constant sound
of nocturnal insects. A few nocturnal birds called out
occasionally, but mostly what Dax heard was Bashir's deep,
slow breathing beside her.

In the five days since she had been joined, she had found
that she slept much better, which was an immense blessing.
Bashir had always been a deep sleeper, but she hadn't been.
She had eventually accepted the fact that she would wake up
at any disturbance, and she was now left to wonder how she'd
ever dealt with that.

She was glad now Bashir was a deep sleeper; she had no
desire to wake him as she lay there, in the depths of the
night, thinking. It had been a difficult five days. Seeing
her family was a joy, of course, it always was. Dax felt a
stab of disappointment that the trip to and from Trill took
so much time. They only had eight days to actually spend on
Dax's home planet, and she wished she could see more of her
family as it was.

In way, though, she was grateful they only had three days
left here. She herself didn't have fond memories of the time
she'd spent in the initiate program, and those memories were
heightened with the recent joining. It was also difficult to
sort out her feelings about Trill from those of her previous
hosts. They all had favorite places and Dax found herself
feeling wistful for places she'd never even been. So much of
their experience was tied into memories of Trill and she
felt that, being in the place in which they had all lived,
she wasn't getting the chance to distinguish herself from
her past hosts. Earth was currently her home, and Dax was
looking forward to getting back, so she could define her
life against the background of so many other lives. On
Trill, she felt Jadzia Dax may be subsumed by the memories
of Dax's previous lives. On Earth, she knew who she was,
what her life was, what was hers.

And she was frankly getting tired of hearing about how Trill
and non-Trill relationships didn't work out once the Trill
partner had been joined. She knew Bashir was sick of it,
too. Every time someone mentioned to him � which seemed to
be more often than not � she could see him biting his tongue
against a retort. Dax found she was much better at reading
expressions than she had been before being joined, but
Bashir had never really been a closed book to her. She'd
known him for too long and knew him too well to miss things
like that. It almost felt like everyone was undermining
their chances, deliberately or not.

With a sigh, she rolled over onto her side, her back to the
window, and closed her eyes. The Kubai would be here in
three days and they could go home and sort things out there.
She hoped.

---

In this part of the Federation core, it was easy to get a
subspace message through to Earth. There was so much com
traffic to the other core planets that finding receivers
aimed at Bashir's homeworld was no difficulty at all. He
waited less than three minutes before Shannon Tanner's face
was on the screen.

She blinked when she saw him, looking surprised, then her
face lit up in a smile.

"Jules!" she exclaimed. "How are you?"

He made a sound that could only be described at the essence
of frustration and waved one hand vaguely. Tanner's smile
vanished and her eyebrows shot up questioningly.

"What's wrong? Is it Jadzia?"

"No," Bashir said, sitting back in his seat. The house was
quiet except for this conversation; the Idaris family had
gone out to do some errands and he had claimed he wanted a
nap. He had some time to himself now, to talk to someone who
wouldn't understand at all his problems at all, but at least
not understand them from a human perspective.

"At least, not entirely her," he continued, shaking his
head. "It's everyone else on this bloody planet, Shan! They
won't shut up about non-Trill having problems with newly
joined Trill!"

Tanner frowned.

"Isn't that true, though?" she asked.

"Yes!" Bashir said, throwing his hands in the air. "And it's
probably because of the fact that they keep insisting on
it!"

"Calm down, Jules," Tanner said. "Tell me what's going on."

He explained to her about how many times he'd gotten the
warning about his relationship.

"I'm so tired of hearing it," he said. "I think Zia is, too,
but I can't tell for sure. There's so much I can't tell
about her anymore."

"How has she changed?" Tanner enquired.

"She's so much more confident� not that I have a problem
with that. More outgoing, more flirtatious�" At this, Tanner
arched a very expressive eyebrow, as if to tell Bashir that
he, of all people, shouldn't be complaining about that. "I
don't know where I stand with her anymore. And it seems that
everyone else is convinced that this will break us up."

Tanner was silent for a moment, then nodded slowly.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"I have no idea what to think," he said frankly. "It's only
been six days since she's been joined. I have no idea how
her personality is going to turn out in the end."

Tanner waved a hand as if brushing his words aside.

"Julian, you have no idea how her personality would turn out
over the span of her life anyway."

"Yes, but this is changing so suddenly."

Tanner nodded, and Bashir knew she understood as much as she
could. As much as any human could. He felt comforted by that
contact, but it didn't change the fact that he felt like he
was losing Dax.

"Look, Jules," Tanner said and Bashir shook himself back to
the present. "When you first met Zia, it's not like you guys
just went from strangers to where you were a week ago. Why
do you expect this now? You still know her in a way, but
you're getting to know a new her. Don't try to make this
work the way it was before she was joined."

Bashir frowned, giving his head a shake.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Tanner shrugged.

"Think of the things the two of you did when you started
dating. Take her out for a nice dinner, or to dance, or
something. Since she's joined with Curzon Dax's symbiont,
she might be interested in Bajoran or Cardassian food.
You're pretty close to Bajor, so you might be able to find a
Bajoran restaurant. Or maybe there's a place there you know
she likes."

A light came to Bashir's eyes for a moment.

"Good idea, Shan," he said.

She snorted.

"Don't depend on my ideas," she said. "It's up to you,
Jules. And you only have a few days left on Trill. Make them
count. Think of what the two of you did."

"I will. Thanks, Shan."

"No problem. Go figure something out. I'll see you in about
a week."

He grinned at her.

"Absolutely," he agreed. She grinned back and ended the
communication. The standard Federation communication symbol
flashed onto the screen before it went blank. Bashir sat
there for a moment, then nodded and pushed himself to his
feet.

---

"I hope you brought something sophisticated to wear."

Dax stopped in the doorway of her old bedroom, the one she
and Bashir were sharing while they were here. He had his
suitcase open on the bed and was carefully taking out a
folded white shirt. The shirt he had been wearing that
morning was folded on the bed beside the case. He glanced up
at her with a grin, his eyes sparkling.

"Maybe that dark red dress, the one that looks so good on
you."

Dax gave a short, baffled laugh.

"I did bring that," she said. "Why?"

"I made reservations for us at the Crest in Siako."

"What?" Dax demanded, her blue eyes going wide. "How did you
manage that?"

"I have my ways," he replied easily, arching one eyebrow,
and refusing to say more. Dax entered the room and sat down
on the bed as he buttoned up the smart, double breasted
white shirt she'd bought him a few months ago. It looked
fantastic on him, contrasting his slightly darker skin and
fitting the shape of his body perfectly. Of course, she'd
had it tailored to fit him, but she had never noticed before
exactly how good he looked in it.

"Well?" he asked, nodding at her suitcase.

"When are we leaving?" she asked.

"In about half an hour."

"I'm going to do something with my hair," she replied.

She went into the bathroom, fetched a brush from her small
carrying case and set to work. It had been a long time since
she'd had hair like this, at least a long time for Dax.
Fortunately, Jadzia had a lifetime of dealing with her long
brunette locks, so Dax's many recent decades as a man posed
no problem to the young woman. She swept most of her hair up
behind her head, winding it over itself, and let a few
strands fall along the side of her face. These she curled
into ringlets, then examined herself critically in the
mirror before grinning. She looked great.

And, she realized, she was excited. The Crest, in Siako
city, was one of her favorite restaurants, but it was also
the favorite restaurant of a large portion of the Trill
population, and a major draw for visiting aliens. She had no
idea how Bashir had managed to get them in, wondering if it
had something to do with knowing the current host of the Dax
symbiont, but she was pleased and flattered that he'd gone
to the trouble.

She fished her red dress out of the suitcase and pressed it
quickly. The room was deserted now, Bashir having gone to do
something else. Dax slipped the silk over her head and
managed to do the back up herself, then gave herself another
critical overview. She was delighted with what she saw; this
dress, as Bashir had said, always looked good on her. It was
made of dark red silk, with a plunging neckline and two
small straps crossing each shoulder. The straps were hooked
together at the front and back of the dress, but separated
slightly across her shoulders. The waist was fitted and the
skirt only slightly flared, coming to just above her knees.
There was no decoration on the dress, nor did there need to
be; the cut of the neckline and the lack of sleeves showed
off her Trill spots. It was one of the reasons she bought
the dress. The dark red brought out the blue in her eyes and
the pink tinge in her cheeks.

She grinned at herself, found her matching pair of shoes and
slipped them on. Bashir came back then, dressed in his white
shirt and a pair of dark blue dress pants. He smiled at the
sight of her and she smiled back.

"Ready?" he asked, extending one arm to her.

"Absolutely," she replied, feeling more like herself than
she had in the last six days. She slipped a hand through his
arm and they made their way from the house, bidding her
family good night, and headed down the street to the nearest
transporter station.

The Crest was as busy as she excepted, every table taken
except a small booth at the back where four people could sit
comfortably. It was there that Bashir and Dax were led by a
sophisticated, middle aged Trill woman. Wine was ready for
them, and Dax was surprised. She reached for her glass once
the maitre d' had left and took a sip. It had been her
favorite wine before she'd been joined, and she was
heartened and somewhat surprised to find it still was, even
with her vastly increased repertoire. Curzon had a distinct
fondness for good wine, and Dax was happy to find out that
her current tastes won out over his.

"Good choice?" Bashir asked, picking up his own glass.

"Definitely," Dax replied. "Still my favorite."

He held up his glass in a silent toast to her and Dax
touched the brim of her glass to his. It was an interesting
human custom. She had no idea where it came from, but she'd
often noticed that humans, like Trill, were very social in
their eating habits.

"What made you think to come here?" she asked, putting the
glass down gently and glancing around the restaurant. The
majority of the patrons were Trill, but she spotted a fair
number of aliens as well: humans or Betazoids � Dax had no
idea how to tell the difference just by looking � an
Andorian and a Bolian eating together, a handful of
Cardassians sharing a table engaged in a lively
conversation, an older, blond Bajoran woman dining with a
distinguished older Cardassian man.

"I'll never tell," Bashir replied and Dax looked back at
him. He had that telltale mischievous look on his face that
told her, indeed, she'd never know. Just as she'd probably
never really know how he managed to get them a table.

Their waiter appeared with their menu and they spent a few
quiet minutes deciding what to want before ordering. The
waiter returned, took their orders and vanished again, all
courtesy and grace. It was one of the reasons Dax loved this
place; the waiters may have been Betazoid for their instinct
for appearing at a table at exactly the right moment.

"Well, whatever made you decide this, I'm glad you did," she
said. "I never would have thought we'd make it in on short
notice. I didn't even think to make a reservation before
coming."

Bashir only nodded, eyes twinkling, and Dax wondered if he
had thought of making a reservation back when they had
planned the trip. She wouldn't put it past him. For someone
as young and arrogant as he was � and he was, fairly
frequently � he had a distinct knack for surprising and
delighting her.

He poured her more wine and Dax sipped it contentedly.

"How was your day with your family?" he asked, sipping his
own wine.

"Good," Dax replied with a smile. "But, to be honest, I'm
looking forward to going home, too."

"Is it that, or are you just looking forward to being
finished with tomorrow?"

"Maybe both," Dax admitted, giving her head a shake. "I
don't really want to go, but I'm expect to."

The memorial service for Curzon Dax was being held the
following day, and, as the new host, she was expected to go.
This wasn't common, but given what Curzon had done for the
Federation and for Trill, and the fact that he'd been her
field supervisor, it would appear to be a slight if she
wasn't there. She wasn't certain she was ready to face all
the people he knew, and most of them would be there. It was
why the service had been delayed for so long; several very
important people in the Federation had to rearrange their
schedules at the last moment to attend.

A man approaching their table distracted her from her
thoughts and Dax glanced up to see an older Cardassian
looking back at her. She blinked, then stared as recognition
hit her.

"Tain? Enabran Tain?" she asked.

The Cardassian's face relaxed into a grin.

"Ah, good," he said. "I was afraid I'd get the wrong woman.
Hello, Dax."

Stunned, Dax slid from the booth and gripped Tain's hands
welcomingly. She laughed in shock, shaking her head.

"It's been so long!" she exclaimed.

"Longer than I realized," he replied. "You look magnificent,
Dax."

"Luck of the draw," she replied. "Although I think Curzon
would appreciate knowing the symbiont went to a young,
attractive woman."

At this, Tain laughed a deep, appreciative laugh.

"Indeed he would."

Dax gestured to Bashir, who was watching the exchange with
confusion.

"Jules, this is Enabran Tain, one of the Cardassian
diplomats who helped the Alliance merge with the
Federation."

"I remember the name," Bashir replied, reaching out to shake
the Cardassian's hand.

"Enabran, this is Julian Bashir, my partner."

"Lucky man," Tain said to Bashir with a wink.

"Yes, well, I don't think Curzon would have been quite my
type," Bashir replied dryly, to which Tain chuckled.

"Come, join us," Dax said.

"Oh, I couldn't," Tain replied. "I don't want to interrupt."

"Nonsense!" Dax replied, missing the quick frown that
creased Bashir's features. "I haven't seen you in years.
What are you doing on Trill? The service, of course."

"Precisely," Tain said, accepting the offer then and sitting
down beside Bashir in the booth, facing Dax. "It took some
doing, of course, but no one was going to deny me my
privilege of being here. Elim can't make it, unfortunately."

Dax frowned, nodding.

"How is Elim? I haven't seen him since he was oh, my age
now, I suppose."

Tain chuckled again.

"Always my greatest weakness, that boy," he sighed. "He's
fine, as always, and busy, as always. No rest for the
legate, of course. He did want to be here, but alas, some
things do take precedence over even this."

"I'm glad you came, though," Dax said, reaching across the
table to squeeze his hand lightly. "It would have meant a
lot to Curzon."

"I presume you're going tomorrow?"

Dax nodded, casting a glance at Bashir, who she knew wasn't
anticipating the service, either.

"I am, although, to be honest, I'm not looking forward to
it."

"Why not?" the Cardassian enquired.

Dax sighed.

"I'm still adjusting to Jadzia's life and you're the first
friend of Curzon's I've met again. I'm not sure how seeing
old faces will be this time around. And Jadzia and Curzon
didn't have the best of relationships."

Tain laughed.

"Young lady, there were many people with whom Curzon did not
have the best of relationships!" He became more serious,
nodding. "But I do understand where you're coming from. I'm
sure Curzon's old friends and acquaintances will have
certain expectations of you that won't be founded."

Dax nodded.

"It happens with a new host, particularly when he or she is
reintroduced to a former host's friends who aren't Trill."

Tain nodded and the waiter came over to enquire if the
Cardassian wanted any wine. Dax shot Bashir a questioning
glance and he nodded. "Thank you," she mouthed at him and
smiled at Tain, who ordered a glass of kanar.

"I remember the day when you couldn't get kanar on this
planet," he commented as the waiter left.

Dax laughed.

"I do, too," she replied. "Although that didn't stop some of
my former hosts from having it smuggled here."

The Cardassian arched an eyebrow.

"Really?" he asked.

Dax nodded.

"Torias was terrible for it!" she exclaimed. "I think that's
where Curzon got his affinity for Cardassian culture."

The diplomat laughed, shaking his head. Dax leaned forward,
both hands on the table, smiling mischievously at him.

"Now come on," she said. "I want to know everything that's
happened to you since you and Curzon last talked."

---

The evening had been a sore disappointment for Bashir, who
now sat on the bed in Dax's old bedroom, folding his white
shirt carefully. They had gotten in late, and he had forgone
turning on the light; there was enough moonlight for him to
see easily. Dax was in the shower, so he was by himself.

With a sigh, he pulled his pajama shirt over his head, then
put the dress shirt away with care. He sat down on the bed
again and looked at the sheets in the moonlight. They were
rumpled where he was sitting, and he took a handful between
his fist, scrunching them gently. They had been on Trill for
six full days now, and, although they had slept in the same
bed, that was all they had done. Bashir was willing to give
Dax space, of course, but he couldn't help feeling she was
pushing him away further.

He hadn't intended to spend the evening with Enabran Tain.
Under different circumstances, he was sure he would have
liked the man. Tain was outgoing, with a sharp, dry sense of
humour, and he had a wealth of stories to share. But the
fact that he, Bashir, had intended to spend a romantic
evening with Dax spoiled his view of the other man. And Dax
had a history with Tain, Bashir did not. While the two of
them had caught up on old times, all he could do was listen
to stories of places he'd never been and people he'd never
meet. It had been frustrating.

He hoped it hadn't shown, of course. He didn't want Dax to
be unhappy. His medical training had schooled him to keep
his emotions from the surface; any good doctor needed that
kind of control. But this wasn't a medical issue, this was
his personal life. He wondered if Dax had even noticed, or
if she knew that she was slipping from his life.

With a sigh, Bashir pushed himself to his feet and changed
his pants. He sat down again and pulled on a pair of thin
socks before padding over to the window and looking out.
This whole trip had been a disaster; he probably should just
have stayed on Earth and waited for her to come back. How
was he supposed to give her space, after all, if he was
here? He could be getting work done on Earth, too, and
spending some time with Tanner before she warped off to the
edge of known space.

He hadn't realized his life was going to change as much as
it had, and when he thought of how much more it was going to
change, with one of his best friends leaving Earth for good,
it made him feel sick. He felt like he was losing everyone
around him. His parents had been lost to him years ago, of
course, and now the two people closest to him were also
fading. One physically, the other emotionally. It was hard
to be here, watching Dax drift away from him.

But what had he expected? She was a joined Trill. He should
have known. He was a human. There had been hope for them,
but only a slim hope. Despite the genetic enhancements, he
was still no different than any other human, in this
respect, at least. Just another alien who didn't belong.

He crawled under the covers as he heard the sonic shower
switch off� with his hearing, he was just able to hear the
high pitched noise. He heard Dax moving around in the
'fresher and closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep.

---

Jadzia Dax had never been more miserable in her life. No,
that wasn't true. She had been just as miserable during her
two week field training under Curzon Dax.

And he was the cause of her current misery, too.

The memorial service was packed, and it was being aired on
Trill's comnet. Curzon's remaining family, his sister, her
husband and children, and some cousins, were there, although
Dax had not, thankfully, been required to sit with them.
Almost everywhere she looked, she saw familiar faces. There
were a lot of people she would have recognized before being
joined, but no one she'd ever expected to meet or know.
There was Enabran Tain, of course, sitting with some fellow
Cardassian and Bajoran diplomats. Even after all this time,
the Bajoran and the Cardassians had a stronger connection to
each other than to any other race in the Federation. Dax
recognized First Minister Tenys Evar from Bajor, who was
also sitting with Tain. The president of the Federation
himself was there, with several high ranking admirals,
including a very elderly Doctor Leonard McCoy, who was
looking impatient. There were a huge number of Trill crowded
into the government building that had been appropriated for
the occasion.

Thankfully, no one seemed to recognize Dax. She had come
only with Bashir, asking her family to let her have this
personal time. The truth was, she didn't want to involve
them more than necessary in the life of the man who had
washed her out of the program. She knew her father still
harboured feelings about that, and her mother had been livid
at the time, although Zarin seemed to have forgiven the now
deceased man.

Bashir himself didn't look very happy. She didn't blame him.
She had been Curzon and she wasn't interested in sitting
through all of the speeches about him, listening to what an
amazing person he'd been. It seemed his public profile would
always outshine his personal life.

The president of Trill, several people from the TSC, the
president of the Federation, Tain, and the Bajoran First
Minister all made speeches through which Dax suffered,
trying to look as if she were politely paying attention,
honouring the memory of her former host.

After what seemed like hours � and indeed, was � the formal
ceremony came to an end and those who had been invited to
the government reception began to filter toward the private
lobby. Bashir moved to follow that particular crowd, since
Dax and whichever guests she wanted to bring had been
invited, but she grabbed his hand, shaking her head when he
looked back at her. He gave her a quizzical look, but she
ignored it and tugged him through the crowd in the other
direction, raking a hand through her long brown hair to
cover her face as much as possible. They wove their way
through the press of bodies, out of the building into the
rain that had been falling since late morning. There were
people milling about everywhere, but Dax knew this area
well, thanks to Curzon. The government buildings here were
scattered along the side of a steep, well forested river
bank. It was toward the river that she led Bashir now,
ducking off of the walkway onto a footpath beaten into the
underbrush. Bashir followed without a word as Dax led them
downhill, away from the crowd. Here, there was only the
sound of the breeze, the rustle of rain as it fell on the
leaves, and the river as it flowed past them. In the shelter
of the woods, they weren't getting nearly as wet as they
would have been on the top of the bank.

Dax led them off the path once they were just in sight of
the water, into the underbrush. She kept moving until she
was certain no one would see them, then took cover under a
large evergreen tree whose low, sweeping branches had
completely protected the ground around it from getting wet.
Last season's dead needle-like leaves and some fresh ones
carpeted the ground, providing some cushioning as she sat
down. Bashir sat down beside her, giving her a puzzled look.

"I'm sorry," Dax sighed.

"For what? Getting us out of there?"

"For everything. This is so� ridiculous. I'm sorry you had
to go through this. Maybe I shouldn't have decided to be
joined."

"Hey. No," Bashir said. "I know it's hard now, but it will
get easier for you."

"I hope you're right," she admitted. "Curzon was so� Curzon.
I think it will help to get back to Earth. I just wish� I
wish you were a Trill, Jules, because then this would be
easier."

One corner of his mouth twitched.

"I know. But I'm not."

Dax nodded.

"I know."

He took her chin gently between a thumb and a forefinger and
kissed her gently on the lips. For a moment, Dax felt a
flash of surprise, then utter recognition, then shock at how
long it seemed since he had kissed her that way. She felt
him start to pull away and grabbed his face, holding it to
hers as she kissed him back, hard. She could feel him
stiffen in surprise, then relax again, and he did not
protest when she pulled him down with her onto the
leaf-covered ground.

---

As she pulled on her uniform jacket, Jadzia Dax felt a wave
of relief wash over her.

She was going home.

What's more, she felt like herself for the first time since
she'd been joined. Looking in the mirror as she zipped up
the jacket, she saw Jadzia gazing back at her. No matter
what her other hosts had done, she was Lieutenant Jadzia
Dax, a science officer. Torias had been a test pilot in
Starfleet, and none of the others had joined Starfleet. She
smiled briefly to herself, checked that her pips were
straight, then sat down on her old bed to pull on her black
boots. Bashir came in just as she was standing up again and
she smiled at him. He was dressed in his cadet's uniform,
which Dax had always found unflattering. Being a medical
student, the drab grey of his uniform was highlighted by a
green striped running down each arm and the outside of each
leg. The ring of the collar was green, too. The pattern
matched Dax's own uniform, but where his was grey, hers was
black, and where his was green, hers was blue.

There was still a lot of uncertainty between them, and Dax
could not really say what might happen when they returned to
Earth. But at least they would be home, without all the
pressure around them to figure things out right now. She
wished she knew, however; going through this felt like
walking through shoulder deep molasses. Time seemed to have
slowed down just for them, so that the uncertainty she felt
had the opportunity to grow. It was oppressive, feeling this
way, even worse than when she'd been waiting to find out if
she'd been readmitted to the initiate program.

"Ready to go?" Bashir asked her. Dax recognized he was
acting normal on the surface; as a medical student, he was
taught to do so. But underneath, he was as uneasy as she
was, but as relieved to be heading back to Earth.

"Yes," she replied. She picked up her suitcase as Bashir
made sure he had everything before snapping his shut. He
gestured to her to go ahead, so she did, making her way down
the stairs. Her family accompanied them to the transporter
station, only a few blocks away, and they said goodbye
there. As always, the goodbyes were emotional for Dax, with
promises that she would come visit soon and that they would
call and write from Earth. Her father hinted at the
possibility that he and Zarin could come to San Francisco to
visit, a prospect that pleased Dax.

She was finally able to signal the Kubai and she and Bashir
transported up, beaming into a standard Starfleet
transporter room. There was a Bolian woman waiting there to
greet them, dressed in a red and black uniform with four
captain's pips. Her skin was a subdued blue-grey, something
Dax had seen only rarely. With her was a human security
officer in his somber grey and black uniform, and a
transporter engineer behind the controls.

The captain smiled at them as they stepped down from the
transporter pad.

"Good morning, Lieutenant, cadet. I'm Captain Me'ha Rinn.
Welcome aboard the Kubai."

Dax shook the woman's hand.

"Thank you, sir," she replied and Bashir shook Rinn's hand.

"Lieutenant Correaux will show you to your quarters," Rinn
said. "We'll be underway in a few minutes, so I hope you'll
forgive me for rushing off."

"Of course," Dax said, nodding.

"Captain, if your doctors need any assistance in sickbay
while I'm on board, I'd be happy to provide it," Bashir
said.

Rinn smiled at him, her white teeth contrasting brightly
against her blue skin.

"I'm sure they have a pile of run of the mill work they'd
love to pass onto someone else. I'll let them know to be
expecting you," she replied, then gestured toward the door.
Lieutenant Correaux led the way and Rinn nodded at her
engineer as they left the small room. "Lieutenant Dax, I
understand one of your former hosts was a pilot?" she asked.

"That's right. Torias," Dax replied.

"You're certainly welcome on the bridge if you'd like to see
our navigation system. And our science team may have some
data you'd be interested in reading. We haven't been out
very long, but this ship is faster than she looks. We've
traveled a fair distance."

Dax grinned. The Kubai was one of the first Intrepid class
ships Starfleet had built, designed for the speed and energy
efficiency required for deep space travel. It was the first
time either Dax or Bashir had been on one, and Dax, for her
part, was looking forward to seeing as much of it as
possible.

"I'd appreciate that," she replied.

"Wonderful. I also hope the two of you will join me for
dinner at nineteen hundred hours. It's not everyday I have
Curzon Dax's successor on board."

Dax glanced at Bashir who grinned and nodded.

"We'll be there," she promised.

"Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, duty calls."

With that, she left them with Lieutenant Correaux who,
compared to his captain, seemed terse and sullen. He
gestured in the direction opposite from that which Rinn had
taken, glowering slightly as he did so.

"This way, sirs," he said in a voice that brooked no
argument or delay. Dax glanced at Bashir, who shrugged, the
corners of his mouth twitching, and they fell into step
behind the taciturn security officer.

---

Bashir left the sickbay the next day, humming vaguely to
himself as he did so. He was carrying a PADD in one hand,
reading it carefully, walking down the corridors toward his
guest quarters with the practiced ease of someone who had
been on this ship for more than a day and a half. It was a
benefit of the genetic enhancements, being able to recall
patterns effortlessly. He looked up only to avoid collisions
with the crew members he encountered, always turning his
attention back to the PADD. He had been assigned report
work, which hadn't surprised him, but had been permitted by
one crew member to conduct her physical while the ship's
head doctor, an Andorian woman named Alsaa, had overseen the
exam. It had been a rewarding experience, working directly
with a patient.

He saved his reading on the PADD as he neared the turbolift
that would take him to his quarters. In addition to having a
few more hours in sickbay to look forward to after his
lunch, he was anticipating that evening's concert
performance. The ship had a very small orchestra composed of
its musically inclined crew members, and they were playing
at twenty hundred hours in the mess hall that day. Bashir
was looking forward to taking Dax. Although none of her
hosts had been musicians, she appreciated music deeply and
was constantly searching for forgotten composers. Small
orchestras comprised of local musicians were also a favorite
of hers.

Now that they were on the Kubai, they had a little more time
to spend with each other, which Bashir had been both
anticipating and somewhat dreading. It was more than a
little frustrating to feel that kind of mixed emotions
towards a woman he had loved for over two years now. But his
unease hadn't been entirely misplaced; they still seemed at
a loss as to what to say to each other, at least sometimes.
The silence that could so easily descend between them was a
constant reminder of what they'd given up and the struggle
they were facing.

At least, he reminded himself wryly, you aren't being
constantly reminded by other people that Trill-alien
relationships don't often last after joining.

Bashir was doing a good enough job of that himself. He
didn't need anyone else's help.

"Julian!"

Dax's voice shook him from his thoughts and he looked round
to see her coming up behind him, smiling. He smiled back,
wondering if it would ever feel normal again to greet her.

"I thought I'd catch you," she said. "I was just in the
science lab, helping them analyze some preliminary data."

"How's that going?" Bashir asked.

"It isn't all that stimulating, but it's something to do,"
she replied. "Makes good use of my scientific training."

Bashir nodded and held up the PADD, about to say the same
thing about his work in sickbay when the ship lurched,
sending them both stumbling into the wall. Dax caught
herself with her hands, but Bashir tripped backward into the
corner of the wall that divided two corridors. He cursed as
the red alert klaxon came on and Dax grabbed his arms,
helping him regain his balance. The corridor dimmed in
response to the alert and Dax looked around quickly.

"What the hell's going on?" Bashir asked as the ship rocked
again. Dax and Bashir gripped each other's arms for balance,
Bashir's PADD falling to the floor, forgotten.

Dax shook her head and reached for her combadge, but another
hit nearly cost her her footing. Bashir managed to hold onto
her, his heart rate picking up fast.

"All hands, this is the captain!" Rinn's voice sounded
suddenly from all around them. "We're under attack by the
Borg! Battle stations!"

Bashir felt his stomach go cold and couldn't think for a
moment. He saw his own initial panic in Dax's eyes, but a
split second later, their training had taken over. Dax
gripped him and they started toward sickbay together. There
would be causalities, and both of them would be able to
provide invaluable assistance. Even though Jadzia Dax wasn't
a doctor, she knew enough from Audrid Dax to be able to help
competently.

The ship took another direct hit, sending both of them into
a wall. Dax uttered a short, sharp curse in Trill and hauled
herself back upright using the wall as Bashir clambered to
his feet.

"Let's go," she said through gritted teeth. He nodded,
snagging her hand, and they broke into a run. They had
barely covered any ground when Rinn's voice interrupted
them.

"Lieutenant Dax! Report to the bridge!"

Dax hit her combadge.

"On my way!" she replied. Bashir stopped, turning back to
her.

"Go," she insisted.

He nodded, squeezing her hand.

"Be careful."

"You, too."

---

Jadzia Dax turned and ran in the other direction, back
toward the turbolift, which she prayed was working. She had
no idea where a Borg vessel could have come from, or how
much damage the Kubai had taken, but she hoped that
Starfleet had learned a thing or two from Wolf
Three-Five-Nine and built the new Intrepid ships
accordingly. She staggered forward, managing to catch
herself with her hands, as the ship shook again, more
violently this time. She was just scrambling up again when
she heard the distinctive whine of a transporter beam behind
her. It didn't sound Starfleet. Instantly aware that she was
unarmed, Dax spun, dropping into a defensive stand. Two Borg
had materialized not ten meters away from her, and she was
the first thing that caught their attention. They started
toward her, walking in their awkward lumber, and Dax
launched herself at one, catching in on the shoulder and
slamming her hand under its chin. The neck snapped back
enough to give a satisfying crunch and Dax was about to jump
to her feet when a blow across the shoulders sent her
sprawling across the dead drone. She gasped and felt the
hand wrap tightly around her upper arm, hauling her to her
feet. Dax swung one arm, but the Borg blocked it
effortlessly, rattling her bones and probably bruising them,
she suspected. She saw it reach for her and tried to twist
away from its grasp, but it held fast.

Suddenly, she saw a pair of familiar hands wrap around the
Borg's face and twist its head sharply to one side. Dax
heard the same crunch of vertebrae snapping and the Borg
sagged. Julian Bashir let it drop onto its companion. She
stared at him for a moment, seeing the cold rage in his
eyes, and learned something new about him. She had never
realized before exactly how protective he was of her, how
deeply unwilling he was to see her threatened or hurt.

The rage faded almost immediately, but the passion was still
there. He handed her a phaser, which she took with a quick
puzzled look.

"Weapons locker. I told you to be careful."

As unlikely as it was, she grinned.

"I will."

He nodded at her and turned away again, taking to his heels
toward sickbay. Dax turned and ran toward the turbolift,
which was mercifully working. It deposited her on the
bridge, which was already a scene of chaos, two crew men
jostling her aside to get into the turbolift with an injured
woman. Rinn snapped her head around and Dax hurried down the
two stairs to join the captain. A Borg sphere was dominating
the view screen and, although it had taken some damage, it
wasn't enough.

"The Enterprise will be here in twenty minutes!" someone
said, presumably in answer to a question Rinn had asked
earlier. Dax saw another volley of photon torpedoes head
toward the sphere and braced herself for an incoming blast.

"Shields back up!" someone else called out. "Only thirty
percent!"

"Know anything about shield engineering?" Rinn asked,
snapping her brilliant blue-purple eyed gaze at Dax.

"Some," Dax said.

"Help out Miss Soko," the captain ordered and Dax joined the
engineer. "Bring us about! Get moving in the direction of
the Enterprise!" the captain ordered.

"Initiating evasive maneuvers, pattern gamma," the helm
office agreed and Dax felt the ship shift ever so slightly
as it began to pull away from the Borg vessel.

Another hit knocked Dax off of her feet. She bumped into
Soko, the engineer she was supposed to be helping, and the
other woman cursed as she hit her head on a console. A flash
of light from behind Dax made her throw her arms over her
head to shield herself. The bitter, acrid tang of smoke
filled her lungs and she coughed, raising her head to look
around. Rinn was pulling herself to her feet and the Ops
officer was scrambling from his chair to help the fallen
helm officer.

"Get her to sickbay!" Rinn snapped. "Soko, take Ops, Dax,
can you pilot?"

"Yes," Dax replied, hurrying to the helm. She sank into the
chair and maneuvered the ship aside to narrowly avoid
another blast from the Borg sphere. She let Torias' skills
take over and set them back on course toward the Enterprise.

---

Sickbay was flooding with people most of whom, thankfully,
were walking in, bringing in wounded. There had been one
death already, an engineer whose console had blew and killed
him instantly. The others were alive, in various states
ranging from critical to sitting up and watching others
being treated. Anyone who could hold a hypospray and stand
had been co-opted from their roles as patients and made into
honourary nurses. The nurses and Bashir had become doctors,
taking care of the less critical cases while the ship's two
doctors performed minor miracles on the seriously injured.

A human man in a red uniform and ensign's pips came in,
carrying a woman of the same rank in the same colour
uniform.

"Put her here," Bashir ordered, pointing to a recently freed
bed. The man complied and Bashir handed him a hypospray.
"Hold this," he said. He ran a quick scan to determine the
woman's race � he couldn't tell the difference between a
Betazoid and a human visually, and there was enough
cross-race breeding in the Federation that alien blood
wouldn't always be apparent. He determined she was a quarter
Betazoid and assessed the extent of her injuries before
taking the hypospray back and injecting her. The woman
groaned and the ensign who had brought her in leaned over so
she could see him.

"It's all right, Tany."

"As long as we don't get assimilated," she replied, her
voice weak but still firm. The ensign grinned at her.

"I'll make sure we don't," he replied. "I'd better get back
to the bridge."

She nodded and he turned to leave, but one of the regular
nurses stopped him.

"Maska, what's going on up there?" she demanded.

"We're headed for the Enterprise. Two against one isn't good
odds for anyone, even a Borg ship."

She nodded and Maska hurried out. Bashir turned back to his
patient, who had suffered some burns across her chest and
arms when she'd tried to shield herself from the blast at
her console. He healed those quickly, then took care of the
broken ribs she'd sustained.

"Feeling better?" he asked, helping her sit up.

"Yes, thanks." She got a good look at him for the first time
and her eyes widened. "You're just a med student!"

"Don't hold that against me," Bashir replied, flashing her
his most charming grin. "Now, come on, we're out of beds,
but take a handy seat on the floor."

He helped her sit down against a wall, where a crewmate of
hers welcomed her. The doors of the sickbay hissed open as
the ship took another hit, sending Bashir and everyone else
on their feet staggering in all directions. There was a
litany of curses as Bashir managed to catch himself against
a biobed. He felt a sharp pain in his ankle and suspected it
was sprained, but ignored it for the time being. The ship
shook again and Bashir closed his eyes momentarily, starting
to worry that their shields would be gone any moment, if
they weren't already.

One of the doctors, an Andorian woman, hit her combadge
angrily.

"Alsaa to bridge! How much longer until we reach the
Enterprise?"

"Five minutes, Doctor!" came Rinn's voice over the com. "How
many wounded?"

"Too damn many!" the doctor replied as two of the nurses
helped get the new arrival onto a bed. He was a human male,
bleeding profusely from various wounds, burns marring his
skin. Alsaa glared at Bashir. "Julian, we need your help."

Bashir hurried over to join them, taking instructions from
the doctors as they anesthetized the man and began
performing surgery. The power flickered in the sickbay
suddenly and Bashir resisted the urge to look up, keeping
his concentration on his patient.

"Not now, dammit!" the other doctor, a human man named
Fleming, cursed at the ship in general. The Kubai responded
by providing them with another tremor, one that earned cries
of alarm from some of the patients sitting along the walls.

"Julian, laser scalpel," Alsaa said and Bashir handed the
instrument to her, ducking for balance as they took another,
more direct blast, keeping his hands pressed firmly against
the wound on the injured man's stomach. The power flickered
again, going out for a few solid seconds.

"Fleming to engineering, we need to keep the power on here!"

"Understood, Doctor," a calm, Vulcan voice replied. "We are
doing our best."

Fleming muttered something under his breath that Bashir
suspected he was the only person to hear. The ship shifted
suddenly and Bashir was willing to bet they'd just avoided
another blast. For a moment, he wondered where Dax was, if
she was all right, but pushed the thought out of his head.
If she wasn't in sickbay, she was either alive or dead, and
he preferred to think she was not the latter.

The hiss of the doors made Bashir look up again, and his
eyes widened when a Borg drone lumbered into the crowded
sickbay. Everyone froze in shock for a moment, then Bashir
left the bedside, launching himself at the drone, slamming
it into a wall. It jerked, reaching up for him
automatically, slicing the side of his right thigh open.
Someone from behind him yelled: "Doctor, duck!" He didn't
even think about the misnomer, but threw himself to the
floor as a killing shot caught the Borg straight in the
chest. Bashir rolled aside as it fell, then hoisted himself
to his feet with a speed unknown to normal humans. He ripped
the sleeves of his uniform jacket off, folded one up quickly
and used the other to tie the makeshift bandage on.

A voice from the air cut through the sickbay.

"Enterprise to Kubai sickbay. Stand by to beam aboard. How
many people do we need to beam directly to sickbay?"

"All of us!" Alsaa replied.

"Acknowledged."

Bashir felt a deep relief sweep through him as he crouched
down beside a still-injured woman. The same emotion was
evident on her face, supplanting the pain for the moment as
she held her broken arm carefully on her lap. He was just
about to offer her a reassurance when another Borg drone
came through the door. It lunged at him and Bashir caught
it, aware on some level it was a female drone, then felt the
familiar tingling sensation of a Starfleet transporter beam
locking on.

---

Dax maneuvered the ship as best she could, keeping one eye
on the progress of the sphere as it tracked them and one eye
on the progress of the Enterprise as it approached them. She
dodged a blast from one of their weapons array, but couldn't
miss the second. She was able to brace herself somewhat, but
heard a cry from behind her, and Rinn's voice snapping at
whoever it was to get to sickbay. Her stomach knotted; she
was worried about Bashir, but hardly had time to process
that emotion.

Torias had been an excellent pilot and had passed on most of
his skill to her, in addition to her own flying skills,
which she'd developed before being joined. But, while she
was working with eight minds, the Borg were working with
billions, all simultaneously. Dax bit her lip and plotted a
new course, but they still took another direct hit.

"Shields down to five percent!" Soko reported.

"Dax!" Rinn snapped.

"Switching to evasive pattern omega," Dax agreed, hoping the
extra maneuverability of the Intrepid class ship would help
them stay in one piece until they reached the Enterprise.

A com signal interrupted the chaos on the bridge.

"Alsaa to bridge! How much longer until we reach the
Enterprise?"

"Five minutes, Doctor!" came Rinn's voice over the com. "How
many wounded?"

"Too damn many!" the doctor replied and ended the
communication. The Ops console began beeping and the ensign
keyed in a few commands, then nearly smashed his head on his
controls when they sustained another hit.

"There's a message coming in from the Enterprise, sir!" he
said to Rinn. "We have audio only."

"Put it through!"

"This is Captain Picard of the Enterprise. Do you read me,
Kubai?"

"This is Captain Rinn. We read you, Enterprise."

"Lock your weapons on the target coordinates we're sending
you. Wait until my mark."

"Understood," Rinn replied.

"We have the coordinates, sir," the tactical officer said
from the back of the bridge. "Locked on and ready."

Dax dodged another two shots. The third glanced them and she
cursed silently to herself. She wondered if Bashir was all
right, but he was in sickbay, where help was readily
available. Another blast caught them and she smacked her arm
against her console, wincing slightly but pushing the pain
aside. She glanced up to see the flagship of the Federation
fleet sail into sensor range of the viewscreen. Dax waited
for a count of five seconds, then began to bring the Kubai
around to match the Enterprise's trajectory. The Galaxy
class ship came up along side them, looking as if it were on
a slight angle to the smaller ship. Dax matched their course
and speed effortlessly. She noted their shields go offline
momentarily, then snap back on.

"Standby, Kubai," Picard's disembodied voice said and Dax
half braced herself, expecting another shot from the Borg
vessel, but the Enterprise took it instead, her shields
flashing as the energy was absorbed. "Mark!" Picard cried
and both ships fired at once. Dax felt her heart pause and
her breath catch in her throat as the combined fire power of
the two ships cut through the somewhat weakened Borg
defenses. There was a moment where the universe seemed
suspended around her, then Dax winced against the light and
braced herself against the shock wave as the sphere
exploded. The Kubai rocked, then the disturbance subsided as
the Enterprise enveloped her shields around the battered
ship.

Dax remembered to breathe out.

She glanced back to see Rinn surveying the damage. The
captain asked if everyone was all right, and assisted her
first officer, who was bleeding from a superficial shoulder
wound. The engineering consoles were on fire and Dax leapt
up, joining Soko to put out the blaze.

"Damage reports coming in," the Ops officer reported. "The
warp core is off line, although we still have thrusters and
impulse. Hull breaches on deck two, section A, deck four,
sections A through C, deck ten, section F and deck fourteen,
sections I and J. Emergency forcefields are in place.
Primary life support is down in the crew quarters on deck
five, but secondary life support is on line. We've lost
primary environmental controls in engineering, too, and
secondary controls are weak."

"Soko, get down to engineering and help them get the enviro
back on line. Warp engines can wait for now. Mantaes, Dax,
Van Den Halden, get down to deck five and begin evacuating
any personnel in that area."

Dax joined the first officer and another science officer,
heading for the turbolift, which was still functional. She
heard Rinn calling sickbay and wished for news of Bashir,
but the doors hissed closed before any reply came through.

---

"O'Brien to bridge! There's a Borg signature in the transporter
matrix!"

"Get it out of there, Commander!" Riker's voice came back
over the com.

"I can't, sir!" O'Brien replied. "It's in physical contact
with one of the Kubai's crew members! O'Brien to Crusher,
Doctor, you're going to have a Borg guest beaming in with
the others!"

"Understood!" Crusher replied, spinning around and snagging
the phaser rifle being extended to her by a prepared
security officer. Yar had deployed a team to the sickbay in
case something like this happened, and the doctor silently
thanked the other woman's prescience. She thumbed the rifle
power up as high as it would go, then shouldered it, setting
her sights as the transporter deposited a large number of
Starfleet wounded and medical staff into her sickbay.

The Borg drone was locked in a struggle with a medical
student, who seemed to regain his initiative first and force
the drone backwards. Crusher fired, but the Borg's personal
shields simply absorbed and dissipated the energy. With a
silent curse, Crusher swung the weapon around and leapt
toward the pair, using the rifle as a bat and smashing it
across the back of the drone's head. It staggered and the
med student drove a powerful blow into its stomach, then
caught it on the chin as it doubled over. The drone hit the
floor and the med student pinned it down.

"Get off of it!" Crusher ordered, aiming her rifle again.

"I think its human!" the med student replied.

Crusher got her first good look at the drone; indeed, it
appeared to have been a human female.

"It's a Borg," she replied.

"And you have it here alone," the man replied. "Put it in
stasis. You've done it before."

"Without much success," Crusher replied.

"You have to try," the man replied with such vehemence that
Crusher was taken aback. Then she realized that she did have
to try; she had the opportunity to save a life, to reverse a
harm done.

"Put it in stasis," she ordered, keeping her weapon aimed at
the unconscious drone.

"Sir?" the security officer who had handed her the phaser
asked.

"You heard me," Crusher replied. They hesitated a moment,
but then helped the med student up and secured the female
drone with a speed that impressed the doctor. Crusher
noticed the young man from the Kubai had a makeshift bandage
around one leg and was limping slightly, favouring that leg,
but ignored it. They had far more serious wounded to deal
with, and the Enterprise had drawn heavy fire of her own
from the sphere when she'd entered weapons range. Wounded
from the flagship were coming in now, and she had more
important things to deal with than a med student with a
superficial wound.

One of the doctors and one of the nurses from the Kubai had
already taken one patient into surgery, ignoring the
potential threat of a single drone here in favour of their
patient. Crusher sent a nurse of hers off with them and
began a triage of the other wounded with the Kubai's other
doctor, an Andorian woman who said her name was Alsaa. They
sorted out those who were well enough to leave and got
security to find them somewhere to go. Crusher assigned
wounded to her staff, including the med student, who seemed
more than competent enough to work on his own.

Bashir had never worked so hard in his life, but barely
noticed. There was a pain in his leg, a dull throbbing pain
where the cut was, and a sharp pain from the sprain in his
ankle, but they barely registered as he moved from patient
to patient, smiling and reassuring them with a practiced
ease he was surprised he could muster so simply. The
Enterprise had a fair number of causalities of her own.
There was a large number of people on the ship and the
aftermath of the battle saw a lot of people filtering in as
soon as they could get there. He'd just finished healing an
engineer's broken leg when a distressed looking civilian
woman came limping in, carrying a crying child.

"Keiko!" the Enterprise's head doctor, Crusher, exclaimed.
The woman sagged against a wall, bleeding from a cut on her
temple, and Bashir, closest to her, rushed forward, taking
the little girl out of her arms.

"Molly," the woman named Keiko murmured as Crusher caught
her before she fell.

"Bashir will take care of Molly," Crusher assured the woman.
"She'll be fine. We need to get you looked after."

With the help of a nurse, Crusher carried Keiko off. Bashir
bounced the crying Molly gently in his arms, making soothing
noises. He walked toward a biobed, which the engineer
quickly evacuated, thanking him on her way out. Bashir put
Molly down and turned her face up toward him. Molly's crying
hiccoughed, then she looked at him, puzzled.

"Hi, Molly, I'm Julian. I'm going to look after you. Did you
get hurt?"

The little girl, probably only three at best, began to cry
again, but not to sob. Bashir crouched down and did a quick
visual examination, then grabbed a tricorder and scanned
her. At this, Molly stopped crying again and watched the
machine with a frightened curiously.

"I'm checking to see where you might be hurt. Did your arm
get hurt?"

She nodded, her lips trembling, and Bashir put the tricorder
aside, taking her left arm and prodding it gently. Molly let
out a wail and the med student nodded, grabbing the osteo
regenerator that a nurse extended toward him.

"This will make you feel better," he promised over the
wails. Quickly, he healed the fractured humerus and checked
the bones in her forearm to ensure the more fragile bones
were fully intact. There was a hairline fracture in her
radius, which he sealed as well, then checked her quickly
for any more internal injuries. She had escaped less scathed
than her mother, without any surface cuts or any other
serious injuries. Mostly, she was just afraid.

Bashir picked her up and settled her against one hip,
bouncing her gently again. He shushed her reassuringly, and
the girl threw her small arms around his neck. Bashir held
her tightly, scrambling up onto the biobed and rocking her
back and forth until she began to calm down. She raised her
head, looking at him with bright brown eyes, sniffling and
wiping her nose.

"Want Mommy," she said plaintively.

"I know you do," he said. "Mommy's getting her cut fixed. Do
you think you can wait a bit here with me? She won't be
long."

Molly regarded him with a look older than her years.

"Who're you?" she demanded.

Bashir grinned.

"Julian Bashir."

"Where's Daddy?"

"I don't know where he is. I bet Mommy will, though. We only
have to wait a few minutes."

"Julian," Molly said, as if considering his name for herself,
then settled against him, looking around. The resilience of
such a small child amazed him. As he looked around the
sickbay, he was alarmed: there were injured people
everywhere, a few active stasis containers that didn't bode
well, a Borg drone in stasis, dozens of people who had been
evacuated from the Kubai comforting friends and crew
members, security trying to round up those who had been
discharged.

The doors hissed open again and Bashir looked up to see an
engineer in his black and gold uniform rush in, looking
around in a panic. Molly extended toward him and shrieked:
"Daddy!"

The man whipped around to face her, a look of utter relief
crossing his face. Bashir pushed himself from the bed and
met the man halfway across the room, shifting the ecstatic
girl into his arms. The man hugged her tightly, glancing up
at the ceiling as if sending a silent prayer of thanks.

"Is she all right?" he demanded.

"Just fine. A couple of broken bones. Nothing to worry
about," Bashir assured him.

"Thank you," the man, a lieutenant commander, said. "What
about my wife, Keiko?"

"Keiko's fine," another voice said and the man turned,
Bashir forgotten. Crusher was standing behind them and the
man hurried toward her, asking about his wife's health.
Bashir turned as someone else came into the sickbay and
hurried toward the Vulcan man, helping him to a bed, and
began treating him.

---

A security detail had joined them and clearing out the
dangerous areas of deck five was going as well as it could
be expected. The ship hadn't sustained as much damage as Dax
had anticipated, but it was still enough, and they had to
force their way into some quarters and rescue people who
were trapped behind fallen bulkheads or who had been injured
somehow. Most of them were scared and more than a little
relieved to see a Starfleet uniform, whether or not the
person wearing it was familiar.

Dax could feel the ticking of the clock in her mind, knowing
the area was unstable and that the secondary life support
was all that stood between them and a complete lack of
oxygen. She was just helping a concussed ensign into the
corridor when an engineering team consisting of two people
in EV suits hurried past. The ensign, already shaken and
scared, looked more alarmed.

"It's all right," she assured the woman, then turned to one
of the security guards, a Vulcan. "Can you take her to
sickbay?"

"Of course," he replied, slipping one of the woman's arms
around his shoulders and helping her away. Dax rejoined the
others of her team, heading into another set of quarters.

After what seemed like an eternity, they were finished.
While they had been working, an unease had been growing in
Dax's mind until she became aware that she had no idea what
had become of Bashir. She tried to push the nagging seed of
fear aside, but found she couldn't, and part of her mind had
insisted on focusing on him, on the utter lack of
information about his well being. Now that they were
finished, the fear seemed to blossom so that it threatened
to envelope her, but Dax reined in her emotions tightly,
refusing to think of the worst.

Mantaes hit his combadge, calling Rinn, who reassigned the
first officer to engineering to assist with getting the warp
core back on line. The security guards were sent down to
another deck, to ensure there were no casualties, and Dax
was summoned back to the bridge. They evacuated the section
and Dax found a working turbolift. She stepped inside and
hit her own combadge after giving her destination, her hands
shaking slightly.

"Dax to Bashir," she said.

There was no answer. Dax tapped her combadge again.

"Dax to Bashir. Julian, do you read me?"

Again, only silence.

"Computer, halt turbolift and locate Julian Bashir."

"Unable to comply. Internal sensors are not functioning at
one hundred percent capacity."

"Can you locate him in any of the areas where internal
sensors are working?" she demanded.

"Negative."

"Are the internal sensors working in sickbay?"

"Confirmed."

"And he's not there?"

"Negative."

Dax felt her stomach go cold and took a deep breath to calm
herself.

"Is there anyone in sickbay?" she asked, knowing full well
that the Borg drones she encountered hadn't been the only
ones to make it on board. She also knew two of them had
appeared near sickbay. She didn't know if they'd been
neutralized.

"Negative," the computer replied.

"Where did they go?" Dax demanded.

"Unknown."

She grasped the handrails as the universe seemed to narrow
into this single moment, this single place.

"Were they beamed out by the Enterprise?" she asked, telling
herself it was the most likely scenario.

"Unknown. There is no sensor data available for sickbay from
twelve hundred seven hours to twelve hundred thirty-one
hours."

"Resume turbolift," Dax said, feeling numb. She took another
deep breath and told herself that Bashir and the others had
most likely been beamed over the Enterprise, where the
sickbay facilities were better and doubtlessly less damaged.
She had work of her own to do now; the ship would need
someone to pilot it to the nearest starbase, and she
appeared to be their best option for a pilot at the moment.
Bashir would have to wait, but knowing that didn't make her
feel better. In her mind's eye, she saw the Borg ship
exploding and swallowed a fear that he may have been on it,
already assimilated, when that happened.

---

"All right, your turn," Crusher said from beside Bashir and he
glanced up.

"What?" he asked.

"There isn't anyone left to treat but you," the red-haired
doctor said, crossing her arms and giving him a
'don't-argue-with-me' look. Surprised, Bashir glanced down
at his injured leg. He'd forgotten all about it. The pain,
as if waiting for its chance, returned. He winced slightly,
unimpressed now with his makeshift bandage, which had soaked
through with blood.

"On the bed," Crusher ordered. She gestured to a nurse to
assist her as Bashir climbed onto a bed and lay down. He
heard the doctor tsk and looked up to see her shaking her
head at the bandage he'd made. "Good enough for on the fly,
though," she said to him.

Bashir grinned and shook his head.

"Thanks."

"We're going to have to cut the whole pant leg off. Elisha,
get his boot off carefully. He has a sprain in that ankle."

Bashir winced as the nurse slid his boot off as gently as
she could, then held his leg up slightly.

"Right. Lie still, Julian," Crusher said and Bashir lowered
his head again, listening to the faint sound of his uniform
being destroyed, then repressing another wince as the doctor
peeled off his bandage.

"Put his leg down," she said to the nurse. "Take care of the
ankle. I'm going to disinfect this and clean it up. You're
lucky it's a surface wound, Julian. The Borg are pretty
serious about inflicting damage."

"Well, I don't feel assimilated yet," Bashir joked.

Crusher shook her head.

"Lie still."

He did as he was told and found his mind turning to Dax
suddenly. A cold shiver ran through him; he had no idea
where she was, if she was still all right. She hadn't shown
up in their sickbay, at least, but he didn't know if she was
still on the Kubai. He had no way of knowing if any other
Borg had made it onto the ship, if they'd gotten to the
bridge. The sphere had been destroyed, but had any crew
members been taken over before that?

He took a deep breath to calm himself and looked at the pale
ceiling. The doors hissed open from somewhere behind him and
Bashir raised his head, wondering if they were receiving yet
another patient. He heard the sound of footsteps approaching
them, then Dax came into view, stopping in her tracks when
she saw him.

Bashir froze as well. He'd never seen an expression like
that on her face. For a moment, the stark terror stayed,
then was replaced by a flash of disbelief, followed by utter
relief.

"Jules," she said, and Bashir heard a world of banished fear
in her voice. And something else. Something almost like
ownership. Something that told him that he was her Julian.

She was still his Jadzia.

"Zia," he said and she rushed toward him, bending over to
kiss him hard. Bashir put one hand on the back of her head,
returning the kiss with as much enthusiasm.

"Are you all right?" Dax demanded when they pulled apart,
both slightly breathless.

"He's just fine," Crusher assured Dax, who seemed to notice
the doctor's presence for the first time. She straightened,
facing the human woman. "A surficial cut and a sprained
ankle, both of which we've taken care of."

Dax nodded.

"Good," she replied.

"I'll get you a new uniform," the doctor promised and Bashir
glanced down to see one nearly naked leg. He nodded and the
doctor and nurse moved away, giving them some privacy.

"I was so worried," Dax said, kissing him again. "I had no
idea you'd been beamed over here. I thought� I thought the
Borg got you."

"I got her," Bashir replied and Dax gave him a quizzical
look. He sat up carefully, nodding to the stasis chamber
where the drone was confined. "She grabbed me just before we
beamed over. I think she used to be human. Maybe they can
save her."

Dax grinned, shaking her head, and kissed him again.

"What?" Bashir asked.

"Such a doctor," she said. "Always thinking of others
first."

"I'm not a doctor yet," he said.

She shrugged and hugged him. Bashir hugged her back, feeling
a familiarity sweep back over. She may be Dax now, but she
was also Jadzia, and, for the first time since she'd been
joined, he actually felt as if he could understand that.

"What is it?" he asked when she pulled away and he noticed
the strain around her eyes.

"I was so worried," Dax said, putting a hand on his arm. "I
thought� Benjamin lost his wife at Wolf Three-Five-Nine and
I can't even imagine how hard that must have been for him.
The idea that you might have been taken to the sphere before
it was destroyed�" She paused, letting out a deep breath.
"That was hard."

Bashir's brow furrowed.

"Who's Benjamin?" he asked, quickly running through a list
in his mind of friends of hers he knew. The name wasn't
familiar.

"Oh. One of Curzon's friends. Benjamin Sisko. He was the
ex-oh of the Saratoga. It was destroyed at Wolf
Three-Five-Nine. His wife died on board."

Bashir felt his heart twist, both for Sisko and for himself.
He couldn't imagine losing Dax like that.

"Well, I'm all right," he assured her, taking her chin in
one hand. Dax smiled at him and he reached up with his other
hand to brush a strand of dark hair from her forehead. He
kissed her again and Dax kissed back. This finally felt
familiar again, too. He was glad to have her back, although
he understood she'd never be the same person she had been
before being joined. He wouldn't be the same person he'd
been before her joining, either.

"I think we may just beat the odds," Dax commented. Bashir
grinned, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and kissing
her temple.

"This human doesn't give up so easily," Bashir said.

"Neither does this Trill," Dax replied. "Especially not
anymore."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," he told her and she
grinned at him, pulling him into another kiss.

---

continued in the fifth story in the Greenseelves series 'All Quiet'