Chapter Text
Butterfly Lost
By Ivycat
To understand this story, it is helpful if you have seen the episode “Chrysalis,” the 155th episode of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine (season 7, episode 5). It is also complemented, though not required, by “Statistical Probabilities” (season 6, episode 9), Sarina’s first appearance. All characters belong to Paramount and the Star Trek franchise.
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Chapter 1: The Briefing
It was four days before the information reached the station—four normal days marked only by their uneventfulness.
The morning briefing had been ordinary. Senior officers sat in quiet half-alertness, some with steaming mugs in hand. Kira conducted the meeting.
"And last of all, we have a report that a shuttle that left four days ago never reached its first destination. Survivors claim to have been attacked by a Maquis ship. Only three escape pods were found; the rest are presumed lost in the explosion."
"That doesn’t sound like the Maquis," Ezri said.
"No. They don’t usually attack Federation unless we’re directly aiding the Cardassians," Kira agreed.
"Any responsibility claimed?" Worf asked.
"No. Nothing so far."
"Cargo?" Sisko asked.
"None. Just passengers heading to the Corgal Research Center."
Kira broke off as Bashir lurched to his feet. His face had gone pale.
"What did you say?" he asked, voice choked.
Kira hesitated. "I’ll check the survivors list. Sarina was on that shuttle, wasn’t she?"
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The room blurred for Bashir. He heard nothing more of the meeting. Dread filled his stomach like lead.
What if she hadn’t left? What if he’d been more careful, more reserved? Would she still be alive?
Sisko’s voice cut through the haze. “Doctor. The meeting is over.”
Julian looked up. The room was empty.
Outside, Kira waved him over. O’Brien arrived at her side first. One look at their faces and Bashir knew.
He didn’t need the words. He held up his hand. “Don’t say it.”
Sarina was dead.
In that moment is seemed as if Bashir's life shattered into a thousand pieces.
He stopped in his tracks, holding out his hands to stop their words.
He did not need them to say anything. He already knew.
Sarina was dead.
Sarina with her open smile and child-like wonder at the world surrounding her. Her innocence and kind heart. She was so young. Gone.
The blood drummed in his body, suddenly seeming very loud. A tide of emotion so overwhelming that it physically hurt swept over him.
A hand was on his arm, guiding him to a chair. He thought it was Kira.
He blinked, uncomprehendingly.
Dead.
Sarina had died.
He had to get away from all the people staring at him, he needed to be alone.
"If you will excuse me I will go to the infirmary."
"No, Julian, I am sure they can do without you for a few hours."
This was from O'Brian.
"NO, I have to go.I have patients to see, I need to keep myself busy."
"Are you sure...?
He brushed off their concerns. Did they not see he had to keep active or go mad?
"I agree."
That was Sisko, when had he come in the room?
"And if you need it to be, that is an order, Doctor."
"I…I see."
His voice was too high pitched. His vocal chords hurt from the effort of suppressing his tears. Where was this coming from? He did not cry.
Swallowing hurt.
"I will take care of notifying sickbay." Kira said.
He nodded in thanks and stepped towards the turbo lift. O'Brian accompanied him, he was not sure if he was making sure Julian actually went to his quarters or if he was just on his way back to any project he had been working on.
Miles turned to him his face clearly showing his sorrow for Julian's loss.
"I am so sorry, Julian. I know how much she meant to you."
"If you want you could come to dinner, Keiko is cooking up tempura, I know how much you like her tempura."
"Thank you. But I don't…." Bashir's voice trailed off.
It was hard to talk. There was the overwhelmingly loud sound of his heart pushing everything else aside.
(Tha thump*, tha* thump*, tha* thump**.**)
It was syncopated in time to the thoughts in his head.
(Sarina is dead*. Sarina is* dead*. Sarina is* dead.)
"Well, if you change your mind, or just need anything, I am here." O'Brian was too worried for Julian to deliver his offer in the gruff manner he adopted in the face of any emotions.
There was no response; Julian stepped off the turbo lift and onto the promenade. He had no set destination. He wandered to places he had been with Sarina, seeing a faint image of her, a ghost of his memories. But soon they faded and scattered like dust in the wind.
Then he turned back to head to his quarters passing the tailor shop.
"Ah, Doctor! Good morning to you! Are we still on for lunch?" Garak inquired, smiling.
His smile faltered and disappeared as Bashir walked by with no acknowledgement of his question.
Garak tilted his head.
This was very curious; Bashir was nothing if not unfailingly polite. Then a customer walked in and interrupted his train of thought. He was not about to give up on this mystery though, he loved it when he had a problem to solve.
Julian had only been in his quarters for two hours when he was ready to break something. He had tried reading a book, he could not focus the words danced and swam before him, leaving no imprint on his mind. He tried another book, which also failed to capture his attention.
He tried working on the virus Sarina had helped him with, but his powers of concentration were gone. No matter how hard he tried to focus his mind was smooth, a blank. A canvas that resisted paint.
Sighing in frustration he decided that he would try and fix the replicator that had been acting up. For the last week it had failed to heat food consistently. Cool ractajino was unbearable early in the morning.
He had put in a work request but since he had time to spare and an engineering extension course he decided he would fix it himself. Anything to keep himself from going mad.
Methodically he disassembled it and found the problem; it was a simple loose wire. He was almost frustrated because he had wanted something more complex to fix, something to really use his mind on.
Disappointed he put the replicator back together. He had just finished screwing down the panel when his door chimed.
"Enter." He brushed his hands on his uniform pants.
Ezri stood there in the door way, hesitating. Looking apologetic and out of place.
"Hi, Julian, it is just me. May I come in?"
"Of course, please have a seat. Would you like something to drink?"
"Yes please, a orange juice." Her large eyes followed him with concern as he complied with her request.
Julian went to the replicator and brought the beverage back to her.
She sat it down on the table and looked up at him.
"Well, aren't you going to sit down?"
Julian inclined his head and sat on the edge of his seat. He knew what was coming.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
He shook his head, but inside he was shouting.
'Of course I do not want to talk about it! If I had wanted to TALK there is a very good chance I might have asked for it. But as I did not, NO*. I do* NOT want to talk about it! Why must you be so annoying! Leave me to grieve in peace.'
She leaned forward a bit seeing the flicker of emotion in his eyes.
"Are you sure?"
"We are all very sorry for your loss, she was a dear girl. I know you cared for her deeply. We are all here for you Julian. I just want you to know you do not have go through this alone." She looked at him earnestly with a sympathetic expression.
"You have not tried your orange juice yet." Was all he managed to reply.
'Get the hint, I want to be alone! Why must you press me when I so clearly want to be left alone? Don't you know this is torture? Do I have to tell you to go? No, I can't, that would be rude. Why the hell can I not be rude? I lost the woman I love. That is reason enough. But no, I cannot be uncivil, it would crush her, she only wants to help. I have to get her out of here before I explode. But nicely. How do I do that?'
She took a sip, and then gasped in a strangled manner.
This at least elicited a response from Julian.
"Ezri?" He looked at her in growing concern.
She was standing now, coughing, no, gagging.
"I am sorry, but, that, that was terrible. I think I will be sick!"
She dashed out of his quarters holding her hand over her mouth.
Confused, Julian dipped his finger in and sniffed. I looked alright, it smelled citrus-y, and so experimentally he put the end of his finger in his mouth.
Ezri was right. It was terrible. It had come out with the flavor and heat of jalapeno peppers, magnified by one thousand.
It burned. He rushed off to the bathroom to get some fresh water, not daring to use his replicator again.
Well, so much for fixing the replicator himself. Now he would either have to go out to the promenade or be hungry.
It was then he remembered his lunch plan with Garak, suddenly going out and having lunch seemed a better alternative to staying imprisoned in his quarters with its dark silence.
He took a last sip of water to try and ease the burn. It did not help. He could not help but feel sorry for Ezri who had taken a sizable amount and swallowed it before it registered.
He would go and check on her after his lunch.
With this thought on his mind he stepped out his quarters and headed to Garak's shop.
Garak was surprised to look up and see his friend standing beside the door at lunch time. He had of course found out about the unfortunate accident that had taken the young lady Bashir had been romantically interested in and thought he would no doubt wish to be alone.
"Why Doctor!" The Cardassians face had a smile on it.
"I had thought that I was going to have to dine alone today!"
Julian looked at him levelly.
"I still have to eat."
"Ah, yes. Of course. I had just thought you might want to, postpone, our engagement." He said delicately.
"Well, let me close the shop then we can get a table before it gets too crowded." He cast a few sidelong glances at Bashir, but his face was a mask, betraying no emotion.
On the way to the replimate Garak kept a stream of chatter about a new shipment of silk he was expecting. He paused at precise intervals to offer the doctor a chance to interject before smoothly continuing with his topic.
Bashir continued silent as he picked his tray and went to the table.
Garak paused his conversation, putting his energy into not spilling his soup, something that was hard to do with such a crowd milling around the tables.
He pulled a chair to the table Bashir had chosen.
"I am reading the book about being miserable that you suggested. I have to say, the Inspector character is quite an intriguing figure, He could almost be Cardassian!"
"You mean Les Miserables?"
"Ah, right! That was the title!"
There was a pause as both concentrated on their meal. It became apparent that Garak was not going to bring up Sarina's death.
"Why would the Maquis attack a civilian transport?"
Garak paused, surprised, with his spoon half-way to his mouth.
"Why should I know the workings of a terrorists mind?" Garak replied in his best, "Only a plain and simple tailor." voice.
"If you ask me, I have been afraid for some time that an escalation would occur. Once you failed to bomb the planet where they were setting up, the Federation looked weak. And the weak are ever always prey to the stronger."
"Garak! You know we could never bomb a whole planet with innocent civilians on it!"
For the first time that day there was emotion behind the doctor's voice.
"Ah, that is my point, Doctor. Weak. By allowing them to be on the same planet they became collaborators. Bomb them and I promise most would think twice about letting them set up base on their planet."
"But as I was saying! There is no logic to it. What would they have to gain from attacking a transport?"
Bashir paused to take another bite. He could not taste anything; his taste buds had been seared.
"I am sorry to say I have no light to shed on their motives. But I WAS sorry to hear about your friend."
Bashir looked up at his lunch companion and set his utensil down.
"Sarina was more than a friend. I, she understood me on a deeper level than anyone else ever has! I did not have to hide who I was or pretend to be like everyone. For the first time I was free to be myself, without dissembling."
Garak raised his brow ridges at the outburst.
"That indeed is a nice thing; one meets so few kindred spirits on this life of ours." Garak sipped his tea.
"No, Garak, don't you see! She was my equal in a way that someone who has not been genetically enhanced could not be."
Garak sat back slightly.
"I am afraid I do not quite follow, Doctor."
"Are you saying the young lady was genetically engineered like you were?"
"Of course. I thought you knew. And her name is, was, Sarina."
"Well, I did know you had a patent brought in and that you performed a brilliant bit of surgery and were quite the hero. But you will forgive me if I did not pursue it further." He precisely folded his napkin, focusing all of his attention on it.
The Cardassians eyes became sharp, hard.
"I operated on her and brought her into the land of the functioning. No more being placed in secluded institutions, relegated to cargo bays like luggage. She was cured, whole and had her whole life ahead of her."
Bashir did not notice the slight change in his friend's demeanor.
"And you say she had genetic manipulation performed, I take it she had quite the intellect?'
"Yes, in some ways she was smarter than I am. She was more intuitive, she could sense somehow the solution to the problems that I struggled with."
"She was amazing." Bashir's voice dropped.
Garak was leaning forward, taking in every word with the utmost concentration.
"Was her condition a side effect of her genetic manipulation?"
"Yes."
"She was genetically enhanced…."
Garak looked thoughtful as he reiterated this fact.
Then he looked up and seemed to remember his companion.
"Well, Doctor, I grieve with you on this loss."
Garak stood, preoccupied.
"I enjoyed the time as always. Should you need more conversation to keep your mind off of your loss I am at your disposal."
"Thank you, Garak. You are very kind."
Garak nodded and pushed his way through the throng to his shop.
Julian looked dubiously at his food before pushing it away; he stood and disposed of his food.
He wandered aimlessly for about an hour before remembering Ezri.
He hit his com badge. "Bashir to Ezri."
"Ezri, here."
"I was checking to see if you were alright after your misadventure with my replicator."
"Yes, I went to Dr. Girani and she gave me something to neutralize the capsasin. Thank you for asking."
"Is that all?"
"Yes. I am very sorry about that. I have my replicator on the repair list, though it has never done that before."
"That's alright, I am fine now."
"Again, sorry Ezri. Bashir out."
He headed back to his quarters. They were silent and dark, and somehow, he had an impulse from his childhood. He went and stood at his window looking out into the vastness of space and silently recited the salat-l-janazah, the Muslim mourning prayer for Sarina.
It was an unusual impulse; he had given up any pretense at religion when he had changed his name. In fact it was fuzzy in his mind; the only other thing he could remember was the Hidaad, a three day mourning period. He dismissed the thought, it did not seem practical here on the station.
Time seemed to stand still, the stillness pressed in on him. He wondered how Lauren, Patrick and Jack would take the news.
No, he decided, they would not be told. It would only upset them too much for them to handle, It was hard enough when Sarina had left to go to another station.
He did decide a message to Dr. Karen Lowes would be in order. He relayed the sad news as briefly as possible.
Then while staring at the screen he thought of Sarina's companions again, of Patrick's piteous plea to be cured like Sarina.
At last, he knew he had a task he could set his mind to, and it would be a way of honoring Sarina, she had wanted her friends to be cured so badly.
For hours he was hunched over the computer, running simulation after simulation, running statistics, reconfiguring neural pathways, but every time he seemed close to a break through a fatal flaw would show itself and he would have to start over from scratch.
He felt like he was running circles, apparently being genetically engineered did not guaranty the ability to replicate its success in others.
Scientific knowledge just did not extend far enough into this forbidden territory; he had to run every idea as a different simulation to see what would happen making it an exhausting and time consuming procedure.
The genetic therapy he was trying to work with to help the others, succeeded in increasing the neuronal activity in the cerebral cortex, but the number of synaptic pathways connecting the cortex to the visual and auditory nerve centers were always unaffected, or they degraded almost instantly leaving the brain unable to process the information collected, or in worse cases it would overload others and induce brain death.
So far they would end up as bad as Sarina or worse.
With a sigh he set his work aside. He would work more on it tomorrow.
Stretching out on his couch he fell asleep with the memory of Sarina's head resting on his shoulder, the warmth of her body next to his.