All right. This sequence should help explain Julian's behavior (partly, anyway). Be prepared.
BTW--this chapter and the next were written in the "last fall" period. Thus, any similarities between Julian's inner conflict in this sequence and Sarina's in one of Enterprise1981
's tales is purely an eerie case of Great Minds Thinking Alike. I'd actually based it off of a moment near the end of Section 31: Abyss
, when Bashir seems to hear in his mind the voice of Luther Sloan, though apparently it's just a dark part of his soul....
Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
"From Risa With Love"
Julian Bashir made sure to awake early the next morning. He turned to see Cynthia there, asleep…relaxed, carefree, peaceful…so childlike, so disarming.
It made what he had to do feel all the worse. But…he had
to do it. He’d searched the room before “walking in” on her…and had found nothing. His probing of her had yielded little else than a confirmation which he didn’t really need—he had gone as far as he could without arousing suspicion. There was nothing more he could get out of her, that way.
He stood up, walking to his bag, and pulled out a hypospray, containing a sedative. He went back to the bed, and lay beside her once again.
She stirred a bit. He reached over with his empty hand…and gently stroked her cheek. A low noise, like a soft groan, escaped her…and a smile appeared on her lips.
Without a second thought, he pressed the end of the hypo into the soft, silky skin of her arm. A hiss…and then she was still, unconscious for as long as he needed.
He sighed, and shook his head. He knew it would be a long time before he could completely absolve himself of the guilt over what he was doing.
Funny…two years ago, he had stunned his old nemesis, Luther Sloan, with a phaser, and had secured him to a cot in the DS9 Infirmary. And…considering what had happened afterwards—the mind probes, the entering the agent’s mind—by all logical accounts, that was far
more difficult than this.
Except this girl was not
Luther Sloan. And…there was also the night which had only just passed.
As he stared at her, breathing faintly, evenly…so helpless, so innocently unaware of his intent—his heart spoke. Cruelly enough, it spoke with the voice of none other than his lost love, Ezri:
This is wrong. She doesn’t deserve what you’re going to do—
regardless of her guilt. She
trusted you last night, Julian—with the greatest statement of trust a woman can possibly give. You…you can’t just—
But before his thoughts could go too far down that path…the other, more cynical voice—the voice of his mind—spoke up. Maybe it was just a feeling of self-loathing on his part…but to him it sounded rather like the gruff, firm voice of the late, unlamented Luther Sloan himself:
Get a hold of yourself, Doctor. It’s no time to be a hopeless romantic. You have a job to do. Do
not let your feelings get in the way of this. You need answers. And
this is how you get them. She didn’t respond to the carrot…now it’s time for the stick.
His heart, so vehemently intent on fighting to the last, shot back with the cruelest of all possible thoughts:
What if it were
Ezri, Julian? Could you have done this to HER?!?
Julian froze in pure shock, feeling a simmer of rage building up inside him, that he would dare
ask himself that. Ezri would never have done what this woman has—do you hear me? She would
never have betrayed me like that—she would never betray
Are the two really so different, Julian? Wasn’t that what attracted you to Cynthia in the first place—?
Ironically, the horror and trauma of those dreadful thoughts drove all hesitations away. And so…he hardened his heart, and went back to his bag. He pulled out four long, thick strips of linen, not easily worn out. For all the advances in technology over the centuries…the simplest way was usually the best. A force field would not have worked—she might have cried out for help.
He brought it all to the bed, laying it all beside her unconscious form. Gently, he took her arm, forcing himself not to think of how soft and fragile it felt. He took one of the linen strips…and tied an end to her wrist.
* * *