Chapter 2
Lt. Commander Endar Alden sat alone in Vic’s lounge with a melancholy disposition that seemed to fill the room and affect the whole crowd of holographic denizens.
Even Vic Fontaine felt down as he finished a third rendition of “We’ll be Together Again.” The holographic lounge lizard glanced solemnly at Alden as the first officer drained yet another double bourbon, his sixth that night, and sighed.
In the nearly two years since Vic had been activated on Deep Space Nine he’d seen some strange and interesting characters walk into his bar, but no one perhaps more interesting than the station’s new executive officer. Vic sensed an incredible eeriness about Alden, but couldn’t put his finger on it. The first officer had a funny way about him; only the day before he was full of wonder and excitement as he sat in the lounge for the first time, accompanied by lounge regular and Vic’s close friend, Julian Bashir. But when he shuffled in only 20 minutes ago he looked about as if the place held too many memories.
Alden seemed a huge mess of memories and emotions to Vic.
Telling his band to take a break, Vic jumped off the stage and made his way to Alden’s table, hoping to get the officer to maybe open up to him. Alden seemed to enjoy the lounge’s atmosphere, and Vic liked the guy, but his depressing nature was killing Vic’s business. He had to try something.
Alden looked up and gave a half-hearted smile. “That was beautiful, Vic. Lots of heart,” he said, breath reeking of alcohol and speech fuzzy.
Vic smiled back and started to sit in the chair to the right of Alden, but the commander gasped and gestured to a chair across from him. Vic moved to the chair. “Thanks, pally. Maybe you’d like to get up and sing the next one with me?”
“Sure, pally,” Alden slurred. “But lemme have another drink first, ‘kay?”
Vic furrowed his brow and breathed in, contemplating how he would do this. Sometimes, Vic, Old Buddy, the most direct course is the best one. “Are you drunk?”
Alden paused, thoughtful. “I think so...” he nodded slowly. “Yup, I am.”
Vic smiled incredulously, shaking his head. “How does a human get drunk on holosuite stuff?”
“That’s a very good question.”
Vic waited a few moments as the waiter brought him his seventh bourbon. “And the answer is...”
“Exactly.”
“I think it’s all in your noggin,” Vic stated firmly, indicating Alden’s head.
The commander pushed Vic’s finger out of the way. “Hey!” he cried out, the pitch and volume of his voice raised. “Leave my noggin out of this. I’m drunk, damnit.”
Vic laughed in frustration. Direct is the best... “I can see that. So what’s eatin’ ya, pally?”
Alden looked up quickly, and then about himself. After a moment he looked back at Vic, confused. “Nothing.”
Vic’s eyes narrowed. “What’s the problem, Endar? Why are you so upset you got drunk on synthetic bourbon?”
Alden tilted his head from side to side, staring at the array of glasses he was arranging into a triangle on the table. Finally he sighed and looked up at Vic. “He left me.”
“Who did?”
Alden sighed and indicated to the chair beside him. “Doc,” he said, exasperated. “Went away. Doc went far, far away.” Then Alden’s voice broke into sing-song. “He left me on a jet plane...”
Looking at the chair and then back at Alden, Vic’s brow furrowed again. “Doc? Oh, Bashir. Where’d he go?”
“Cardassia Prime. He went to help the stupid Cardies,” Alden grunted, his face flushing.
“Now wait a minute, isn’t that kinda racist?” Vic said quickly, noticing tension lines erupting on the commander’s forehead.
“It’s prejudiced too.”
Vic paused for a moment and then sighed. He looked back at the chair and realized it was the same chair Julian had sat in the other night. He thought back to when Miles O’Brien left the station, and Ezri Dax told Vic that Julian pulled the Alamo program off Quark’s holosuite databanks so that no one could use it ever again.
It was no different. Except Julian and Miles had known each other 7 years, had been through a lot together.
Julian and Alden had only known each other a few hours, not even a whole day. Some obsession, Vic thought. “It’s not the end of the world, pally. You make it sound like he was your best friend or your...”
Alden snapped his head to Vic and glared at him, eyes narrowed. “I’m not that way, Vic.”
“I never said you --” Fontaine said quickly.
“Well I can assure you that I do not harbor any intimate feelings for the doc. He’s not even my type,” Alden retorted, eyes wide.
“I see.”
After draining his glass Alden called for the waiter to bring him another drink. The waiter nodded and asked Vic if he wanted a drink, but Vic declined. He went back to studying at Alden, trying to calculate his next move. The commander played with his empty shot glasses for a while, arranging them into different patterns. Finally he sighed. “It’s just that the doc and you are the only two people I even considered being friends with in a more friendly relationship.” Alden looked up. “Which is pathetic considering one of you ain’t real.”
Vic nodded. “Uh-huh. Maybe I should find someone to walk you to your quarters.” He touched Alden’s arm, but the commander pushed Vic away. The sound of the heavy holosuite doors opening called Vic’s attention to another patron entering the lounge: Ezri Dax.
Vic stood and smiled. The answer to his prayers: someone who might be able to get Alden to leave. Dax looked at Alden and nodded grimly to Vic. Vic excused himself from the table and met Dax.
“How long has he been here?” she asked.
Vic looked back at Alden. “Long enough to get drunk.”
“Where’d he get real liquor?”
Vic answered by gesturing toward the lounge’s bar.
Dax grabbed Vic’s arm and shook her head. “Wait a minute. He got drunk from liquor he got from a bar in a holosuite?”
“You’re asking the wrong person, hon. You’re the shrink.”
“You think it’s psychosomatic?”
“Like I said, you’re the shrink.”
Dax sighed and looked at Alden’s pitiful shape hunched over his shot glass collection and a 9th double bourbon. “Yeah. Well, let the shrinking begin.”
“Wait,” Vic said, grabbing her arm. “Don’t sit in the chair next to him.”
“Why?”
“Because Julian sat there yesterday.”
Looking puzzled for a moment, Dax glanced at the empty chair to the right of Alden. Then she understood. She nodded solemnly and walked towards Alden, while Vic went back to his stage. He kept a close eye on the two as he waited for his band to come back from break.
Dax walked up to Alden and cleared her throat. “Is this seat taken?” she said softly.
Alden looked up from his glasses, glaring. Dax took a step back and flinched. “It’s there, isn’t it?” Alden snapped.
Vic took a step forward, ready to step between Dax and Alden in case the commander tried to pounce on the petite counselor, but then he straightened and realized that he had to wait and let Dax fend for herself.
Dax straightened and stared at Alden solemnly. “Yes.”
“Well then it’s not taken.”
“May I sit down?”
Alden sighed, shaking his head. “Yeah sure. No one else is sitting there.”
Vic breathed a sigh of relief that Dax must have heard, because she looked his way. She smiled at the singer and sat down, pulling herself in. “Do you come here often?”
“No. Just all the time. You?” Alden inquired, allowing the leftover liquor in his glass to breathe a bit before taking a swig.
Dax dismissed the question as more sarcasm. “You’re Lt. Commander Alden, aren’t you? I’m Ezri Dax, the station’s counselor.”
“I don’t need a shrink,” Alden said quickly, abruptly pushing his chair out.
Dax put her hand up to stop him from leaving. “Julian told me to get to know you,” she said. “He thought you might like some company.”
Alden’s brow furrowed. “Julian?”
“Dr. Bashir.”
Alden laughed lightly. “Doc’s first name is Julian? Isn’t that like a girl’s name?”
“No, Julian’s a boy’s name. I think Julia or Julianne are girl’s names.”
Alden slumped back in his chair, pouting. “Thanks for the clarif, clarif, clarif -- the explanation.”
Dax tilted her head, trying to look understanding. “Are you okay? You seem a little...intoxicated.”
“I’m drunk too.”
“I see,” she said quietly, dismissing his sarcasm once again.
Alden glared at Dax. “Is there something wrong with that?”
“Well, Commander, the last time you got drunk you caused quite a lot of destruction.”
Alden’s eyes narrowed momentarily in confusion, then he realized. “Hmm? Oh yeah. But that was me angry drunk. I’m not angry drunk now, I’m happy drunk. Or is it depressed drunk? Anyway, I promise no more tearing up places. Scout’s honor.”
Dax nodded and smiled.
“I was one, you know.”
“One what?”
“Scout. Boy scout. Lasted 3 days.”
“Really? What happened?” asked Dax, obviously feigning curiosity. She probably didn’t even know what a boy scout was.
“Picked a fight with the den leader, then I set the hut on fire.”
Dax stopped, eyes widening. Obviously Alden wasn’t interested in really talking, because he kept trying to scare her. Plus his drunken state meant his judgment was impaired. Dax would not get the response she wanted from him right now. She started to get up. “Uh-huh. Commander maybe this isn’t a good time. You seem --”
Alden grabbed Dax’s arm, and she flinched. “No, no, no, no,” Alden said quickly, almost pleading. “This is fine. I’m perfectly fine, you’re perfectly fine. Everything’s going swimmingly.”
Eyeing him suspiciously, Dax took a chance and sit down. A slight pause in the conversation gave her time to think of something to say. “Okay. Well, how do you like it on the station so far?”
Alden slumped in his chair and raised his hand to order yet another drink. “It sucks. But they got a nice holding cell,” he said almost jokingly.
The waiter came up with yet another double bourbon. Alden thanked the waiter, then stopped and asked Dax if she wanted something. She declined and the waiter left. Alden took a swig from his drink, letting out a sigh of refreshment. “Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, the holding cell. I left a good comment in the suggestion box on the way out. Best holding cell I was ever in. Three walls and a forcefield and everything.”
“You’re not happy here?” Dax asked, brow furrowed.
“No,” Alden pouted. “Nobody likes me. Everybody hates me. Why is that?”
“I’m sure they don’t hate you, Commander. But, you know, these things do --”
Alden waved his hand, stopping Dax mid-sentence. “Kira hates me. Security hates me. Quark hates me. The Klingons hate me. The only one who didn’t seem to hate me was the Doc. And Starfleet shipped him off to Cardassia. They hate me too, you know. That’s why I’m here. Hey, Vic, play it again.”
Vic, who had been listening in on their conversation, jumped suddenly. Alden shot Vic a confused glare, and Dax smiled slyly at her friend. Smiling sheepishly, Vic gathered himself, gave Alden a thumbs up and a “sure, Pally” and turned to his small band. The band took up the intro and Vic held up his microphone.
No tears, no fears
remember there’s always tomorrow.
So what if we have to part?
We’ll be together again.
Dax listened to the song, watching Alden from time to time. She smiled, winsome. “I don’t hate you, Commander. I don’t even know you.”
Alden snorted and took another swig of bourbon. “Thanks.”
Sighing, Dax tried another counseling tactic. “Anything special about this song?”
“Nope.”
Dax shrugged, feigning indifference. “Oh. Well, it’s a very pretty song.”
There was a period of silence. Dax watched Vic, and Alden played with the liquor glasses strewn across the table.
Times where I know you’ll be lonesome
Time when I know you’ll be sad,
Don’t let temptation surround you
Don’t let the blues make you bad.
“I think Doc would’ve liked it,” Alden finally said as the band took up the melody from Vic.
Dax looked at Alden curiously. “You seem almost obsessed with him.”
“I told you he never hated me,” Alden retorted, never looking up from his glasses. “We could’ve been friends. Now we’ll never know...”
“Don’t you think you’re blowing this out of proportion? He could be back any week now.” Dax raised her eyebrows. “In the meantime,” she continued dramatically, “maybe you and I could be friends.”
It worked. The first officer looked up, eyes brightening. “Yeah?”
Dax smiled, relieved that she’d finally gotten to Alden. “Sure. When do you go off-duty? We can meet back here and talk some more.”
Alden looked back down sullenly. “You mean I talk and you listen,” he said quietly. “A lovely counselor/patient relationship.”
“Well...I-I, um...” she stammered.
Smiling back reassuringly, Alden waved his hands. “That’s okay, Counselor. I don’t mind talking. I hate listening.”
“Good.”
“I get off at 1900,” Alden responded, gathering up his glasses for the waiter.
Dax looked at her chronometer quizzically, her brow furrowed. “When do you go back to work?”
“In 10 minutes.”
Dax’s eyes widened, imagining Kira’s reaction when a drunken first officer arrived in Ops. “You’re going back drunk?”
The waiter came to take the glasses away, and Alden thanked him. “Naa. I’ve got a theory. If I get drunk on synthehol, then my drunkenness must be synth...synth...not real. That means when I step through the gate I’ll be sober again.”
Puzzled by Alden’s theory, she looked down, eyes narrowing. “Well, um, that makes a lot of sense. I think.”
Alden stood and pushed in his chair. He gestured to Vic, who was still singing. Vic nodded his way and gave a small wave. As he left, the first officer tapped Dax’s shoulder. “By the way. If you believed I was ever a boy scout I have a warp core I’d like to sell you.”
Dax turned around, mouth gaping. She then turned back to Vic, who simply shrugged.
We both have a lifetime before us
for parting is not goodbye,
we’ll be together again.
Kira was running late anyway; add in the usual heavy midday crowds, and she was about twenty minutes late by the time she reached the replimat. The morning had been long; besides the ordinary and ongoing paperwork, the two vedeks had changed their schedules – now it appeared neither of them were coming to the station. They were definitely trying to out maneuver each other. At present, the visits were off, although that could change within the hour.
And of course Alden...well, he complicated things. And Dax was insisting that she thought she could help the man, he was having some problems, but just have patience.
Kira hoped Dax could get through to him enough to make him useful to her. She knew she shouldn’t take it personally, and she should have a little consideration – but dammit, this just screwed up her life even more, for even longer! And what nerve did Starfleet have, sending her an officer like that and telling her she was stuck with him?
There. She’d expressed her anger and frustration, mentally, maybe now she could move along to the patience.
Kasidy Yates was already there, sitting at a table in the corner, with her meal tray already in front of her. Dr. Girani was sitting there too, with a cup of something. The two women were talking animatedly. The colonel felt disappointed – she had been hoping to have a private conversation with Kasidy, and learn more about Vedek Hatha’s vision.
She stopped at the table long enough to exchange greetings and say, “I’ll grab something and be right with you.”
There was a line; it took her nearly ten minutes to get a simple sandwich and a raktajino. It was all she expected to have time for.
By the time she got back to the table, Dr. Girani had left.
“I hope she didn’t leave because of me,” Kira said, actually pleased to have the privacy.
“She wanted to get back to the infirmary – it sounds like she’s got almost as much paperwork as you do, with Julian gone,” Kasidy assured her. “She just wanted to see how I was feeling, and she wants me to stop by before I leave the station so she can confirm it.” She laughed. “I assured her I was feeling great, and if she didn’t believe me, she could look at my dinner!”
Kira reflexively glanced down at her plate – a partially-eaten slice of some kind of roasted meat, a small mound of vegetables, a mixture of cut fruit, bread roll, and half-empty glasses of milk and water – all very healthy-looking. “None of that egg-whatever you were talking about this morning?”
“I prefer that for breakfast. Besides, some things, the replicators never get right.” She nibbled at the red vegetables. “Although they’re not so great on beets anyway. What Benjamin would have done with these...” She shook her head.
“You’re obsessed with food, you know that?” Kira had to laugh, although she, too, couldn’t help recalling a dinner where the Captain had served beets as part of the menu.
“After the last few months, I’m entitled to splurge a little.” Kasidy took a sip of milk and cut another bite of meat. “So, Nerys, did any of today’s problems resolve themselves?”
Kira had to groan. “No. They got worse.”
“Do I want to know how?”
“I doubt it.”
“Is there any way I can help?”
“I doubt that, too,” Kira admitted with a rueful laugh. That was Kasidy, willing to listen and help if she could, but there was nothing she could do about the current station situation. And if Dax was able to get Alden straightened out...well, there was no reason to make her opinion any more publicly known. If he were ever to function as executive officer, the people here would have to trust him. And, she admitted grudgingly, if she showed no trust or respect for him, or acted as though he were incapable of handling his responsibilities at any time, how could the crew on the station and the Defiant show trust and respect for him?
All right, Kira would give him time, and try to be patient, because Dax, and Bashir before her, said he needed and deserved time, and another chance. She didn’t trust Alden, but she trusted them.
“So,” she said, changing the subject, “tell me more about Vedek Hatha.”
A brief smile flashed across her face. “I don’t really know much about him, except for what one hero-worshiping little girl told me – it sounded like you know him better than I do. But I watched him work – they use simple tools, no replicators or transporters; they stay close to the soil. He and his order, they’re not afraid of hard work. From what I understand, they’ve had to do a lot of rebuilding since the Cardassians left. They’ve rebuilt their monastery and enlarged it for the children, and they’ve helped dozens of farmers in the valley to rebuild their homes and farms.”
“Really.”
“And it sounds like it was all under his direction – they were a cloistered order, but he’s got his people out in the local villages more than they ever were before.”
She paused for a bite of roll; Kira nibbled on her sandwich, and decided to get right to the point.
“Did he tell you anything else? About his vision?”
“That was all. Of course, I didn’t really ask for details, and he was rather busy with the baseball diamond.”
Not ask...? Well, Kira could understand that. Orb visions tended to be very personal things. And at times, they were only disconnected flashes of things that were hard to understand – scenes, voices, intense feelings – until they came to pass. The fact that Hatha had known Sisko’s child would be a girl, and that Ben would play ball with her on their field, was more than many understood about their visions, if her own experience was any indication. Hatha might not have anything more he wanted to say, at this point, about his vision.
And she knew, too, that Kasidy was still something of a skeptic when it came to Bajoran religion.
“Nothing about how soon Captain Sisko might be coming back – or how old your daughter will be when he teaches her baseball?” she asked anyway.
“No.” Another bite, thoroughly chewed, thoroughly enjoyed. “He seems rather quiet in general,” Kasidy continued after a few more seconds and a drink of milk. “Introspective. I get the idea he has a lot going on in his mind, and he’s still working through it. He’s probably more comfortable talking to himself than to other people.”
“Mmm.” She nodded. “That fits with what Bareil once told me about him.” Another nibble, washed down with raktajino. Determined for focus her mind on the other things going on in her friend’s life, she then forced herself to change the subject. “And how are things going on the Xosa?”
“Things seem to be going just fine. Vinj’s handling the contract, he says there’s no problems with Minister Azin or the ministry, everything’s in order with the paperwork – and he’s kept my quarters open anytime I care to come aboard.”
“Well, he should, it’s your ship!” Kira teased. “And your contract!”
Kasidy laughed. “True, true. There’s a couple of new crewmen, both Bajoran, I got to meet them both. I guess Keller and Stone finally decided to go back to Earth and get married.”
“Did you expect that?”
“I expected it the first day they met! Since then, I guess I’d gotten so used to the idea of them sneaking away to quiet corners for ‘privacy’ during our runs, I’d forgotten they might eventually decide to go.”
“How’d he react to you coming back?” Kira asked. “Vinj, I mean. He must’ve thought he had command of the ship for at least until the baby is born, and probably after.”
Kasidy waived that off. “Vinj is fine. He’s doing a great job. And like I said, he’s keeping my quarters for me! He’s been a good friend.”
She nodded and finished the raktajino. She considered getting another, but decided against it – she’d already had, what, five cups so far today? She wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight!
“Did Vedek Hatha say anything about the election?” She couldn’t help coming back to that; whoever was elected Kai at this point could be their spiritual leader for decades. Even Ungtae, the eldest of the group, was only fifty.
“No. To be honest, I don’t think–”
Kasidy’s tray suddenly slid across the table. Her chair slid too. She grabbed at the edge of the table. One of her glasses tipped, and a thin stream of milk rushed across toward her sandwich.
Kira thought Kasidy looked like she was getting sick again, and hastily let her own chair slide back from the table just in case. Her empty raktajino cup slid off the edge and hit the floor, shattering.
All around her, she heard chairs sliding, silverware clattering, plates and glasses breaking. People were looking around, clutching at each other, faces concerned or downright alarmed. Alert klaxons began going off. Out in the Promenade, she could hear more raised voices.
Kira jumped to her feet and reached for her commbadge, but it beat her to it.
Chirp.
“Kira, here,” she all but shouted over the sudden din in the replimat.
“Colonel,” Nog’s voice came back. “Can you come to Ops? We have a minor situation.”
“Minor? We’ve got alerts going off here! I’m on my way.” She glanced apologetically at Kasidy, already on the move. “I have to go. You’ll be all right?”
“Yes,” the other woman gulped, nodding shakily.
“Good. Later.” She hurried out of the replimat, wondering what was happening this time.
Ezri Dax strolled through the Promenade, in no hurry to get back to her office. The marketplace’s corridors were bursting with life, and worth observing. People of all races coming and going, buying and selling, talking, walking -- and up on the observation deck, people looking out the oversized portholes towards the stars.
In her classes Ezri had been taught to constantly observe people as a means of gauging a patient’s behavior in, and compared to, society. It helped the counselor decide if the patient’s behavior was a conscious act of deviancy, a behavioral or chemical problem.
As in the case of Endar Alden.
Turning the corner towards her room, Ezri called up in her mind everything she remembered Kira and Julian saying about their new first officer, and what she had observed the day before at Quark’s. If it were a conscious act of deviancy, Alden could most likely control his actions, and therefore was a very dangerous man who needed to be locked up somewhere and given counseling, kept from hurting others and himself. If it was a behavioral disorder, more often caused by a traumatic event, he might be saved with counseling and treatment, but not always fully cured. If it was chemical, caused by some sort of imbalance in the brain, and something they could possibly cure, he would be fine. If they couldn’t cure it with medicine or surgery...
Ezri didn’t like to think of that. She had visited the Connor Institute on Deneva IV and observed patients whose chemical imbalances could not be treated. Many did or said things without a real understanding, shuffled about aimlessly, and their eyes...cold and angry, void, distant, dead. Pick an adjective. They weren’t...alive. No happiness, or love, or any sign that there was a conscious, real person there. And the sad part of it was there was no way to help them. Eventually they would all drift away, lost in their own problems, succumbing to despair.
Ezri wiped the thought away as she walked into her office, getting back to the business at hand. Fortunately for her, Endar’s problem wasn’t a conscious act. He really had no idea what he was doing half the time; she could tell that by a sort of frustrated look in his eyes that mingled with his normally cool demeanor to create that rather uneasy glare. The glare everyone flinched at when they first turn to him. Like serenity inverted.
And he was remorseful. He did feel bad; she could tell when she looked at him. He had a child-like nature after he did something wrong that allowed her to pity him, no matter what he did. If he were acting out deliberately he would probably feel no remorse, since he had already thought out what he was going to do. His problem was a behavioral or chemical disorder of some kind.
Mixed with what Ezri could only describe as a serious drinking problem, which also hindered judgment. The alcohol dependency was probably also an effect of the disorder; a means of hiding his problem or a means of justifying it.
Ezri sat down behind her desk and took off her commbadge. She pulled out a small chip inserted at the back of her badge and placed it on a hand-held transcriber with an isolinear rod jutting out of the bottom. “Computer, begin transcribing,” she said quietly, and the computer bleeped as it quickly transcribed the conversation.
Ezri found that the easiest way to observe was to record everything said, and she wanted to do that without really being seen. She had her badge modified a few months ago to register noises with a double tap. It was spying, but it was thorough and got the job done.
Many depression and mood disorders could be considered for Alden, and many of them were chemical, which narrowed the possibilities considerably. Ezri was fairly certain whatever this was it was not chemical, or Alden definitely would have been identified as having this problem or that and been treated at an earlier age. This was the effect of some traumatic experience, perhaps something that had happened early in the war, or maybe something just before it.
While the recorder continued to transcribe Ezri pulled out a PADD and quickly jotted down some of the events of the past few days: Alden’s cold indifference when he first met Kira, the fit he threw in her office, the fight in Quark’s, his encounter with Julian, his conversation with Ezri. Unfortunately she didn’t have all the details of those occasions, and before she could consider any possibility for diagnosis she’d have to make more in-depth observations with witnesses, in particular Kira.
The computer bleeped again, signifying it had finished transcribing the conversation. Ezri pulled out the isolinear rod and inserted it into a blank PADD. She pressed a few buttons the conversation appeared. Ezri sat back and rubbed her eyes, trying to get herself into the correct mindset. The hardest part of being a counselor was remaining objective while keeping her compassion for the patient. But then, every caregiver of some kind probably felt the same. Without compassion or objectivity a patient can get hurt.
Ezri took a few moments to do some quick breathing exercises before returning to her work. Her eyes closed, she drew in several short breaths before a long exhale. After several minutes she opened her eyes and looked down at her work. “Computer, begin recording data: case file number 3762: Lt. Commander Endar Alden,” she ordered the computer.
“Acknowledged, begin recording,” the computer responded.
“Commander Alden has displayed incredibly erratic behavior since his arrival on the station, which does not quite fit with his conduct prior to transfer. His record the past year has been impeccable,” she stated, calling up Alden’s personnel file on her computer, “but his record prior to the past year is horrendous. Alden has 12 reprimands, has transferred to six different ships, and was demoted once for improper treatment of a prisoner of war between 2373-2375 alone. He earned 2 reprimands in 2372 for defying the orders of a superior officer. He also spent 20 days in the brig for --” Ezri paused and squinted at the screen, not fully believing -- despite her better judgment -- what she was reading, “-- punching out the first officer while on the Westmoreland.” Ezri sighed and sat back.
“What doesn’t make sense is that he’s a decorated officer. He’s an enlisted soldier who received his field commission for bravery in the Battle of Ajilon IV against the Klingons. He has 4 commendations and was awarded the Starfleet Medal of Honor. So what would make a highly decorated officer suddenly become deviant? Then he’s okay for a year, and since his arrival on DS9 displays the same erratic behavior he had two year ago. What is provoking him?”
Ezri sat back and rubbed her eyes, mouth tired from talking. “Contact any former commanding officers still alive, or anyone else close to him. Interview Colonel Kira and document any instances where his behavior turns, specific defense mechanisms or symptoms of possible behavior disorders. Also contact Dr. Bashir on same note. Continue to observe alcohol dependency and behavior during and after consumption. It’s not the main problem but could be a symptom or an enhancer of his problem.”
Tired, Ezri went to her replicator. “Fanalian toddy, hot.” The swirling light illuminated the replicator plate as a steaming mug materialized. As if by magic, Ezri thought with a smile. Ezri eagerly took the cup, blew on the rim and took a sip, the spicy liquid warming her insides as it went down.
Feeling renewed, she sat back down and read over what the computer had transcribed. Not sure of what else to say until she spoke to Endar in a more ideal setting, she saved and ended the recording. She had more to say, but she would wait. She sat back in her chair. Taking another sip of her toddy, Ezri closed her eyes, allowing the warmth to run through her body...
She sat on the wood floor before a fireplace, snow falling heavily outside the huge bay window. Ezri curled into a ball, trying to keep warm, pulling the sleeves of her huge shirt over her hands and folding them into her arms. Feeling a nudge next to her, Ezri looked up into a steaming toddy, held by Julian Bashir, who looked quite warm in a deep green turtleneck sweater, a dark stubble on his chin and his hair ruffled. He smiled warmly and handed her the mug, which Ezri drank from heartily. Julian put his own mug beside them and pulled a huge blanket off the couch. Then, sitting on the floor, he wrapped the blanket around the two of them and pulled Ezri close, his chin resting on her head.
“What are you thinking, my love?” he whispered.
Ezri sighed, pressing closer to his chest. “How much I miss you.”
“You’re lying, Ezri. Don’t you think I know you by now?”
Ezri smiled sheepishly and allowed her fingers to creep up the back of his head. “How I can save Endar. He’s a troubled person. He needs help. I’ve never dealt with anyone like him before, and certainly not a Starfleet officer.”
“I know you worry about him. And me. But try to understand that you can’t save everyone.”
“Don’t remind me,” Ezri groaned, closing her eyes. “I can’t stand it when you’re right.”
“Well, that’s something you have to live with,” he teased back, nudging his cheek on her head, “but remember that I’m always here. Just like everyone else is. You may not be able to help Endar, but that won’t matter to us.”
Ezri suddenly opened her eyes, puzzled. “Julian, what are you talking about? What makes you think I won’t be able to help him?”
“Because before you can help people, you must be able to help yourself. And you haven’t been able to do that yet.”
Ezri pulled away from Julian and glared at him. “What is that supposed to mean?” Julian only smirked and touched Ezri’s chin. She pulled away from his touch, confusion and frustration flaring in her eyes. “What do you know that I don’t?”
Julian’s smirk widened. “All in good time, my love. Now, be brave. Kira’s calling you.”
“Kira? I don’t hear her.”
“She is. It’s time to wake up, my love.”
“But, Julian I don’t --”
A fierce rumbling vibrated through the station, the crash of porcelain to the metal deck snapping Ezri back to reality. Realizing she’d dozed off, she smoothed out her hair and uniform instinctively, throwing on her comm badge. She looked down at her shattered cup as what was left of the toddy ran through the crevices of the floor. Klaxons sounded, and red light bathed the Promenade outside her door. She bolted from her chair, nearly hitting the deck, stood and ran out of her office, using the wall for a brace.