DS9 - The final part at last.
Oct. 25th, 2013 09:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seikilosTitle: Addendum: 2x23 "Crossover," Part 3
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst
Rating & Warnings: PG
Words: 966 this part, 8547 overall
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
Summary: Julian and Kira return from the Mirrorverse physically in one piece. Their mental and emotional recoveries, however, aren't so straightforward. This part: A much-needed conversation for both.
Author's Notes: The concluding part of my three-part series about Episode 2x23 "Crossover," and the one I most strongly wish had been a part of the show. I particularly would have liked to see a change in the relationship between Julian and Kira in later episodes after sharing such a terrible experience, but sadly it was not to be. Oh well--what can you do?
The next chapter to this fic will be completely unrelated to the preceding parts, so keep an eye out for it...eventually.
The morning after Bareil leaves, Kira sees Dr. Bashir alone with a mug of tea in the replimat. She comes to a stop, not quite sure what she wants to do next. She knows she needs to get over her hesitation to interact with him—her job is going to be difficult to perform if she's avoiding the station's chief medical officer—but is now the best time to do it?
Of course Dr. Bashir ends up looking up and noticing her. He waves her over with an oddly shy smile and that decides that.
"Good morning, Major," he greets her. "I was just about to have breakfast—would you care to join me?"
"I suppose—" she begins, but as she sits down, the stink of red leaf tea washes from his mug and she stops. It's too early for dealing with the memories the smell drags up, and on top of that, her defences are low. Already, she can tell this is a mistake.
Especially since Dr. Bashir doesn't notice anything amiss. "I'm going to go pick out something from the replicator. Can I get you anything while I'm up?"
. . . Well, she's here now. "A raktajino and hasperat would be fine, thanks."
His eyebrows lift. "You're having hasperat this early?"
"If anything is going to wake me up, it's going to be that," she doesn't quite snap, but it's close.
He holds up his hands. "All right, a raktajino and hasperat. I'll be right back."
They're awake early enough that the lines for the replicators are short. Dr. Bashir returns fairly quickly with both their meals and soon his soft voice is interrupting her mental planning of her day.
"Here we go—all set." He lifts her breakfast off his tray, then seats himself opposite with his.
She takes her first bite of hasperat, and then she gets a good look at what Dr. Bashir is eating. "You're not drinking red leaf tea with makapa toast."
"Why not?" he asks, looking from his meal to her in plain bewilderment. "They taste good together."
"Bajoran bread and Cardassian tea?" she demands. She sets down her hasperat and gets ready to stand.
This, finally, Bashir notices. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't think—I'll be right back. I'll go get something else."
"Don't bother," she tells him, but he's already left.
When he returns with a different mug, she feels stupid. "You didn't need to do that."
"Yes I did," he counters. "I'm not about to make you uncomfortable over breakfast. I simply didn't realise it would bother you."
"It doesn't, usually. Not much." She blows out an impatient breath. "I'm just—sensitive today."
"It's fine," he says. His lips once again twitch into that uncharacteristically uncertain smile. "I would say you've more than earned the right."
Rather than keep meeting the sympathy on his face, she takes another bite of her hasperat. The replicators here never make it spicy enough, but the burn of it on her tongue is still distraction enough.
Bashir of course fills in the silence. "It's . . . strange, being back here, isn't it? It's a little hard to get used to DS9 after being in the other universe. I can't stop thinking about how so many people are suffering there. We didn't fix a single thing—all we did was escape."
She doesn't want to be having this conversation right now and she doesn't want to be having it with a naive Federation officer . . . but his words echo her own thoughts closely enough that she feels the need to contribute at least something.
"We have our own universe to look after."
He looks unhappy; his voice is heavy when he agrees, "I suppose you're right. And at any rate, Starfleet would never agree to allow me or anyone else go on purpose." He fiddles with his fresh mug of tea, turning it on the table by its handle. "It's just . . . I look around and think back to where we've been, and. . . ."
"It's too bright here," she finishes for him.
She doesn't mean the lights. She still feels out of place sometimes, as though someone like her were better suited to that grimy other universe. Bareil had spent a long, long time arguing against that. He'd also argued against her conviction that she could have, that she would have become the Intendant were she born on the other Bajor. She'd come to believe him, eventually, for the most part, but her memories of the Resistance had been disturbed from where she had buried them, and until they settle again like silt in a river, it will be difficult not to remember just how much blood is on her hands.
Incredibly, Bashir seems to know what she's talking about. "It is sometimes, isn't it? But, well" —he shares with her a quiet smile— "our eyes will adjust given enough time."
She doesn't smile back, but her features relax a bit. "I hope you're right."
"Don't worry." He reaches out to touch her hand, then seems to reconsider it. "I'm sure of it."
There's a moment of silence when they both have some more to eat, and then Bashir asks, "So . . . what are you going to be doing today, Major?"
She tells him and then, after only a brief pause, asks him the same question in return. She deliberately uses his given name and it's ridiculous how happy it makes him. Still, spending time with him isn't so bad—it's certainly better than it had been on the runabout before all of this had happened. Maybe some good will come out of the whole experience, in the form of a better working relationship with Dr. Bashir. She wouldn't call it a friendship, though.
. . . Not yet.
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst
Rating & Warnings: PG
Words: 966 this part, 8547 overall
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
Summary: Julian and Kira return from the Mirrorverse physically in one piece. Their mental and emotional recoveries, however, aren't so straightforward. This part: A much-needed conversation for both.
Author's Notes: The concluding part of my three-part series about Episode 2x23 "Crossover," and the one I most strongly wish had been a part of the show. I particularly would have liked to see a change in the relationship between Julian and Kira in later episodes after sharing such a terrible experience, but sadly it was not to be. Oh well--what can you do?
The next chapter to this fic will be completely unrelated to the preceding parts, so keep an eye out for it...eventually.
The morning after Bareil leaves, Kira sees Dr. Bashir alone with a mug of tea in the replimat. She comes to a stop, not quite sure what she wants to do next. She knows she needs to get over her hesitation to interact with him—her job is going to be difficult to perform if she's avoiding the station's chief medical officer—but is now the best time to do it?
Of course Dr. Bashir ends up looking up and noticing her. He waves her over with an oddly shy smile and that decides that.
"Good morning, Major," he greets her. "I was just about to have breakfast—would you care to join me?"
"I suppose—" she begins, but as she sits down, the stink of red leaf tea washes from his mug and she stops. It's too early for dealing with the memories the smell drags up, and on top of that, her defences are low. Already, she can tell this is a mistake.
Especially since Dr. Bashir doesn't notice anything amiss. "I'm going to go pick out something from the replicator. Can I get you anything while I'm up?"
. . . Well, she's here now. "A raktajino and hasperat would be fine, thanks."
His eyebrows lift. "You're having hasperat this early?"
"If anything is going to wake me up, it's going to be that," she doesn't quite snap, but it's close.
He holds up his hands. "All right, a raktajino and hasperat. I'll be right back."
They're awake early enough that the lines for the replicators are short. Dr. Bashir returns fairly quickly with both their meals and soon his soft voice is interrupting her mental planning of her day.
"Here we go—all set." He lifts her breakfast off his tray, then seats himself opposite with his.
She takes her first bite of hasperat, and then she gets a good look at what Dr. Bashir is eating. "You're not drinking red leaf tea with makapa toast."
"Why not?" he asks, looking from his meal to her in plain bewilderment. "They taste good together."
"Bajoran bread and Cardassian tea?" she demands. She sets down her hasperat and gets ready to stand.
This, finally, Bashir notices. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't think—I'll be right back. I'll go get something else."
"Don't bother," she tells him, but he's already left.
When he returns with a different mug, she feels stupid. "You didn't need to do that."
"Yes I did," he counters. "I'm not about to make you uncomfortable over breakfast. I simply didn't realise it would bother you."
"It doesn't, usually. Not much." She blows out an impatient breath. "I'm just—sensitive today."
"It's fine," he says. His lips once again twitch into that uncharacteristically uncertain smile. "I would say you've more than earned the right."
Rather than keep meeting the sympathy on his face, she takes another bite of her hasperat. The replicators here never make it spicy enough, but the burn of it on her tongue is still distraction enough.
Bashir of course fills in the silence. "It's . . . strange, being back here, isn't it? It's a little hard to get used to DS9 after being in the other universe. I can't stop thinking about how so many people are suffering there. We didn't fix a single thing—all we did was escape."
She doesn't want to be having this conversation right now and she doesn't want to be having it with a naive Federation officer . . . but his words echo her own thoughts closely enough that she feels the need to contribute at least something.
"We have our own universe to look after."
He looks unhappy; his voice is heavy when he agrees, "I suppose you're right. And at any rate, Starfleet would never agree to allow me or anyone else go on purpose." He fiddles with his fresh mug of tea, turning it on the table by its handle. "It's just . . . I look around and think back to where we've been, and. . . ."
"It's too bright here," she finishes for him.
She doesn't mean the lights. She still feels out of place sometimes, as though someone like her were better suited to that grimy other universe. Bareil had spent a long, long time arguing against that. He'd also argued against her conviction that she could have, that she would have become the Intendant were she born on the other Bajor. She'd come to believe him, eventually, for the most part, but her memories of the Resistance had been disturbed from where she had buried them, and until they settle again like silt in a river, it will be difficult not to remember just how much blood is on her hands.
Incredibly, Bashir seems to know what she's talking about. "It is sometimes, isn't it? But, well" —he shares with her a quiet smile— "our eyes will adjust given enough time."
She doesn't smile back, but her features relax a bit. "I hope you're right."
"Don't worry." He reaches out to touch her hand, then seems to reconsider it. "I'm sure of it."
There's a moment of silence when they both have some more to eat, and then Bashir asks, "So . . . what are you going to be doing today, Major?"
She tells him and then, after only a brief pause, asks him the same question in return. She deliberately uses his given name and it's ridiculous how happy it makes him. Still, spending time with him isn't so bad—it's certainly better than it had been on the runabout before all of this had happened. Maybe some good will come out of the whole experience, in the form of a better working relationship with Dr. Bashir. She wouldn't call it a friendship, though.
. . . Not yet.
