stigmaofsuccess | PSL: Post-DF for Beverly

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PSL: Post-DF for Beverly

Waking up in the camp, on that small, cold cot was a nightmare. Despite assurances that no one ever remembered their time in the Fleet, Julian could, flashes and hints, his enhanced brain refusing to let go of what it had experienced.

There was no time after that for thinking on it. Everything was go, invasions and deaths and horror and then plunging through the wormhole into the safety, comparatively, of the assembled Alpha Quadrant Fleet.

By the time Julian got out of his debriefing, all he wanted was a shower and bed. But when he got to his quarters, all his belongings had been rifled, moved, different smells and different things and Julian balked.

He went to his office, where at least it felt like less of a personal violation and showered there before settling behind his desk. He had slightly over a month of information to catch up on and he doubted he'd be sleeping.

He toyed with messaging the Enterprise.

He didn't. He remembered but Beverly? Almost certainly didn't.

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He gives a very soft hum, not looking up. He reaches for a datapadd and brings up his new, altered medical file, reauthorised and stating the words he cannot, cannot bring himself to say.

He offers it to her wordlessly.

Julian Subatoi Bashir (formerly Jules). Species: Human (Augmented, registered).

"It- it came out. Recently. Very, very recently."

For a long moment, Beverly simply... stares at the screen uncomprehendingly. The words are clear as day but it's not what she was expecting. She's not sure what she was expecting, really. But it dredges up more memories of the fleet - how Julian had shivered when she said the word "augment" and how Kirk had Khan's blood flowing through his veins and how Kitty casually called herself a mutant - no. Maybe she would have reacted differently before the fleet, though she'd rather think she wouldn't. Hoped she wouldn't.

In any case, abandoning Julian is not an option. Without saying a word, she sets the PADD down and reaches across the table to take his hand in hers.

It was a risk that Julian hadn't been willing to take then. He only takes it now because he knows she'll find out sooner or later, now that it's become the scuttlebutt of the station. His father being marched off under arrest wasn't the most discreet moment.

He doesn't look at her while she reads. He doesn't look until her hand curls on his and then he looks up sharply, face stoic but eyes expressive as ever. Fear. He's scared of what he'll see.

"They're... letting me keep my commission. Because no one else wants to be stationed out here, really, but they've conceded I'm probably not a new Khan if I've gone this long without murderous rampages and delusions of Godhood."

The fear is completely understandable, if heartbreaking. Who wouldn't be scared, in his position? He'd be a reminder to so many of the worst period of human history, something none of them want to return to. But all he's going to see in her eyes is compassion. She gives his hand a small, encouraging squeeze.

"Of course you aren't. It would be a great loss to Starfleet if you were gone."

The Federation have a think tank of Augments. All brilliant and damaged beyond hiding. Julian's always felt like they're somehow more acceptable than him, showing what they are openly rather than everyone wondering 'What's wrong with that one?' when they know what he is.

He hesitantly squeezes back, glancing up to give her a shaky smile. "Miles yelled at me that I've been letting him win at darts." It was something that helped a little, after the sharpness of his return from the internment camp.

A small, gentle laugh escapes her and she shakes her head ruefully. "That sounds like him. Miles is a good man. I'm glad you have him for a friend."

She gets another hesitant smile in return and Julian's head ducking again.

He's a friend, but he's also caused some of the deepest cuts recently.

"I just wish he and Garak could manage civility with one another. Garak is our resident tailor and yes, he's Cardassian."

"I remember. He was in the Fleet too, when I first arrived. I..." She frowns. Her one and only conversation with Garak could hardly be described as civil. Granted, she thought she was still in the Alpha Quadrant and didn't yet know that he was from her future, but that wasn't the whole explanation for her attitude. "Does he remember too, I wonder?"

Perhaps an apology might be in order.

He nods slowly. "I remember you saying. I- I haven't tried raising it with him. I haven't really had the time, honestly. It's not been that long for me."

And there was escaping from the camp, getting home, trying to settle back into his life despite the thing that had lived as him for weeks, in his rooms. Much easier to get along with.

"Of course." She flushes, just a little. "I'm sorry. I didn't think..." He's been through so much, and there's been no time for readjustment.

"Why are you apologising?" He gives her a small smile. "It's been... years for you, hasn't it?"

She nods. "Years there, years here. It's all still jumbled up. Seeing you, talking to you, helps but... There's a lot to dig through."

Thank god for Deanna.

"Wow." Years there. He hadn't even contemplated that possibility.

"Miles went through this, punishment, once. Where he lived years in the space of an afternoon. I've wondered if a similar technology might have been employed by that place."

She nods. "Jean-Luc... that is, Captain Picard, had a similar experience as well. He lived an entire lifetime in the span of twenty minutes - though it wasn't for punishment or entertainment. We came to a planet whose civilization had died long ago and they left this mental probe as a time capsule of sorts, so they wouldn't be forgotten.

I, too, often wondered if Atroma employed a similar technology, though would not be surprised at all to find out they are more like the Q in their abilities."

"There's a terrifying idea. Atroma is just a small Q collective in another reality. Or worse, one Q. In groups they seem to moderate because they get busy arguing."

Julian tucks a leg up, heel on his seat and chin on his knee while he thinks about that horror for a few moments.

"I hope it's just technology. That's a much nicer idea."

“Perhaps.” Beverly’s hand goes to the back of her head, to the spot just behind her ear, where the augment had been implanted. The spot is smooth now, but she can remember the feel of the bump of the implant, like a phantom limb. As much as she dislikes Q, she doesn’t know that technology is any nicer of an idea. “The results were about the same either way.”

"Well, there is that to be said about it."

He touches the same spot on his own head. He had scanned, repeatedly, but there was no sign of it, nor of it ever having been there. Sometimes, he wonders if he's just gone insane like he always knew he would and it's all the paranoia of his augmented mind tearing itself apart.

"I don't think I've ever been so alone in my life as these last few weeks," he stated. "I thought maybe I was mad."

"Well, you're not alone anymore. I know we won't be docked here long but you are always welcome to message me aboard the Enterprise."

"Thank you." It's not the same, but he knows now that he isn't insane; at least, not when dealing with phantom memories of the Drift Fleet. "And likewise."

“I appreciate it. No doubt we will both need help working through those memories.” Her brow furrows. “How would you feel about me letting my ship’s counselor know about this conversation? I wouldn’t tell her any details about you, just that it’s been confirmed that I really did go to another fleet.”

Julian thinks about it and then nods, almost in the same moment. "All right. I... can live with that... Deanna Troi, isn't it? Your counselor? I met her mother, Lwaxana. Cured her of Zanthi fever, actually. That was an unfortunate period."

He can't help himself, deflecting the conversation from himself and anything emotionally baring is one of his first reactions in any conversation.

"That's right, I remember Deanna telling me about that. Sounds as if it is similar to Bendii syndrome, though less severe." She tilts her head - she may not be an empath, but she still knows when someone is dodging an important issue. "You know, I'm sure Deanna would be willing to talk to you too."

"Much, much less severe. More like... empathic flu. Where she broadcast her unresolved sexual desires onto everyone around her." It was embarrassing, but at least he could look Kira in the eye again these days.

"That's a generous offer, but I'm not part of your crew. You won't be staying for long enough to even begin scratching the surface of everything I should talk about." He doesn't look her in the face as he says it, dismissive about it. He can't help himself.

"Yet something tells me you won't talk about it with anyone here either."

He smiles, ducking his head and clearly caught out. "No. I won't. I work hard to not appear insane, and given recent revelations, any sign of mental instability on my behalf will have my commission revoked and me most likely shipped off to a protected think tank."

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