Ok, I wrote this a long time ago, so if things don't jive with cannon then view this as an alternate universe sort of thing. I'm guessing I placed this around 2nd season but who knows. No copyright infringement intended, and pretty much all characters are proprty of Paramount and Viacom. Just a bit of fun by me, so please don't send them lawyers to my doorstep. I'm giving all my cash to GC&SU as it is.

He felt it as if it were as real as the metal structures entombing him in the vacuum of space.

The petal soft touch fluttered over the flushed contours of his skin, followed by moist, cool lips. Cold lips, mocking in their passionate touch, their heatless caress.

That mouth skimmed along the line of bone, following the long length of his thigh before coming to rest over the rapid pulse beat hidden beneath over-heated flesh. A warm breath whisked over the swell of muscle. Strange, considering all else about this shadow was frighteningly cold.

Including the moist tongue which traced the ridges and planes of those bunching and straining muscles, drawing circular motions over the escalating beat of blood rushing though the artery with the speed of an Olympic-class luge.

And despite the frigidness of the form looming over him, the distaste which burned like acid in his gut, he felt himself responding to the caresses, lying in wait of the fire that would radiate outward and consume his entire body, leaving him fighting for oxygen to supply the blaze.

A chuckle drifted up to his ears, and he shivered, out of horror or anticipation, he didn't know which. One of those diamond-hard little points slid across his skin, lured a pin-prick of blood from its hiding place. That icy tongue lapped at his thigh for a moment and then was gone.

The pain was fierce, blinding in its abruptness and intensity, but it transformed within the space of a solitary heartbeat. And then that tidal wave of sheer physical sensation hit, and he didn't care about the glacial quality of that form any more.

A moan strummed past his vocal cords as the sensations more potent than any orgasm washed through his body, followed by a brief, punctuating scream.

And then moisture tickled his lips, tangy and bitter at the same time. It was familiar somehow, and he drank eagerly as reflexes long forgotten took hold of him. It washed down his throat, leaving a sweetness in his mouth. Another series of pleasurous sensations built within him as his mouth plastered to that wrist, as his recently ingested blood flowed down his throat.

He felt the form beside him tense, heard a muffled cry that was drowned out by his own shriek. He screamed so loud he felt a vocal cord tear, but he couldn't stop. The fountain was yanked away from his lips, and he whimpered....

The whimper still on his lips as he bolted upright and into consciousness once more.

Shadows surrounded him, esconsed his panting and sweat-drenched form in their soothing swirls of darkness. Eventually, his heart beat abated to its normal rhythm along with his frantically struggling lungs.

Julian Bashir rolled out of bed, sat with his feet firmly planted against frigid metal, and ground the heel of his hand into his aching eyes. A low moan which had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with the queasiness in his stomach tore from his throat. His bedroom danced and swam out of focus like some demonically designed top.

The dream....

He'd had it again for a fifth---or was it a sixth?---time. And just as every other morning he could only recall the vaguest of images, snippets of lucid moments before the spasm would take him, throwing him back into reality as abruptly as a bucket of ice water in the face.

And who was this mysterious nightly visitor? What did she represent in his psyche?

One thing was certain: Freud would have a field day.

He dragged himself up, stood swaying in the peppered darkness, and stumbled toward the bathroom.

To the mirror. His reflection peeked out from amid shadows, his features rather cadaverous in the poor illumination. Julian shivered at what the image was foreshadowing. It was like a premonition to how he would look when his body was finally lowered into the cold, wet earth, closed off from light and heat for the remainder of time. He shook his head, prayed the morbid notions would vacate his brain.

Although staying, they rather politely moved into the back of his awareness, and Bashir stepped into the sonic shower, readying himself for a new day.

Chief of Operations on the rust bucket affectionately known by its occupants as Deep Space Hell shuffled along the Promenade; Lt. Dax walked beside him. "I can't explain the sensor glitches, Chief. All the equipment checks out perfectly."

"Then what are we dealing with, a poltergeist?" His sarcastic tone changed to one of determination. "Dax, the sensors are broken." His stomach growled. "Come on, I've gotta get some breakfast. If I don't get at least one meal a day Keiko and the doc go ballistic." Dax followed him to the replimat. He ordered his beloved coffee along with a hearty ham and cheese omelet; he was going to enjoy his solitary meal even if it choked him.

Miles scanned the crowded establishment for an empty seat, spotted one and made a mad dash for it. "Hey, Doc," he muttered as he passed the young physician, faltered to a halt, back- pedaling. "Holy smokes, kid! Did a shuttle land on you?"

Bashir raised his head, gazing over the dark glasses perched precariously on the edge of his nose. "Mornin' to you too, Chief."

O'Brien didn't think the man's accent could get any thicker, and sat, forgetting his rapidly cooling meal. "What's wrong?" he asked, concern evident even over the curiosity.

"I'm sick, Sherlock," the physician shot back.

"With what, the Plague?" Bashir pushed the dark shades further up, lowered his head to his folded arms like a sleepy youngster in school. "I'm serious, Julian. You aren't looking so good."

"Thanks for the news flash," drifted up in a muffled jumble.

"What are you boys doing?" It was Jadzia Dax joining the less than peppy breakfast club.

Bashir didn't even bother to lift his head. "Dying."

Dax fingered a pale cheek, prompting him to sit up and acknowledge her presence. "Oh Julian." The murmur was accompanied by one of those motherly head shakes. "You should be in bed, not the replimat."

"No," he protested. "That's the last place I want to be. I'm fine right here." He sounded like a petulant toddler; all he need do was poke out his lower lip and the persona would be complete.

Neither party appeared the least bit convinced. "What's with the shades? I haven't seen a pair of those on a face outside museum walls," O'Brien ventured. Maybe he could get him talking; everyone knew once you got him going Bashir's mouth had a longer running life than most warp cores.

"The blasted lights are bothering my eyes," he hissed, hugging himself as a shiver rippled throughout his form. "And it's freezing in here. The environmentals broken?" O'Brien shook a negative. "Sure as hell feels like it."

Another worried glance passed between the two officers. "Not very hospitable when you're sick, are you?"

"I'm nice and pleasant and courteous every other damn moment of my life, Chief. I'm afforded a slip every few years or so," the young physician snapped. The reaction had made O'Brien flinch, and he threw up his hands in surrender.

Mjr. Kira materialized about that time and joined the other officers. She also noticed Bashir's appearance and actually placed a hand against his skin. He jerked back from those slim fingers. "Unless I've been wined and dined, I'd appreciate it if you'd keep your hands to yourself," he barked. "I'm going to the infirmary." Julian pushed from his chair and stalked out.

Kira took the vacated spot with a questioning gaze planted on the officers. "Is it customary for humans to feel so cold? I thought you were a warm-blooded species."

"He's sick." Dax noticed in amusement how the major rubbed that hand against her thigh at the news. "I doubt it's anything serious." Her lips twitched with the beginnings of a smile. "Julian's the consumat physician and an absolutely horrid patient." Those blue eyes shifted over to O'Brien and his omelet. "Are you going to eat that?"

The plate was shoved her way. Fencing with Bashir had killed his appetite. A report crackled over his comm badge. "Chief, turbo lift two's stuck again." Not quite the aspicious start he'd planned. Hmmm...only oh-seven hundred. Maybe he could get some food before Molly graduated Starfleet Academy.

He lay there in the soothing velvet of darkness, concentrating on his meditation techniques.

Techniques which had so far proven as useful as a thimble of water against a forest fire. Finally he gave up ignoring the discomfort and focused on not allowing it to overcome him. It was that sharp little cramp again, right in the location of his stomach. It would come and go, and at the moment, the tide was crashing in.

He bit his lip, suppressed a moan, and grimaced as his muscles locked. "Doctor?" Julian savagely sawed at his lower lip, nearly drawing blood. Cdr. Sisko! He couldn't let the commander see him like this.

He shot up off the tiny cot, making a mad dash for his desk. "Lights," he whispered, snatching up a PADD.

Sisko knocked, peeked inside. "There you are, Doctor." Julian nodded, extending a weary smile. "You aren't pushing yourself too hard, are you?"

Julian snorted lightly. "No, Commander. Where would you get that idea?"

The man folded himself into the chair before Bashir's desk; the momentary dip of his head obscured his view of Julian's suffering wince. "Dax." Bashir nodded; he should have known. "O'Brien," continued Sisko. "Kira. Even Odo commented on you looking a bit worse for wear."

Bashir whimpered inwardly. How could he argue with those odds. "I'm fine, really. Just a bit under the weather. Nothing to worry about."

He bit his inner cheek to keep from crying out. The flames in his abdomen had erupted, cascading throughout his body. An icy film of sweat coated his forehead. He fought to keep his hands from trembling.

"If you say so. But I still want you to take it easy for a few days. Agreed?" Bashir gave a tight nod. "Good. I'll leave you to your duties, Doctor." And Cdr. Sisko left the office.

The instant he was certain the man had exited the infirmary, Julian let go the low moan hovering on his lips. Tears stung his eyes, welling up but not falling. Managing to rise to his feet and shuffle over to the cot, he curled compactly into a ball.

Eventually, as the pain became a familiar companion, he slipped off to sleep.

Into dreams.

Kira Nerys shifted her weight impatiently from one foot to the other, let go an irritated sigh. She'd wasted a good half an hour on loading those blasted supplies, only to find out that they weren't the right ones. He'd mislabeled the inventory manifest, and she'd suffered the inconvenience. The irritation uncoiled and rose even more.

Illness or not, he shouldn't have made so careless a mistake. And if this sickness interfered to that extent, he shouldn't be on duty.

Those thoughts hammered away at her brain as she entered the darkened infirmary. She marched directly to the section where Bashir had set up a small office and snapped, "Lights."

Illumination was instantaneous, and spots commenced to swallow her vision. That had not been the smartest of moves. Eventually her eyesight cleared, and she proceeded to tear into him. "Bashir," she began, her tone piqued with annoyance and the slightest hint of exasperation. "I just spent---"

She didn't finish the sentence or the thought. Her voice caught in her throat, was pushed out of the way by the gasp which sped past her lips.

He lay there in what seemed to her to be a crumpled heap. A mass of flesh and bone, and this mass was naked.

Shock caused her to freeze a moment, a hesitation of every one of her bodily functions until the heart in her chest began to pound faster, harder.

She blinked hard, tried to drive the fog from her mind with a shake of her head. The underwater feel of her body slowly drifted away, and she could move again.

Kira felt the urge to dart over and see what was wrong with the man, just run across the meager space. She didn't, instead darting suspicious glances about the room. There was no one else, but the hair on the back of her neck stood up anyway. Invisible eyes were boring straight through her, and after years of following her instincts, she knew it.

Automatically she reached down to her boot, expecting to find the cleverly sheathed knife. But it wasn't there, hadn't been there since the Occupation's end. Even Bajorans were creatures of habit.

That gaze shifted for a moment, she felt it, and abruptly a small moan from Bashir shattered the silence. She jumped slightly, fought the icy shiver threatening to climb up her spine. And a second later the hatred washed over her, its flooding tide nearly knocking her to the ground.

A sourness rose up from her stomach, flooded her mouth with a bitter metallic taste. The thing studying her was evil. She could feel it as surely as the icy sweat rolling down the center of her chest. Her heart shuddered once, twice.

She was alone.

The uneasy weight was gone so suddenly it left her dizzy, swaying in the coldness of the tiny room. The terror which had crushed her in its ungiving grip took a bit longer to make its exit. Vestiges of it hung on even as she bent to check out that heap of a human being cowering against the frigid floor.

And found his skin to be even colder than the floor. Bloodless. The tell-tale blue tinges of veins beneath his skin were no longer there, even though it looked just one shade above transparent. She rolled him into her arms.

He was shivering uncontrollably, attempting to hold onto her with spagetti-limp arms. Weak keening issued from his throat, and Kira realized he couldn't breathe. "I've got to get Dr...." Her voice trailed off before she said it, choking on the word. She slapped her comm badge. "Kira to Dax. Get to the infirmary now. Something's wrong with Bashir."

She didn't listen for a response, wouldn't have heard it if there was one. Another noise issued from his throat. He was trying to speak, and Kira shifted her gaze to his mouth. There was blood on his lips.

It held a morbid fascination for her; she'd never really seen a human bleed. The faintly pink, watery fluid running from the corner of his mouth certainly wasn't what she'd expected. It was almost clear.

She forced herself to focus on the words those stained lips were attempting to form. "Sc- -sc---scared," he stuttered.

Her gaze shot up to those soft brown eyes, met the unmistakable terror held in them with understanding. How many of her compatriot's had she held even as death stole them away? She'd lost count.

"Shhh," she soothed, pushing back a damp tendril of hair from his forehead. "Don't worry. Dax is coming; everything will be fine," she whispered.

But the promise was empty. She seriously doubted Bashir would be up and about anytime soon. If ever, came into her mind, unwelcomed. She pushed away the negative thought, focused on muttering nonsensical words to soothe. Most of them were Bajoran, and she wasn't sure if they were for him or her.

Somewhere between wiping the blood from his lips and reassuring that Dax would be there at any moment, Julian Bashir quietly died.

Someone had placed a sheet over the body by the time he entered the tiny office. Sisko would have to thank that considerate soul if he ever found him. He had no desire to see the young, vibrant man he remembered lying lifelessly on that cold floor.

The three officers stood in the far corner, huddled together as if planning their next strategy. Even from here it was obvious that Kira was upset. As he ventured closer, he heard her ragged voice insist, "Something did that to him! Something was here." Her chest heaved as she struggled to draw another breath.

Benjamin placed a hand on Kira's shoulder; she gave him a quick look before letting her breath out in a huff and moving off. Odo went with her. That left the commander and his mentor alone. "What happened, old man?"

The term of endearment usually brought a smile to Dax's face. It didn't today. "His circulatory system collapsed entirely. I haven't examined ...." Sisko thought she had started to say "the body", "....him, but one thing's obvious: he had no blood."

"What happened to it?" Dax only shrugged. "How can a twenty-eight year old man's circulatory system just up and collapse?"

"I can't explain it, Benjamin." Her eyes involuntarily drifted over to the shrouded figure. "I wish I could," she mumbled.

Benjamin had that thought-searching look on his face. "When did Bashir start complaining about feeling bad?"

Once again Dax shrugged. "I'm not sure. I hadn't really seen much of Julian over the past week." She finally brought her gaze back to his face. "O'Brien might know." She winced abruptly.

"No one's told him?" Dax muttered a negative. Sisko sighed. "I'll do it." He couldn't help but notice that Dax didn't offer to help him with this announcement. Her eyes were on the body again. "Call me if you come up with anything else." Jadzia nodded absently, her eyes never straying from her dead friend. Sisko gave her shoulder a slight squeeze and left.

The buzz came just as Miles O'Brien was chasing Molly about the room to trap her for a good-bye hug. It was kind of a ritual they went through every morning. The tiny elfin of a girl skirted under his arm with a giggle and disappeared behind the sofa. He glanced to his amused daughter, then to the door before straightening up. "Come," he called.

Cdr. Sisko walked in, and O'Brien held up a hand to halt any forth-coming complaints. "I know, Commander. I'm on my way to see about that docking pylon even as we speak." The look on Sisko's face stopped him dead in his tracks. He suddenly found it very hard to breathe. "Keiko," he said slowly, "take Molly to her room." His wife complied with a worried glance.

"Chief," he began, his voice low and betraying only a hint of grief, "Dr. Bashir...." He stopped, drew a deep breath and tried again. "Miles, Julian died this morning."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the just entering Keiko gasp and throw a hand over her mouth. O'Brien, finding it difficult to make any sound, simply lowered himself to the sofa and tried to overcome the jackhammer blow he'd been dealt. Sisko's voice continued to drone into his head.

"He---his circulatory system collapsed. Lack of blood was the cause."

Miles shook his head, murmured, "No." This wasn't right. The kid couldn't be dead. But the despair in Sisko's eyes told him otherwise. "Twenty-eight year old's don't die from lack of blood! It just doesn't happen," he protested.

"It could have something to do with his recent illness," he whispered. "Dax said you'd seen him the most this week...?" O'Brien nodded an affirmative. "Anything you can tell us might be helpful, Chief."

The man nodded again. He couldn't quite draw a full breath into his lungs yet. "Dreams," he managed to squeak out of his acid-coated throat. "Julian's been having---" he paused suddenly, found it difficult to correct himself, "had strange dreams this last week. I don't know what, but they bothered him."

"Thank you, Miles," his superior whispered. He arose to leave.

"Sir," O'Brien got to his feet too, "I want to help." Sisko smiled briefly, and the two humans exited into the corridor.

Darkness had been his only reality for the longest time, the only sensation he was aware of that didn't pain him. But finally the inky blackness tinged red, the strange tingling and overwhelming cacophony of sounds diminishing. Julian Bashir could move again.

A sheet lay over his head; he brought up his arms, fumbling with the cloth until it tore away from his face. He looked around; he was in one of his stasis chambers! Luckily it was open, and he managed to clamber out of its coffin confines.

Air touched his skin, and he drew his arms about his bare chest. A shiver danced down his spine. He reached out, brushing the control panel. The chamber slipped into its cubbyhole.

His steps were as hesitant as a baby's first, his muscles without an ounce of coordination or strength. Worse off, apparently the baby was drunk.

His vision was blurry, the objects about him mere shadowy shapes without concrete form or distinction. Julian stumbled across the deserted infirmary, holding the trembles threatening to rack his body at bay, not always succeeding.

The chill pervading his bones was nothing compared to the terrible thirst. The thirst ignited a hunger in him unlike any that had ever tormented mortal man.

He didn't understand, couldn't seem to fit the jigsaw together with his numb, water- logged brain. If only the same numbness applied to the pain.

The crisp infirmary air seemed alive as it hit his skin, inciting little electrical shocks and tingles to dart throughout his body. The chill also ignited a throbbing in his mouth as his teeth reacted achingly to the drastic temperature. He searched for clothing, slipped on the shirt and trousers he found in his office, and stumbled out of the infirmary.

He had the drastic urge to find someone, something,...food.

Chief Miles O'Brien walked beside his wife, unable to keep up a brave face even for his daughter. Presently Molly was unaware what had happened to her daddy's friend, and he wasn't exactly anticipating telling her. "You said some very nice things, Miles," Keiko whispered as Molly pranced before them, singing some childishly silly song.

He made a noise of disgust. "All I did was stammer a lot and say that he was an important part of our team. Gul Dukat could've come up with a better speech," he spat.

As his wife, Keiko was all too familiar of the chief's high expectations, and fully aware he held himself up in an even higher regard. Miles always was so hard on himself. "Everyone knew what you meant, dear, how much you cared about him. That came across, Miles, and heart is far more important than eloquence."

Molly disappeared around the corner as her parents paused a moment. O'Brien studied the woman before him and thanked the stars fate had sent her to him. "There were a lot of times Bashir...well, I thought of him as a nuisance," he confessed. "He always seemed so smug about his abilities, so eager to go into the unknown and take a swing at whatever life threw his way." The engineer sighed. "I would look at him and wonder whatever happened to that enthusiastic young lad I used to be...."

Little Molly skipped along, oblivious to losing her escorts in the other corridor. Presently she continued serenading the doll clutched tightly in tiny elfin hands, caught up in five-year-old whims and fancies. She twirled around like a dandelion in a gloomy river current, the only bright spot against a backdrop of darkness.

He stood about six feet from her, enthralled by the tiny dancing creature. He heard the frantic beating of the little heart diligently pumping blood through minute veins and arteries. His own heart joined the rhythm as he drew in her scent; she was so small, this tiny little hummingbird of a girl. And so very, very alive.

Adrenaline rushed through him, and it brought the sensations to a fever pitch. A low feral growl reverberated in the back of his throat, and the tiny girl spun to face him, extending her arms out to this visitor.

Julian Bashir snatched her up in a flash.

"Molly," her mother called, "don't get too far ahead," Keiko and her spouse rounded the corner and skidded to a halt.

Ahead, their daughter giggled. "His eyes are like uncle Data's," Molly pointed out. "And the noises---like Daddy's big, bad wolf but better."

Keiko blanched, snaking a hand around her husband's wrist with surprising strength. "My God, Miles," she breathed.

O'Brien didn't respond to his wife's exclamation, was too stunned to say anything beyond a one-syllable grunt. Julian Bashir, the young Fed doctor and his dead best friend, stood before him in the flesh. And apparently, there weren't any strings attached. Miles gazed into those amber eyes, disbelief and joy raging inside him.

Something was wrong in those eyes. O'Brien had seen that look before---in the eyes of a predator. Julian Bashir stared at his daughter like a starving man who'd just stumbled across a steak dinner complete with baked potato and dessert. "Julian," he said quietly, "put Molly down."

Those lips drew back, and a canine growl issued from his throat. Miles' heart sped so he thought it would explode. Molly, uncomprehending to the tension in her parents, in the man who held her, sat watching the confrontation, thoroughly enjoying the show. Her father repeated the command, but Bashir hugged her closer.

Every bit of cultural evolution had been stripped from him; the man was functioning on pure, primal instinct. "Do something, Miles!" Keiko plead urgently, her knuckles reddening as she gnashed them against her teeth.

O'Brien barely heard his wife, his entire attention focused on the threat to his daughter. Molly began to wiggle in Julian's grasp, eager to regain the doll she'd dropped. A slight whimper sounded as those arms constricted more about her fragile form. The squirming subsided for a moment, but Bashir tightened his hold again.

O'Brien reached out, and Julian actually lunged forward and snapped at his hand. The human managed to draw it back before Bashir's teeth made contact.

Miles stared into those amber eyes and knew Julian would kill him if he interfered. It was as if Bashir no longer resided there. And slowly the man took a step back; he wanted to find a more secure area, get the child away from her parents.

Another noise arose from Molly as Bashir turned to leave, and abruptly she threw her arms about his neck and planted a kiss on his stubbly cheek, giggling at the sensation. "I like him, Daddy," she murmured as she squeezed with all her might.

It was difficult to read the expression which popped up on the dead man's face, but he squeezed his eyes tight and a shiver ran through him. Brown eyes peeked out from beneath fluttering lids, and all of a sudden O'Brien had his daughter thrust into his arms.

The chief watched as Bashir knelt down, taking Molly's doll and placing it in her out- stretched hands. The apology in his eyes, the timid shaking of the fingers which reached out, but didn't quite brush the child's cheek, tore at O'Brien's heart.

Bashir turned to leave. Miles fumbled to give his wife their child. He just did manage to snare Bashir's wrist.

He spun so abruptly Miles didn't even see it. Those eyes burned with the carnivorous anger again, and the man hissed, "Leave me alone, Chief." Julian yanked away from the grasp, nearly taking the ensign off his feet. He walked calmly down the hall.

O'Brien scrambled up, yelled for his family to lock up in their quarters, and rushed after his friend. Miles skidded to a halt around the corner after the retreating form to stop on a dime.

Ahead, an overhead light sputtered, a faint hiss drifting to his ears. O'Brien was alone.

"I was as close to him as I am to you, sir," O'Brien insisted as he paced in Ben Sisko's office, ready to wear a rut in the grating. "He's alive."

Kira Nerys came forward. "O'Brien, I was there when he died."

"He's not dead!" he snapped. "This isn't some grief-induced hallucination. My wife can confirm it. For pete's sake, he was holding Molly! A bloody hallucination can't hold a little girl."

"And he was hostile you say?" Sisko inquired. O'Brien gave a plentiful series of nods. "Constable." The metamorph stepped forward. "Get together a search party. Assign phasers but only on minimum stun. We don't want to hurt him."

"Benjamin," Dax blurted.

He held up a hand. "I know all of you want to be involved, and you will be. Just be careful." His crew nodded gratefully. "I'll coordinate up here. Call in if you see him."

Various affirmative replies were murmured, and then they were off.

Major Kira Nerys checked the tricorder in her hand. It registered only her, regardless of what her instincts were screaming. And she was far less inclined to believe the instrument.

No, she definitely had company. "Bashir," she whispered, visually scanning the area around her. A shiver ran up her spine; she felt eyes boring right through the center of her back, through skin and muscle and straight to her heart. Sweat rolled into her eyes, momentarily blurring her vision.

And she was knocked flat as a streak ran by, sharply bumping her shoulder. "What the hell...?" she exclaimed, pushing up to her elbows. The whirl wind form was gone. She was alone again.

Kira rubbed her throbbing shoulder. It felt like a wrecking ball had collided with her. One of her nails ached vaguely, and she examined the ragged edge.

A wrecking ball with skin....

Jadzia paused a moment, consulting the scanner in her hand. It was no help so she put it away. She had an idea where Julian might have gone, and since the infirmary had been empty, she followed the other hunch.

His quarters were in a shambles; he had been looking for something. "Julian," she called, side-stepping a patch of shattered glass. He didn't answer so she simply followed the path of destruction into the bedroom.

His closet looked as if the contents had exploded out; some items still lay embedded in the walls.

She found him huddled beside the bed, his face pressed against his up-drawn knees. The remains of an old-fashioned paper bound book littered the floor around him. She bent to retrieve the spine, ran a finger over the gold inlaid letters of the title.

"Julian," she whispered. "What's wrong?" Besides the fact you're dead, she thought insanely.

He didn't look up, and the voice which responded was ragged with tears and anger. "Leave, Dax. Go away."

She knelt beside him, placed a reassuring hand on his quivering shoulder. "Let me help you."

The trembling increased, and his voice rose. "Go, Dax. Go now." The command was a partial plea, a bit of a growl. Instead of retreating, she drew him into her arms.

After all, Julian was suffering some unusual malady. In her three hundred years if such things existed she would know. And she truly believed that....

Until he lunged for her throat.

The whimpers were audible even before the door swished open, and Kira Nerys cautiously entered the dead man's quarters. She cast a glance over the mass destruction. One thing was certain, he was one lively corpse.

The pathetic sounds emanated from the bedroom, and she drew a cleansing breath before venturing inside. "Dax!" she breathed, falling to a knee beside the crumpled form. A thin line of blood dribbled from two neat holes in her throat; the Trill moaned softly, murmured a name.

Which switched the Bajoran's focus to the original object of the search. She found him on the other side of the bed, sprawled on his back. Blood trickled over his chin, down the slope of his neck, staining his collar.

"Prophets," she whispered, touching the lifeless form with trembling fingers. His skin was icy, waxen, and blue; it matched his drawn lips perfectly. His chest was completely still. He seemed rather stiff as if rigor mortis had set in.

Her fingertips brushed the inside of his wrist, unable to find the soft thrum of a pulse; she grasped his arm firmly, pressed harder.

Apparently Bashir was dead. Again.

After that conclusion things sped up, reality blurred. The arm she grasped jerked once, twice, and a hand twisted around her wrist. She let go a sharp yelp, falling back on her rear. Bashir's eyes popped open to stare at the ceiling. All at once they rolled back in his head like a slot machine, his body quaking with violent convulsions.

The fingers bit into her skin, constricted until Nerys heard the grinding of bones. Amazingly, she felt nothing except for a slight twinge of pressure, like a deadened tooth being removed.

The deceased's boots thumped against the floor, that sound more than anything sending a sour rush of acid up Kira's throat. She tasted her supper again. Spittle and blood coated his lips, and a sickly gasp rose up with them.

A peculiar warmth arose from the hand clamping onto her; it felt almost like his skin was transforming to a soft putty.

One loud rattling breath escaped his lungs, and then he went still. This time, however, his chest rose and fell, lungs laboring to supply oxygen. His eyes opened, correctly in their sockets once more, and he shot the major a look of utter confusion. His lips formed inaudible, incomprehensible words that Kira fought to decipher.

When she couldn't, she brought up her free and undamaged left hand to tap her communicator. "Kira to Sisko."

Over the comm line, he noted the audible rasp of her breathing, the trembling of her words, and most of all, the fear which crept into her tone. "Sisko here. What's wrong, Major?"

She cast a glance over the ruins of objects and people surrounding her. "It might be best for you to come to Bashir's quarters." Staring at the blood-splattered book on the floor, "You may have to explain it to me. I think it's a human thing."

Sisko agreed, closing the channel. A wry smile weaved its way across her lips; to think at first she'd thought the humans would be a boring lot.... They'd surprised her.

Benjamin Sisko looked over the three beds in the infirmary and the figures resting there. In all of his years, he'd never seen anything like this.

At the moment, his dead C.M.O. was in some sort of a trance, his science officer remained unconscious with two holes in her neck and a giddy smile on her face, and, last but not least, his first officer was nursing a shattered wrist and a bout of curiosities.

On the table farthest from him, Bashir started to move. Those slack features twitched. Sisko decided to investigate.

Wake up, my child, the voice commanded.

Julian Bashir looked from the bright luminescence to the cold darkness where the voice originated. He was being drawn in two directions, his soul being nearly ripped apart. Come here! He shook his head, not able to find any words in his constricted throat. Fine, the voice snapped, if you wish to give up, then see the consequences.

Images washed over him, horrible scenes of death and despair.

Miles O'Brien, his best friend, chopped cleanly in half.

Cdr. Sisko's body lay beside him, his truncated neck dribbling a last few drops of blood.

Kira Nerys hung over her Ops console, the delicate line of her throat slashed beyond belief; her severed tongue had been flung several feet away.

His gaze fell on Dax.

He choked on the breath attempting to gain entrance into his lungs. "Oh God, Jadzia," he croaked, seeming to float to her side. Her lips moved, fought to bring words to the surface through bubbling blood. His hands hovered over her midsection, wanting to do something but struck dumb.

The hole was jagged, with no surgical precision at all, but that was to be expected since the only implements used had been humanoid fingers. The symbiont---Dax---lay against the wall, a thin trail of blood still oozing down the line of descent.

He watched the punctured diaphragm struggle to force a breath from her lungs, was unable to get that vision out of his mind even as he squeezed tear-filled eyes tight. Laughter echoed throughout him, seeking every morsel of warmth and transforming it into a bleak wintry wind. She's going to die, Julian, that whispery person told him.

He shook his head. No, I'll do something. I'll save her.

Too late. He opened his eyes, staring at the limp form before him. She was gone.

"No, Dax, no!"

"Dax!"

Bashir bolted upright with the scream, his eyes searching for the woman. Confusion and worry painted his features. She was safe, alive. He let go the stale breath in a rush.

"Doctor...?" Bashir's eyes swept to a surprised Sisko, and Julian coughed up a small smile to wipe the lines of concern from the man's face.

He searched out for the other form, cradling her arm in her lap. "Just let me check out Dax, Major, and I'll have that wrist good as new."

Kira and Sisko studied the man while he ran tests on Dax, unable to help feeling it was all too surreal. And once he was assured that Jadzia was merely sleeping, Julian moved on to his next patient. "Present injury," he ordered in mock-military fashion. No one even snickered at the humor attempt.

He inhaled sharply at the sight, casting an ashamed glance to the woman. He couldn't quite meet her eyes. "I'm so sorry," he breathed over and over while repairing it.

Kira didn't even try not to stare. After all, it wasn't everyday a dead man patched her up. And she thought she'd experienced pretty much all there was....

"If you don't mind," Bashir slurred, "I've got to sit down." He managed to make it to a chair before his legs buckled.

"You're still weak," Dax observed. "Whatever is wrong with you seems to tax your energy reserves." To the others, "We should run some tests and see if it's communicable."

"Only by the exchange of a certain bodily fluid, namely blood," Bashir offered with complete confidence of being right, test or no test.

"How do you know that?" Kira asked, always cautious with the possibility her planet was endangered by some alien disease. "You know what you have?"

He nodded once. "Yes. No matter how far-fetched, it's the best explanation to all this insanity."

"Now, Julian," Dax chided, "it's no time to let superstition supercede science."

"C'mon, Dax, wake up and smell the garlic. I'm a walking superstition. I drank your blood. I died and arose from the grave."

"Julian, what you're proposing is preposterous. Legends and fables simply don't pop up."

"Like Bajor's Celestial Temple?" he countered. "It's a legend that pervades every facet, every culture of my planet. Who's to say that vampires can't exist in the twenty-fourth century?"

"Julian," she gaped, astounded he even voiced the thought. Sisko and O'Brien exchanged astonished glances.

"Is it not true that one grain of truth and wisdom is so very often enshrouded in the veil of primitive fears and superstitions?"

"What is this...this vampire?" Kira inquired, unaware of that particularly human belief.

"Basically," Bashir began, his hardened gaze never straying from Jadzia, "a vampire is a mythical, parasitic creature who is neither dead nor alive, dwelling in darkness, and feeding on the blood of the living." To Dax, "Sounds familiar, doesn't it?"

"Julian, you're being rash. There are thousands of other possible explanations." He could hear it plainly beneath her words. There are no such things as vampires. "No tests have been conducted, no data collected. Don't jump to conclusions," she warned.

Bashir nodded thoughtfully, strolled over to some equipment, and entered a series of commands. He calmly placed his hand beneath the scanner. "A test," he murmured. "Proof." A finger touched another control. A light emanated from above.

The reeking odor of burning flesh permeated the room in seconds.

The skin began to smoke, then sizzle. Bashir clenched his jaw shut on the cry threatening to burst from his lips. The cords of his neck stood out, and he was sweating. His breath came in tiny, soundless gasps, only punctuated by the choking sobs across the room. His arm trembled until his palm beat a rhythm against the scanner.

Bashir jerked his hand away, hugging it to his chest.

Amber eyes pooled tears, and long incisors peeked out as he spoke. "Good old Earth UV." He held up the ruined remains of his hand. "This is all the proof I need," was the bitter acknowledgement.

He walked from the infirmary aware of the eight eyes set on him. He didn't look back.

Even if his senses hadn't been sharpened, he would have to be dead not to notice the stares, the whispers, the less-than-subtle distancing from him by the Promenade's patrons. And, of course, there were the others, the women who seemed drawn to him, casting glassy-eyed glances of lust his way. He made a mental note to check his pheromone levels later.

He entered the replimat, ordered a cup of tea, and found a corner table. He'd experimented the previous night with food, finding tea and other beverages to be the only thing not to taste like a charming mixture of sawdust and dilithium with a bit of varnish thrown in for seasoning. Apparently his diet was now a liquid one.

As he concentrated on the warmth sliding down his throat, he felt rude eyes studying his profile. He heard two nervous, fluttery heartbeats in that direction, a conversation whispered from one ear to the other. He was fastly becoming irritated.

A growl rumbled up from his chest and through his larynx. He spun to face them, a hiss erupting. His hands were twisted into claws at his sides, his teeth gleamed even in the poor light, and his eyes glowed a gently menacing amber.

Nog and Jake Sisko scattered like cheap hookers at the sight of a Ferengi trick. Julian shook his head, both at the boys' behavior and his own. No matter how foul his mood, he shouldn't take out his frustrations by tormenting children. Now adults...well that was another matter entirely....

"Interesting new bedside manner, Doctor."

The coy voice belonged to Garak, his Cardassian friend, AKA The Spy. "Hello, Garak. You'd best be careful; rumor has it that I'm catching. People are avoiding me like I'm you."

That brought a full laugh from his companion. "Indeed? Now you see what a lonely life a tailor endures."

A shadow passed over the human's face, and Garak knew the younger man was no longer even in the conversation. "If I'd only shown more self-control, if I just hadn't..." he trailed off. "A thousand if only's and I can't change a damn one of them."

"In that you are not alone, Doctor. There are times, however, when the seemingly cruel and ironic hand of fate slips, and things work out for the best."

"The best," he chuckled humorously. "As O'Brien so aptly put it this morning, I'm a blood sucking creature of the night. An aberration. A mistake of nature."

"You can adjust, Doctor. All of us must to certain situations," Bashir was sure he was speaking of his apparent exile to the station, "and simply attempt to partake of a normal life." The young man was in his face so fast, he didn't even see it. More superstitious people would deem it magic; Garak only thought it quite...impressive and useful in the right circumstances. Those normally soft brown eyes held a peculiar amber luminescence.

"Normal?" he growled, a hand twisting into the Cardassian's finely crafted shirt. "I can never have a wife, a child. I drink other people's blood to survive. I must shrink away from the sun like some...abomination," he whispered the word like some exotic profanity. "Immortality might seem a blessing until close examination. I'm going to lose everyone and everything I care about over and over again." His face twisted into a mask of rage. "If you think that's normal, you have a damned warped sense of normalcy!"

One of those hairless, rimmed eyebrows cocked imperceptibly. "Always have, Doctor," he teased in that infuriatingly Garak way.

Bashir stared at him open-mouthed for several seconds during which he contemplated tearing the man's head soundly from his shoulders or simply bathing in the spray of blood after slashing his throat. Instead, a weary chuckle escaped. "I have an appointment with Dax," he said, untangling his fingers from fabric. "If you'll excuse me."

Garak nodded and bidded the human leave.

"Are you finished yet?" an exasperated voice pleaded from the other room.

"Only two more minutes, Julian." A sigh responded, a pathetically pitiful one. The computer could continue without her supervision; she wasn't sure the same could be said of the doctor. "How are you holding up, Julian?"

He drew a deep breath and held onto it for what seemed a full minute before reluctantly letting it loose. "You tell me. I swing from anger to depression to this blahness. I scared the commander's son and nearly bit Garak in half."

"Your hormones are in flux. Testosterone levels are through the roof; that would explain your aggressive behavior." Bashir opened his mouth to say something, but the reply became a scream, and he doubled over. "What's wrong?" she demanded. He shrank away from her touch on his shoulder. "Julian!"

He managed to regain his composure and smiled sheepishly. "Hunger pains. They don't give much warning before turning nasty." She nodded sympathetically, moving to the fluid storage unit and extracting a packet. She handed him the chilled scarlet. "Uh, it needs to be warmed to 37C and placed in a cup."

It was her turn to shrug in apology, "Sorry." Then she disappeared to make it so.

He fidgeted impatiently and realized he was practically salivating like one of Pavlov's dogs. It was food that caused his reaction as well, but the idea of drinking blood still struck him as somewhat repulsive. She came back in seconds; he could smell the metallic sweetness before she even entered the room. His stomach growled. "Here you go."

He extended a quirky smile which was quickly obscured by the red gush of liquid cascading over his lips. He closed his eyes, relishing the taste, the warmth, the texture of the sweet intoxicating fluid. Life painted a deep burgundy.

Dax watched, enthralled. He seemed to be held rapt by the act, lost all awareness of his surroundings, his being. It had drawn him in, wrapping him in a warm cocoon of pleasure, and held him in its eternal prison. Stronger than the most potent drug, its grip would never release him, never grant a reprieve. Until the heavens opened up and swallowed the universe or a stake crashed through his heart, he belonged to it.

Bashir shuddered, let out a tiny little groan. He licked his lips like a cat with cream, ran his tongue over the sharp edge of an incisor.

Apparently, as long as it held him in its embrace, he didn't mind that fact. When he wasn't feeding, when reality struck him sharply in the face, that was when he had a problem with his new status. Now she understood how others became addicted to alcohol, drugs, sex, and the many forms of escapism.

"That's better," he drawled, his eyes slightly unfocused. The feeding had had an almost orgasmic effect, and his mouth lifted at the corner in a tiny smile. Until he noticed the expression on her face, the distaste, the pity. "What?" he snapped before he could control his temper. "What the hell are you looking at?"

"Nothing," she murmured softly, wincing as the word skipped slightly.

"Right." He was off the bed now, approaching her. "You think, 'Look at the little freak.'" His eyes were as shiny as old fashioned gold coins. "You feel disgust, perhaps a hint of pity for the pathetic turn of events my life has taken. And perhaps satisfaction as well, enjoying the show of the young arrogant boy learning his place."

"No, Julian," she whispered. "I'm just worried about you."

He grabbed her upper arms lightning fast; his fingers bit cruelly into her skin. "Let go, Julian. You're hurting me!"

"Not nearly as much as you deserve," he whispered dangerously. "You just couldn't leave me alone, could you? I told you to get out, but the oh-so-older and wiser Dax wouldn't listen to me." He paused a second, the fire in his eyes igniting to an out of control blaze. "I'm like this because of you."

"I'm sorry it happened that way, Julian, but it's neither my fault nor your own." She felt a blood vessel pop beneath her skin, remembered how unstable his present psychological state was.

"I'd be normal if you'd just left me the hell alone." His voice turned raspy with the threat of encroaching tears. "But I drank your blood, and now I can never be that person I was." His mouth descended toward her neck.

Dax let go a short shriek, tried to push the crushing form off. Teeth grazed her flesh, brought a pin prick of blood rolling to the surface. "Julian," her voice squeezed out, a disheartened plea. "Please," she begged. Her hands were caught between them; she couldn't twist from his hold. Couldn't even offer a token resistance to the man who now could bench- press a runabout.

To distance her neck from his teeth, she angled her head toward him, catching the scent of his after-shave, the cleanness of his hair which hung in the air around him. Bashir, on the other hand, was probably inhaling the sharp scent of fear radiating from her pores.

A small sob broke past her lips.

A soft breath whisked past his ear as he came closer.

Pain shot through him, and Bashir hopped back like she were Van Helsing himself. His hand shot up to the dripping remains of his ear, and his eyes were wide as if he had just awakened from a dream. He stared at her for several seconds as she wiped blood from her mouth, his face blank.

Then, his lower lip began to tremble.

"Oh, Jadzia," he moaned. "I'm sorry. I almost bit you," he said, as if hearing it aloud reinforced the memories of what had just transpired, proved it had not been some bizarre hallucination. That and the annoying buzz in his healing earlobe.

He collapsed into a chair. "It's all right, Julian. I understand." She still couldn't control the trembling of her hands though.

"No, no it's not," he asserted. "If I had bitten you like that...." he studied the floor, unable to meet her eyes, searching inside himself, "it would have been the equivalent of rape." He whispered the last word as if it were profane. His gaze shot up to her before those beautiful eyes slipped shut. "No better than how I got into this mess."

Dax blinked hard, and felt the being inside her actually shift. The thought had never occurred to her. His life had been raped instead of his body. Julian, sweet and kind little Julian, had been victimized.

Before her reeling mind could recover, Bashir jumped up and rushed to the bathroom; the distinctive sounds of vomiting were readily apparent even through the closed door. "Julian," she called after a tiny knock, "let me in."

A raspy voice responded, and Dax wasn't sure she'd ever heard him sound so bleak and weary, so old. "Please, Jadzia, if...if there is a God in Heaven, you'll leave me alone."

Her eyes slipped shut as the sounds of muffled sobs broke out. "I'll be compiling data if you need me." She doubted he would search her out, and when she returned to check on him an hour later, he was gone.

"He needs more help than we may be able to give him," Sisko grimly admitted to the staff huddled in various locations about his office. A series of nods responded; O'Brien and Kira, all of them really, seemed much more subdued than usual.

Dax's voice cut through the unearthly quiet like a concussion grenade. "In many ways, it's as if Julian has been.... Well, the best analogy is rape." Only one person could meet the Trill's probing gaze, and those soft brown eyes framing ridges held a reluctant empathy. "Someone has---if you believe this vampire theory---" Sisko had the distinct feeling she had started to say nonsense, "used him for her own benefit and simply abandoned him to this new...lifestyle without as much as a warning."

"Perhaps if he spoke to some sort of counselor, maybe a vedek," Kira offered. "Bareil would be more than willing to lend aid in this time of need."

Dax pondered the suggestion for less than a second before nixing it. "Julian's a doctor, and we all know doctors are so damn sure they can heal themselves."

"And he might not believe he's even got a problem," O'Brien's familiar accent added.

"No," Jadzia volunteered. "He's aware." Sisko and the others questioned this, and she revealed the events that had taken place very shortly ago in the infirmary.

Sisko leaned back, ran a palm over the lower half of his face. He drew a deep breath which seemed to suck all the oxygen from the room. "Is he---" He paused, took a different approach. "You've dealt with him the most, old man. Should I remove him from duty?"

Dax studied her nails for a full minute before meeting his gaze with expressionless eyes. "Yes."

It was raining. Fat liquid drops bombarded him, and he lifted his face upward, relishing the warmth and smoothness it added to his skin. And most importantly, the color.

Her blood was the most vibrant crimson, and he smeared the ozone-scented paint into his flesh. He opened his mouth to collect the drops on his tongue, savoring the confectionery flavor of youth. "You see, my child," that persistent voice whispered into his ear, "they are solely for our amusement. Nothing more than cattle for us to slaughter at whim."

He was spun around. She stood there in a mere wisp of fabric, the sheer veil accentuating her beauty. Her eyes were blank, empty slabs of dull sapphire; she didn't even respond to his touch. "She is so...." The term eluded him.

"Alive," that strange voice answered for him. "You can live through her, my dearest Julian."

A sliver of hope washed through him. "How?" he breathed.

His mentor moved a hand, and Dax arched her neck in accommodation. "Take her." Those words were so simple, so obvious. All he had to do was move to her, sink his teeth into the soft contours of flesh and the suckling instinct took over.

A mere three feet.

Too much.

He closed his eyes, shook his head. There had to be another way. "I can't. I'm a doctor. Murder isn't in me."

The owner of the mystery voice whopped him across the back of the head. "It's in us all, you fool. Only the weak are too afraid to utilize it. It's the one tool evolution placed in us all, our racial memory. It's the one tool we've forsaken." The warmth of breath rushed over his ear. "Take her, Julian. Make her into perfection."

"Perfection?" he sputtered. "In death?"

"No, silly boy, make her one of us," the master chided.

"A monster," he breathed in repugnance. And found himself lying flat on his stomach against grating.

"You weak pathetic fool!" He could hear the growls beneath those words. "I have given you a gift. You will never grow old, never have to bear the indignities of age. Why you have been allowed to join a tiny minority of superior beings. You are graced, my son."

"I will not murder her! If I ever do that, I will have thrown away what matters most to me, forgotten the sanctity of life." For the first time, his anger began to peek through the fear which had held him in an iron clad fist. His will was beginning to become dominate over the mild psychological manipulation by his master, manipulation which he had been completely unaware of before now. "If that happens,...I will take my own life."

He heard his master spit in scorn. "You sicken me. I saw potential in you, Julian Bashir. As fulfilling as it is to coax someone from the brink of death, it is ten fold when you are dragging them there."

Now, instead of the shadowy figure of a person, he was being circled by an enormous white wolf. One of its claws raked against his cheek. "I gave you a rare opportunity: to bring over a mate for yourself. She would have been yours to command, yours to share eternity with."

Insanely he wondered how the larynx of a wolf could emulate human speech so perfectly. "But now, I'll simply kill her for the sheer pleasure," came the nonchalant statement. "Trills are so interesting to ingest, so many lives and experiences inside them. And this one is three hundred years old, isn't she? A child in comparison to me, but impressive considering." A <i>tsk</i> arose from beyond those drooling fangs. "And she might have even caught up...."

"Don't," he sputtered, attempting to rise to his feet, unable to no matter how hard he tried. A damnable laugh drifted down to him. "Please, don't kill my friends."

"Please, don't kill my friends," a perfect replica of his voice echoed. "Why should it matter to me? After all, I don't know them. And remember, Julian, cattle? I'm in the mood for a nice little vintage, say Trill circa 2341."

"Leave her alone!"

"Julian," Dax called, shaking his shoulder harder this time. "Wake up, it's all right. It's only a dream."

He shot upright, pouring with sweat, gasping for air. Unusual considering vampires had no need for oxygen. An old human habit. His eyes focused on her, and next thing she knew, Dax had been yanked into his powerful arms. "Thank goodness you're safe," he murmured into her hair. "I won't let her get you, I promise."

"That's nice, Julian," she wheezed. "Now could you stop crushing my ribs? I need to breathe."

He let go, drawing back to smile apologetically. He still wasn't accustomed to this newfound strength. "I'm just glad you're here."

"Me too. Now who wants to get me?"

"What?" he asked in confusion; it was as if he didn't remember.

"When you first awoke, you said, 'I won't let her get you.'"

"I did?" She nodded. "I don't remember. Must have been a silly nightmare."

"If that was silly, I don't want to be within arm-reach when you're scared. My ribs are going to be sore for a week."

"What are you doing here, Jadzia?" he asked, all too happy to leave the murky waters of his subconscious mind for the more mundane lake of station life.

"Benjamin wants to see you. It's important."

"You came all the way down from Ops to tell me that?"

"You didn't answer the comm. Kira and I were worried."

"And O'Brien?"

"Oh, you mean Mr. Anxiety Attack?"

"Glad to know he gives a damn," Julian muttered as he donned his boots.

Dax followed the young man into the corridor. "Of course he does. As a matter of fact, he said some very nice things at your memorial service."

"That so?" Bashir asked in amusement. "Remind me to look up the security logs for that service, Jadzia. I'm going to take some notes."

"Julian," she chided. "It was far from a party."

"Uh-huh. I'll believe it when I see it."

"I used to say the same thing about vampires," Dax muttered wryly below her breath. Julian laughed softly. "Damn, no more getting jokes by you anymore."

He smiled and shook his head. "Dare you to try though."

Dax enjoyed the friendly banter all the way to Ops. She doubted he would be so hospitable after the conversation with Benjamin.

He burst into the infirmary like Odo into a bar fight. "How dare you!" he spat. "Who the hell gave you the right to decide whether or not I'm fit for duty?"

"Julian," she began.

"Oh no you don't. Don't Julian me, you little traitor." He paced off the nervous energy that had to be displaced somewhere. Normally she would have asked him to stop. Not today though. "I trusted you. You know how rough a time I'm having, and you yank my security blanket right out from under me!"

"Julian, I was thinking of the best for all concerned. We don't know if you can control the cravings when a bleeding patient comes in for treatment."

"I know," he answered with unwavering conviction. "You shouldn't throw me out of the game before I even get a chance to step up to the plate."

"Regulation, Julian. You know Medical would have your license if something happened."

"To hell with Medical!" He spat, actually spat, in disgust as he turned toward the door. "And to hell with you." He stormed out onto the bustling Promenade.

Jadzia watched him go, a niggling inner voice urging her to go after him. She didn't follow it or him, however, chosing to remain in the infirmary and unravel this puzzle, let him cool off. Seeing Julian with more of a hair-trigger temper than Kira took some getting used to; if not for the obvious physical indicators, she would have sworn O'Brien was a bad influence on the young physician.

So after only a lingering glance to the door, she turned back to the microscanner display, staring intently at the cells dancing about before her. Nothing out of the ordinary beyond acute anemia and an elevated white blood cell count. In other words, she had hit a wall; it was titanium.

She sat back with a sigh and ran her hands over the decorative spots. "Okay, Dax, time to put all the clues together and come up with the semblance of a theory here." She muttered all she knew below her breath. "Julian died of circulatory collapse due to massive blood loss. Julian got up and tried to attack Molly. Julian attacked me instead." She couldn't help but rub that particular spot on her neck. "Julian is burned by UV rays. Julian must drink blood warmed to 37 C in a cup. Adrenal and testosterone levels are up. The blood he ingests must be replenished every...?" She didn't know and made a notation to find out.

The view on the screen changed ever so slightly. "What is this?" Dax muttered in curiosity. She pressed a few buttons, magnified the object by a thousand percent. The Trill sat back, her mouth open on nothing. A slow smile spread over her face. "Chloroplasts," she murmured. "Julian's turning into a plant."

She had let the doctor stew long enough. "Dax to Bashir." She didn't wait for him to respond. "Get up here. There's something you've got to see."

She swiveled about as he entered the room. "Come take a look at the monitor." He did so, exchanging a startled glance with the science officer.

"No wonder I'm allergic to sunlight. There are chloroplasts in my blood. When the UV hits those cells, the chloroplasts absorb the sunlight and produce energy in the form of heat."

Dax nodded, calling up another diagram. "Not just in your blood, Julian, but every cell in your body. We have just figured out a way to inoculate you so you won't go up in smoke in daylight." He smiled spontaneously, unable to remain ill no matter how hard he tried. "Of course, we now have another mystery: how they got there in the first place."

He was trembling.

Julian Bashir lay beneath the probing beam of his diagnostic equipment. His jaw clenched as small half moons of pale blood pooled in his palms.

"How are you doing?" Dax's voice drifted back from her position before the control panel.

He drew a deep breath, tried to respond in a steady voice but couldn't. "How---how much longer?"

She turned in concern. "Are you all right?" Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. "Should I halt the exam?"

"No!" Catching his breath, pulling his thoughts together, "No, we have to do this. The sensations are just very...intense." She didn't seem to follow. "I can feel the beam probing." She winced sympathetically. "I'll live, Dax; just get this finished."

She returned to the panel, commenced scanning once more. Nothing. More nothing. Ah, Julian's gall bladder. He was absent one appendix. The scan moved on. Resolution was off slightly, and she tried to focus it better. His spinal column....

Whoa, baby. "Computer, halt." Bashir was squirming. "Be still, Julian." Below her breath, "Now what is this?" A whimper drifted over. "Not much longer."

"I'm a doctor. I know what that means," he shot back. The beam remained stationary, the soft vibrations buffeting his spine. "You've found something."

She nodded absently. "Perhaps a step toward solving this puzzle." Taking note of his strained features, "Just a few more moments to record this, and I'll put you out of your misery." He smiled gratefully. She had enough. As the beam disengaged, her companion released a shaky sigh of relief.

"Want a look at this?" He didn't answer, simply moved from the bed on wobbly legs. "Right there," pointing out the object in question.

"Tiny little booger, isn't it?" He squinted against the glare on the screen. "Legend has it that cutting a vampire's spinal cord is necessary to maintain it death. Probably because of this little hitch-hiker."

"That grain of truth you mentioned," she admitted with a shred of mortification. She drew a cleansing breath. So she'd been wrong. Big whoop. "Parasitic?"

"Definitely." Punching a few commands, "Let's see what type by-products it gives off." The screen lit up with boo-coodles of info. "This guy's a regular little factory. With all these chemicals polluting my system, it's no wonder I died," he blurted before he could catch himself. He turned a few shades lighter. Why did he have to constantly remind himself of that fact?

"No, the more I think about it, the less inclined I am to believe you're a walking corpse."

"If that's the case," he trailed off, trying---and failing miserably---to keep the excitement from running away with him, "can I rid myself of the parasite and lead a normal life?"

She didn't answer. Hell, she didn't know either. "That time in which you appeared, for all purposes, to be dead, maybe it was an incubation period, a self-imposed stasis," the Trill speculated.

"Incubation?" He chewed his lip as he mulled over the idea, one elongated canine peeking out. Despite that, Julian the physician, the scientist, stood before her. The old Julian. He shook his head, not following the logic. "But it had already overrun my circulatory and immune systems. Why such a drastic imitation by slowing my metabolism nearly to the point of death? For what purpose?"

"To gain control."

"But other than the cravings, it hasn't made itself known."

"So far." If he weren't a vampire, unaffected by cold and such, Julian Bashir would have trembled. "Then again, it could just be very simplistic." He smiled; she hated she was about to wipe it from his face. "So simplistic we may not be able to overcome it."

He spent the night in his office again. Actually while perusing the files on his condition, his head had suddenly went plunging toward the top of his desk. Apparently, when a vampire was overcome with the urge to rest, it didn't give much notice. He could see a pattern forming.

Kira Nerys hated to bother the young physician, out of courtesy and, she admitted to herself, a certain trepidation. He had attacked Dax once and tried to get Molly, so what if he had a sudden craving to sample her as well? In her mind, it was best to stay out of his line-of-sight until he became a bit seasoned at all this, say three or four years from now....

And she would have, if her wrist hadn't been throbbing all night until she couldn't even lay down, much less sleep. The pain medication had worn off, and apparently, a crushed bone caused more residual discomfort than a broken one or Nerys was getting soft.

And well, since medication was available without tracking through a forest of Cardassian sentries, she was going to take advantage of it. Even if she had to face the blood bank on legs.

"Dr. Bashir?" she called as she entered the infimary's familiar surroundings. The lights were on, which meant he had to be around somewhere. She checked the lab in back, the exam room, the waiting room, even the stasis and morgue room. No sign of the physician in any of them which meant he was in his office.

Kira suddenly had to share her throat with her heart and felt perspiration alight her skin.

His office.

Where he'd died in her arms.

"Julian?" she whispered as she rapped just as lightly on the door. She breathed deeply once as if planning a long underwater dive and plunged in. His head lay on arms folded across the desk. He didn't move. Oh no, please, Prophets. Please not again, she thought. "Julian...."

He stirred at the desperation in her voice and managed to raise his head. "Kira...?" The word was slurred almost like he was drunk and his eyes reflected the same inebriation. He shivered and wiped an arm across his sweaty forehead.

She moved over to him and gingerly touched his brow, slightly afraid he would sink his teeth into her wrist or something along those lines. He was warm; she distinctively remembered that the human had been down-right cold since his transformation. "Feels like a fever. Are you sick?"

He started a shrug that knocked him right out of the chair. "Help me," he wheezed, extending an arm her way.

Kira braced her shoulder beneath it, and together they clambered up. She managed to help him regain his balance sufficiently, and finally they made it to a bed. Julian rolled on, walked her through switching on the diagnostics.

Gibberish filled the tiny screens. He whimpered in defeat and threw his head back against the pillow. And convulsed as a hot lance of pain shot through him. He gasped oxygen in frantic little puffs and clawed at the air around him. Kira thought she heard an arcane human curse spring from his lips.

He began whimpering as his skin...trembled, his flesh taking life. Bashir's long legs folded up toward his body as his arms curled in front of his chest. Julian screamed and rolled right off the bed onto the floor. Kira couldn't see what was happening and thanked her deities for that blessing.

Bashir's cries rose in volume while decreasing in pitch. The sound had a haunting quality, and mid shriek, it metamorphosized into a howl. Finally, thankfully, the outcry died down to shrill whimpers and ragged breaths.

Kira ventured a peek beyond over the exam table.

He lay on his side, and after a moment Julian Bashir sat up on all fours. He turned toward her, his head cocking to one side. An ear flopped over comically as those deep dark eyes stared at her in confusion.

"Bashir?" she heard herself ask in disbelief, and was astounded as the huge black wolf nodded at her. He even managed a yip of confirmation. She felt a sudden wave of dizziness wash through her. He was a puppy dog, complete with puppy dog eyes.

He stared at the Bajoran with the same flabbergasted expression in his gaze, and finally limped forward to nuzzle her palm. He whimpered softly, mournfully, and Kira knelt down in front of him. For once, she was taller. "Julian, how did this happen? This can't be normal." The wolf shrugged in a very human way, and Nerys stifled a hysterical laugh. "Is this a bizarre dream? You'd tell me if it were, right?"

The whimper which responded made her think that if Julian Bashir stood before her in human form, he would have burst into tears. And insanely, Nerys reached out a hand to pet the man who normally came bounding from the lift every morning and into Ops. Except he wasn't a man any longer, at least not in form. Will Odo insist on leash laws? she thought, stifling a nervous giggle.

She looked down at the form resting its head against her thigh and felt the sting of tears. He'd fallen asleep, and Kira, supposing she should take the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, ruffled the wolf's hair before throwing her arms about his neck in a hug.

And prayed Bashir would never remember an instant of it.

She felt him stiffen in her embrace, and drew back as his teeth bit sharply into his tongue. The howls tore from his throat again, mingling with human screams of pain and fear, and only Kira's fists clenched at her sides kept her from covering her ears.

The body resting against her seemed to take on a soft putty texture, and she was thankful for the hair hiding the surface of his skin. It began to be enveloped by that mutating form, however, and Kira caught sight of bright bone piercing flesh.

She didn't see anymore. The major stumbled to her feet and made a dash for the nearest toilet. Ironically, just the day before, Julian Bashir had paid homage to the exact same porcelain goddess.

By the time she had repositioned her stomach properly, the sounds from the exam room were quiet. She was almost too afraid to look. What now, a giant insect?

He hadn't become an enormous pollakoo, after all. Nerys found a very human form huddled against the floor in exhaustion. Perspiration lit his skin, and Julian Bashir was crying; she was surprised by the drops of blood that had replaced the clear liquid for tears. The warmth she'd felt earlier was seeping away, and she pulled a coverlet from the table above, rolling him into it and her arms.

He lay there for a long time, staring up at her with grateful eyes, trembling....

"Hey there, buddy. I hear we've gotten ourselves a station mascot."

Julian smiled weakly at the man, ineffectually taking a swipe his way. "Stop with the dog jokes, Chief. I've already heard them all; Quark has a sadistic love of them."

Miles chuckled slightly and patted his friend on the shoulder as he took the chair across from him. He was surprised how different the young man looked. Julian's face appeared rather, well, cadaverous. So did his skin. "You look like hell, kid. I've been worried," he admitted.

Julian made a half-hearted attempt at laughter, but it died in his throat. Miles watched the emotions play across that tired face, feeling a lump lodge in his own throat as Bashir brought up a hand to cover his eyes. They'd held so much youth, such life, earlier. Now, the only thing Miles could see in them was despair. "Apparently, I wasn't cut out for immortality."

A dull thump against the table made Julian lower his hand. A tiny pouch lay against it, a rather nice blue shade. Soothing, his mind added. His gaunt features twisted with confusion. "What's this?"

Miles crossed his arms over his chest before explaining. "I've been doing some reading...about your condition. I got it from Keiko."

"Got what?" Julian rubbed his aching eyes. "Chief, I'm not firing with all thrusters; you'll have to stop being so damn cryptic."

"It's dirt, Julian."

The man felt exasperation launch through his veins and out his mouth in the space of a heartbeat---Miles', not his. His heart didn't do that anymore. "And what the hell am I supposed to do with that, make mud pies with Molly?"

"No, Julian. It's dirt from England. Your native soil. All the other legends are falling into place so I thought this might be helpful."

Julian's tone and expression softened. "Thank you, Chief. And I'm sorry I've been so unbearable."

Miles snorted softly. "Hah, you're always this way. Matter of fact, I think this change might have improved your disposition," the Irishman teased.

Julian simply flashed his fangs in reply.

Then with tentative fingers, he reached out and folded the small pouch into his palm. It sat there in his hand, rather cool at first. It was dirt. Big whoop.

A small electric shock shot up one finger and along his arm. It played through the strands of muscles, weaving a cocoon of warmth over them. Julian felt the tension drain from his body and into the soil, and he closed his eyes on a sigh of relief. He leaned back into the chair and allowed the current to work its magic through him.

"By the silly grin on your face, I'd say it worked." The physician didn't reply, just continued smiling goofily. "And you're welcome, by the way." He studied his pal for several minutes in silence. "If you get any more relaxed, we're going to have to mop you up off the floor."

"Chief," Julian murmured softly.

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

"Gotcha, Julian." The man across the way nodded gratefully. He didn't move a muscle after that. Miles on the other hand found himself with a terminal case of the squirms. He finally let go an explosive breath and said, "Julian, I can't just sit here like this and do nothing."

Bashir opened one eye, and regarded him quietly for a moment before sighing and sitting up straight. "So what do you want to talk about then?" The chief shrugged. "What do you want to do?" O'Brien responded with another shrug. "So let me get this straight, you don't known what to talk about or do but you'll go stir crazy by sitting and doing nothing?"

Miles realized how that sounded and suggested, "Racketball."

Julian laughed; it was the first time Miles had heard that from him since his transformation. "Chief, remember how good I was before?" Miles nodded. "Magnify that about a thousand percent. I have the speed of a wolf, the agility of a cat, the hearing of a bat. This isn't meant as an insult, but...it wouldn't be much of a game."

"Yeah, I suppose not." At that moment the chief watched Julian convulse slightly. He was up and at his friend's side before Bashir had even regained his balance. "What's wrong?"

Bashir's eyes were wide and unfocused, and he looked so much like his old self with the bewilderment dancing in his eyes. "I don't know. Something really strange, just give me a minute to get my bearings." Those frightened eyes closed for a moment, and Miles saw his fingers tighten around the bag.

A furrow wove across his brow, Julian's face painted in a shade of intense concentration. He seemed to be listening to a small distant noise, straining to make out its origin and meaning. Suddenly his eyes popped open. "It's another vampire. I can sense it somewhere, here on the station."

"The one that bit you?"

"I don't know," he answered sharply, frustrated. "I'm kinda new at this sort of thing. Telepathy is harder than you might think." Bashir allowed his lids to droop and pulled inward once more as O'Brien followed the orbs pacing back and forth behind them.

Bashir's eyes flew open with a sharp gasp of pain, and he nearly stumbled from the chair. He sat there blinking away dizziness. "That was a new experience," he mumbled weakly. "Whoever it is doesn't want company. I was hit, so to speak. This person's very powerful and very old."

"So you can't track them?"

"Not if they don't want me to." Bashir groaned as a wave of nausea shot through him. He lowered his head and drew a deep breath as he felt the chief's hand on his shoulder. "I'll be okay. Give me a minute."

The sound of breaking glass rent the air, and Miles spun towards Quark's. There appeared to be a ruckus going on inside, and he saw the vague outline of a woman go down beneath a blow. Spots had dotted her neck. "I'd better go check on that," he muttered hastily. "You just stay here and rest."

He didn't wait for Bashir to reply. The one-man demolition crew was a rather angry Klingon fellow. Dax lay on the floor beside the bar, a line of blood running from her nose and over her lips. Apparently, she'd put up resistance as the fellow decided to redecorate the establishment.

Miles knelt beside her. "You okay?" She nodded, tried to catch his arm as he moved away toward the drunk man. "Hey," he yelled, "that's enough of that." The Klingon turned, rising to his full height as he did so. Miles found himself standing before a small planet, or at the very least an asteroid. He gulped convulsively.

"Did the little human say something?" His renegade pals cackled in amusement and downed their drinks, sliding the glasses off the table as they finished. With tinkling glass still in his ears, Mile felt a hand snake into the fabric of his uniform collar and his feet leave the floor. "You talk funny," the giant slurred.

"Sorry," he murmured sarcastically.

The Klingon scowled and drew back his fist. O'Brien was jostled as the humanoid staggered slightly, and as the man turned, Miles caught sight of Dax and the remains of a chair in her hands. Then got a closer look at the Trill as he was tossed into her. They hit the floor hard and skidded to a halt against a dabo table.

"Stop right there!"

Both Miles and Jadzia exchanged worried looks at the familiar, distinctively British voice. Julian Bashir strode into the bar, pumped with overwhelming confidence, not a bit of fear in him. For once. The Klingon laughter became a roar. "Humans are a suicidal lot," the rowdy one crowed.

He shot forward and backhanded Julian hard enough to knock a normal man across the room. Bashir's head shot to one side, and he stood motionless for a moment, trying to reign in the anger. It didn't work. When he turned back, determination locked his glowing eyes to the Klingon's. "I suggest you settle down and come with me to the brig before I have to hurt you."

The Klingon snickered ---snickered!--- and sent his boot crashing into Chief O'Brien's ribs. The growl rushed from Julian before he could stop it, and his hand wrapped around the man's throat. His nails bit into skin, and the sweet scent of blood wafted to his nostrils. His stomach growled in imitation of his throat.

For the first time, Julian heard the man's heart quicken with fear. "If you don't let me go, my friends will kill them." Julian looked past the renegade's smug features and saw the knives held against the tender flesh of Jadzia's and Miles' throats.

His fist slammed against the smirking lips. The Klingon went down, colliding with the others. Dax and O'Brien scrambled up and away from the fight.

When the first one regained his footing, Bashir was standing, his arms folded nonchalantly across his chest. "So do you give up?" The renegade produced a hidden knife and a look of hatred. "Oh goody." He felt terrific, knew it was blood lust and the carnage that was about to take place, but he had so much bottled rage, and he didn't care.

"That's nice and sharp, I bet." His hand flashed out beside him, and claws replaced his short nails. "But I bet I can make a cleaner incision." He dove forward, driving the talons into the man's wrist, smiling as the scream echoed off the walls.

Blood flew and sent the vampire into a frenzy. He closed on the others without a thought.

"What the hell is going on in there?" Jadzia turned and nearly knocked heads with Kira. "Where's security?"

Dax pointed to the uniforms standing on the inner fringe of crowded gawkers. "They don't want to go in, and Odo's in his pail." A sound resembling the scream of thick winter ice cracking floated from the bar, but the station didn't have ice drifts, and Dax realized it was the shattering of bone. "I can't say I blame them."

"Who's in there?" Kira asked, amazed.

"Julian." She hadn't meant to sound so...heavy, so somber, but she heard her own voice echo quietly in her mind over and over and couldn't deny it. She was scared, saw the same fear reflected in her companion's eyes, both of Julian and for him. "Well, Major, are you up to this?"

"Do I have a choice?" The humor and the apprehension which elicited the response blended in her voice. "If security doesn't trust him not to take out one of the good guys, then it's up to us women...again." Dax nodded once, and then they manhandled their way through the mass of overheated bodies.

They hadn't been sure what to expect inside. Bodies perhaps or bits of them, Bashir bathing in blood, bits of bone and tissue dotting the walls like tiny pieces of textural art. So it was a relief to walk inside and find him still batting them around like flies.

One of the larger ones went sailing past Kira's shoulder, and she had to duck to avoid catching a boot in the temple. He connected with the far wall, sliding downward bonelessly. He didn't get up.

"If you ever hurt my friends again, I'll---"

"Don't worry," the bloodied and bruised form Bashir's hand held by the hair rasped, "their deaths will be relatively painless."

He picked the wrong person to be cute to. Bashir screamed, throwing back the clawed hand in preparation to bring it slashing across that lying throat.

"Julian!"

He spun, kicking the Klingon out of his way almost as an afterthought. The snarl popped from his lips, and he flashed fangs. Startlement lit his eyes as he met Dax's gaze, and within a couple of blinks, they returned to the normally soft brown hue.

He swiped absently at the blood smeared across his forehead and lowered himself to the floor. Violent trembles racked his body as he fought to control the twin urges to kill and feed, of pleasure and nourishment. His hands moved aimlessly in front of his chest as if he did not know what to do with the suddenly alien appendages. Julian Bashir had seen them bathed in blood before, but never tipped with savage claws or bodily fluids he had extracted by brute force.

The gesture to remove the blood from his face was a useless one, and Kira was amazed by the sheer volume which covered the man before her. It seemed to form a second skin that rippled as Julian rocked back and forth. He was whimpering once more, but these were small and quiet sounds that were barely audible above the shudders of his victims.

More crimson tears fell from his horrified eyes, mingling and merging with alien blood. Quark picked that exact moment to pop up from behind the bar, where he had spent the duration of the confrontation cowering and tallying the damages. "Who's going to pay for this? The clean-up crew alone will cost a fortune! I expect full reimbursement by Starfleet along with monetary compensation for psychological and emotional turmoil."

Julian had folded into a ball, oblivious to the short fellow squawking above him. Kira moved the Ferengi with a glare and helped Dax roll the doctor over. "Julian? Can you hear me, Julian? It's Dax. Everything is going to be all right." He shook his head vehemently. "We'll just go to the infirmary and let you rest."

He tore away from her and backed against the bar. "No, Dax, I'm not going anywhere with anyone." His voice was raw from emotion and strained vocal cords. "It made me do this, Jadzia. And you know what, I enjoyed it."

"Julian," it was Kira who spoke to him now. "That was a physical reaction to battle. I understand what you're feeling because I've gone through it too." He continued shaking his head, and Kira felt a flash of impatience glide through her. "Julian, let us help you."

"I can't!" he screamed as he tore from them. "Don't you understand that no one can help me. Don't try, it'll only get you killed." He stood and backed away on unsteady legs, nearly stumbling over one of the Klingons he'd trounced. "And I couldn't forgive myself for that." The words had a trace of finality to them, and the women moved toward him.

But Julian was no longer there. They watched, mouths opened, as his uniform collapsed to the floor. His boots, the socks in them, the uniform were all empty. Julian had vanished into thin air---or become it. A fine mist skimmed along the establishment's floor, ducking into a ventilation shaft.

Kira's cumulative irritation peaked. "That's damn convenient, and damned annoying." She placed her hands on her hips and surveyed the security team that finally found the door. "Ever notice how since his change, you can't win an argument with that man?"

A soft smile played over Jadzia's lips. "You mean you could before?" The amusement was slight and faded quickly. "Looks like I have some Klingons to patch up," she muttered tiredly.

Kira looked at the lax security crew and found an outlet for her anger. "Okay, let's get this place cleaned up. You, Perkins, does Starfleet have a special class for standing? No. Well then do something." She looked around for a few seconds, praying for another reason to lash out. Unfortunately, they all seemed to have gotten on the ball. "And somebody get a sensor lock on Bashir before he seeps right out an airlock!"

He'd hid for two solid days, managing to sleep in that vapor state or some area of the station where the sensors were inoperable. He'd also managed to procure a shower and wash the blood off his skin. Or licked it off. No one had asked.

Hunger had finally gotten the better of him, however, along with his fear that without his bloodbank supply, he'd find nourishment at the source.

He'd cleaned up rather nicely, and at least looked like the impeccable Starfleet officer his friends were used to seeing. He was even quieter than before, and that unnerved Dax and O'Brien who couldn't get him to open up about anything. It was Julian's intention to put the incident from his mind completely, and he would brook no arguments.

So he became a solitary creature, preferring the solitude of his lab to the bustling crush of humanity that lined the Promenade. He felt secure in his lab, in his solitude, and it didn't matter about the loneliness; that just didn't fit in the equation. He had his medical experiments; he didn't need friends or patients or companionship. It was safer that way.

He even kept the door locked and screened his visitors. Three days after all this nonsense began, he heard the door blow right off its runners. A second later Chief O'Brien emerged from the smoke. "Do you always like to make such grand entrances?"

The snide comment was meant to make him angry, distance him, and Miles knew it. It'd take a hell of a lot more than snide comments to run him off. "And do you really enjoy living like a hermit?" he shot back.

"That door has to be replaced. You went to an awful lot of trouble to see me, so say what you have to and get to work on it." Bashir turned back to the PADD in his hand, changing the data stream to a faster pace. O'Brien's hand shot out, and it went clattering across the office. "Not very mature."

"And you are?" Julian sat back at that and folded his arms across his chest. He'd listen. "You've been acting like a fool, Julian. You can't shut yourself off from the world. It isn't healthy."

"It's a hell of a lot more healthy than waking up one day and finding out I've killed all my friends in a pique of rage." Anger was beneath his words, lots of it. Miles knew that type of self-defeating hostility. "The blood lust has no particular preferences. I could take any of you at any time without even realizing it until it was too late."

"If you really try, you can learn to control it."

Bashir was up and pacing now, and in his face in an instant. "Did it ever occur to you that I might not want to?" he reprimanded in low urgent tones. "You have no idea of the sensations. It's better than winning a racketball match, more fulfilling than saving a patient, why, Chief, it's better than sex." Julian backed off slightly, continuously shifting like a wolf caught in a trap. Would he gnaw off his own leg to get away from his friends? "I can't back away from that. Could you, Miles?"

O'Brien's silence answered the question. "Except when I'm feeding or answering the lust, I am in constant pain. It can be small and inconsequential, a dull, annoying ache. Or it can be so severe I would do anything to make it stop. Anything. It was like that the day I almost took Molly."

"But you didn't. That's got to mean something." His tone sounded Pollyanna-ish even to him.

"That was the last vestiges of my humanity. I can feel it slipping away, piece by piece. In a few years, I don't think I will remember any of it. I won't know love, and compassion will just be some cold, unfeeling dictionary definition left in my head." He could see the irony and smiled. "Can you imagine that, a doctor who doesn't give a damn about his patient? A doctor who doesn't give a damn about anyone besides himself?" The chuckle was soft, almost as soft as his voice. "Guess I'll have to find a new occupation, won't I?"

He wasn't really talking to O'Brien as much as himself. It was unnerving. "But then again money won't be an issue. Blood is free and plentiful. Just smile seductively and coo appropriately and I've got a conquest in bed along with an after-dinner mint." He seemed to find that rather amusing and cackled. It wasn't a slight chuckle but full-bodied, a cold peal of laughter.

O'Brien shuddered. "Julian, where are you? What have you done to the man I know?" This had to be that parasite he was talking to; it couldn't possibly be his Julian.

"The man you knew died on the floor, about where you're sitting as a matter of fact. If you can't handle that, I suggest you leave me the hell alone like I asked." His response was as emotionless as the Enterprise computer. At least the Cardie mainframe knew how to cop an attitude.

Miles stood and spun to leave only to pause at the ruined door. "I'm not giving up on you, Julian."

"Well that's one." The physician seemed bitterly amused by the whole situation. He flashed fangs as he smiled. "Remember, I want that door fixed."

"You want it fixed, do it yourself. If you want to talk, then I'll be back."

Bashir watched him go before retrieving his data PADD. He had work to do, and the pesky human had already cost him time. But then again, he realized he'd live forever, so what was a lousy five minutes?

He felt moisture on his cheek and swiped a fingertip across it. A pinprick of blood rested there, and he regarded it quizzically before flicking his tongue over the stray tear.

He cursed the smoke and returned to his research.

Cdr. Sisko couldn't help but notice that Miles O'Brien looked like a man who had just lost his best friend, and in reality, that was probably true. "You look like a man who could use some company." The chief looked up and managed a meager smile. He was trying....

"We've lost him, sir. Julian's given up on himself, given up on us, given up on humanity." O'Brien took another swig of his drink, another step into depression. "I don't think he's going to come around, Commander, and the more I think about the way all this came about, the more I wish I could rip that slut's throat out and hand it to her in pieces." Sisko nodded in understanding. He'd felt the same way. "What gives someone the right to ruin a person's life like that...just what the hell did she get out of it?"

"Miles," he had that father tone he found himself using toward the younger members of his crew---mostly Julian, he realized. The chief managed to pull his gaze up from the alcohol he sought refuge in. "We can help Julian, be there with support for him, but what he does with his life, the person he becomes in response to this change, is ultimately up to him." His hand brushed Miles' shoulder. "You didn't fail him."

He'd hoped the sentiment would create a little pocket of warmth inside the man; in reality, the alcohol was much more effective at that than the pep talk. "Thank you, sir, thanks for trying." Miles finished his synthale, pushed his chair from the table. "I should check those sensor glitches before going to bed." Sisko snared his arm. "Dax's taking care of that. Kira's even taking her supper as we speak. Go home to your wife, Chief. Play with your little girl. Don't let this lead to you failing them."

He drew up a smile. "I'll give Molly a hug for you."

"Good night, Chief." He found himself alone until a Ferengi waiter showed up. "A drink, strongest in the house." He nodded silently and disappeared. "I need it," Sisko muttered tiredly.

It was drafty in the corridor, and Kira wrapped her hands more securely around the cup; at least the warmth of the raktajino would keep her fingers from falling off. It was also darker than she remembered, and she had to strain her vision to make out the signs of debris that always littered these areas of the station. The Klingon coffee felt good to her fingers, but she doubted she'd enjoy a bath in the scalding liquid.

And well, besides the obstacles, the ambiance was just a little spooky. So when the voice spoke to her seemingly from no where, she did drop the cup. "You shouldn't go for strolls alone at night in these areas, Major." The form loomed over her, extending the coffee to her.

"Bashir," she wheezed in irritation, "where the hell did you come from?"

His eyes and head went gently upward, and Nerys struggled to make out the beam which ran overhead. She stifled a laugh. "Just hanging around, huh?" His eyes rolled, and a tiny groan rumbled behind his adam's apple. "Sorry about the joke."

"What are you doing here, planning a picnic?"

"Dax is investigating those faulty sensors. I'm taking her dinner." He didn't seem as surly as O'Brien had said. "And what are you doing here?"

"Don't worry," he snarled, "I'm not hunting for rats if that's what you're thinking." Then again, maybe he was. Kira actually punched him in the gut, full force. He barely even felt it physically, but it did wonders for his attitude. "I like to escape the noises of life. All those voices, the heartbeats, the shouts and sobs. It's enough to drive you to ripping off your own ears."

"That's a lovely picture you've painted there, Bashir. No matter how maddening it gets, don't rip off your ears; you'd look silly without them poking out from your head." She continued on her way, and Bashir fell into step beside her. "Why are you doing that?"

"I decided to escort you, unless you have a problem with that."

In the darkness, his eyes began to take on a slight translucence. A few more minutes and they would be glowing like jack o'latern eyes. She felt a bit uneasy. "Just keep those pearly whites at a reasonable distance, and I won't mind."

He flashed her a smile, and for once, his teeth were normal. "Don't worry, Kira. I didn't come down here in hopes of catching a young woman and making her into a feast. You're safe; I would never nibble on you without your permission."

"Don't hold your breath, Doctor. I don't give at the office."

That amused him. "I bet you'd taste heavenly though," he sighed. She turned sharply on him. "You have a very passionate nature, you're so very alive. I would get a very satisfying meal from a sample of your blood, Nerys."

She didn't know which ignited her sudden discomposure: having a man eye her as a sexual toy, or having one look at her as a meal. Perhaps it was both. She felt herself flush under his stare, and swore she saw him lick his lips out of the corner of her eye.

His head drooped suddenly. "I've made you uncomfortable. I'm sorry." He sounded vaguely like his old blundering self. "That was not my intention. I'll leave if you wish."

He had those puppy eyes again, and the expression in them was as if Kira had threatened to kick him with steel-toed boots. She found her expression and tone softening. "No, that's okay. I understand that you can't control these apparent mood swings. That has to be why you are acting so bizarre, not even you are that neurotic."

"I think that was a compliment," he muttered uncertainly. She didn't respond with anything more than a slight, teasing smile in the dark; she knew he could see it. "What's in the bag?" he asked, indicating Dax's meal.

"Jadzia mentioned a craving for lasagna." She brought the sack closer so he could sniff.

"Extra garlic," he added with a grimace. "Just the way I used to like it." In the quiet, his stomach growled. "Speaking of supper, I've got to go get mine after escorting you back to the Promenade."

She silently wondered if he could hold out that long. "You can go if you wish. I don't need a chaperon."

He shook his head. "I'll be fine for another half an hour, just a bit weak. I want to see that nothing happens to you and check on Dax."

"Why?"

The darkness seemed to loosen his tongue. "I was in my office, thinking about how all this came about. If I were a vampire who wanted to hide, this would be the place, and the malfunctioning sensors seemed just a bit too coincidental for my tastes." He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, causing a few dark strands to stand in attention. "That's the real reason why I'm down here. I want to find her."

She heard the anger beneath his words, and felt a shiver cascade through her frame. "Julian, don't think that." He looked up sharply in inquiry. "You're not the type for revenge, don't tread that path. Take it from one who knows." There was a raw pain in her eyes that he had to turn away from. He couldn't block out the mental emanations bombarding him so easily though.

"Change the subject, Major, or I'll have to go get a snack prematurely," he warned thinly. "I can pick up the emotions behind your thoughts, and I don't need the extra strain of them or filtering them out." He sounded in physical pain.

She did her best to cooperate with his request, and they spent several minutes in silence, aside from Kira's thrashing heart and Bashir's discontented stomach. The warm coffee began to grow cold long before they approached the last corner to Dax's location.

Julian slammed to a halt against the wall, his back flattened there and his eyes mad with an emotion so intense Kira couldn't describe it. He was quaking, his body betraying him with useless expenditures of his already taxed energy reserves. Where was the strong vampire now? It wasn't even Julian Bashir the man who stood before her; Nerys was staring at the figure of a terrified child.

He recoiled from her touch like she were leprous. "She's back there," he croaked in a tiny, shrill voice. "With Dax, waiting for me." His eyes rimmed red as he fought tears.

"What? What's wrong....what's she done to Dax?" Her tone turned harsh in hopes of penetrating the emotional fog enveloping his mind. "Bashir, answer me."

He responded out of sheer habit and the remembered fear of Kira's wrath. "She's unconscious. My master plans for her to be bait."

"For what?"

"Me," he whispered more to himself than her. He drew power from the hatred he had been storing for the last several days, from the destructive loathing he had bathed himself with, and coiled the meager strength around his mind, tightening his thoughts into a ball. "And she's going to get exactly what she wants...."

He dashed fool-heartedly around the corner, and Kira ran headlong into his suddenly unmoving form. He stumbled, but not from the collision. Kira heard Bashir whisper a phrase from some Terran language she wasn't familiar with.

The man poised over Dax's motionless form laughed. "That useless prayer might deter a younger one of our kind; it's hard to break them of those silly superstitious fears. But it will take more than pleading with God to stop me from dislocating your head from your body, child."

The man was not by any means remarkable in the looks department. Actually, he was rather short, smaller in stature than Quark, and rather ordinary in appearance. Of the two, Bashir looked far more likely to be a mythical creature than this fellow. Except for his eyes, colder than the center of Dante's Inferno, nearly more frightening than the mental images of that three- headed beast.

"I thought you said it was a woman." The accusation left Kira's lips and tickled against the physician's ear.

"I thought it was," he shot back defensively. His tone transformed with the clear, obvious knowledge provided by hindsight. "That was how you wanted it, along with a sudden inability to diagnose myself. You blocked out the fact you were a man so I would spend my time looking for a woman.

"Every face I scanned, every soul I searched. It didn't even enter my mind that a man had done this to me; you wouldn't let it." He felt irony wash over him in a bitter tide. "You walked right past me, and I looked through you, put you behind me without a thought."

Frigid green eyes targeted Julian faster than Kira could lock on photon torpedoes. "I don't take betrayal lightly, boy. I gave you something no one else ever could. I would have been your teacher, your mentor, your father."

The humorless chuckle was choked down with a muffled sob. "You couldn't be any worse than the other one," he muttered. The rage clicked in place, and he felt his heart take a hesitant beat. "I know what you wanted to give me: the ability to kill without as much as a thought. That's why you egged me on to turn Dax. She's Trill; she can't become one of us. I would have killed her."

"You're turning out to be disappointingly predictable, Julian. Apparently, my skills at choosing my brood are waxing with age." With a half-hearted sigh, he tried on the persona of understanding friend. "I felt your distress, Julian, knew of the turmoil you have suffered at the hands of those who say they love you the most. It was my intention to ease that distress by giving you the ability to rid yourself of the people who cause it."

Sarcasm laced his dark amber gaze as much as his voice. "No thanks. I don't need to exchange one lousy dad for another." That remark drew a look of astonished confusion from Kira, but he ignored her. "And besides, I'm no longer a child."

The full laugh irked Bashir further. "If that's not the ignorance of youth, I don't know what is." The man stood within centimeters of Bashir; even he hadn't seen the movement. "You were a pathetically weak child bending back and forth at the whim of a domineering father," he hissed. Julian felt his stomach roll as the scent of sour blood permeated his nostrils, swirled around his head. "Well this father was willing to give you the reins, my dear one, but this insolence proves that you need a strong hand to guide you still."

Julian winced and backed into Kira, the heel of his palm grinding into his temple, fighting the telepathic incursion into his mind. "I didn't invite you into my room. How did you enter?"

"It was that night you lost the patient. Actually," the man admitted as he strolled back to stand over Dax, eying her slender form in admiration, "you have me to thank for that. It's so horrible to watch a poor girl suffer so...." Bashir's heart completed another plaintive beat. "And then there was the subspace link waiting for you in your quarters.

"Your mind was so open I didn't even have to ask. You were calling Julian, to anyone or anything within three parsecs. You are lucky that I took up the offer before something far less...pleasant showed up. Creatures such as ourselves always offer an escape for the weak."

"Don't make it sound like some noble gesture, you bastard," Julian retorted as it was his turn to pull that magic teleportation act. He squeezed the man's throat in hopes of turning it to a pulp. "You prey on weakness, and of all the things about you, I think that's the most depraved."

Kira watched the doctor fly back, realizing too late that he was about to crash into her legs. There was the sharp snap of bone, and the sick nausea of pain gushed over her.

Julian groaned, cringed as a cold hand scraped the back of his neck. It wrapped around that goose-pebbled patch of skin, shifting him until his face was pressing into Kira's flesh. The frantic heartbeat there caused a moan to tear from him as hunger and sexual arousal fought within him for dominance.

Nerys was pinned down both by Julian's immobile weight and a frosty hand pressing against her inner thigh. She found the body crushing her far less disturbing than that frigid touch. "You're hungry, Julian. Don't deny yourself the need of food; take her now. You know those stale bags of plasma are not enough to sustain you. Drink her life with the blood, taste her soul. Feel pleasure through her; honor her with that same pleasure."

He felt both the hunger and the command prodding at him, and he had to fight the urge just to give in and sink his teeth sharply into her. "I can't enter her properly from this position," he informed his master thickly. His ragged breaths tickled the skin of Kira's throat. "Let me up."

The plea did the trick. Bashir backed off, looked into Kira's eyes. She felt the urge to bolt, but with her broken leg and his hypnotic gaze couldn't even manage to flinch away from his mouth. It moved along the inside of her throat, skimmed up toward her face. His smooth moist lips made contact with her cheek for a second.

And then Julian Bashir threw Dax's supper into the other vampire's eyes with a scream. The answering cry of pain flooded him with warmth, and he descended, fangs extended a full inch. The older vampire swiped tomato sauce and the burning, pungent spice from ruby-shaded eyes.

Julian rammed into the man, both of them stumbling back over Dax to land hard against a fallen beam. The doctor felt the sickening crunch of his collar bone splintering into tiny spears. He barely even acknowledged the responding pain, allowing the adrenaline to mask it as pleasure. He straddled the vampire's torso, wrapped his hands around that lying throat, and squeezed.

The form beneath him shuddered slightly, sending a flare of relief through Bashir. And then the shuddering became laughter.

Julian Bashir paled, felt the soft silky texture of blood falling from his eyes like tears. One landed on his master's cheek, and an impossibly long tongue reached out and lapped it up. A pleasurous gurgle arose from the throat in Julian's hands, and then he was flung back against the far wall as the man beneath him sat up.

He reared up over Dax and plunged toward her neck. Julian's wrist jammed into that mouth a few inches above Dax's vulnerable throat. "Leave her alone," he growled, his eyes blazing red and his heart pounding with rage.

The man smiled. "You've come over finally. You're one of us." He had the twinkle of a proud parent dancing in his frosty eyes. And then he lashed out with claw-tipped fingers and slashed his son's throat.

Glistening blood spouted from the grisly wound, and Julian's cry of surprise cut off as his vocal cords were severed. His mouth moved soundlessly, pink blood rolling off his tongue and weaving delicate patterns across the dingy grating. His eyes wide with shock, he fought to cover the wound with his hand, despite the futility of the gesture.

He crawled away from the man licking his fingers, slid across the corridor toward a corner with the instinctual urge to hide in darkness. He didn't make it that far.

Kira watched him flay about in an attempt to drag himself further. Julian's fingers twitched spasmodically, but other than that, he finally stopped moving. He couldn't even force his lungs to mimic breathing any longer.

The pool flowering from his ruined throat transformed from a deep burgundy to an almost clear liquid. He was bleeding to death, literally starving. He didn't even have enough blood left inside him to cry.

She felt a concentrated gaze level upon her, and turned, meeting the eyes of the devil masked in human form. He eyed her like she often gazed in longing at a delectable dessert. And despite her broken leg, Kira suddenly found the strength to move, rather quickly at that.

She slipped in the pool surrounding his body, but managed to flip him onto his back and pull him against her. Nerys pressed Julian's lips to her throat, but got no response. She pulled back, studying his teeth before scraping one of the long incisors along her skin.

He didn't even sniff. She pulled away, grimacing at the sight of her blood smeared on his lips. He flopped bonelessly back against her as she released his shoulders, his blood seeping into her uniform, leaving a sticky bit of fabric suctioned to her breasts.

"You can't die," she whispered harshly. "Drink, damn you, before he takes up the offer." She jumped as the pointed end of his tongue traced the tiny cut, running up and down its line, searching for every tiny morsel of blood. He shivered against her, and finally shifted ever so slightly.

His teeth punctured her flesh cleanly, and Kira had to bite down a scream. Tiny whimpers arose from her throat, mingling with the wet sounds of his sucking. He guzzled her blood, and she wondered if he would stop before draining her dry.

His palm found her cheek, gently cupping it and shifting her head for better access. A soft tingling, almost tickling sensation arose from his drinking, and she felt her face flush. Her breathing quickened as an orgasm suddenly ripped through her body, her mind, the two anchored only by the feel of his hand on her face and the teeth intruding in her flesh.

Her climax was followed almost instantly by another, this one just as intense as the first, just as mind-numbing. She had never realized how closely entwined the sensations of pleasure and pain really were. She thought she lost consciousness for a moment, was brought back by the sudden dislodging of one of her anchors.

She whined softly, stifling a sigh as she felt the silky plane of his tongue run over the bites. He backed off a bit, and Kira stared at him through heavy-lidded eyes. His throat was slightly scratched and bruised, but at least it was there. He licked the last bit of blood from his mouth and chin and shuddered.

Her blood had not only made a satisfying meal, but in his system, it was a potent drug. That much of the pure stuff left him slightly intoxicated, and he had to force his mind back to the danger standing behind him.

"Do you see what I mean, Julian?" The voice was quiet and washed through him with the warmth of a hug. "If you simply give into the urges, no one will ever be able to hurt you again. I won't let them, Julian. Unlike some, I understand the importance of family, how precious those relationships are. You are my child, Julian, and I would kill for you."

The serpent must have sounded like that to Eve, he mused, conflicting impulses raging inside him. It's a losing battle, Julian, just give up before you destroy yourself. He felt a tear slip from his closed eyes before turning toward that hypnotic voice.

"He ripped out your throat, Julian. That is not an act of a man who values family above all else."

Kira's voice intruded sharply and loudly into his thoughts, slicing through the mental projection to slap him back into reality. "She's right," he heard himself say before standing on wobbly legs and gathering Dax into his arms. He placed her unconscious form beside Kira.

"Good idea, dear boy. I want my dinner out of the way, wouldn't want a stray bit of bone impaling her succulent arteries before I can."

Julian didn't respond, just knelt down beside the two women. He spoke softly to Kira. "When we start fighting, call for help. And if I don't make it, Nerys, promise me you'll kill the bastard."

She found it still difficult to breathe normally, much less speak, and at his words, a lump obstructed her throat. "How?" she croaked.

"Drive a wooden stake right into his heart and incinerate the remains. Take them to the wormhole and scatter them from Idran to the edges of the Gamma Quadrant if you have to. This man is not going to do this to another person." She didn't know how she and the others could stop him if Bashir couldn't, but she nodded. "Thank you. You saved my life moments ago."

She saw the other vampire lick his lips and blow her a kiss. "Just return the favor. I'm willing to give at the office, but not to that guy."

He drew a deep breath, relishing the moment of mental silence as he prepared for the waiting conflict. In that millisecond as his useless lungs flared with the filling of nonessential oxygen and pushed the substance from his system, Julian Bashir played over tiny fragments of his life, bits of his mind he had tucked away for a rainy day.

Dax's face as he blew out the candles on his last birthday cake.

O'Brien groaning as he led the man from their racketball court to the infirmary to patch up the muscle the chief had managed to tear as he was trying to hit yet another impossible shot.

That same man's daughter's peals of laughter as he threw her up in the air as soon as Keiko O'Brien turned her back, managing to catch the child a moment before her mother could see the aerobatics.

Quark actually displaying a generous side by giving him a free drink and willing ear after a truly monstrous day.

Odo teasing him about his inability to get a particular lock of hair off his forehead and finally standing at his bathroom mirror with a pair of laser shears in hand, chopping off the unruly traitor. One of those nonexistent surveillance devices again....

Cdr. Sisko teasingly threatening him with another group of ambassadors from hell....

Jake Sisko's fruitless attempt to recruit him as a baseball player when his father was away on a particularly long mission.

Kira risking her life to give him the blood necessary to live....

And realized he wanted to be that man again. Wanted to live so many more of those sweetly intimate and simple scenes, which added together, constructed a life. A happy life.... Full and prosperous, touching thousands of others in tiny little ways, each contact prompting a chain reaction collision of so many other occurrences and events.

He didn't want the reactions he foresaw in this future.

And wouldn't accept them.

His eyes opened, softly brown again and filled with the compassionate light that made him such a skillful healer. He turned to face the man who had taken all that away from him, set this particular set of reactions into motion, and whispered cooly, "You're not my father, and I'm not the beast you wanted me to become. Like I told that man, I can't be you."

The man's head raised slightly, trying to smooth the ruffled feathers that made up his ego. "I have lived longer than most men can imagine," he began. "I saw Babylonia in its height. I was a pharaoh in Egypt, a god in Greece, a principal advisor to countless monarchies, pulling strings and ruling nations with a thought. Do you really think someone with a life as insignificant as yours can overpower me after a millennium?"

Julian didn't answer him. "What is your name?" He didn't know why learning one was so important to him, it just was.

The former deity shrugged. "Darcy," he offered. "Osric," he continued. "Sayyid. Tarif. Thanatos. Cronan. Ambrus. Ahriman. Ameretat. Sanat. Eigil. Kostenka. MacOidhche. Marcos." Another laugh cut into Julian's ill mood. "Why at one point my name was Julian. Names come and go; I do not.

"When you and your friends are a long forgotten memory, I will still be here. You could have shared that with me, Julian." He clicked his tongue in sorrow. "Since that plan is shot all to hell, I think I'll just go ahead and kill you now."

"Your point is well proven," Bashir said in reply to the speech. "Evil is eternal." The statement brought a smile to his master's lips, pleasure that this whelp had learned the truth. "But then again, so is good." The smile vanished, replaced by cruel incisors clicking against blood stained teeth.

"The eternal battle." The eldest vampire's form flickered, then stood before Bashir. "That's what you think we're fighting here? How very arrogant of you." His eyes ran a trail over Dax's chest appreciatively. "She was right in her wish to see such a boy put in his place...." Bashir let go a low rumbling growl and heard one arise from the man before him. "Enough speeches, young man," he hissed. "Come to papa and receive your punishment."

He dove at Julian's still tender throat, his teeth grazing skin before Bashir managed to drive a claw into one ruby eye.

A scream played off the physician's spine, and blood splashed into his face. It was old and stale, and he wiped the tasteless substance from his lips with his sleeve. He dropped into a defensive crouch, his muscles tense with anticipation. A sudden fog enveloped his mind, and by the time he had shaken it from his head, the vampire had transformed into a massive tawny- colored wolf. And within a millisecond that wolf lunged.

The physician's next reaction was pure instinct as he suddenly became a translucent mist. He regathered himself a few feet away, barely registering the feel of cool air on his even cooler skin. At the moment, modesty wasn't as much a concern as saving his naked hide.

If not for the added help of adrenaline and sheer determination born of rage, Julian Bashir would have been impaled by the beam that suddenly flashed from the darkness. However, at that very instant, he abruptly discovered the ability of flight, springing up into the beams and support structures overhead, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.

He was chased down by a frigid fog, back onto the arena floor. And as the two vampires continued their combat, it became painfully apparent to Julian just how over-matched he was. Of the two, he was the one that would not be walking away.

And that desperation added to the fire that burned within him, feeding the taxing reserves of his strength. Determination could only take him so far, and within minutes, he was beneath the form of his master, his head bent back awkwardly and his throat exposed.

The cold breath that whisked over his rapidly beating pulse incited a shudder to ripple over his skin, through his tense muscles. The fear only excited the elder vampire more. He felt the awareness press painfully into his and bit down a scream. He repelled, pushed back against the intelligence that skirted along the edges of his thoughts, but it was a useless expenditure of his already exhausted being.

The ex-pharaoh broke through the telepathic barrier with a feather light blow, and this time Julian did scream.

First his humanity and now this. The assault was far worse than any type of physical violation. A body was only a shell, but what this man defiled of Julian was his mind. It was a rape of the soul.

Julian Bashir had been uncertain about his ability to actually kill the man, no matter what had been inflicted on him, but his soul was rent to shatters, and he didn't have to worry with a bothersome conscience anymore.

The cry that forced its way past his lips was that of an animal, and Julian found the strength to buck the heavy weight off his body. A satisfying thud of that body against the wall filled his ears as he sat up.

The master collapsed to his knees, and Julian's elbow lashed out, crashing into the delicate line of a spine.

The figure stiffened, broadcasting a mental scream; he fell, unmoving against the lightless floor.

Julian himself fell to his knees, his forehead pressed against the rough grating in exhaustion. He remained in that position, mimicking a holy man in prayer, until O'Brien stumbled across them six hours later.

Shortly after Julian had lapsed into unconsciousness, the Bajoran had followed, unable to call reinforcements thanks to an inoperative comm system.

Of all of them, Dax was the first to regain her senses. Mjr. Kira's leg had been patched by Dr. Bashir's head nurse, and the Bajoran had been allowed the rest needed to recupe from both the blood loss and the injury. Dr. Bashir had been placed on the main ICU bed under the strictest supervision. He had curled into a position reminiscent to his time in the womb, whimpering every so often, but for the most part, appearing frightenly dead.

Dax discovered the nurse had given the other vampire enough sedatives to knock even Odo for a loop and placed him in stasis, hoping to lessen the chances that he might wake up for a quick nibble.

As Dax studied the medical sensor logs, she felt her heart beat increase incrementally with each display. Apparently Julian had somehow managed to inflict physical damage on the parasite secured to the vampire's spine, and that had sent the creature into another type of regenerative stasis.

And she wasn't certain exactly how long the man would be in that state so in her mind, time was of the essence. Which meant she had to get Julian on his feet, up and running; hell, she wasn't picky, he could stumble his way along for all she cared. She was a damn fine science officer, but this sort of thing was more his field of expertise.

"Nurse," she called, " run a simulated experiment with the revival compounds on Dr. Bashir's system and report to me which have the highest effectivity and lowest safety risk." The Bajoran nodded and disappeared to complete the task quickly and efficiently; she had obviously grown quite fond of the dedicated man she called her boss.

"Lieutenant." Dax turned as the Bajoran reported in. "Here is that list you wanted," proffering a PADD. The Trill scanned the list and ordered, "Administer four cc's Vlatran."

Jabara appeared hesitant but finally spoke. "Lt. Dax, the usual recommended dose is only one point five cc's. That's almost three times the normal allowances for a human metabolism."

"Yes, well, Julian doesn't have one of those anymore, does he?" She realized how snippish she was being; after all, the woman was just doing her job. "Nurse, I'm sorry. Thank you for reminding me, but administer the larger dosage." Thankfully, she complied without further incident, and Jadzia moved from the main infirmary terminal to stand by Julian's side, aware of the Bajoran's glances as she took his cold hand in hers.

It was odd. Normally, it was she who heard complaints from the young human about the frigid quality of her touch. The shoe was on the other foot, in more ways than one. Jadzia had consigned herself that she would die, but a portion of herself would live on, would mourn the loss of her friends here. Through Dax and the symbiont's many incarnations she would achieve immortality.

But Julian...his life would be eternal and without changing gender and identities. Forever encased in the shell of a handsome young man with features of perpetual innocence. But he would be always fighting, battling the duality within himself, the hunger to help others, the urge for death. Which would lead to the taking of a life one day, perhaps his own. And vaguely, Dax wondered who the man behind the puppy eyes would be if she met him two centuries from now. Would the same old Julian be looking back at her, loving, yet experienced and wizened? Or would the man be a husky shell of his former self, cold, hollow, dead?

She found herself trying ineffectually to warm the cool fingers, add a bit of breath back to his battered humanity through psychic emanations of their deep friendship. Then again, perhaps it was herself she was trying to reassure....

It took half an hour before he showed the first meager signs of life, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly as he instinctively drew in odorless infirmary air. The shallow breaths continued for several minutes before his lungs erupted with a gasp, and Julian came plummeting from the constricting darkness. His eyes were wide and frightened, not those of the strong legendary creature he was supposed to be, even more vulnerable than his former self, almost more...human.

"Where---where is he?" he gasped, Dax acutely aware how his fingers bit into hers but hiding the discomfort behind a reassuring smile.

"Sedated in a stasis chamber. You're safe, Julian, so just lay back and get your bearings." He nodded and allowed her to ease his shoulders to the soft mattress. Julian was shaking. She ran a quick scan, but his food supply wasn't the problem, and since she had been unconscious during the apparently explosive encounter, she didn't have a clue to its cause. "Julian, you've had quite an emotional shock. It might do you some good to talk about it." His eyes flew open, and one did not need be an empath to know that was the last thing he wanted to do.

She let the subject drop. Later, when it wasn't so fresh, he'd talk to her. He always did.

She waited for the quaking to subside, and when it hadn't several minutes later, contemplated giving him a slight tranquilizer. Those steady, skilled hands could barely even brush the hair off his forehead, so how the hell was he supposed to complete delicate research tasks? "Julian," she murmured, placing a hand on his arm as he started. "We should take the opportunity here to study your condition further, attempt to locate a cure...."

His mind took a few moments to process her words, another half a second to understand their meaning, before he nodded absently. "How?" he finally whispered, licking his dry lips.

"The blow to the lower spine that finally knocked the older vampire unconscious...." She paused, noting the faraway look in his eyes, but he nodded her on and she continued. "It physically damaged the parasite, which caused him to revert to a stasis state. The parasite has to be the weak link...."

He slowly seemed to be swimming from his confusion, his eyes sharpening with that vast intellect. "I wonder...." Jadzia found herself leaning forward on her toes, eagerly like she used to for her father's bedtime stories. He didn't offer any more, his deep chocolate eyes darting frantically in calculation. For the first time in many years, Dax felt impatience gnaw at her.

"What!"

He winced. "There's no need to yell," he nearly whined, holding his ringing head in an effort to still the noises. "Perhaps we can remove the parasite surgically, introduce enormous quantities of blood and plasma, flood the body with free-radicals in an effort to stop the toxins and decay from setting in."

"And then jump start the heart," she finished for him. The steady bleeps from the monitor strummed past her ears and she glanced to the jagged spikes, to his face, and back again. "Your heart's beating. Why is your heart beating?"

The demanding question sounded almost like an accusation in his ears. He shrugged. "During the fight, when I finally faced that thing who claimed to be my master," he had problems saying that particular word, and Dax had to stop herself from retrieving him a glass of water. Wasn't his preference any more. "I finally became a full vampire when my heart started beating."

Apparently he was as stumped as she. These legends had to be taken with a grain of salt. "So during the time of my metamorphosis, I was, for all purposes, a corpse." Dax held back a shudder. "I'm not brain dead, but can this body survive the removal of the parasite and its side- effects?"

She leveled her gaze, and spoke carefully. "There's only one way to find out."

He wasn't entirely positive of his intentions, had to remind himself that he was a doctor treating a patient with a disease much like any other. The fact that he suffered the same illness really wasn't a factor.

Yeah, right.

He couldn't help but feel guilty about the satisfaction coursing through his veins along with his watery blood. Poetic justice in its rawest form. And perhaps salvation.

He refused to acknowledge the nervous flutter in his stomach, the blue-tinted gaze as he entered the operating theater. This was just another procedure, that was all. That was all, dammit.

He walked slowly toward the table, taking his position beside his nurse and across from Dax, studying the prepped body for several moments before clearing his throat. "Computer, begin recording."

A red gloved hand extended, and he couldn't stop it from trembling slightly, but when the laser scalpel slapped his palm, Julian Bashir reverted to doctor mode and performed one of the best damn procedures of his life....

Jadzia was fully aware of Julian's talents, but watching him fight to save the life of the sick individual which had brought him so much pain elevated the young human in her book. It had not been simple because the parasite was built with certain roadblocks to discourage its removal. The patient had hovered at death dozens of instances, but Julian had weighed the options and pushed further, fought that much harder.

Now she watched his exhausted gaze flow over the form laid out beneath the insulated blanket, felt a tension in her body that corresponded to his own. Those eyes opened a fraction of an inch, and the muffled groan sent Dax's stomach muscles fluttering. Julian's expression remained impassive.

He didn't lean down toward his patient as usual, however, and although his voice held compassion, Jadzia could tell it was slightly forced. "Sir," he called clearly, urging the man to regain consciousness willingly and not slip back into the oh so soothing darkness. "How do you feel?"

That cold green gaze had melted, confusion and vulnerability residing there in its stead. "What---what have you done to me?" The quavering voice held disbelief, a tone very near panic. Dax watched as the man's jaws clenched and relaxed, as he fought to unsheathe his fangs.

Julian was all professionalism. It unnerved Dax, but she understood its necessity. "You were being controlled by a parasitic influence. I devised a method for its removal and---"

"No! What did you do? Who the hell you the right?"

Who the hell gave you the right to turn me into a bloody vampire? He managed to hold back the scream, responding calmly, "You are fully human again, sir, and the parasitic presence will no longer inhabit you. You have been cured."

"Cured! I will die now, grow old, feeble, useless. Was this the cruelest revenge you could think of?" The question was so low key, so low and calm; it might have hurt less if the man had been in a snit.

Julian flinched at that, for the thought had run through his mind when he'd first contemplated the procedure. No, I'm a doctor who just wanted to cure his patient. That's all, no secret motivations here, Jules, just that oath you took. "I was merely performing my duty, sir. I'm a doctor who took an oath; personal grievances do not enter my operating room."

The man turned his back to Julian's calm, expressionless face. "You're a vampire; you've got the upper hand. You should be thrilled; you won."

"This was not a contest. I have no intention to remain in this state any longer than I have to." The responding laugh was bitter, reminding Julian of one he had sent Chief O'Brien's way not too long ago. "Unlike you, sir, I do not cherish the idea of living eternally or the pleasures of this flesh. I am not a killer."

"Everyone is a killer, you poor misguided child. Some of us are just better dealing with it than others." A tiredness seemed to overcome his voice, as well as a certain determination. "I no longer wish to be your entertainment. Leave me."

Julian opened his mouth to voice a protest but found he couldn't come up with one. "Very well. A technician will be here if you need anything."

Jadzia watched the vampire, her Julian, take a hesitant step back before pivoting on his heel and returning to her side. He was eerily silent, and as she studied his movements she understood why. "Uh, Julian...?" His eyebrows raised in inquiry to the cautious address, and her finger pointed to his feet.

He looked. They weren't making contact with the floor; under stress, because of the strain of being new to this condition and all, his abilities weren't exactly under his control. He floated a few centimeters over the carpet, hovering there like some full-bodied apparition. He let go a chagrined breath and slowly lowered to the ground. "I didn't even notice." Dax nodded; she could tell. If he hadn't been so low in volume, the blood would be rushing into his cheeks right about now.

"What now, Dr. Bashir?"

The use of his professional title, along with the friendly tones wielding it, gave Julian back a bit of his professional confidence. Or at the very least, it gave him a certain emotional support. He was a doctor, and a damn good one at that. At least one thing was constant in his life.

He drew a deep breath, finding the action soothingly normal. If only it wasn't just a mimicking instinct vampires had adopted in order to fit into the mortal world.... If only he could put that oxygen to use instead of spitting it back out like some useless by-product. Vaguely he wondered how effective a vampire administering CPR might be; after all, it wasn't as if the oxygen was extracted by his lungs....

The thought drew him back to his duties, and he leveled his gaze on the Trill. "I have been contemplating what actions to take in this matter. I have come up with a viable procedure, but there are certain risks involved."

From his demeanor she instantly knew she was going to hate it. "Go on," she prompted.

Bashir drew another deep breath, and Jadzia recognized it for the stalling tactic it was. "I will perform the operation." Her brow crinkled, and those beautifully painted lips opened on an exclamation of confusion. "I recorded the earlier procedure. A holographic projection of myself will remove the parasite."

"Hold on, Julian." He wasn't sure he'd ever heard so much anger in her voice. "That's ludicrous and suicidal! This isn't a tonsillectomy we're talking about. That man in there nearly died eleven times, eleven, Julian, and if not for your spur of the moment bouts of inspiration, he wouldn't be here right now."

He knew it was cliched and all, but she was incredibly beautiful when she was ticked. "I've programmed the fellow for every eventuality, Dax. Just a few weeks ago Starfleet Medical requested a brain scan of me for use in an experimental holographic physician to go in the newest starship."

"Julian, what if you forgot something, what if the power conduits blow or the Cardassians attack?"

"Then I die."

The answer was delivered in that soft quiet tone Julian so well utilized. She knew the tactic was one of his forms of psychological manipulation used on his patients and their relatives---hell on anyone when he wanted something, but she found herself calming, her harsh tones matching his own. "Can't it wait just a few weeks until another Starfleet doctor can arrive and be briefed on the situation?"

"No, I wish it could, Jadzia, but the longer we wait, the more integrated the parasite becomes with my system, with my mind. I can feel it branching out inside me, slowly asserting itself in my thoughts. If we put it off much longer, I'm afraid there won't be anything to save." His voice trembled, and he turned to study the readouts on the monitor behind him. A humorless chuckle played over his lips. "Or anything I'd want saved."

He'd voiced the fears she knew had been playing over and over in his head, and she found that she couldn't deny him this. "When do you want to schedule the operation?"

"I don't know." He spun suddenly. "And I don't want to," he added quickly. "Somehow I doubt the parasite will allow me to submit to this procedure willingly. That would be suicide, and even my limited experience tells me this species is definitely bred with a killer survival instinct." He smiled softly at the joke; Dax did not. "You've got to surprise me; ambush me or something. Just blast me into unconsciousness when I least expect it and throw me in stasis."

"Do you have any preferences?" she teased. After all, it wasn't every day a man requested to be shot with a phaser set on the heaviest stun setting.

"A very good shot who won't miss the first time. I doubt he'll have a second chance."

"I'll ask Mjr. Kira. I'm sure she'd love the chance to help you out."

The slight smiles he'd been forcing since his transformation finally turned into a grin. And a genuine one. "Yeah, I'm sure she would." It quickly fell from his face. "I'll be in my quarters."

"Do you want company?"

"No. I'm going to be busy...drafting a will."

He had been reading in bed, the data PADD resting across his still chest as she crept into the room. He was asleep, looking rather vulnerable in those silly little-boy pajamas, and she felt the sudden urge of motherly affection well up inside her. No one on the station really thought a maternal bone resided in her body, but they would be surprised by her. During the Occupation, every woman became a mother, every man a father, and to her own surprise, she was apparently quite good at it, what some would call a natural.

But she had to put aside those instincts, telling herself that what she was about to do was the best for everyone concerned...especially the fellow she was about to shoot.

Stun, she reminded herself, not shoot. There's a difference. And intellectually she understood that, but it was inevitable that a little portion of herself would feel like a heel for shooting her friend. While he was asleep, nearly comatose, completely and utterly helpless.

But she knew that he was counting on her, relying on her strength and friendship to help him with this difficult task, so she raised the Starfleet issue phaser and leveled it on his chest. And as she steadied her aim, it moved, shifting ever so lightly so that the PADD slid off the expanding ribs and to the soft cover bunched beneath him. Her gaze shot up to his face.

His eyes were open. That soft brown hue had transformed into a color redder than blood. A soft growl played low in his throat, and Nerys felt her heart quicken involuntarily.

The man on the bed ran his tongue over his lower lip before sitting up. The major's arm locked, the phaser directed at his heart, her thumb poised over the trigger. She tried to force her eyes to remain open, but the blinking was an involuntary function, and by the time her lids rose back over her own eyes, within a millisecond, he'd wrapped a hand around her wrist and forced the phaser skyward.

"Morning, Julian, I thought you might like a wake-up call," she heard herself mutter, her tone more sickly than teasing. His lip curled up at one corner, and Kira felt a little better with the situation. Until that mouth was planted against her wrist, against that rapidly beating blood vessel. "Hey, I didn't mention anything about breakfast in bed, Bashir."

His lips were moist and teasing, but not warm, and Nerys shuddered softly. One answered from the physician, and he slowly planted a tiny kiss against her skin before lowering her arm back in his general direction. He unhooked his fingers with effort and rested his body against the mattress once more.

Hooded eyes nodded at her questioning gaze, and he forced his hands behind his back, for all intents and purposes, sitting on them. His posture, those lovely eyes, that tousled hair. Oh she couldn't shoot a man who looked so boyishly cute. "Will this cause any permanent---"

"Shut up and shoot, you stupid bitch!"

The beam burst from the weapon before he had even finished the command, and he convulsed once, his body rising off the bed with the blast force before being snatched back down by gravity.

Kira found herself trembling, set the phaser on the nightstand for fear of shooting her own foot. She then proceeded to kneel over the doctor, snatching up the phaser when she met open brown eyes. He smiled goofily. "Really needed tha---"

He didn't finish his attempt at thanks, making Kira poke at his shoulder. The only response: Bashir's eyes finally slipping shut. She slapped her comm badge. "Dax, he's ready."

Jadzia replied softly over the comm line, and a moment later, along with a soft whine, Bashir disappeared. Kira sank to the bed as soon transport was complete, her face drained of color. He'd used anger to get her to fire, pushed the button in charge of her somewhat volatile temper.

She hadn't given a thought to her worries about him after the nice little descriptive title with which he'd addressed her. It was a human curse, but the Bajora had a word similar, and after hearing the chief use it in reference to the computer she'd asked Dax. He'd provoked her by calling her a less than complimentary woman. Of course, as she sat regaining herself, she couldn't help but wonder if he'd just used it to get her to do it, or if he truly regarded her in that manner.

For some reason, she hoped it was just a means to an end....

He lay stiffly on the tiny operating table, and Jadzia had to hold back the tears filling her clear blue eyes. "Take him to recovery," she murmured, watching the technicians transfer the physician to another bed, watching the holographic Julian wink out of existence at the command; he was no longer needed.

She tugged the red headpiece off, scattering dark strands of hair about her lovely face, and leaned heavily against the operating table, unaware of the blood soaking into her clothing. She yanked off the surgical gloves and tossed them beside it, onto that stained table, running a tired hand over her face.

It'd worked. He was human again. And most importantly he was alive.

Dax heard herself make a tiny noise of relief, felt the tears slide down her cheeks, and she simply let her emotions take control of her body. Even a three hundred year old Trill could sometimes use a good cry. Especially one of happiness, one of cleansing.

"Jadzia?"

Dax spun at the strangled call of her name, met frightened eyes with a smile. "It's all right, Kira. He made it." Nerys' own damp eyes dried up at the news, and a similar expression of relief lit up her features. "He's in recovery."

A commotion from the other room made the tears dry and her happiness catch in her throat. "Oh no..." she breathed, rushing from the operating theater with Kira behind her. "Julian...?"

Bashir's head nurse was leaning over a body, blocking Dax's view. Her head rose at the name, and she shook a negative. "It's the other one. He injected himself with a massive dose of the toxins we've been pumping out of Dr. Bashir." She jabbed a hypo into his skin and injected its contents. "Fortunately, he will live this time. It is my stern belief this man is in need of serious counseling." She couldn't quite keep the exasperation out of her voice.

Dax made a note to call in a psychologist from Bajor and turned her attention to the man's physical needs. Together with an orderly, the two women managed to haul him onto a bed. Then she turned back to Nerys, but the Bajoran had disappeared.

Or rather, had managed to find her own way to Bashir's bedside. Chief O'Brien snoozed in a chair at the bed's foot, and Kira was just wrapping a blanket around his shoulders; Dax felt herself tearing up again.

"He's been waiting there since an hour before we started the operation. I suppose I should awaken him to impart the good news."

The fiery headed woman shook a negative. "Let's let him rest. He'll be more than aware of the outcome when he wakes up and sees Bashir looking like hell, just like a man after strenuous surgery should."

"Who looks like hell...?"

The low, scratchy voice brought two heads snapping about in military fashion. "Julian," Dax whispered, "you shouldn't be awake so soon. You need your rest."

He nodded at the usual doctor phrase---or mother phrase---and simply shushed her with a minute wave of anesthetized fingers. "Thirsty...."

"I'll get a glass of water," Kira offered. As she turned, Bashir made this short gasping sound, a sharply indrawn breath. "Doctor?" she said, her voice concerned.

"I just realized it worked," he explained. Julian felt a wetness brushing his cheek, swiped it away with a finger. A tear rested against the soft whorls of his fingerprints, a nice and salty human tear. He fought a losing battle as its siblings commenced to join it. "Could I have a tissue along with that glass of water?"

"Sure," Dax murmured brightly in approval of his spirits. "And if you're good, there might just be a lollie-pop in your future, Doctor."

"I want a steak. Some pie. A box of chocolates. Keep the lollie-pop for yourself, Jadzia."

Kira entered the room, helped him take a sip of the refreshingly cool water; he hadn't realized how tired he'd grown of warm liquids. She took the opportunity to pay him back for that bitch remark. "Should have known your stomach or your hormones would awaken first, Bashir."

Her remark was met by a series of coughs, spewing water all over her chest.

Withdrawal had set in, and his first teasing moments were replaced with bitterly snippish retorts and attempts to distance the friends he'd worked so very hard to gain. He was further irritated by his inability to do so. Although with Kira, he'd come close.

But finally Julian Bashir had returned to his civilized state before the major had separated his head from his shoulders and started complaining about being locked in the infirmary like some diseased animal. He was back to normal---or as normal as Bashir got.

Twelve days after his surgery, Jadzia Dax strolled inside with his walking papers. "I've been paroled?" he asked, more jubilant than he'd been in weeks.

"Next time, you get two Bajoran replacements. I'm not looking after you anymore."

"Ah, no more mothering. Does this mean we've got a shot at making the earth move?"

She called loudly back over her shoulder, "Exactly how many happy pills did you put in his food, Jabara?" Julian's laugh made her forgive his loopey behavior. Overlooking it was another story. "Keep dreaming, Julian," she whispered coyly.

His face erupted with the old smirk. "Don't worry, I will." Dax tossed his clothes at his head, heading for the door.

"Just get out; we don't want to see that impossibly cheerful face for two days."

"Yes, ma'am!"

She shot one more stern glance his way before returning to the main infirmary. She finally allowed a smile to play over her lips.

Quark's had been commandeered, and Chief O'Brien had coordinated the party with his usual boisterous style. His "sea chants" blasted from all around. Most of the humans recognized them as old Earth rock-and-roll; most of the others simply commented on their strange quality and loud volume.

The celebration was in full swing as everyone welcomed the medical officer back to his first day of duty. He smiled when required, laughed at the pathetic jokes his friends made, and ate every concoction Quark placed in front of him. He downed every drink as well so, by the end of the evening, Julian Bashir was one very drunk soul.

He lay with his head across his folded arms, those resting on Dax's welcome-back-to- humanity present, as Quark finally called the evening to an end. The four or five others still inside slowly trickled onto the deserted promenade and seemingly evaporated.

The hand on his shoulder gave him the energy to lift his head, a wobbly smile sliding across his lips. "Hullo, Kira. Who's the twin?" He fumbled with an old-fashioned paper-bound book, popping it into Kira's hands. "One of you can have that, 'kay?"

The Bajoran examined the title and author. Dracula, written by some fellow named Bram Stoker. "You don't want this?" she inquired.

He snorted softly. "Lived it already, certainly don't need some Victorian sex-melodrama to tell me about vampirism."

She shook her head, the motion making Julian very nauseous. "Quark's closing. You should head home."

"Right," he whispered, bolting up, all gung-ho. His legs revolted, however, and he felt himself sinking to the filthy floor. He made a mental note to write the establishment up on a health code violation in the morning if acute alcohol poisoning didn't kill him in the night.

Kira's arm snaked about his waist, and she hiked him up. She managed to tuck the book under her other arm; he might change his mind later. Or on a particularly boring night she might read it. Stranger things had happened; like her escorting him home.... "You're certainly not going to get there in this condition," she muttered as she steered him toward the door.

"I'm a big boy who can get home by himself," he breathed, his lips just a little pouty.

"Fine." Kira released him, and he crumpled like a disturbed souffle.

"Mommy," he whimpered softly, latching onto her hand.

Kira smiled and hauled him up again. "You're heavier than you look, string-bean."

"Full of food and liquor," he murmured apologetically. They managed to get to a lift, lean heavily against one of the walls, and stumble down the corridor to Bashir's quarters. She began to drop him onto the bed. "No," he protested, "want to change."

She then guided him to the bathroom, located his silly pajamas, and collapsed into a chair with a tortured sigh. Twenty minutes later she heard the door swish open, popping her out of her light doze. He made pretty good progress on his own until he ran out of things to lean on. Kira offered him her arm once more.

She settled the covers about his shoulders as he squirmed into a comfortable position. He flung the sheets to his waist, crossing his arms over his chest. Nerys felt Julian's eyes following her every movement, stalking her.

She stopped fiddling with the bed covers and met his gaze. "What's wrong?" she inquired quietly.

"He died this morning." Her brow wrinkled in confusion, nearly doubling her nose ridges. "The man with a thousand names. The man with none," he breathed silently. His voice grew a bit more sure of itself, and Kira finally didn't have to revert to lip reading. "Five minutes after my shift started today he just simply stopped living."

"That's not your fault, Julian. You can't force life into a dead soul."

His breath caught on an ironic chuckle. "I think he waited until my return to duty, made himself live those fourteen days out of sheer determination. I think he thought it would hurt more." One didn't need to hear the guilt in Julian's voice to know that was true.

Kira's frank voice cut through the gloom surrounding his thoughts. "Listen carefully, Julian, because you're probably only going to hear this once. You are undoubtedly the most skilled, most compassionate, most self-sacrificing physician I have ever seen. You are also very human, and fallible just like the rest of us.

"That man took your life, and after all he put you through, you fought to give him back his. He simply wasn't man enough to accept that gift. You shouldn't brow-beat yourself for his mistakes, his cowardice. You went above and beyond the call of duty, and if it had been me, he wouldn't have had the chance to make it through those fourteen days in the first place."

He opened his mouth to respond, but Kira's hand clamped over it. "Just get some rest, Julian. You look hideous." She leaned over and planted a soft kiss against his warm forehead.

Beneath her Bashir groaned. "Not another one. Aren't two mothers enough for one man?"

Kira grinned slightly. "Jadzia's wearing herself out, and with a fellow such as yourself, Bashir, two hundred mothers wouldn't be enough."

"You're probably right," he muttered as she settled the covers around his shoulders for a second time. He didn't shrug them off. She headed for the door, pausing for an instant as Julian called her name. Hesitancy gripped him for a moment before he stated, "You'd make a good mother, Nerys."

The compliment brought a spontaneous smile to her lips, a gentle glow suffusing her skin. "I must say that the vampire had good taste, because you, Julian Bashir, must have been a fantastic son."

"Good night, Kira."

She ordered the lights off before nodding and disappearing from his bedroom, a nearly inaudible hiss from the outer room signalling her departure.

Julian Bashir closed his eyes, relishing the now innocuous darkness, and listened to the soft reassuring thump of his beating heart.