Chapter Text
- Sisko -
Commander Benjamin Sisko walked briskly down the Promenade, swallowing an irritated sigh.
It was already late in the afternoon, and the place was teeming with Starfleet and Bajoran personnel coming off shift or getting ready for the night shift, shop owners talking animatedly with their customers and civilians searching for a place to have dinner. Quark’s was crowded as usual at this time of day and his eyes involuntarily strayed to the second floor and the holosuites there that were just out of view.
He’d been looking forward to the end of his shift. The day had dragged on sluggishly with tedious meetings, reports and paperwork and he was more than ready to call it a day and go back to his quarters to spend some quality time with Jake. The crisis with the Andorian freighter the previous week had kept him so busy that all he’d seen of his son for days was his sleeping form as he stopped by Jake’s room to kiss him goodnight. Which was not exactly beneficial to their father-son relationship. Jake was only fourteen, not exactly the best age to leave him to his own devices for days on end.
So he’d promised to make it up to him. He had a holosuite booked for tonight. A baseball game he’d promised to watch with his son—and he really hoped this whole business could be dealt with before dinner. Even if it dragged on for another half hour, he could still skip dinner and they could just have some hot dogs in the stands. He knew that Jake would like that.
It hadn’t been easy after Jennifer’s death and their move to the station—but he was confident that Jake was slowly settling in. Finding friends. Even though, at first, he hadn’t been thrilled to take the posting as commanding officer of Deep Space Nine and had seen it only as a temporary solution, he was positive that in some unforeseen way it had strengthened the bond between them.
Which made him all the more unhappy about the sudden disruption of his plans. And “unhappy” was an understatement.
After spending hours that morning conferring with Admiral Kincaide in his office, his patience was worn thin. It was not that the admiral was a particularly unpleasant kind of person, it was just that he was an admiral and simply outranked him and Sisko didn’t particularly like this arrangement—especially not since he’d been transferred to the station against his explicit wish. The talk had been harmless enough, just discussing recent trade routes across the sector and the station’s role as a safe haven in the unlikely event of hostile aggression. Routine stuff which could just as well have been dealt with over subspace. But as Admiral Kincaide had been close, Starfleet had sent him over to discuss it directly in person. Most likely to see how Sisko was handling his second year in command here.
It hadn’t been an unpleasant conversation. But Kincaide was unequivocally old-school with a polite yet condescending air that had the tendency to rub him the wrong way. The admiral was a person used to having people do what he wanted, and even though he’d been nothing but kind and courteous, Sisko had no doubt that under the right circumstances, the man could mean serious trouble.
And right now, they were dangerously close to creating exactly those circumstances.
A technician of O’Brien’s crew passed him and he politely reciprocated a greeting, steering clear of some Bolian tourists as he made his way toward the infirmary, his gaze straying involuntarily toward the chronometer on the Promenade.
Almost 1700 hours.
He pressed his lips into a tight line.
The whole affair had to be a misunderstanding. It had better be.
At first, he’d been sure there had been some confusion. When Constable Odo had come into his office, handing him a padd and telling him that one of his senior staff had been witnessed in an altercation with said admiral, he’d arched one brow. Even more so when the person in question turned out to be Dr. Bashir.
Under normal circumstances, if it had been anyone else but Kincaide, he’d have brushed it off. He’d have had a word with Bashir, maybe admonishing him to watch his language, but that would have been it. The doctor was still young, freshly out of medical school, and he knew from experience that the man had a tendency to bring himself into the midst of trouble. That his arrogance sometimes brought him close to overstepping. He could vividly recall Bashir facing down Gul Dukat over the situation involving the Cardassian war orphans the previous year—so Sisko was sure that Bashir had no qualms whatsoever when it came to facing down someone of his own ranks, and that he would not be intimidated by a few pips more on the other man’s collar if he believed the cause he was arguing for justified it.
And that was exactly the problem with the young man.
He never knew when to quit or leave well enough alone. Of course, the person being reported had to be Bashir. He could easily imagine Kincaide’s way of speaking clashing with the doctor’s ego—and Sisko knew from past events that the doctor sometimes had trouble with authority figures. It wasn’t hard to imagine how the altercation went.
But this time, Bashir had brought himself into serious trouble.
Because he had been witnessed to physically touch the admiral. Sisko didn’t have the whole background as the report didn’t go into detail, but he knew that he needed to address this issue before the matter started to get out of hand. Arguing and raising your voice in public against a high-ranking officer was bad enough—becoming violent was guaranteed to get him written up for insubordination.
The incident had occurred during lunchtime. Now it was almost time for dinner. As he hadn’t heard from Admiral Kincaide, there was a good chance he’d be able to settle the matter before Kincaide filed an official report. First of all, he needed to hear Bashir’s version of what had happened. Granted, he found it strange that the young man would act so irresponsibly without reason. But if he did have a reason, he had better have a good one. He’d hear him out first. Then he could decide what to do. If Kincaide was okay with it, he’d lecture Bashir on proper behavior around senior officers, maybe have him write a report on what Starfleet protocol demanded in these situations. If the doctor was reasonable enough to acknowledge his mistake.
He sighed. This was the hard part of being in command of his own crew…
He squared his shoulders when he walked into the infirmary. The door parted with a soft hiss, revealing the place to be fairly deserted. All the better. The person in question was bending over a medical console at the far end of the room, but turned as soon as he heard the hiss of the opening door. A Bajoran nurse was cataloging Petri dishes nearby.
“Commander,” Bashir said as soon as he saw him. Sisko immediately noticed that the doctor’s eyes lacked their usual sparkle. He looked tired, as if he’d just come off a double shift. His face was pale and his shoulders slightly hunched. He offered a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Doctor,” Sisko nodded. “May I have a word with you?”
Bashir looked puzzled for a moment. But then he nodded. “Of course,” he said, his tone perfectly neutral and polite. As if he was putting on a façade—making a conscious effort to appear as though everything were normal. Maybe he already suspected what had brought Sisko all the way down to the infirmary? Against Sisko’s expectation, he didn’t invite him into his office. Sisko threw a quick look at Bashir’s nurse. He would have liked to have the conversation in private. But as Bashir obviously didn’t seem to mind, he cleared his throat.
“There is something I need to talk to you about, Doctor,” Sisko ventured cautiously. “Today in Quark’s, someone saw you talking animatedly with Admiral Kincaide. Is that right?”
Bashir’s expression remained neutral—but he thought he saw a flicker of something in his hazel eyes. Was it dismay?
“Yes,” the young man said finally, drawing the word out as if he knew that there was probably more to come.
“May I ask what your conversation was about?”
For a moment, Bashir seemed taken aback. As if the question came as a surprise.
“Oh,” he said, “that.” As if he hadn’t reckoned with the issue being brought up again. He forced a polite smile. “We—we were just having a difference of opinion. But it’s settled, sir,” he quickly said.
“Would you mind telling me what you were arguing about?”
Bashir’s eyes widened subtly. He quickly shook his head. “It’s settled, Commander. It was nothing, really.”
“I’m afraid someone filed an official report with Constable Odo. According to that person, you were not only having an argument—you were arguing quite animatedly, loudly enough to be overheard. And the report claims you lost your temper and got physical with the admiral. I’m sorry that I’m obliged to ask, Doctor, but is this correct?”
To his dismay, Bashir looked as if he’d been slapped.
“I-I…” he said, “We were just—I mean…”
“Doctor,” Sisko gently interrupted. “First of all, I need to know if that report is accurate. Then we can see what we can do about the matter. So let me ask you once again. Did you touch the admiral in your argument?”
Bashir stared at him as if he’d forgotten how to blink. He looked like a teenager caught in the act of doing something forbidden. His mouth worked, but no words came out. Until he finally found his voice and asked unsteadily, as if he dreaded the answer: “Who filed that report, sir?”
“That doesn’t matter. Unfortunately, it’s official now. You were reported for inappropriate behavior toward a high-ranking officer. I don’t know what your conversation was about—but laying a hand on a superior in a public setting violates Starfleet protocol.” He sighed. He wished he could spare Bashir the trouble, but what was done was done. “I’m afraid, I can’t simply let this go. So, I’m asking you again, is this report telling the truth?”
Bashir looked at him as if he wished the ground would open and swallow him whole. For a tension-filled moment, he didn’t reply, his mind obviously struggling frantically with how to repair the damage—or how to get out of it unscathed. But then he seemed to realize that he didn’t really have much choice. His mouth pressed into a tight line, and his gaze shifted slightly, fixing something behind Sisko.
“Yes, sir,” he said very quietly.
Sisko sighed.
“Look, Doctor, I don’t want to get you in trouble. I want to help, which is why I’m here. The report is just that—a report. Until I can verify what exactly happened. Can you tell me what your argument was about? Or why you attacked the admiral?”
“Attacked?” Bashir’s head snapped up. “I-I didn’t… it wasn’t…”
“So what exactly happened?” Sisko frowned. “Did the admiral say anything to you? Did he threaten you?”
A hazy flush crept into the young man’s cheeks. “No,” he quickly shook his head. A little too quickly. A little too desperate. “It wasn’t like that.”
“So what was it then?” Sisko raised an eyebrow, feeling his patience start to dwindle at the evasiveness of his first medical officer. “If you can tell me what the argument was about, I might be able to understand your reasons—even if I don’t approve of them. I’m just trying to help, Doctor.”
Bashir stared at him, eyes pleading.
“I’m sorry, sir…” he said at last, his voice slightly quivering. “But I can’t tell you more.”
Sisko frowned. He was absolutely not in the mood for the doctor’s games right now. He had a baseball game to catch. “You can’t? Or you don’t want to?”
When Bashir remained silent, Sisko rubbed a hand over his chin. He’d never expected this to be this difficult. He didn’t understand why Bashir would be so keyed up about this issue. He didn’t deny the incident—but he wasn’t willing to talk about it either.
“Okay, then please help me with how to explain to Starfleet Command the fact that you got rough with the admiral. What exactly shall I tell them?”
For a tension-filled second, Bashir didn’t respond, obviously torn. Then something about him shifted—it was subtle, but Sisko didn’t miss it. It was as if he were stepping back, building an invisible wall around him. Steeling himself in a way.
“I never meant to… violate Starfleet Protocol,” he said quietly.
“But you did, and now we have a problem,” Sisko arched one brow. “I get that, for whatever reason, you don’t want to talk about it. But this here is serious, Doctor. It’s not about wanting or not. It’s about your career. Having a simple disagreement with a high-ranking officer and insulting him—let alone laying a hand on him—are two completely different things.”
The color seemed to drain from Bashir’s face. “I wasn’t—” he blurted, as if caught off guard. But then he caught himself in time to swallow the rest of the sentence. His expression tightened again, his lips pressed into a thin line, as if he struggled to contain whatever he felt inside.
“I know that the admiral can be—hard to deal with at times,” Sisko conceded, adopting an indulgent tone. “I had the pleasure of working with him these last two days and I know that his demeanor can be… challenging at times. I can even imagine that you might not share the same opinion about certain things. But unfortunately, he’s your superior and commanding officer.”
“With all due respect, sir, this man has no business commanding anything!” Bashir suddenly blurted, but abruptly stiffened, as if he hadn’t meant to say it and immediately regretted his harsh tone.
“Doctor!” Sisko admonished, “Whatever the admiral said, whatever it was that you disagreed with, you’re a Starfleet officer and thus bound to protocol. You can’t walk around and insult your superiors on a whim.”
“The admiral was overstepping,” Bashir said, his voice suddenly laced with bitterness.
“In what way?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It obviously clouded your judgment, so I’d say it does. Even if he did overstep in any way—there are other ways to resolve differences of opinion,” Sisko said firmly.
“Like what?” Bashir’s eyes narrowed.
“Like coming to me so that we can resolve the matter in an appropriate way.”
“He was crossing a line. And I told him to stop,” Bashir said. “It’s as simple as that. I don’t need to run to you every time I have an argument with someone.”
Sisko sighed. Was Bashir always this stubborn? “In this case, you do.”
“Why? Because he’s an admiral?” Bashir’s voice suddenly rose dangerously, contempt threading his words. His initial composure was fraying, and whatever emotions he’d held at bay so far were relentlessly pushing their way to the surface.
“Watch your language, Doctor.”
“Or what?”
For a moment, he froze. Or what? Had Bashir just openly defied his orders? This here was no argument between a teenager and his parent. This here was a conversation between a commander and his subordinate. Sisko felt a bout of anger. He’d wanted to help. He knew that Bashir tended to overshoot the mark. But refusing to participate in an official investigation and openly challenging his own commanding officer? Sisko felt a mounting frustration at the sheer defiance he was facing.
“I give you one last chance, Doctor. We can still settle the issue without dragging it through official channels. You apologize to Admiral Kincaide.”
“No—”
The answer came almost instantaneously. He noticed that Bashir’s shoulders had begun to tremble. He was obviously trying very hard not to let whatever feelings were warring inside him overwhelm him. He was staring at Sisko incredulously, his pupils blown wide.
For a moment, Sisko just stared at his CMO—at the young man he thought he knew. But enough was enough. Whatever this was about, whatever Bashir’s reasons, he had no intention of letting this go on any further or allowing his authority to be questioned in any way.
“Doctor, I’m not here to ask you to apologize to the admiral. I’m here in my capacity as commander of this station—and your commanding officer—to solve the matter. Which is why—for your own sake—I’m ordering you to speak to the admiral and apologize. Apologize before I have to enter this incident into your file as insubordination.”
Bashir looked as if he was going to be sick, as if Sisko had just suggested he take a phaser and shoot himself. For a tension-filled moment, he didn’t speak. But then his face drew into a grimace, his hands clenching into fists at his side.
“I will not apologize to him,” he said with a sudden vehemence that startled Sisko.
“Doctor, this is an order.”
“No—!” Bashir was visibly shaking, his whole body suddenly taut.
“Very well, that’s the last straw,” Sisko said darkly, slapping his combadge. “Sisko to Security.”
“Odo here, go ahead, Commander.”
“I want you to escort Dr. Bashir to the brig and hold him there until further notice.”
“Understood.”
Bashir stared at him with a fire in his eyes that made a cold shiver run down Sisko’s spine. For a brief moment, he wondered when exactly this issue had started to become personal. But it didn’t really matter. The matter was settled. He would not have a junior officer talk to him in this way. He would not allow a junior officer to behave in a disrespectful manner toward a high-ranking officer, no matter his motivations. And if that junior officer was obviously not able to recognize his own wrongdoing, then he had no other choice but to enforce disciplinary measures.