Chapter Text
Julian is groggy when he wakes up, groggy and kicking himself for having that last drink the night before. His head is killing him, so it takes a moment for him to open his eyes. But when he does, he nearly screams when he finds that people are standing over him. Despite his sluggishness, he quickly takes stock of the situation, noting that he’s definitely not in his room at the conference anymore, and realizing with a gasp that he recognizes two of the figures. Enabran Tain and General Martok. Except Tain looks much worse than he did the last time he’d seen him, and Martok is missing an eye. Julian rises to a sitting position.
“Where am I? What- what’s going on?”
Tain answers him, smirking.
“I have a feeling you already know, Doctor Bashir. You didn’t strike me as the stupid type when we last met. Foolish, yes, but stupid, no.”
“I thought the Dominion didn’t take prisoners?”
“A lie that serves them well. So, do you know Martok or just his changeling? Seeing as he had no idea who you were, I’ll assume only his changeling.”
“I suppose so, yes. At least, I did. It’s dead now.”
Martok growls.
“I have heard tales of what that changeling has done, causing the deaths of countless Klingons. It is good to hear that it perished. I wish only that I had been able to do it myself. How did you come to be here, Doctor?”
“I was attending a burn treatment conference on Meezan Four. I went to bed and woke up here.”
“And yet you are in your uniform?”
“… I may have gone to bed relatively drunk and fully clothed.”
The Klingon lets out a bark of laughter, clapping Julian on the shoulder.
“You are fortunate, others have come here wearing far worse. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have death to face.”
“What does that mean?”
A Romulan man, Julian will later find his name is Rotes, speaks as Martok makes his way out of what Julian now knows to be some sort of barracks.
“The Jem’Hadar fight the Klingons to learn their ways. Martok is the only Klingon here at present. Do not bother following now, you will be able to see enough within the next hour or two.”
And he does. After getting an explanation of the internment camp – 371 to be precise – and a rundown of Tain’s plans to call for rescue, he sees exactly what the Jem’Hadar are putting Martok through. He fights well, it’s to be expected, but the Jem’Hadar are strong, and they don’t pull their punches. By the time Martok is released from his “training” he’s battered and bruised, albeit laughing all the while. With a hiss, Julian gets Martok sat down in their barracks and starts assessing his injuries. Martok grins in amusement at his tough yet gentle care. After some time, Julian speaks up.
“How often do they have you fighting?”
“Every few days.”
“You’ve lasted two years fighting them like this?”
“Not without my losses, as you can see. And it wasn’t always just me.”
Martok winces a bit, whether from his injuries or from memories, Julian isn’t sure.
“I’m sorry.”
“They all fought bravely. They had… honorable deaths.”
“And yet?”
“And yet I remain. I believe the First lets me live even when I should have been killed if only to cause me torment. To use me as a lesson, yes, but I see it in their eyes that they hunger for more. I know not what I have done to earn their wrath but earned it I have.”
Finishing up his work with the pop of a bone into place, Julian leans back against the wall beside Martok with a heavy sigh.
“I was supposed to be headed home soon. Back to Deep Space Nine. And I guess I will be, but it won’t be me. Who knows what they’ll do as me. What harm they’ll cause.”
“You do not know that they will not discover the changeling. There is always a chance.”
“No one had any clue you were replaced. If they didn’t know you were, then they won’t know I was. Does part of me wish I believed they would know? Yes. Yes, it would be so nice to imagine them catching the difference. Imagine them being able to look at me and know that it’s not me, but that’s not fair. People are multifaceted. They change, they have bad weeks, bad months, times when they’re not themselves. If they do notice something, that’s what they’ll assume. It’s just natural. I’m less angry about them not knowing than I am about what they could do to them.”
“… You are wise, Doctor.”
Julian smiles sadly.
“If only that were enough.”
---
Three days after Julian arrives at the camp he’s taken to “isolation.” But when they take him behind the walls there’s no solitary cell, just a room with a strange chair and a Vorta. The guards strap him to the chair and then stay put beside him. Then the Vorta is speaking to him.
“Why if it isn’t the Doctor Julian Subatoi Bashir. My name is Deyos, and I run this camp. I’m sure you’ve heard of me.”
“Sorry, no one’s mentioned you.”
“Interesting. Well, you’ll be happy to know that your replacement has arrived on the station and is eagerly taking up your post. Your people are positively enthused to have you home.”
“What are they going to do to them?”
Deyos shakes his head, wagging his finger.
“Ah-ah-ah can’t tell you that. It’ll be a surprise for if you manage to live long enough. Speaking of which, the reason we’ve brought you here. Your enhancements. They are fascinating. Oh, you didn’t know we knew about that. Well, what was it- over two years ago? We had you in captivity long enough to be able to figure out something as simple as that. We pride ourselves on our own genetic engineering, after all.”
“I’m sure your genetic technology is far ahead of anything we have access to, why should I be of interest to you?”
“Don’t you see, though, it’s so different than anything we do. I simply must know what you’re capable of, especially as a human. Yes, yes, we’re going to have so much fun together. And we might as well cut right to it. Now, this is probably going to burn a bit, but don’t worry, we’ll heal you right up when we’re done. Good as new.”
“What do you- ah!”
The day goes by, and all Julian can feel is endless pain. Each time he thinks it’s over, it just gets worse. By the next morning he’s sure he’s unrecognizable. But then they’re working their magic and, when it’s all over and he’s being thrown out into the dome, he looks only a bit disheveled. General Martok is there when he gets out, and he nods at him before they start heading back to the barracks. Suddenly Julian finds himself being led into different, empty barracks though. Martok pushes him against the wall roughly, taking Julian's thumb and breaking the skin with his teeth. A prick of blood wells up, and Martok actually looks upset about it. Then he makes himself bleed as well before he stares hard into Julian’s eyes.
"What have they done to you?"
"What are you talking about?"
"I can see it, in your eyes. Whatever transpired beyond those walls was no isolation."
"It's nothing. Look at me, not a scratch. Except for my thumb, of course."
Martok is sharper than that though. He reaches out, grabbing Julian's chin and turning his head.
"Funny you should say that, because you did have a scratch just below your jaw before they took you, and now it's gone. You're no changeling, so it's almost as if you had been healed. But why would you need healing? And why would they heal you? Unless they didn't want to give you proof of their deeds."
"What are you saying?"
"A dishonorable trick. Cause you pain but leave no sign, eventually make you question whether it was truly happening. They want to break you down slowly. They want to take their time. But why you?"
"I... I'm Starfleet, they just want information."
It's not enough for him. He releases Julian's chin, pinning him with his eye once again.
"No. No, it's more than that. But I'll let you keep that secret. At least until you choose to tell me yourself."
"There's no secret."
"Of course not. Of course not. We should return to the others. Come."
"There's...no secret."
Julian follows Martok slowly, and when they return to their barracks, he acts like nothing has happened. At least he wasn't sharing his findings with the others then. No, it was just between them.