Jake had noticed. His expressions--smiles meant to comfort before--had changed to confused frowns. It wasn't that Bashir was speaking gibberish, as with the aphasia virus, though he did occasionally mix words up. It was that he was having difficulty forming the words altogether. That had started two days before. "I can't hear me," he had told Jake, when the voice inside his head--his thoughts--became little more than unintelligible mumbles. By morning, the voice was silent. Julian had tried to greet Jake, but he couldn't find his way past the first "g." The rest of the word was lost. He knew what he wanted to say. He just couldn't make the words come out. He couldn't hear them in his own mind.

If he concentrated hard, he could get a few words to come together, but whole sentences were too much trouble. Most of the time, he couldn't even manage that, and it frustrated him. Jake had graciously stuck by him, searching out the meanings to his lack of words. They managed. Jake gave him a PADD and stylus and Bashir tried to draw what he wanted if it was too difficult to say. And sometimes he just drew to occupy the time.

There were fewer and fewer ways to do that anymore. He remembered--though he couldn't express it or even bring it into clear focus as a thought--being so pressed for time that he thought the days were too short. Now he felt they were monstrously long. He played with Chester when the cat was in the mood for playing. He brushed his long fur every day and even fed him, though Jake was the one to replicate the food. But cats were only active when they wanted to be, and like their larger cousins, that was only a fraction of the day. Bashir hadn't worked all that out, but he had noted that the cat was often asleep. And watching the sleeping cat was having a hypnotic effect on him. So, with nothing else to do to, he often followed the cat's lead and napped himself.

Sometimes, when Chester was not playful, but still fully conscious, they just sat together and Julian would draw, doodling pictures on the PADD Jake had given him. They were familiar pictures, though he couldn't recall what they depicted. He saw them in his mind though, so he drew them on the PADD.

This time when Kira came, she brought a bag with her and Jake was smiling again.

Kira put on a smile she didn't really feel and stepped into the room. Jake grinned broadly and seemed more excited than Bashir about the gift she had brought. Of course, that wasn't hard. Julian didn't get excited anymore. He was depressed and bored and much too quiet. All of which, she understood. Why speak when you couldn't understand anyone else? Jake's enthusiasm was almost infectious though. Her smile started to feel more natural. "I brought you something," she told Julian, noting that he looked younger today. She'd noted that every evening when she walked in, so she shouldn't have taken it for a surprise. Still, it shocked her. He wasn't actually getting younger. It was just a perception. He was becoming simpler. More like a child with too many memories.

He didn't understand her, but her voice did get his attention. He seemed curious about the bag and put the cat down to join her at the table. Jake, on the other hand, looked ready to burst. "I'm telling you, Nerys," he said--she'd insisted on him not calling her by her rank in such informal circumstances, "he's really talented. Even now."

She listened to Jake, but she handed the bag to Julian. "Jake says you're something of an artist," she said as he carefully pulled the pad of paper from the bag and set it out on the table. He drew the pencil box out next and looked inside the bag to see if there was anything else. "What does he draw?" she asked Jake.

"Medical stuff!" Jake sounded excited, which distracted Bashir from opening the box.

"P-paper?" he asked, looking for help from Jake.

"Oh," Jake dropped his thought and ran to get a PADD from the coffee table. "Yeah. See the PADD doesn't last." He drew a few circles on the PADD and showed them to Bashir. Then he pressed a key and the PADD was cleared. "Gone." Now he took the pad of paper, and, lifting its cover, he took a pen and drew a few circles on it. "Paper stays." He closed the cover and opened it again, proving that the circles did indeed remain on the paper.

Bashir took a deep breath and then nodded slowly. He took the pad back from Jake though and ripped out the first page with the circles. He peered more closely at the pencil box. "K--k--" He shook his head, obviously frustrated. "Col-color," he said finally.

"Yes!" Jake was grinning again. "Lots of colors." He nodded and Bashir opened it, investigating the many pens inside.

Kira felt like she wanted to cry. Julian was not supposed to be like this. He was brilliant, so brilliant she'd often wanted to slap him. But she never wanted to see him like this.

Jake wasn't ready to let her wallow though. "You should see them," he told her. "He kept erasing them on the PADD so he could draw something else. That's why I asked you to get the paper. Maybe it might help Doctor Girani to find what's wrong with him. He can't be stupid and draw like he does. Not medical stuff. Besides, it might give him something to get excited about."

Kira nodded, hoping that Jake was right. She glanced back over at Julian and realized he'd been ignoring them while they talked. That wasn't unusual. He'd stopped paying attention when he stopped talking. But this time it was different. Jake was right. He was drawing almost frantically, as if it was part of that frustration he felt in expressing himself. Kira stood up and moved closer so that she could see.

The paper was oddly covered in lines. Squiggly, horizontal lines, joined by straight diagonal ones to the space in the center of the paper, where he was just beginning to draw. He was drawing rough, uneven circles grouped closely together near the bottom of the page. Each one was met by one of the diagonal lines. As she watched, he left the circles behind and moved to longer shapes, also attached to the diagonals. Bones, she thought. He was drawing bones. She held up her hand, spreading her fingers. The circles weren't frantic at all. They weren't even circles. They were the bones of the human wrist--not so different from her own. The longer shapes were the fingers, just behind the palm of the hand. He drew each of the finger sections next and then dropped the pen so that he could fish another from the box.

A red pen. He drew blood vessels, snaking their way up the wrist in big ribbons that tapered and branched into small capillaries as they made their way up the fingers. A blue pen picked them up then and drew them back down, carrying the blood back to the heart.

Kira stayed longer than usual that night and she watched the hand form. He drew everything, nerves and tendons and finally, muscles. And each detail matched up with one of those diagonal lines connecting it to a squiggle. If Bashir was aware he was being watched, he didn't let on.

"What do you suppose the lines are?" Jake whispered.

Kira took a step closer. The drawing was not an artist's drawing-- not even a medical artist. It was too precise, too exact. There was no shading or shadowing. Just details. Meticulous details. It hit her. "Labels," she breathed. "They're labels. Only the words don't mean anything to him anymore."

When she left that evening, she took the hand drawing with her. Bashir was already working on another. An ear. He'd have a whole person within the week, Jake had joked.

"He could be a savant," Girani replied, after Kira had come to her quarters with the drawing. "I don't know what else to tell you. There's nothing physically wrong with him. I've never dealt with genetic enhancements before so I can't really narrow anything down. I can't say what has caused his decline, and I can't counteract it. I also can't tell you that it's going to reverse itself on the basis of a picture."

"I'm not asking you to," Kira said, trying to remain calm. "But can't this provide some kind of clue? He still remembers this. Somewhere in his mind, this makes sense to him. I talked with his mother again. He didn't draw before. Not like this. He wasn't a savant. It has to mean something."

"It might," Girani admitted, laying a hand on her shoulder. "But not to me. I'm not trying to be unkind, Colonel. But I've run every single test I could think of. I don't know any more tests. I don't know how to help him."

Kira returned to her quarters having lost much of the hope she'd taken from that drawing. She felt like Julian, the real Julian, was trapped inside his wounded mind, still whole but unable to get out. She placed the drawing on her own table and compared it again with her hand. It was perfect. The computer startled her. "You have an incoming signal, from Captain Benjamin Sisko, secure channel."

Kira turned away quickly and activated her communications viewscreen. Sisko's face appeared almost immediately. She noted he wasn't on the bridge. He looked unhappy, just as he had the last time he called. She was sure he'd get right to the point. "How's Julian?"

That wasn't what she expected. "Better," she replied, "and worse. He's having trouble speaking. Girani has given up. She says she doesn't know what else to do."

"Starfleet thinks they do," Sisko spat. "Only I don't think they want to help him." He leaned back in his chair and touched his fingertips together. "The Dominion did it."

Kira thought he'd changed subjects. "What?"

"They did something to him," Sisko said, as if that clarified it. "I'll explain more when I get back. I'm bringing a doctor with me, one who knows what's going on. Maybe he can help."

"You said you didn't think Starfleet wanted to help him," she repeated his words, trying to coerce an explanation.

Sisko sighed. "They want me to take him to the Institute," he told her. "They're just going to lock him away."

"Dr. Loews wouldn't," Kira began.

"Probably not," Sisko cut her off. "But she's not the only one there. And he's not going to be in the same league with the other enhanced patients now. I get the feeling they're just hoping he'll disappear quietly and everyone will forget about the one that slipped past them."

"I won't forget," Kira said. She almost said 'we,' but changed her mind. Sisko would have to say that himself. She'd noticed the coldness between Julian and the captain before this illness. Sisko was the one who was cold. Bashir just seemed angry. She had understood Julian more than the captain. Julian had stayed.

"Neither will I," Sisko agreed, but his expression held a question. He had caught her thoughts.

"When will you be back?" Kira asked, ignoring his expression and the question. Let him question.

"Tomorrow. I want to give Barton some time with him."

"Barton?" Kira didn't recognize the name. "Not Hensing."

"Hensing didn't seem to take well to the station."

She nodded. "Or to Julian."

Julian was already awake when Jake woke up. He was drawing again, but not the meticulous medical illustrations he had been drawing all last night. Jake picked up one of the drawings from the coffee table and held it up. The lines weren't as sure as the medical drawings. The details weren't as clear. But it was unmistakable. It was a face. A real face, not a model of a face. It was the face of a young man. Jake didn't recognize him. There were other faces below that one, hastily drawn. He didn't recognize any of them. They might have been Starfleet officers or other people Bashir knew. But they looked too poor to be Starfleet.

There was another picture below it, one with almost no clear form at all. The paper was covered with blurred faces, and the whole picture was covered over with an orange haze. The first one drawn, Jake surmised. Another nightmare. Bashir had drawn what he saw in his dreams.

Bashir was working on another person when Jake approached him. This one wore a dark uniform and an evil grin. Jake wondered if it was the changeling from the camp, the one who masqueraded as a guard. His hand shook as he drew, and his foot tapped nervously on the floor.

Bashir looked up to see who was behind him, and then dropped his head again to the picture. "Sl--" he tried. "Sloan." He pointed to the man in the picture. Jake wasn't sure of the name, but it didn't sound like the changeling. It also didn't sound like Jem'Hadar or Vorta. Section 31 perhaps. It was obvious from the picture that Bashir didn't hold the man in high regard.

There wasn't time to really ponder it though. Something furry brushed hard against Jake's leg and then meowed. Chester was hungry. "Time for breakfast," Jake said, as much to Bashir as to the cat. "What would you like?"

Bashir put the pad away, and got up to pack away all the pictures. Chester followed his every step, meowing loudly for his morning meal. But Bashir ignored him. He gathered up the pictures roughly and wadded then together. He met Jake at the replicator and placed the paper inside. Jake wasn't sure what to do. "You don't want them?" he asked, knowing that it wouldn't help to ask.

"Away," Bashir said, raising his voice and flipping his hand toward the papers. "Go."

"Alright," Jake said. He pressed a control and the papers dematerialized, broken up into their individual atoms in order to be reconstituted into something else. The pictures were gone. Chester stretched up from the floor to reach his front paws towards the replicator. He meowed pitifully.

Bashir smiled, his agitation seemingly gone with the pictures. He picked up the cat and both waited for Jake to replicate the cat's breakfast. Bashir sat the bowl on the floor, and he petted the cat as he ate. Content now to be well-fed and attended to, Chester purred.

The door chimed, surprising Jake. He still wasn't dressed. He expected Kira to come by in the evening, but he didn't know who would be here this morning. Bashir was looking around the room, trying to find the source of the sound. Jake pointed toward the door. "Come in," he said.

The door swished open. "Morning, Jake-o," his father said, stepping inside. Jake smiled. Bashir left the cat and stood. He didn't seem happy to see the captain. He didn't look unhappy either, so it wasn't all that strange to Jake. There was another man with the captain, a Starfleet officer in blue trim. Another doctor, Jake guessed.

"Dad." Jake went to him and shook his hand. "You're back. When did you get in?"

"Ten minutes ago." The elder Sisko turned to Bashir, who stared back at him blankly. "Julian," Sisko began, "we know why this happened. This is Doctor Barton. He wants to help you."

"He can't understand you," Jake told them. "He can't really talk now either."

"How do you communicate with him?" Barton asked.

Jake shrugged. "I talk anyway, but I also use my hands. We draw pictures. He's really good at that." Jake went to the coffee table and picked up Bashir's pad of paper. He turned the cover over and showed the first drawing to Barton. It was the ear. "He draws things like this, too. Medical things."

Barton seemed interested and took the pad from Jake. "Gray's Anatomy," he mumbled, more to himself than to the others. "He drew this?"

Jake nodded. "He started with the labels and then drew the picture in. From the inside out. Bones first, then blood vessels, muscles, etc."

Barton flipped to the nose on the next page, then a foot, an eye. "They are all straight out of Gray's Anatomy. It doesn't appear his memory has been affected."

"Doctor Girani didn't seem to think it mattered," Jake told him. "She stopped running tests. Everything always came out normal."

"Everything had to come out normal," Sisko broke in, "or we might have been able to help him. Maybe we still can." For the first time, he seemed to stop and look at Jake. "Have you had breakfast?"

Jake shook his head.

"Get dressed, eat something, and then bring Bashir down to the Infirmary. 1030 hours, Jake. We might not have a lot of time."

"Or what?" Jake asked, now getting worried. Not a lot of time? He hadn't thought about it yet, but if Bashir continued to decline, it wasn't beyond reason that he might die.

"Or he'll be institutionalized," Barton answered, "and we'll all have lost a great doctor."

"1030, Jake. Don't be late."

Jake was relieved. At least he wouldn't die. But life in an institution didn't sound much better, not when he couldn't speak or understand people. "We'll be there."

Barton handed the pad to Bashir, but the captain stopped in the doorway. "And you might want to call the Chief and tell him where his cat is."

Bashir watched them leave. He recognized the captain, of course, but he didn't know who the second man was or why he wanted his paper. He was glad though when the man gave it back. Jake seemed to forget about the encounter because he went right back to getting food from the thing on the wall. He was glad for that, too. He didn't feel like drawing right now and, since Chester was eating, he couldn't play with the cat either. Besides, he was hungry too.

It turned out to be a simple breakfast, but one of his favorites. Scones and jam. Jake ate quickly and then hurried into the other room to dress, so Bashir finished his own food and found the brush for Chester. Jake came back out and said something. He hurried around the room, picking up the dishes from the table. Julian put the cat down and picked up the cat dish from the floor. He followed Jake to the thing on the wall and watched as the dishes disappeared.

"Ready to go?" Jake asked him, gesturing toward the door.

Bashir followed his hands but didn't understand what Jake was getting at. It was a door.

"Good," Jake sighed. "Let's go." He took Bashir's arm and gently pulled him toward the door.

Bashir followed, thinking that it must have something to do with the captain. But he was a little nervous. He hadn't been out for a few days, and things had been different then. He was better then, worse than he used to be, but better than he was now. He thought maybe people would laugh at him the way the other children had when he was little. He didn't want them to call him names.

Jake was thoughtful and let go of his arm once they were in the corridor. There were only a few people out, and they hardly paid attention at all. The station looked bigger now. He felt dizzy walking down the long crossover bridge, but he told himself it was the same station. Only he had changed. He trusted Jake and followed where he led.

The Promenade was crowded and noisy, at least until he was noticed. Much of the sound faded then, and people did stop and stare. If anyone was calling him names, he didn't understand them. But mostly he saw people smile. He wondered why they were happy.

Two men, wearing tan uniforms, stood outside the Infirmary, but they were also happy, and they smiled as Jake and Bashir passed them. Sisko was inside with Kira and Doctor Girani. But the other man was there, too. Jabara smiled at him and took his hand, leading him to a biobed. Julian knew what it was and what it meant, but his thoughts had stopped being sounds in his head. All he had left were pictures. He struggled with the word. "Tes?" he finally managed.

Jabara nodded. "Just a few." She patted the bed, and Julian sat down on it. The strange man came over and began to run the tests while Girani hung back. Kira and Sisko spoke together. Julian didn't understand the test so he watched Kira. She was angry. Sisko was talking. He was making her angry. He could understand that even if he didn't know what Sisko was saying.

"But if they know about the clone, why won't they try to help him?" she asked, and Sisko felt she was attacking him, as if he was simply Starfleet's representative.

"I'm on your side, Colonel," he shot back, hoping she'd take the hint and target her anger at the proper source. "Julian's side. I don't want him institutionalized either."

"But what good does it do to know?" Girani stepped in. "If the Dominion did this, they've meant for it to be undetectable. They are more advanced in genetics and neurology. There is still so much we don't understand that we may never detect the problem in his lifetime. I've run every test available, and I couldn't find anything. Barton won't either. So what will you do when the admiral calls you again and demands Bashir be delivered?"

Kira was watching him for an answer. He didn't like what he was going to say--what he had to say. "Then I'll have to take him." He had to leave. "Do your best. Excuse me."

The man he didn't know did not seem happy. He shook his head and spoke in tones Julian remembered his father using back before the hospital, before he'd been changed. For a moment, his father's face replaced the other man's. The Infirmary became his childhood bedroom, and he could almost make out the words his father spoke.

"I don't know what's wrong with you, Jules," his father said. Then his face changed back to the new man and the words were lost again. Julian didn't know what the tests meant, but he knew he should feel bad. The new man was disappointed in him.

He looked to Kira and saw his mother's expression. She wasn't happy either. She was sad. Kira walked him home that evening and stayed with him for a while. But he didn't feel like drawing. He just sat with the cat who purred in his lap. Jake returned later and made dinner after Kira left. Julian didn't feel like eating, but he couldn't tell Jake that, so he ate anyway and then went to bed early. Jake didn't try to talk to him or get him to draw or play with the cat. Something bad was happening, and Julian felt it was about him.

There were more tests the next day. Girani had gone home, wishing Barton luck, but there was little luck to be had. And so Sisko called a meeting with the senior staff. Chief O'Brien listened at first but then he couldn't hear at all. Starfleet had ordered that Julian be delivered to the Institute. It figured. They kept all the "mutants" there. Kira tried arguing. If they knew the reason for his illness, they should try and reverse it. Sisko calmly explained that that was what Doctor Barton had been trying to do. He was too calm. Julian was going to be filed away and forgotten. Sisko should have been angry. He should have been enraged. O'Brien was. He squirmed in his seat and pretended to be listening. Sisko was telling about the clone that had replaced Lieutenant Jordan.

The only thing O'Brien really heard after that was "tomorrow." Sisko was taking Julian away tomorrow and that was going to be the end of it. Barton would stay on as Chief Medical Officer, at least until Starfleet sent them someone permanent. Hensing had put in for a transfer and was dead set against coming back to DS Nine. O'Brien didn't mind. He didn't want Hensing back, taking over Julian's Infirmary. He didn't want anyone else in there except Julian, and it made him angry to think that Starfleet would just give up on him like that.

And then he remembered what Julian had said to him. If he had to leave the station, he wanted to go home to Earth. Unable to keep silent now, he stood up, interrupting what the captain was saying. "He wants to go home."

"What?" Sisko asked, completely perplexed.

"Julian," O'Brien said again. "He wants to go home. He told me that before we left. If he had to leave, he wanted to go home. He should be with his family if that's what he wants."

Sisko stood still, speechless. Everyone else looked between them. "I thought about that, Chief," Sisko finally said. "I argued, too."

"So that's just it then?" O'Brien couldn't hold it back. "We just give up on him? There's not one person in this room who wouldn't be dead if it wasn't for him, and we're just going to let them stick him in a cell somewhere?"

"That's enough!" Sisko stood up even straighter, which O'Brien wouldn't have thought possible. He towered. "Go home, Chief."

They stood staring at each other, neither willing to back down, for a few moments. But in this instance, Sisko's rank tilted the scales in his favor. Or so it seemed. O'Brien turned and marched out of the room without another word. But he didn't plan on going home.

Garak wasn't his favorite person. In fact, he wasn't sure he really trusted Garak. Of course, he trusted him to a certain extent. Garak and Dukat had a history, and Garak hated the Dominion and sincerely--as much as Garak could be sincere--wanted them off his home planet. But O'Brien still didn't trust him deep down. Garak held too much a secret, kept everyone at bay. But he was also extremely resourceful, and that could be turned to advantage. He was also Julian's friend. And that had to count for something.

It was still early in the day, and Garak had not yet left his shop for lunch. He wasn't working. Well, not on clothes. He had a PADD in his hand. More Cardassian transmissions, O'Brien suspected. Garak looked up when O'Brien entered, and seemed quite surprised. "Chief," he said, "can I do something for you?"

"I don't know," O'Brien replied honestly. "But it's not for me."

Garak set the PADD down on his counter and regarded Chief O'Brien closely. The man's normally light-colored face was red. His eyes spoke of anger, as did his quickened breath and tensed muscles. "Then for our mutual friend, the good doctor?"

O'Brien nodded. "They're going to lock him away."

Garak didn't relish the idea of Bashir being locked away, but he decided, as usual, that it wasn't good to show all one's cards at once. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Captain Sisko's taking him to the Institute tomorrow." O'Brien didn't seem to sense that Garak was stalling, drawing him out. His anger and frustration blinded him to such subtleties. Despite his many assertions to the contrary, Garak liked emotional people. They were easier to manipulate--if manipulation was necessary. He wasn't sure that it was.

Still, best to see all the other man's cards before deciding. "Then he'll be in good hands. Your Federation doctors, I'm sure, will care for him well." He picked up the PADD again and made a show of reading it.

"They won't!" O'Brien exclaimed, taking the PADD and slamming it down on the counter. "They aren't going to try and help him at all. They're just going to lock him away. We can't let them do that."

Garak turned and gave the engineer his full attention. "What would you have us do to the contrary? He's incapable of remaining here as Chief Medical Officer. Neither Doctor Barton nor Counselor Dax have been able to help him. Perhaps this was meant to be. Genetic enhancement is a risky business. He was fine for a while but now he isn't, and he needs full-time care."

O'Brien turned away, but his voice was more controlled when he spoke again. "It's not right, Garak, and it wasn't 'meant to be.' This was done to him deliberately."

Now he sincerely had Garak's full attention. "By whom? And what was done exactly?"

"We're not sure what was done." O'Brien turned back around. "But it was the Dominion that did it. They sabotaged his quarters. It did something to him. And now Starfleet is just going to give up on him. And Sisko's just going to let them."

Now Garak turned away, his mind churning. Why would the Dominion sabotage Bashir and not the rest of the station? And what had they done to him to cause his present condition? He understood Starfleet's reaction. Bashir was genetically enhanced, something they've feared since the days of Kahn and the Eugenics Wars. He wouldn't have become a doctor at all if they had known. But Sisko confused him. Why would Sisko give up so easily?

But most importantly Garak's mind was trying to come up with alternatives. O'Brien didn't give him time. "We could take him home. To his parents. Tonight. I can get us a runabout."

"That is the first place they'd look," Garak countered, giving up all thoughts of manipulation. He was in. "They won't be content to just let him stay there."

"Well, I don't see you coming up with any ideas," O'Brien threw back.

"But I have, Chief," Garak said. "They want to hold the doctor because of his present condition. But if he wasn't in his present condition, they would have to abide by their past agreement to let him remain." He turned to his counter and pulled up a file on the computer.

O'Brien's brows pulled down over his eyes. "We are going to cure him? We don't even know what's wrong with him. Barton couldn't figure it out. You said that yourself."

"Not us," Garak told him, with a slight smile, "and not Barton." His fingers played on the console until he found the information he wanted. He motioned O'Brien over so that he could see the screen. Listed on it were Bashir's medical records.

"How did you get Julian's medical files?" O'Brien asked. Garak looked at him from the corner of his eye, a sly smile just touching the corners of his mouth. "Never mind." There were some things he preferred not to know. He looked closer at the file Garak had called up. Now that his secret was out, the records in question had been added to Bashir's file.

"I think there's someone better," Garak said, scrolling through the documents. He stopped the screen near the top of the third page. On it was listed a doctor's name and the hospital's location. Adigeon Prime.

Captain Sisko could feel them seething even through his office door. Each of the members of his senior staff--except Worf--had come to his office in turn, hoping to change or at least protest his decision. He turned each of them away. If they wanted to discuss repairs or supplies or war-time docking procedures that was fine. The door to his office was open. But if it was Bashir they wanted to talk about, he'd turn them away. And they seethed. They kept their tongues, but they glared at him before turning sharply back toward Ops.

It was a hard thing, turning them away like that. They would think him cold or perhaps uncaring. They wouldn't know that he felt just like they did. He didn't want Julian just pushed aside. It angered him that Starfleet was so willing to give up on him, that they were actually looking for a way to get rid of him.

But he had orders. Strict orders. He also had a plan. That plan would cost him a lot and possibly gain nothing. There was no point in costing anyone else. Just him. And Julian, but Julian had little left to lose. So Sisko carried the burden squarely on his own shoulders, and that was the way it was going to stay.

It was late that night when Chief O'Brien slipped out of bed. He was careful not to wake Keiko. She stirred a bit, but remained asleep. O'Brien walked around the bed and picked up his uniform. He dressed in the living room and stepped out the door. He'd set everything up during the day. Garak would take care of Julian. O'Brien would be the diversion. He hadn't liked it that way, but he understood once Garak had explained it. O'Brien would lose his career over what they'd planned. Garak wasn't in Starfleet. He was likely to be caught and incarcerated for some time, but the repercussions were less permanent for him. Besides, O'Brien had a family to think about, Garak had reminded him. So O'Brien headed for the turbolift.

"Ops," he ordered, once it arrived. The officer on duty seemed surprised to see him there. "I just couldn't sleep," O'Brien told him. "Thought I'd check on that EPS conduit that was giving me problems earlier. Don't mind me."

"Sure thing, Chief," the Bajoran replied.

But the timing was perfect and all of Ops went dark before he even reached the engineering pit. "Oh hell," he called, trying to sound fed up. Inside he was cheering and crossing mental fingers.

Nog had been yawning when he stepped out of the turbolift, but he stopped when he heard the noise. It was tapping and beeps. A tricorder, but not a Federation one. Not Bajoran. Cardassian. He edged forward, careful to keep his distance. The corridor was empty and dimly lit. It was late. But the tapping continued. He moved on. There was a short side corridor which led to quarters. Bashir's quarters, where Jake was staying. The tapping was louder there. And then it stopped. Nog peered around the corner just as the door opened. A dark figure slipped through the door. But Nog had seen him. He turned away as the door closed and went back to the main corridor to call for Security.

Garak waited in the darkness and then moved into the bedroom. Bypassing the main door to the quarters had been easy. The bedroom would be harder. He could sedate Bashir easily enough, but Jake was a liability. He'd have to be sedated, too. His eyes had already adjusted to the dim light of Bashir's quarters, and his eyes soon adjusted to the darkness now. Jake's cot was at the other end of the room from Bashir's bed. Bashir's back was to the Cardassian, which would make it that much easier to administer the hypospray. Jake was facing him. He might wake up and recognize him before the drug took effect.

Until that moment, Garak had been as silent as the darkness. The hypospray itself hissed quietly, no more than a short breath of air. Jake stiffened once but Garak held his eyes closed until the boy went limp again.

In Ops, O'Brien made a good show of working feverishly to bring Ops' systems back online. But everything had been planned to the smallest detail. Each system would come up in turn as he and the other technicians worked on it. But he would choose the order. Communications had already been brought back online and the captain called. But it wouldn't matter. Security sensors to the runabout pad would matter.

But he wasn't expecting the call that came. It was Keiko. Kirayoshi was burning up. He'd been vomiting, too. She was going to take the kids to the Infirmary where Doctor Girani could examine the baby. O'Brien had a moment's thought about Garak and Julian.

"It's alright, Chief," Nolin said. "We can take it from here. You're off duty anyway."

And O'Brien knew they could. They had to. His children meant more. "I'll meet you there," he told his wife. He gave one look back at Ops before the turbolift lowered. Garak was on his own.

Sisko was annoyed at first when the call came so late at night. But he was instantly awake when he heard the message. Garak had broken into Bashir's quarters. Jake was in Bashir's quarters. Most of Sisko's mind told him that Garak wouldn't hurt either of them. But there was another part of his mind that told him never to make assumptions about the Cardassian. He told Odo to send a Security team, but not to enter the quarters. He would go himself.

Garak was packing Bashir's bag when he heard the door open. He thought about hiding but it was too late. A tall figure stood in the doorway. He recognized its voice. "Lights," Sisko called. The computer dutifully obeyed and the light stung Garak's eyes. "Garak," Sisko said. He motioned with a finger for Garak to follow.

Garak saw no other course of action so he went out to the living room. But Sisko went further than that and ushered him into the corridor. "What do you think you were trying to do?" There was more light out there, and Garak guessed that Sisko did not exactly trust him.

"More than you," Garak shot back.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sisko took a step closer, and Garak almost worried that the captain would hit him again.

"I was trying to help him," Garak replied, deeming that the truth wouldn't hurt. It might even persuade Sisko to bend his orders and let the Cardassian finish what he'd started. "You were only going to ship him off."

Garak caught the slight shift in Sisko's eyes. "I have orders," he said. "I don't like them, but I have to obey them. Bashir is a Starfleet officer. He'd understand."

"No," Garak argued, "he wouldn't. He'd break any order if it meant helping a patient."

"But we can't help him," Sisko contended. "We've tried everything we can think of. The Institute might have better luck."

"How easy it would be to simply wash your hands of it all," Garak pushed. "They won't even try. Have they helped the other genetically enhanced patients they have?" He heard footsteps pounding up the corridor behind him.

"I'm sorry, Garak," Sisko said, nodding to the Security officers. "I've done what I could. My runabout leaves in the morning," he told the others. "Hold him until I'm away."

"Any formal charges, sir?" one of them asked. The manacles were cold against Garak's wrists and he waited for the captain's answer. Until morning. He'd have no way to tell O'Brien that it hadn't worked.

"No," Sisko replied evenly, and Garak thought he detected a hint of sadness there. "Just hold him until morning."

Keiko kissed him on the cheek before returning with the yawning Molly to their quarters. Miles O'Brien remained, pacing the floor of the Infirmary with his crying child tucked in his arms. Doctor Girani had treated him, but wanted to keep him overnight. O'Brien volunteered to stay. He would have been up anyway, though he didn't tell Keiko that. She left with Molly and the nurse walked away. The light in the room was dimmed and Kirayoshi calmed down. He still wasn't asleep, but O'Brien was able to lay him down. He made a note to check on Garak once the baby was asleep. But Yoshi continued to squirm and coo, refusing to sleep.

It was the bustle that woke him, more than the hand on his arm. He opened his eyes. Yoshi was asleep, and Kira was standing in front of O'Brien. She was wearing her dress uniform. Behind her were nurses walking this way and that. They were in dress uniform, too. "Chief," Kira said, "you have to hurry. I'll stay here with Yoshi. Go home and change."

"What's going on?" O'Brien asked.

"Julian's leaving," she told him. "Soon." O'Brien, still groggy, stood up and gave her his seat. "Oh, you won't believe what happened," she added.

He felt his stomach drop. He was almost afraid to ask. "What?"

"Garak was arrested last night," she said, as she patted Yoshi on the back. "He broke into Julian's quarters." She met O'Brien's eyes with hers. "He said he wanted to help him. But Captain Sisko stopped him."

Julian sat alone in his quarters. Jake was there, but he was in the other room. Julian was sitting on the couch with Chester--whom O'Brien had agreed could stay for a while. The cat slept, but Julian didn't. He couldn't. He sat on the couch, clutching one of its pillows in his hand. He even visualized ripping it apart in frustration, but he didn't do it. He just sat, staring at the replicator on the wall simply because that was what was across from him. Jake was packing in the other room, and Julian still knew enough to know whose things were whose. Jake was packing Julian's things.

The door chimed, though he didn't know it was the door. "Jay!" he called out, because that's as much of Jake's name as he could manage. Jake was already coming out of the room though. Julian watched him cross the room, but Jake never looked back at him. He only looked down.

The door opened and Captain Sisko was there. "Is he ready?" he said, but Julian didn't understand.

"He can't be ready," Jake said. He sounded sad. "He knows he's going away though. I can tell. He's not happy about it."

"I can't help it, Jake." Julian's father had had that tone of voice before. When Dad and Mom would argue, he'd sound like that. Usually, it was because of Julian. Julian clinched the pillow in his other hand and was surprised when he felt the fabric rip. "I have orders. They'll take good care of him there. He'll be safe."

"Why can't he go home?" Jake asked. He hadn't even let the captain in the door. "He has a family. If it were me, I'd want you to send me back to Grandpa's." Julian put the pillow aside before he ripped it more. Jake sounded like his mother. She would stick up for him.

Captain Sisko sighed. "You're not in Starfleet, Jake. Can I please come in now?"

Jake moved aside so the captain could enter. He faced Bashir and Julian watched him talk. "Hello, Julian."

But Jake wasn't finished. "What if he resigned?"

The captain looked like he was getting angry, but he took a deep breath and spoke calmly. "It's not that simple," he said. "He didn't resign."

Captain Sisko was still watching Bashir when he said that. His annoyance with Jake faded quickly when he realized that it was his own fault. Julian had wanted to resign. He talked him out of it, promising to help him. And what had he done? Nothing, though he had tried. Julian was worse off now, barely comprehending anything around him, certainly not speech. And now he couldn't even decide for himself what was to happen to him. He hadn't resigned and so the choice wasn't his. "He didn't resign," he repeated. "I'm sorry," he said to Bashir. Julian just stared blankly back at him.

Sisko took another deep breath. "Get his things, Jake. We have to go."

Jake glared at him once and Sisko tried to ignore it. Jake did what he was told and disappeared into the bedroom. He came back out with a bag over his shoulder. "Here," he said sharply, handing the bag to his father. He had a smaller bag with him, too. He knelt down near the coffee table and began gathering up Bashir's paper and pens. "You can take these with you," he said. He shot a look back up to Sisko. "He can take them, can't he?"

"Yes, Jake," Sisko replied, deciding it was just best to endure the attitude. "He can take whatever he wants." He almost thought perhaps Bashir had understood that last remark because he reached for the cat then. "Except for the cat." But Julian just patted it and rubbed its ears. Saying good-bye. He knew.

"He draws pictures," Jake told the captain.

"I know," Sisko said.

But Jake wasn't done. "And you'll have to draw pictures, too. It's the only way he can communicate. He can communicate, you know."

"Okay, Jake." Jake was just putting the last pen into the bag. He handed that bag to Julian and took his arm so that he'd stand up. "Ready?" Sisko asked.

Jake wasn't as angry when he spoke again. "Don't touch him to wake him up," he said. "He nearly snapped my wrist once."

"I'll try and remember."

Now Jake sighed. "I wanted to help him."

Sisko put his hand on his son's arm. He wanted to hug him, but thought that just might confuse Bashir. "You did, Jake."

Jake nodded and then turned back to Bashir. He took the doctor's hand so that he could shake it. "Good-bye," he said.

"Bye," Bashir whispered back. He did know.

Sisko waited until they were finished and then took Bashir's arm, turning him toward the door. The door opened in front of them, but Jake stopped them before they could leave. "I almost forgot Kukalaka!" he said. For a second, Sisko thought he was having problems understanding himself. But Jake ran back to the bedroom and came out with a stuffed bear. "He's had this whole life," he explained. "He should have it with him."

Bashir held out his hand for the bear and then tucked it gently into the bag that he carried. Then he stepped out the door. Sisko led him to the corridor that would take them to the runabout pad.

As he turned the corner, however, he was very surprised to see it lined with people. There were Bajorans as well as Starfleet, all in dress uniform. He recognized some of them. Nurses, medtechs, and a few other doctors. But there were others as well, and Sisko knew he'd find the senior staff at the head of the line. They said nothing. They only stood in parade rest as he and Bashir passed. He practically had to pull Bashir along, as Julian was continually looking behind him, obviously quite interested in the spectacle.

Sisko was right. Kira and Dax and O'Brien were all near the runabout, standing next to Nog. Even Doctor Barton and Martok were there. They still said nothing. They didn't even seethe. Sisko passed them and then stopped just in the door.

There was a loud thump and he turned to see everyone coming to attention together. They saluted, and Sisko knew it was to Bashir and not himself. He hung back and gave Julian time to respond. Bashir was watching. He was aware of them, but Sisko didn't know if he knew what he was supposed to do. He watched Bashir look down the line of them, perhaps fifty people or more. Then he waved. He didn't salute. He just waved good-bye, like a child, and then stepped into the runabout.

Sisko went with him and let the door close. Let them hate me, he thought. They don't know any better.

It was a long trip, though not by the usual standards. Two days wasn't all that long. But it was when there was no one to talk to even when you weren't alone. Bashir sat in the Operations seat, though he never raised his hands off his lap. His bag of pens was beside him, but he didn't draw. He just stared, and it was unnerving. He was staring at Sisko. At first, he tried to ignore it. But six hours later, Bashir was still staring, and the weight of it seemed to be boring a hole into his skull.

Sisko checked the runabout's course and the proximity alarm and then turned to face the doctor. "What?" he finally said, knowing that Bashir wouldn't answer. Sisko stared back, and then he saw it. It wasn't a blank stare at all. There was something in Bashir's eyes that he hadn't ever seen directed at himself before. Distrust.

"It's not what you think," Sisko tried explaining, hoping his voice and his gestures would carry some of the message through. "We're not going to the Institute. Not yet anyway. I'm not ready to give up on you."

Bashir didn't waver, and the distrust didn't go away. But he did speak, with some effort. "Tire," he said. "Sl--"

"You're tired?" Sisko asked, hoping he'd understood. Then he realized that Bashir probably couldn't find his way to the compartments in the back. He almost wished he'd brought Jake along. Jake had been with Bashir throughout his slide. He knew what Bashir could and couldn't understand, what he could do himself and what he needed help with. Sisko should have asked more questions when he had the chance.

Sisko led him to one of the back compartments where he'd put Bashir's larger bag. Bashir seemed fine with that and turned his back on Sisko the moment he saw the bag. Sisko returned to the cockpit to check on the runabout. He boosted the power to sensors and hoped there was nothing in his way. The course he filed with the station and with Starfleet Command would take him along the periphery of the sector in the hopes of avoiding any Dominion or Cardassian vessels. Sisko had shorted that course just a bit though. He needed the time to make his detour. As it was, he'd shaved sixteen hours off the trip already, but he boosted speed now, bringing the runabout up to maximum warp. There was a greater risk going this way, but he'd already made up his mind. Besides Adigeon Prime lay along this course. The Institute would have to wait its turn.

O'Brien pushed the cat off his lap and stood up. Yoshi was home again and doing well. He was playing with Molly. "Going somewhere?" Keiko asked. Her eyes told him that she was worried about him.

"I just need to go for a walk," he told her as he headed for the door.

"I could go with you," she offered. "Jake could watch the kids."

He appreciated her offer and he wanted her close, but he had someone else to see. Garak was released just after the runabout left, but O'Brien had not tried to contact him yet. "I just need to be alone for a bit," he lied. He stepped out the door, and it began to close behind him.

"Say hello to Garak for me," Keiko called.

Julian tossed and turned, but always returned to the same position, on his right side. In his mind he was swimming, fighting a current while the lightning flared around him. The river dried leaving him on a bleak shore. All around him he saw only white. Then it transformed, becoming shapes, dirty shapes marring the brightness. Buildings. Buildings he knew. And men. He was on his hands and knees, having come from the water that was no longer there. He tried to stand, but fell, his hands and feet slippery with mud. He rubbed his hands on his striped coat and walked unevenly toward the buildings.

Lightning still fired around him, but, when he looked, he saw that it wasn't in the sky. It was draped in lines across the horizon, surrounding the buildings and himself. There was no way past it. He kept on toward the building. The was no lightning in the building. The building would be safe. The door stung his hand as he touched it. A small splinter of wood was lodged in his palm. He ignored it and threw open the door. The building was crowded with men all dressed in stripes like him. Some of them looked like Garak, with ridges around their eyes and on their necks. Some looked like elves, with pointed ears, but they were too tall.

One was a woman. She stood by the door. "Someone's coming," she said.

Bashir tried to ask her what she meant but he couldn't make the words come out. He couldn't even think of the words. He only thought he should know what she said.

The door burst open and Bashir saw boots. Shiny black boots that showed him his own face. He looked up. Black uniforms with tubes of white liquid coming out of the chest and going into the necks of the wearers. There were two of them. They were horrid, with horns and ridges that weren't like Garak's. Bashir was afraid. They stepped aside and another man became visible. He wore black, too, but not like the horrid ones with the shiny boots. He had blond hair and he smiled.

His eyes were black to match his clothes, and he stepped forward toward Bashir. Bashir looked to the others for help. But they were gone now, and he was alone with the blond man. The man stepped closer, and Bashir tried to move away. But he couldn't move his legs. The man reached out his hand, his fingers spread. Bashir wanted to scream for help but he couldn't find his voice. He couldn't move at all. The hand reached toward him, toward his chest. But then it grabbed his arm.

He could move then and he took hold of the hand and pushed the man off his feet. He fell off his own feet and he felt dizzy. He closed his eyes and opened them. The building was gone, replaced by smooth walls. Sisko replaced the blond man, and he grimaced in pain. "You're hurting me," he said, but his voice was calm.

Bashir let go of his hand and Sisko rubbed it. They were both on the floor. Sisko sat up and rubbed his shoulder. Julian pushed away from him, running into the bed behind him. He was angry. Sisko had touched him while he was sleeping. He didn't like that. "D--" He struggled to find the word, but it wasn't there.

Sisko stood and offered a hand toward him, but Bashir pushed it away. "D--" he tried again. He stood on his own and sat back down on the bed. He tried the word again, but it wouldn't come.

"You were having a nightmare," Sisko said, his words all a jumble to Bashir.

Bashir didn't care what Sisko had said. He wanted to speak. He wanted to hear his own thoughts as more than mumbled syllables. He wanted to know where he was and why he wasn't in his quarters with Chester. But none of that would come out. So he picked up the pillow and threw it, wishing it were something heavier.

The pillow hit Sisko square in the nose. "I see your hand-eye coordination hasn't been affected," he said, though the humor was lost on Bashir who was just remembering that he had shoes. Sisko saw him looking at the foot of the bed and beat him to it. "I think I'll take these and just go back to the cockpit. I'm sorry I woke you. Jake warned me. I should've listened."

Now without his shoes or the pillow, Julian gave up and threw himself back down on the bed. He rolled over so his back was to Sisko. He heard a sound and when he looked again the room was empty. He closed his eyes. He didn't need a pillow.

In a few minutes, he was asleep again, floating down the river while the lightning flashed.

Sisko rubbed his shoulder where it had come into contact with the wall. Bashir was fast. It must have been some nightmare. Jake hadn't told him about nightmares. But it made sense, Sisko supposed. Bashir had reacted badly because of his nightmare, lashing out at what he perceived as a threat within the dream. Sisko would let him sleep.

The sensors showed nothing and Sisko leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers against the console. It was still going to be a long trip. He could have used some company, but he'd already made that choice. I'll have company on the return trip, he chided himself. I'll have Julian to talk to. He reminded the computer to wake him at 0600 or when a ship came into sensor range. Then he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

When he awoke again, it wasn't because of the computer or the sensors. Julian was staring at him. He had his pad of paper in his hands, and he looked as if he wanted to say something. "Computer," Sisko said, "what time is it?"

"It is 0555 hours," the computer droned. Bashir looked up as if trying to see who had spoken. He hardly seemed like the same man who had thrown him to the ground the night before.

"What is it, Julian?" Sisko asked, reaching tentatively for the pad. Bashir let him have it, and Sisko turned it over so he could see what Bashir had drawn. Sisko was surprised by his talent. The picture had an almost text-book quality, and it was immediately recognizable. Earth.

Bashir pointed to it and then pointed toward the forward viewscreen. Sisko forced the guilt he felt away. He was trying to help. This was better than going home. He shook his head. "No, Julian, we're not going to Earth."

Bashir snatched the paper away again and turned his chair toward the bow. He was angry. He was less able to hide such things now, Sisko realized. He had always been an emotional person, but he always managed to control his anger. And, considering he'd only thrown a pillow last night, Sisko assumed he could still control it. He looked down at Julian's feet. No shoes.

"They're over there," Sisko said, getting Bashir's attention. He pointed to the shoes, which were sitting on one of the other chairs. "They're yours," he added when Bashir didn't make any show of understanding. Bashir looked at the shoes and then back to Sisko. He didn't understand.

Sisko stood and picked up the shoes. He handed them to Julian and that seemed to finally make sense to him. He set his pad on the console and put the shoes on. Then he picked up the pad again and resumed staring at the forward viewscreen. It's going to be a long trip, Sisko thought for the fifteenth time.

The rest of the day went by quietly. There was a slight scare when the long-range sensors picked up a Jem'Hadar vessel. But it did not appear to have noticed them. The ship went on its way, and the runabout went unharassed along its own course. Julian remained silent. He didn't draw and he didn't respond when Sisko asked if he was hungry. Sisko tried drawing a crude rendition of a plate of food, but Bashir wouldn't look at it. Sisko was starting to think that Bashir had gone catatonic. But he ate what was set before him, and Sisko realized he was just holding a grudge.

Sisko remembered once joking that he liked Bashir better quiet, but now he regretted those words. He'd give just about anything to have Bashir talk then so that he could explain to him why he wasn't taking him to Earth. Or so that Bashir and he could discuss that distance between them. Why the distrust? Didn't Bashir know him well enough after six years together to know that Sisko wouldn't intentionally harm him?

Bashir stared at the main viewscreen, watching the streaks of light fly by. It was a familiar sight, one that brought him pleasure. Captain Sisko was beside him at the helm and that was a memory, too. He was trying to sleep while Sisko was speaking words he couldn't make out. He spoke himself, and remembered that what he said was funny. But the memory was a frightening one.

He changed it, remembering other times. Jadzia Dax sitting where he was sitting now and Kira where Sisko was. He was standing between them, smiling at the streaks out the window. Kira and Dax were laughing. And that was the time he met Ekoria. He remembered her, too. He remembered the baby and Trevean. And he remembered putting Ekoria under the dirt and drawing letters on the ground. That was a sad memory.

He tried the runabout again and remembered Garak sitting in Sisko's seat beside him. They were anxious and scared, but also happy and relieved. A brilliant swirl of color blossomed before them and they went inside of it. Ribbons of light and sparkles rushed past them until the swirl appeared again and returned them to blackness and home. He saw himself returning to questioning faces and smiles.

He remembered his quarters and how he felt uneasy there seeing the new uniform in the closet. It was different, like the one Sisko was wearing now except a different color underneath. He remembered the uniform, his uniform, standing in the Infirmary, with people on beds smiling at him. He remembered so much, even if only in pictures. He remembered and it made him sad. He looked at his arms with the sleeves of the jacket he was wearing. It was not a uniform. There were no colored bands near his wrists. He looked at his shoes and at Sisko's, and they were not the same.

It was the first time Bashir had moved in hours, and Sisko was puzzled by it. Bashir looked at each of his arms and then at Sisko's. He looked at his own feet and then Sisko's. The captain didn't know what to make of it, but since it did little good to discuss it, he tried putting it out of his mind. It wasn't hard. Another ship came into range. But, thankfully, it was Romulan. It was not a threat.

To pass the time, he tried to come up with excuses he could give Starfleet for disobeying orders. Of course, all of his excuses counted on Bashir being re-enhanced. Which was something he couldn't tell Starfleet command. Genetic enhancement was just as against the law now as it was when Bashir was a child. No, it would have to be a miraculous cure, a spontaneous thing brought on by some anomaly they'd run into which would also explain their tardiness. But it had to be convincing. Now he wished he'd brought Garak into his plan there in the corridor instead of having him put into custody. Garak was the best liar he knew. Except Bashir, though to be fair, Bashir hadn't so much lied as he had just neglected to admit the truth. It was a subtle difference, but it set him distinctly apart from Garak.

When Bashir fell asleep in the chair beside him, Sisko decided that the trip wasn't quite long enough. He still hadn't come up with a totally convincing lie, and they would reach the Adigeon system in just over seven hours. Sisko thought about waking Bashir and leading him to a bed in the back, but he decided against it, remembering the bruise on his shoulder. He yawned and set the computer to wake him as before. Then he followed Bashir's example, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes.

Where Julian's dream the night before had been bright with the white of snow, this time it was dark. It was night and the changeling was there. It snarled and spoke to him in mumbles. It dragged him from one place to another, from where Max was to the barracks that he shared with Tain and Martok, to the isolation cell and the darkness of the cellar. And then it left him alone. Darkness.

In his dream, Julian stood and touched the walls, running his hands along the entire periphery of the room. But he felt nothing but cold cement and flat metal. There was nothing in the room except himself and the darkness.

He sat down in the center of it and waited. He waited for someone to come or for something to happen. Dreams were always changing and rarely stood still. But this one seemed to be locked in place. So he waited.

In time he could hear sounds. Skittering. No voices, no footsteps. The door to the cell never opened. But the skittering came anyway, closer and closer, from every side as if the walls had fallen away.

He turned his head this way and that trying to see the source of the sound. But there was only the blackness and the sound. Something brushed against his leg. It was furry, like Chester but not as soft. Another one brushed his other side. Another was behind him, and it stepped on his hand, leaving a small prick from its claw.

Julian jerked his hand up but the movement startled the things he still could not see. They pushed against him, growling and fighting with each other. Something sharp and painful bit into his arm. He stood up and tried to back away, but they were behind him and he fell, hitting his head against the wall. There was more pain then, as they bit his legs, his hands, his face. He screamed. But he did not wake up. He'd learned to sleep through such things. They tore at him, ripping the flesh from limbs. Their teeth penetrated his cheeks and lips and even his eyes.

It wasn't until he stopped screaming that he awoke, gasping not for breath, but for light. But his eyes wouldn't work. Awake, he was allowed more than the dream, but the light was dimmed, the streaks of light on the viewscreen impossible to see. He turned his head and saw a form in black. There was only a little color to be seen on it, and he thought maybe it was Sisko. But it was blurred. He looked at himself, sitting in the chair, and saw the same blurs. He held up a hand in front of his face, but he couldn't make it clear. He couldn't even see his fingers.

Sisko felt a hand on his arm, but resisted the call to wake up. The tentative voice with its half-formed word was more convincing. "Capt," it said.

Sisko opened his eyes. Julian was still shaking his arm, still calling for him. "I'm up," Sisko told him.

At his voice, Julian jerked his hand away. He held it in front of his own face and shook his head. He touched one of his eyes, and Sisko understood. Bashir couldn't see, at least not very well. Bashir's hand shook. Either he was scared, or that was affected, too, by whatever had happened. Bashir dropped his hand and reached for the small bag that rested at his feet. It took him a few tries to actually touch it. But he managed and lifted it up. He opened it and found his paper. He flipped it open and pressed his hand against one of the drawings. He closed his eyes and dropped his head, letting the pad fall back into the bag. Even that had been taken from him.