Disclaimer - DS9 and its characters are copyright Viacom and Paramount Pictures and no infringement of said copyright is intended. This story is purely for the enjoyment of fellow fans. The story itself is copyright Karen Colohan 1995.
David Bashir turned from his conversation with Commander Sisko to see his son approaching, the Trill science officer he vaguely recalled being introduced to at his side. Bashir sighed. When was Julian going to get the message. He had no time for all this recriminatory nonsense, but it seemed his fool of a son was intent on causing a scene. Julian had always been attention-seeking and over emotional - just like his mother.
Julian came to a halt, eyeing his father warily. All his confidence seemed to drain away again, under that disapproving gaze.
"Father, I think we need to talk," he said quietly, his voice betraying his nervousness.
"Julian, I really don't see that we have anything to talk about." David Bashir's irritation was evident in his expression.
"How can you say that?" burst out Julian. "You haven't spoken to me in over three years. I have a whole new life you know nothing about. Doesn't that interest you at all? Whatever your feelings in the past, I am still your son." Julian's cheeks were flushed and his eyes shone with the intensity of his feelings. Dax watched David Bashir intently. How could he ignore the passion in Julian's words? The only emotion he showed in return though, was a faint distaste at his son's outburst.
"Mr Bashir, you really should let Julian tell you about everything he's done since he came to DS9. I think you'll be proud of what he's achieved here." Dax had to put in a word on her friend's behalf. She was dismayed when David Bashir turned to her, a sneer on his face.
"Ah, lieutenant, so you're the latest in the long line of people my son has found to fight his battles for him." He switched his attention back to Julian. "I thought by now you might have found the fibre to fight on your own account. All your romantic notions of being a hero out on the frontiers of space and you're still not capable of standing up for yourself. You always were so weak, Julian, and you haven't changed."
The expression on Julian's face was stricken. His hands clenched in futile anger at his sides. He wanted to scream at his father, but as ever the words refused to come. His old terror reasserted itself as he caught the look in his father's eyes. No! You can't do that to me any more. I won't let you! The words churned in Julian's head as he felt himself reverting to that frightened child.
Dax looked from father to son in horror. The deliberate hurtfulness in David Bashir's words shocked her. At that moment, a great many things about Julian suddenly made perfect sense to her. No wonder he was always so desparate to be liked and feared failure so much. She glanced back at the doctor, noticing how withdrawn he looked.
"Maybe Julian needs other people to defend him because you won't give him the chance to defend himself." Dax spoke coldly, drawing David Bashir's attention back to herself.
"My dear lieutenant, you are persistent. So you think I should be proud of my son. Well let's review his achievements. Let me see, he spent eight years at medical school, and what does he have to show for it?" David Bashir made a great show of considering deeply before continuing. "Ah yes, Julian Bashir, chief medical officer of some god forsaken backwater of the Federation!" He directed his next words at Julian. "Is that what I raised you for? I never believed a son of mine would settle for so little. Do you really think anyone knows or cares what you do here? If you do you're a bigger fool than I realised."
Julian's face drained of all colour. This was worse than he could possibly have imagined and he knew he'd brought it on himself. He hadn't been able to leave well alone. He knew that by now the attention of everyone in the room was on him - precisely as his father had intended. Just in case any of you were wondering, my father thinks I'm a worthless failure!
"Julian..." Dax reached out to steady him and he was grateful for the touch of her hand on his arm.
"Jadzia, I'm sorry. You shouldn't have got involved in this." Julian's voice was no more than an anguished whisper. He looked up into his father's face; so like and yet totally unlike his own. He hated the look of smug superiority he saw there. Oh yes, you know exactly what you're doing, don't you? You may not be able to hurt me physically any more, but you still know how to put me through hell.
With an effort Julian drew himself up. Carefully he withdrew his arm from Dax's grip and when he turned to her his face was an expressionless mask..
"Jadzia, if you'll excuse me. I believe there's something I have to attend to in the infirmary," Julian said, his voice equally emotionless. Dax had never seen him like this and it frightened her, but she knew he was trying to escape with as much dignity as he could muster. Consequently she let it pass.
"Of course, Julian, I'll see you later." She tried to put as much warmth into her voice as she could, and was rewarded with the faintest flicker of gratitude in his eyes.
"Father." Julian nodded curtly at David Bashir and turned away, heading for the door. He was uncomfortably aware of the way his colleagues refused to meet his eyes as he passed amongst them. It seemed an eternity before he emerged from Quark's and was able to make for the relative sanctuary of the infirmary.
******
Julian hadn't been in the infirmary long when he heard someone enter. He looked up to see Dax regarding him with concern.
"Julian, are you alright? I was worried when you left like that," she said gently.
"I'm sorry, Jadzia," he said quietly, ignoring her question. "I really shouldn't have involved you in my problems. I suppose everyone back there is having a good laugh at my expense."
"No, of course they're not, Julian," said Dax, shocked that he'd make that assumption. "They're all a bit taken aback. No one realised..."
"No one realised what an incredible disappointment I am to my father," interrupted Julian bitterly. "Of course they're in no doubt about that now, are they, thanks to David Bashir the eminent diplomat. The man who never failed at anything - except producing a son who was worthy of his respect."
"For a diplomat it seems to me that your father has very little idea of how to deal with people," said Dax.
"He knows exactly how to manipulate people," observed Julian, "But he's never been one for expressing his own feelings. He always used to say that a good diplomat and negotiator must be totally dispassionate."
"That's all very well at the negotiating table," said Dax, "but surely in his personal life..."
"No, to him expressing emotion, or affection is a sign of weakness." Julian smiled humourlessly. "He'll never change, Jadzia, and I really would be the fool he thinks I am if I believed otherwise. As far as he's concerned I made the wrong choices in my life and he's washed his hands of me. I have to accept that."
"That's so unfair, Julian. You're a good man, and you're doing something that you believe in," said Dax gently. "He shouldn't have tried to embarrass you like that in front of your friends. Don't worry, we know you too well to take any notice of what he says." Quickly she leaned forward and kissed Julian lightly on the cheek. "You look after yourself, Julian; don't let him upset you. There are people who care about you."
With that Dax straightened and walked from the infirmary. Julian stared after her in surprised gratitude.
"Thank you, Jadzia," he whispered, his fingers moving unconciously to rest on the spot where she had kissed him.
******
The following morning found Julian racing around the racquetball court like a man possessed. He was angry now; angrier than he'd been in many years. The only problem was he couldn't decide who most merited that anger.
He was angry with his father. Julian knew that much for certain. He'd walked back into his life and in minutes managed to devalue everything Julian had worked so hard for these past few years. As he always did, he'd made his son feel like a fool and a failure. Worse still, he'd done it in front of Julian's friends and colleagues.
Equally though, Julian was angry with himself. Once again he'd risen to the bait and allowed his father the opportunity to tear him to shreds. All his pride in what he'd achieved on DS9 lay in pieces. Chief medical officer of some god forsaken backwater of the Federation... Do you really think anyone knows or cares what you do here?
The words chased themselves round and round in Julian's head as he flung himself time and again at the ball. Finally, as his anger built, so his concentration failed him and he missed the shot. All his fury erupted and he hurled his hapless racquet at the wall. It connected with a resounding thud and fell to the floor, smashed beyond repair.
Julian stood, hands clenched at his sides, breathing hard. The unexpected violence of his outburst left him shaking with reaction. He hadn't realised just how much hatred had built up inside him, waiting its moment to be directed outwards.
So preoccupied had he been, Julian hadn't noticed that the door to the court had opened to admit another. When the voice came from behind him he started violently.
"Is this a private grudge match, or can anyone join in?" Julian wheeled about to see Chief O'Brien watching him with some trepidation. With an effort Julian willed himself to relax.
"Chief, I'm sorry. I didn't hear you come in." He looked down uncomfortably at his feet. "Bad shot, and this bad workman decided to blame his tools." The doctor tried to make light of the situation.
"It's alright, Julian. you don't have to come up with an excuse. If someone spoke to me the way your father spoke to you last night I'd be pretty damned angry too." O'Brien watched the doctor narrowly as his head snapped back up, revealing his startled expression.
"Am I really that transparent?" Julian asked a little plaintively.
"I guess you are." O'Brien smiled at him tentatively. "And don't worry, your secret's safe with me."
"What do you mean?" Julian asked, though he rather thought he knew the answer to that.
"This little outburst," elaborated O'Brien, "it's just between you, me and these four walls. You mustn't let him see how much he's getting to you, Julian. That's what he wants. I know he's your father and all, but frankly, the man's a bully. It's as simple as that."
*As simple as that,* thought Julian. *I wish it were.* He said nothing though, simply nodded as he moved to retrieve his broken racquet.
"You're right, Chief," he said finally. "And thank you," he added as he headed out of the court.
"Think nothing of it," said O'Brien to Julian's retreating back.
******
There was a determined look on Julian's face as he headed towards the guest section of the habitat ring. He'd briefly considered going back to his quarters to change out of his somewhat dishevelled racquetball suit, but had quickly decided against it. If he turned aside now he'd probably end up not confronting his father at all. Better to do it while the adrenalin rush of his anger still buoyed up his confidence.
He stopped outside his father's quarters, pausing to take a deep breath before touching the door chime. His heart pounded in his chest as he heard his father's voice call out to him to enter. It took every ounce of courage he possessed to take the single step which carried him over the threshold.
I face the possibility of the unknown every day out here without a second thought, and yet I'm terrified of being alone in the same room with my own father!*Julian berated himself silently as the door slid closed behind him.
David Bashir was sitting at a desk, working on a stack of papers. He turned at the sound of the door closing and his expression darkened as he registered wo his visitor was.
"Julian, I thought we got all of this nonsense out of the way last night," he said with irritation.
"Nonsense! Is that how you see it?" Julian's anger bubbled to the surface once more. "What you did to me last night was unforgiveable."
"Then why are you here?" his father retorted.
"We still need to talk - in private." Julian moved further into the room, coming to a halt close by his father. "There are too many things we've never talked about. Things I never understood. I thought it didn't matter. Seeing you again has made me realise it does."
"What sort of things? Julian, you're making even less sense than you usually do." David Bashir sighed and began to swivel his chair away from his son. Julian reached out, grabbing the chair back and preventing him from turning away.
"No! I'm not going to let you turn your back on me again. This time you have to answer me." Julian's eyes caught and held his father's. "I have to know. Why have you always hated me so much? Why was nothing I ever did good enough for you? You never gave me the least bit of encouragement. Why did you always want to hurt me, ridicule me, make me feel like less than nothing? I was your son; I wanted to love you, but all I ever felt was fear. I need to understand."
For a long moment after Julian stopped speaking the tableau held; brown eyes stared fiercely into icy grey. Then David Bashir got to his feet, pushing past his son as he headed towards the replicator. Julian straightened, waiting for his father to say something. He halted in the middle of the room and turned back to face his son.
"You really want an answer to those questions, Julian?" he asked thoughtfully.
"Yes, I think I deserve that much from you," said Julian quietly. David Bashir nodded slowly, as if coming to a decision. He moved back towards Julian until he stood scant inches from him. He looked him up and down before speaking.
"What is that ridiculous thing you're wearing?"
"This? It's what I wear to play racquetball," said Julian, caught off balance by the totally irrelevant question.
"Racquetball. I thought it was tennis you were going to be a great champion at." The sarcasm in his voice made Julian flinch. "Oh, but of course, that was just another of your whims, wasn't it? Another one of those grandiose ideas of yours that always came to nothing."
Julian gritted his teeth.
"I wasn't good enough to be a professional tennis player. I admit that. Racquetball I just play for fun; it's good exercise."
"The trouble with you, Julian, was that you were never good enough at anything," said David Bashir dismissively. "You were always second best at everything you turned your hand to. My son, the one who was always content to be second rate!"
"That's not true," insisted Julian angrily. "I worked so hard at medical school. I wanted to show you I'd made the right choice, that medicine was what I was good at. All I ever wanted was to make you proud..."
"But you failed again," his father's voice interrupted harshly. "And after I gave you so much, Julian, the best schools, the benefit of my experience - all wasted. You never learned. You were always so weak, stuttering and stammering like an idiot. Oh, and of course your mother indulged you, and you clung to her apron strings like a baby. you've never had the guts to fight for yourself. You're still hiding behind other people now, that commander of yours and the Trill woman. That was the only thing you ever were good at, twisting people around your finger to get their sympathy. Oh you could cry so picturesquely when you wanted to.
"You were pathetic, Julian, and as far as I can see nothing much has changed. That's why I despised you; because you were never prepared to fight back."
"Is that why you used to beat me?" Julian tried to snatch back the words, but it was too late. He stared at his father, breathing hard, trying not to show his sudden fear. He hadn't wanted to raise those particular memories. David Bashir laughed coldly.
"I always hoped you'd resist; just once show some spirit, but you never did. You just used to stand there, oh so submissive, and let me beat you black and blue. It didn't matter that you knew you'd done nothing wrong, or at least nothing to warrant that kind of beating. You never once tried to stop me."
"And you're saying that if I had you wouldn't have done it again." Julian stared at his father incredulously.
"You needed toughening up." David Bashir shrugged his shoulders offhandedly. "The weak don't survive long in this world of ours. If you'd shown just one spark of resistance I'd have stopped, but that particular lesson always seemed to be beyond you."
"I lived in terror of those beatings," said Julian, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I couldn't understand why you did it; why you seemed to enjoy hurting me. I was so afraid of failing at something, of disappointing you, because I knew what would happen if I did. But the pressure that put me under was too much; that's why I did fail. Couldn't you see that? Or were you just too busy enjoying the power that gave you over me?"
"So, you're still trying to blame others for your own shortcomings, Julian." David Bashir taunted his son, waiting to see his reaction. "Why don't you just accept that the problem is you? All those years of study, dreaming of being some heroic figure - Julian Bashir, the doctor who can perform miracles! And what's the reality? A Starfleet lieutenant junior grade, stuck out here in the middle of nowhere; I doubt the people back at Starfleet Headquarters even know you exist. It's meaningless, Julian."
"That's not true! What I do here matters. I've saved many lives, and every one of them was worthwhile. I've made good friends here. I have colleagues who respect me. I've learned so much since I came here. I won't let you take that away from me!" Julian's face was flushed and he reached out, gripping his father's arms, as if to force him to take notice of him. "Why won't you just take me seriously for once?"
"It's difficult to take a histrionic child seriously," said David Bashir coldly, shaking free of his son's grip. "Look at you, puffed up full of righteous indignation, but it's all words, Julian, no substance. I know you too well. Oh, you think you're so angry you could hit me, but you just don't have the nerve to do it. And one touch from me and you'd be in tears - just the way you always were. Go away, Julian, learn to be a man. Then perhaps I'll be able to call you my son without feeling ashamed."
"Ashamed - you're ashamed of me?" Julian looked at his father, totally stricken.
"Yes, and after your outbursts yesterday and now are you surprised?" David Bashir's mouth curled in a sneer. "If it weren't for your looks I'd never believe you really were my son. There's nothing in you I recognise, Julian. Now, I really don't have any more time to waste. I have an important meeting to plan for. Please don't bother coming back here. I have nothing more to say to you." With that he turned his back on his son and returned to the desk.
Julian stood stunned for a long moment. Words chased themselves round and round in his head. He couldn't take in what his father had just said - I'd never have believed you really were my son. Julian wanted to scream aloud in denial, but no sound would come. Unable to stand being in the same room as his father any longer he bolted for the door.
End of part two
Continue with part three