Chapter 5

Kira's office was exactly four paces wide.

At this point, she thought furiously, that bit of trivia will probably be imbedded in my memory the rest of my life.

For the past five minutes, she'd been storming back and forth across the carpet like a caged tiger, counting steps in a futile attempt to calm herself down. She had just finished explaining her new executive officer's erratic behavior, his childishness, his schizophrenic, aggressive nature, and overall insubordination and conduct unbecoming a Klingon *foot soldier*, let alone a Starfleet officer. After his recent escapade in Quark's, Kira decided Alden was too much of a liability, and she didn't want him on her station.

On the comm screen, Admiral Ross was having a hard time keeping up with her as she strode quickly in and out of the viewscreen's range. Craning his neck to peer after her fleeting form, Ross frowned impatiently. "I'm not sure I see the problem, Colonel."

His voice was so smoothly calm that Kira felt like she was about to explode. Stopping in mid-stride, she whirled angrily toward the communications unit and gestured wildly in what she thought was the general direction of Quark's. "You're not - Admiral! He's here less than a day, and he’s already thrown a tantrum in my office, gotten drunk, picked a fight with a bunch of Klingons, trashed Quark's Bar, and you're telling me you don't see the problem?"

Ross lifted one eyebrow. "He trashed Quark's?"

Kira put her hands on her hips and nodded, chest heaving. "Yes!"

"I'm sure Quark isn't too happy."

"No, as a matter of fact he's not. I have an angry proprietor, an infirmary full of Klingons who feel invariably dishonored and vengeful, and a slightly bruised and very much hung over Starfleet ‘officer’ in my brig. Now I don't know how Starfleet bureaucrats do things, but where I come from, the person in command should be able to depend on the maturity and responsibility of her first officer! I want him gone. I need a first officer, not a five year old. Send me someone I can put my faith in!"

Ross laced together his fingers and leaned forward. "So let me get this straight, Colonel," he said calmly. "You want me to take back Alden and replace him with someone who won't step on your toes."

"No, that's not it. I just want someone who's competent and won't pull stunt like this every time something doesn't go as he thinks it should. I don't think that's asking for too much, Admiral."

Ross raised a weary brow. "Well Colonel, we could take him back, but then it could take months to get a replacement."

Kira's held tight to her fury. "How can you do that when you know the shape we're in? I have more work to do over here than any of my senior officers can handle, I need someone here! How hard would it be to replace him?"

Ross straightened, giving Kira a rather stern, fatherly look. "I think you know the answer to that. Officers are scarce right now. Our forces are spread thin thanks to the war and we can't spare anyone for a few reports."

That's when it hit Kira. "You sent Alden to shut me up, didn't you?"

Ross smirked. "To shut him up, too. Alden has been screaming for a transfer to DS9 since before the war. There was just no way to fix it. Now there is -- you get what you want, and he gets what he wants, albeit a little late."

Kira felt cheated, and glared at Ross incredulously. Starfleet had not sent her Alden because he was a competent officer, which remained to be seen, but because they had both been a thorn in Starfleet's side for so long that they had to do something to get some peace.

Ross sighed, and he attempted a smile, hoping to calm the steaming colonel. "Look, Nerys, I know Endar's a little rough around the edges, and he has one Hell of a temper, but the real accomplishment of a leader is when they get someone like Alden in toe. The point is, you're going to have to make do with Commander Alden, at least for the time being. If it's any consolation, Alden knows he's walking a thin rope."

Apparently Ross's attempt to quell Kira's anger was futile. Putting her hands on her hips, she tilted her head in an exaggerated display of interest. "Does he, now?!"

The admiral frowned and opened his mouth as if to answer, when abruptly he seemed to be distracted by something else on his console. "I have an important transmission coming in, Colonel - we'll have to discuss this later. Until then, I suggest you come up with a way for you and Alden to get along. The way things are going, it looks like you two will be together for a long time."

"Now, hold on - !" But the screen flashed to the infuriatingly regal display of the Federation crest, and the communications link went silent.

Kira was so angry she could barely see straight. She was hardly able to restrain herself from planting a well-aimed boot heel through the screen of the console; she was seized with an unexplainable need to throw something. Abruptly, her furious gaze caught on the red-stitched baseball lying innocently in her hands, and her fingers clenched tightly around the leather sphere. Whirling away from the fragile equipment, she pulled back her arm and in one fluid motion hurled the ball toward the doorway, waiting for the satisfying bang of projectile against transparent aluminum...

...a split second before her mind registered that the door had just slid open and Julian Bashir was standing unwittingly in the line of fire.

There wasn't any time to warn him; Kira only managed a choked gasp of frustration as the baseball shot toward the doctor's head. Just before she was sure the ball was about to split his skull, Bashir reacted instinctively, throwing up one arm. Only his enhanced reflexes could have pulled it off - the ball flew neatly into his right palm and his hand closed swiftly around it, the force of the throw knocking the doctor’s hand back. Slap.

For a long second they could only stare at each other, Kira shocked and embarrassed, Bashir equally shocked and very confused. The doctor balanced the ball next to the PADD in his left hand and flexed the fingers of his right, wincing slightly. "Something amiss, Colonel?"

Stunned, Kira said the first thing that popped into her head. "What makes you think that?"

Bashir lifted one eyebrow, flashing that cocky boyish smile of his. Kira's temper flared up again. So help me, if he starts laughing...

But when Julian didn’t say anything, the colonel made an exasperated noise and slumped into her chair. "Do you have a reason for being here, Doctor? I really don't have time to chat."

"Well, I do," Bashir replied slowly, placing the PADD absently on her desk, "but it can wait. Is there anything I can help you with?"

Kira gave him a withering look. "Thanks, Julian, but no thanks. If I need help with my problems, I'll talk to Dax. You're a doctor, not a therapist."

Bashir’s mouth curled into a thoughtful frown, meeting her glare steadily. "That's true. But after all this time, I'd like to think of us as friends. Friends don't let titles and occupations stop them from discussing problems."

His quiet words turned the conversation around so quickly that Kira was startled. Resentful and oddly guilty, she searched for the right words. "I do - I mean, you are my friend, Julian. Really. But I have bigger things to worry about since I took over and quite frankly my situation..."

"... is none of my business?" he finished, smiling ruefully, eyes gazing at the sea of PADDs on her desk.

Kira stared at him, stunned, then sat back in her chair with a sigh. When he put it that way, it really did sound terrible. The room was silent for a moment; then Bashir met her eyes earnestly.

"This past year has been hard on all of us, Nerys," he pointed out gently. "There's nothing wrong with asking for help."

Kira leaned her elbows on the desk. As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. Giving him a playful look, she shook her head and laughed.

"All right, Doctor, you win. But remember, you asked."

Bashir laughed and sat in the chair across from Kira. "I consider myself forewarned. Fire away."

A scowl crossed her face as her immediate problem came back into focus. "It's about Endar."

Bashir's brow furrowed. "Endar?" he whispered the name to himself a few more times, and then his eyes brightened. "Commander Alden!" he exclaimed, tossing Sisko's baseball in the air and catching it as if he'd discovered something astonishing. "Our new..."

"First officer," Kira finished, snorting.

"Yes, I think I know what you're talking about," the doctor chuckled. "I saw the Klingons. Quite frankly I’ve never seen a human do that much damage to a group of Klingons before. One Klingon, *maybe*. Six of them, well..." A bemused expression crossed his face, and he glanced at Kira curiously. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to give a Klingon a concussion? And I had to treat at least three. Impressive."

"Then you'd agree that this guy is a liability to station safety?" she demanded bluntly.

Bashir pursed his lips. "Well, I don't think I'd go that far, but I'll allow that his conduct as executive officer leaves much to be desired..."

"Exactly!" the colonel exclaimed, glad that at least someone understood how she felt about the situation. " I don't want anyone with that kind of personality under my command! With all that aggressiveness, combined with his mischievous behavior and arrogance, who knows what he may try in the future. He could be a serious liability to the safety of my crew, and as the commanding officer I do not want to be responsible for him!"

Bashir only listened patiently. Giving her a moment to settle down, he gave her a sympathetic look. "I think I see where you're coming from. And Starfleet isn't exactly jumping at the prospect of finding a replacement?"

Kira snorted, shooting the communicator an angry glance. "Oh, I'd say that's a safe bet."

Julian smiled, choosing his next words carefully. "Kira, if I offered advice, would you take it?"

Kira looked up warily. "It depends. What is it?"

"Give Commander Alden another chance."

Kira straightened and shot Julian a serious look. "You're joking."

"Not at all. Give him some time to settle in, get used to the way we do things. Perhaps some of his more...aggressive tendencies will settle down as well."

She gave him a skeptical look. "How can you be sure? You haven't even met the guy." Then, with a warning glare, "And don't you even start about how much of a loose cannon I was when I became first officer, because I don't want to hear it. I may have had a temper but I was nothing like this."

A mischievous look crept into the doctor's face, and he began to toss the baseball to himself with a casual air. "Oh, no, not at all," he said teasingly. "I just seem to recall a certain naive, arrogant, but undeniably handsome young lieutenant that arrived here, oh, seven years ago. As I recall, you didn't have much hope for him, either." Grinning slyly, he caught the baseball one last time and then flipped it toward her; Kira caught it easily. "Wonder whatever happened to him?"

In spite of herself, Kira had to grin back at him. "I don't know. But I can tell you he's still as cocky as ever..."

Bashir laughed. "Well, maybe. But you have to admit he's made progress."

Kira chuckled, then nodded resignedly, throwing the ball back to him. "So I give him another chance. Then what?"

Julian caught the ball and let it lull in his hands a bit. His eyes gazed up at the ceiling, smiling. "You know what helped me the most? Friendship. People that became my mentors -- Dax, Miles, even Garak. Maybe Alden needs someone to take him under his wing and make him feel at home."

Kira reflected on the idea a moment. Despite Endar's apparent hesitancy to get close to anyone, as seen from his record, it was worth giving a shot. Endar would never get anywhere if others around him condemned him so readily. Maybe all Endar needed was a stable friendship. She sighed hesitantly, looking down at her hands, resting pensively on the desk. As she finished collecting her thoughts, she looked back up at Julian.

She looked almost pleading as she gazed at him with her verdict. "I better not get any more headaches because of him! You want to have a crack at him, be my guest. I am just too busy to deal with him anymore. Would you be able to do this for me?"

Julian looked up, slightly startled. He placed Sisko's ball back onto the pedestal and looked at Kira. "You want me to watch over him? Colonel, I don't --"

Kira smiled. She got up from her chair and walked over to Julian, who stood up instinctively. With a slight nudge Kira began inching the befuddled Doctor towards the door. "Yup, I think that's a great idea. And you're perfect for the job. People love and respect you, Julian, Alden won't be able to resist."

Julian's eyes opened up a little wide, as if struggling to grasp the magnitude of the task at hand. "But, Nerys, I--I don't think, I mean, I wouldn't even know where to begin..."

The door slid open and Kira continued to push Bashir out. "Find out his interests, maybe you two have something in common. Take him to the holosuites. Or better yet," a new idea presenting itself, "take him to

Vic's. I'm sure Vic would love to meet Endar. Just keep him away from me for a while. Thanks, Julian you're the best." With a final shove, Kira returned to her office and the door slid shut.

Stunned and confused, Julian stared at the door a moment. "I'm not going to be here much longer, Colonel," Julian finally muttered. He sighed and shook his head, as he turned and left for the Promenade.

****

At that moment, all Endar Alden wanted was to sleep. For a long time.

But that was the only thing he couldn’t do. He lay stretched out across the floor of his new bedroom, a station holding cell, his body twisting and turning as he attempted a comfortable position. Every so often his tired, blurred gaze darted back to the cell’s lone piece of furniture: a bed, so thin and bolted so close to the wall that Endar felt if he turned he might fall off. He hated falling out of beds. Perhaps that was why he preferred the floor.

Moreover it was dangerous to fall asleep, even though that was all Endar wanted. No one had come yet to thoroughly look him over, but Endar was certain he had a concussion, and didn’t want to risk losing consciousness and slipping into a coma. A strange sensation, considering the fact that he was also drunk and all he wanted to do was close his eyes and drift in dreams.

Lying there, Endar attempted to recap everything he’d done throughout the day, but it was difficult. The Ferengi was wrong, Vulcan Sunrises did impair the thought process considerably. He couldn’t remember much of anything. All he knew was his temper had gotten a bit out of control today, and he would have a lot to answer for when he finally sobered up.

Endar did remember Kira though. Very well. She locked him in here, he remembered. That’s right. But she was the one who started it all. All she had to do was let he command the Defiant, but no. It was all her fault.

Endar sighed. Thanks to her, he’d lost everything. No one liked him, no one understood him. He felt so alone on the station, but he didn’t know what else to do.

Footsteps snapped Endar back to reality, but he refused to turn to the forcefielded opening and see who was coming. Probably another security guard to give him a dirty look and check that he hadn’t escaped. Suddenly the footsteps stopped and someone cleared their throat.

"Commander Alden?" an accented voice inquired.

Endar opened his eyes to a squint and sat up, facing the person, a starfleet officer in a sciences uniform. Probably medicine, Endar guessed. A man, humanoid, tall and dark skinned with dark brown hair. The officer took a moment to set down what appeared to be a medkit. He looked at Endar and flinched. Endar understood. He got that response from everyone, and he wasn’t sure why. After several seconds the man opened his eyes and left out a long breath. Endar, tired of waiting, broke the silence.

"Well? What do you want? Is Kira sending a non-comm to handle an officer’s job? Well you can tell your precious Colonel to get someone else to summon me, ‘cause I don’t follow her orders unless they come from her," Endar said with quiet fury.

The officer straightened and smiled, turning his neck to indicate that he was not a non-comm, but a full lieutenant. "I’m Dr. Bashir, the chief medical officer," he said. "I was told you possibly had a concussion, I’m here to check you out."

"Hmpf, the guards just checked me for bumps and bruises. They said I was fine," Endar muttered.

"I check all my patients, personally," Bashir shot back. "I wouldn’t be much of a doctor if I let security officers with little medical training handle a patient on my station, Commander."

Endar was impressed. He hadn’t taken kindly to his treatment since he'd arrived on the station, and he found it surprising and refreshing to find someone with similar beliefs.

Sitting up, Endar did something anyone not about to get their face smashed in had seen him do yet: he smiled. Broadly.

"That’s the spirit, Doc," he said with a laugh. "I like a man who micro-manages. Never send an underling to do what you do best. It ruins your reputation."

Bashir smiled back. "As a doctor, maybe," he admitted. "Never as a leader. If a staff doesn’t feel their superior officer trusts them to do a good job then they won’t respect him. That makes him a bad leader."

Endar’s smile widened, and he chuckled lightly. "Touché, Doc, touché." He stood. "What can I do you for? Bit of blood? Tissue sample?"

"Actually, I just need to run you through with the tricorder, Sir," Bashir said, kneeling to open his medkit and pulling out the tricorder. He stopped a moment and looked up. "Figuratively speaking, of course."

Endar waved his hand, inwardly laughing at the connotation of the previous statement. "Of course." He looked around to the door. "The guard left 10 or 15 minutes ago. I haven’t seen him --"

"I don’t need the guard," Bashir replied. He walked over to the console and punched in a series of digits, nodding as the field to Endar’s cell came shimmering down. He stepped around the console and walked into the cell, picking up the opened tricorder along the way. "One of the perks of being CMO is medical emergency override."

"Ah," Endar breathed as he took a seat on the bed. "Isn’t that kind of against regulations?"

Bashir smiled mischievously. "It’s slightly stretching it. I’m checking to make sure you haven’t knocked yourself silly, this could be a medical emergency, but like the guard said" -- Bashir probed Endar -- "you’re probably fine. The computer doesn’t know the difference." Then the tricorder chirped, causing his brow to furrow.

"Interesting."

Endar looked up curiously. "Yes?"

"Commander, you have a brainwave pattern unlike any I’ve ever seen for a human. You also have a heightened amount of neural energy running through your synaptic relays. How do you feel?"

Uh-oh, he’s the first to ever notice that, Endar thought. Over the years he’d managed to evade most of his medical exams, which he considered a nuisance. Even so, none of the medics who’d checked him out for minors bumps and bruises won in battle, nor the occasional changeling sweep ever noticed his irregular brain waves. It was surprising that Bashir picked up on it so quickly, and Endar inwardly panicked, wondering how much more the good doctor could extract from his tricorder. Could he tell?

Endar chose to remain calm and keep up the ruse. He shrugged. "Fine. I wouldn’t worry about that, Doc. Been like that since I was a kid. The doctors back then couldn’t find anything wrong."

"Hmm," Bashir said, not sounding quite convinced. "All the same, I think you may want to schedule a check up with Dr. Girani over the next few weeks, just to have a look at it. If you’re uncomfortable seeing her, you can wait for me to return to Cardassia, although I don’t know when I’ll be back."

"That’s nice, thanks, Doc. But I’m telling you I’m a picture of health."

Bashir smiled. Aside from the commander’s recent run in with the Klingons, he was fairly healthy. Bashir closed his tricorder and replaced it, closing the medkit. "I couldn’t agree more, other than the unusual brain waves. You do have a mild concussion and you’re slightly hungover, but I wouldn’t worry too much. I can give you something for the hangover if you’d --"

Endar wrinkled his nose. "Thanks, but no thanks, Doc," he quipped. "I’ve had worse, I think I can weather it."

Bashir shrugged. "Suit yourself. Just lay off anything too rich. You don’t want to vomit in the brig...the guards aren’t too cordial about cleaning up." he stood and smiled, looking about through the corners of his eyes for the security guards.

"Good advice, Doc, although I don’t think I’ll be eating anything rich in here," Endar said, glad to change the subject from his brain waves. "They haven’t fed me yet, but whatever it is, it probably won’t be appetizing."

"No, not at all. I can tell you that from experience."

"Really? What got you thrown in the brig?"

"Almost the same thing," Bashir paused, a tiny smile curled his lips, a nostalgic gaze crept into his eyes. "A friend and I got into a fight with a Klingon. Well, actually he got into the fight and I tried to break it up. But I still--"

Endar rolled his eyes. "Fascinating, Doc."

Bashir looked at him before continuing. "Yes, well, it’s better than what they feed you in Dominion prisons."

Surprised, Endar looked at the doctor.

"Dominion prisons? You were in a Dominion prison?"

Bashir delivered a half-hearted smile. "Yes, a couple of years ago."

"How long?"

"Over a month. Five of those days in solitary confinement. It’s something I don’t like to talk about, if you don’t mind?" he asked.

"Totally understood, Doc."

Bashir looked at Endar and smiled. Endar smiled back, but glanced past Bashir to the brig exit. He had left it wide open for an escape. Endar wasn’t sure where he would go or how he would get off DS9, but he would figure it out. Endar simply was not happy on the station. His boss was a taskmaster, the local bar was run by a lying, greedy troll, and security was overbearing. And the chief medical officer...

Endar looked Bashir over. It was obvious the doctor thought he was trouble. Some might argue that if the doctor disliked him he wouldn’t have cared that much about his health, but Bashir was a doctor, so he didn’t expect anything less. He’s good at humoring me, Endar thought. But he wants nothing less than to keep me locked in here until the authorities come to take me away. He was certain of it. It didn’t matter how many rules he bent, Bashir was Starfleet.

The doctor was tall, but he was very thin. It would be easy to side step him, and if he had to, take Bashir down.

"Thanks for the clean bill of health," said Endar. He approached Bashir, putting his hand on the doctor’s shoulder. "You know something, Doc, you’re all right. I’m almost sorry to do this to you."

That was all the notice Bashir had before Endar threw a punch for his stomach. He expected to make contact with Bashir’s abdomen, but instead made contact with Bashir’s outstretched palm. Endar’s hand hit hard, and Bashir closed his hand over Endar’s, pressing tightly with such incredible strength that the commander fell to the deck, clutching his arm in the hopes of retracting his hand from Bashir’s grasp. Quickly Endar swept a leg underneath Bashir, knocking him to the ground, and Bashir was forced to release Endar’s hand. Now free, Endar dashed out of the holding cell and made for the brig door.

"Computer, run security protocol Odo 3-46-K."

Endar ran into the force field now guarding the entrance to the brig. After the initial shock of energy burst through him, he stumbled back and fell down.

Bashir stood, regaining his composure. He walked up to Endar and nudged him with his boot. "You really don’t know who you’re dealing with, do you? I’ve been on DS9 for a very long time. There isn’t much I don’t know and there isn’t anything I don’t remember."

Endar looked up, face red, eyes flashing. He felt proven in his beliefs. The doctor did not care for him, obviously.

Bashir stepped back for a moment, flinching, before kneeling beside Endar, still sprawled on the floor. "I come here to get you out of the brig and maybe take you to dinner, and what do you do? First you try to assault me, and then you try to escape. What sort of gratitude is that? How do you expect people to put their faith in you and give you the respect you deserve when you insist on pulling these childish stunts? Maybe I should leave you here and let Kira send you away. A few years in a Federation penal colony will change your attitude."

Bashir got up, about to call for security to put Endar back in his cell, the commander surmised. "Doc, please," he pleaded with Bashir.

Bashir stopped. "Yes, Commander?"

Endar felt ashamed almost. It’s the liquor, he told himself. You aren’t thinking clearly. Stop being paranoid. "I’m hungover," he admitted.

Bashir smiled. "I can see that."

"I’ve never met a doctor with the guts to talk to his superior officer the way you do, or pull any of the stunts you’ve pulled," he said, amazed.

Bashir smiled. "Well, I’m not your ordinary doctor. I’ve been around, you know. Believe it or not I was in combat too," he said quietly.

Endar looked down, honestly remorseful. "I know all about what DS9’s crew has done. I didn’t mean to belittle you, Doc. I just --"

Bashir interrupted Endar. "Why don’t we find a better place to talk? Come on."

Endar got up, ashamed. The doctor had come to help him, and he hadn’t even given him the chance. Bashir was right -- how did he expect people to put their faith in him if he couldn’t put his faith in others.

Endar turned to Bashir, who had just gotten up and straightened his uniform. Bashir smiled, as if to say ‘I know it’s not easy, but you have to trust me.’ Yeah, I have to give Doc a chance, Endar told himself. He seems all right. We’ll get along swimmingly.

"I just have one question, Doc. How does someone as skinny as you have the strength you have?"

****

Julian Bashir led Endar Alden out of the brig to the promenade decks, where the station night life was in full swing. Quark’s appeared to be in order once more and teeming with activity. Julian snuck a glance at a chronometer: 19:50

"Did it hurt?" Alden asked.

He glanced back at the first officer, who had been pressing the doctor on his genetic resequencing the entire way. He was slightly shorter than Julian by a few centimeters, so he had to look down at the officer. He could see Alden’s brooding face, and knew he felt out of sorts here on the station. The day had not been easy for him. Hopefully his open assertiveness helped Alden gain respect for him, and in the process, friendship.

"My enhancements?" Julian replied, shrugging. "I don’t remember. It was frightening, I remember that. Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering," Alden said quietly.

Alden fell silent as he and Julian made their way through the crowds. It was strange to Julian that Alden would be so interested in his enhancements.

Julian wondered how it pertained to Alden’s life. Did he face a similar situation that led him to be so aggressive?

"What about you, Commander?" Julian decided to ask. "I’m sure you’ve lived an interesting life."

Alden did not answer back.

As they reached Quark’s entrance, however, Alden froze, eyes widening.

Julian turned to him, puzzled by his sudden fear. "What’s wrong?"

Alden looked at him, and didn’t speak. He closed his eyes and stepped through the door. Julian turned and started past the bar to the stairs leading to the second level, when he was stopped by Quark. He was behind the bar, cowering from Alden, who wasn’t actually doing anything.

"Why are you here? Didn’t Kira put you away? I don’t serve troublemakers, get out of here!" Quark said fearfully.

"Quark, it’s all right, he’s with me," Julian said, nudging Alden to continue on. "I’m taking him to Vic’s."

"Oh," said Quark. "Good. Let him tear up Vic’s place. I don’t want him tearing up mine." Quark turned to Alden and spoke, his voice raised as if he spoke to a deaf person. "As a matter of fact, you can’t even come through this entrance," he said, pointing to the door. "You can come through the second floor entrance from now on."

Alden, who had been quiet and motionless for the past few minutes, lunged for Quark’s throat with incredible speed. The terrified Ferengi ducked behind the bar, arms covering his massive head. Julian grabbed Alden, stopping him from strangling Quark.

"Come on, let’s get out of here," the doctor said, pushing the commander back towards the stairs.

"The little troll," Alden muttered as he started to ascend.

Julian chuckled quietly.

"Don’t worry about Quark. You’ll get used to him eventually." Bashir reached the second floor and took the lead to the holosuite.

"You know, you didn’t have to stop me," Alden retorted. "I wasn’t going to hurt him. Just scare him a bit."

"Well, I can’t really be sure, can I? You did toss him into a bunch of Klingons earlier," Bashir shot back, as he keyed the code to let him into Vic’s.

"Hmpf, he shouldn’t have interfered," Alden muttered. "And I didn’t throw him into the Klingons," he added, pouting.

As Julian opened the door, Alden quieted, his eyes brightening like a child on Christmas morning.

"Hey, Julian!" called a grey haired man in a tuxedo standing on the stage as Julian and Alden entered the main lounge. Also on stage with the man was a pianist, drummer, and bass player. On the wall behind them, in sapphire blue letters, was scrawled "Vic Fontaine."

It was a typical lounge of the 1960’s: a hard wood dance floor, a carpeted dining table area, and a bar. There were no patrons, but then again, Vic was in the middle of rehearsal.

But that didn't stop the old lounge lizard from leaving the stage to greet his old friend.

Julian smiled as Fontaine made his way through the tables to shake the doctor's hand.

"Long time no see! Where you been keeping yourself the last few weeks?" Vic asked as he took the doctor's hand eagerly. Alden shot a puzzled glare at Vic, then Julian, then back at Vic.

Julian grimaced: the question sent a painful reminder of the last few weeks of Starfleet reports and other paperwork that had kept him from relaxing. He'd forgotten how much he missed Vic's, and he made a mental note to plan a date with Ezri as soon as he got back from Cardassia.

"I've been locked inside a paper mill the last few weeks," he said with a touch of sad joking.

Vic furrowed his brow in bewilderment. "Paper mill?"

Julian smiled weakly. He was about to explain, when Alden cleared his throat in an effort to be acknowledged. He looked down at the first officer and smiled.

"Forget it. Vic, I'd like you to meet our new first officer, Lt. Commander Endar Alden."

Vic smiled and took Alden's hand. "Glad to meet you, Commander."

Alden, still confused, turned to Julian and whispered. "He knows who you are?"

Julian looked at him and shrugged. "Of course. He also knows that we're not from the sixties, we're in Starfleet, and --"

"I'm a hologram," Vic blurted, attempting to be indignant. Julian, however, saw through to his thinly-veiled amusement. "And yes, I know what that means too."

Alden blinked and nodded his head. His face was blank, as was his stare. But Julian was happy to see a bit more life in the commander, as his gaze roved about the room.

Julian smiled and chuckled. "His creator is an old friend of mine, and he thought Vic would be a better program if he knew what he was. Vic is always on. You can come in whenever you want, and you can talk to him about anything."

Vic stretched out his arms. "But hey, don't come too early. A man has to sleep sometimes," Vic laughed. "Well we can't have you guys standing around. Come on and have a seat." Vic motioned Julian and Alden to a table.

When the two sat down, Vic put his hands on their shoulders and looked at them. "How about a song? Got something you want to hear?"

Julian thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Eh, nothing in particular. Something with a beat."

Vic chuckled. "I know just --"

"Do you know 'I Thought About You?'" Alden interrupted.

Now it was Julian's turn to be amazed. He stared at Alden as if, despite is apparently human background, he had never even thought that the commander would know any swing.

Vic, was also impressed, as he looked at Alden incredulously. "Yeah, I do."

"Can you play it, please?" Alden asked.

Vic smiled. "Sure, pally."

Vic turned and got up onto the stage, and as he did a bigger band appeared, including a couple of saxophone, trumpet, and clarinet players.

"'I Thought About You', boys, 2/4 beat, nice and mellow." As the bass pizzed the first couple of notes, a crowd appeared. People dancing, chatting, and employees serving drinks. Julian sat back and smiled as Vic began the first lyrics of the song:

I took a trip on a train,
and I thought about you.
I passed a shadowy lane,
and I thought about you.

Julian closed his eyes and felt himself smile, his fingers lightly drumming his lap. He nodded his head to the bass. The song was about remembering the good times with loved ones. No doubt what many were doing in the recent months. Then he thought of Alden, and turned his gaze to him. His eyes were closed, and he looked deep in thought. Julian couldn’t help but wonder why Alden chose this song. Was he remembering someone too? Was it that painful memory causing him to be so violent and closed-off?

And what did I do?
I thought about you.

As Vic finished the first verses and the band took over, Julian turned to Alden. "So, why this song? Thinking of someone?" Julian smiled sheepishly, realizing how awkward that must have sounded. Yet another unsuccessful attempt at conversation, he thought. You really need to get back on top of your game.

Alden didn’t answer his questions, continuing to nod and tap his foot to the rhythm, eyes closed. Vic finished another line, and the band picked up the melody. Alden sighed. "I love the sixties."

Julian turned, not expecting that answer, or any answer at all. Being enough to start a conversation, though, he attempted again. "Why?"

Alden turned his head lazily to Julian and smiled. "It was a freer time. People were more adventurous, flashier, tried to get more out of life. They attacked the day and reveled in the glories of the night. Oh, there were rules, but they weren’t afraid to break them."

Julian nodded. "Self-made men."

Alden’s smile brightened and he half-opened his eyes. "Yeah. Out to make their own fame. Do things their way."

Julian smiled slyly, finding himself a niche to converse in. The two had something in common after all. "Is that what you want from life?"

Alden looked at the doctor, brow raised. "Sure, I did. And you know, I thought I’d find that out here. I thought this would be --"

Julian grinned knowingly. He knew what he was going to say next, all too well. "more like a frontier?"

Sitting straighter, Alden turned to Julian in astonishment. "Yes?"

Julian nodded. "An untamed wilderness, where you could have adventure and exploration and action."

"Yes."

"And you thought Deep Space Nine would give you all these things."

"Yes! And all it’s turned out to be is a job for paper pushers! Doc, how’d you guess?"

"Because when I came here seven years ago, that’s what I was looking for."

He looked up at Alden and smiled sadly. "Trust me Endar, it may not look like it now. But give it time, as we all have to give you time. DS9 will be all those things for you."

Then I peaked through the crack
and I looked at that track,
the one going back to you.
And what did I do?
I thought about you.

As Vic finished the song, Alden smiled and nodded, as if he understood all that Julian had said.

"Well, pally, how’d you like it?" said Vic as he left the stage and stood by Alden.

Alden turned to Vic and beamed. "That was great Vic, you can really swing. Tell me, do you know ‘New York, New York’ too?"

Vic laughed. "Know it? I sang it on my first gig. You want to hear that now?"

Alden raised his eyebrow. "No." Vic, stared at him blankly. Then he smiled. "I want to sing it with you."

Julian turned to the commander, shocked. "You sing?"

"You’ll find I do a lot of things, Doc," Alden said with a smirk.

Vic, stepped back to allow Alden out of his chair, and the two men walked up the stairs. Julian sat back, amused as his newest superior officer picked up a microphone.

"’New York, New York’ -- what are you, tenor?" asked Vic.

"Baritone," he replied, straightening the microphone cable.

"Right, kick it down a notch, boys," Vic returned to the band.

Vic gave the band a countdown, and as he began to sing, the piano played its first notes. The two men alternated lines, and would sing the last phrase of the verse together.

Start spreading the news -
I’m leaving today.
I want to be a part of it -
New York, New York.

Julian watched, impressed at the first officer’s incredible vocal ability. His pitch range and skill matched Vic’s note for note, and it appeared Alden also knew how good he was. He fit in well on Vic’s stage, all he needed was a tuxedo. Music was famed to tame the savage beast, and it obviously had a profound effect on Alden, which led Julian to wander back to his questions about his new first officer -- his violent tendencies, his mood swings. What made him so angry and so unstable?

The answers lay in his past, Julian deducted. Most emotional problems stemmed from traumatic experiences, and Alden had kept a certain level of aggressiveness since he had joined Starfleet. Obviously something happened earlier in his life, and Julian surmised that whatever it was it had nothing to do with the war. His past had been too vague, and he avoided the issue. These were already festering wounds long before he joined Starfleet. What had happened in his life to hurt him so much? Why was so much unknown about his life prior to Starfleet? What was he hiding?

Julian watched the two singers up on stage and for a moment almost wished he was not leaving for Cardassia. He had gotten Alden to open up to him, albeit a small amount. With more time, his questions might have been answered. Now he would have to wait to find the answers. He would make certain he spoke to Ezri about spending more time with Alden, and taking him to Vic’s was probably the best way to get through to him. As Alden and Vic finished the song, Julian saw a glimmer of hope. Given time, Alden will do quite well, Julian thought decisively.

If I can make it here,
I’ll make it anywhere.
It’s up to you,
New York, New York.

Chapter Six