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From: jantrim@netcom.com (joyce antrim)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: New DS9 story: Crystal Burning (vampire)
Date: 1 Feb 1995 03:32:25 -0600
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Crystal Burning : A Deep Space Nine story.  Copyright on all Star
Trek characters and settings, Paramount Pictures; copyright on
original characters and story, Brenda S. Antrim, 1995.  Dedicated to 
Wendi Arant and Janis Cortese (thanks, sisters!).  Comments are always 
welcome.  Enjoy!


     Doctor Windese's field was xenohematology.  She would have
claimed it was a matter of survival, if she ever discussed the
reasons for her obscure specialization.  They wouldn't understand,
but then they didn't need to understand.  And they certainly didn't
need to hear her rationale.  She wouldn't have explained even if
anyone could have gathered enough courage to ask.
     Doctor Julian Bashir studied his visiting colleague as
covertly as possible, which wasn't nearly as discreet as he
imagined.  He'd greeted her upon her arrival with all his normal
enthusiasm.  Her utterly professional courtesy in response to his
overtures had nearly frozen him to the deck, and he'd been bloody
well professional right back at her.  His stiffness had amused
Kira, until the major had been withered by a blast of Windese's
formality herself.  The irritated Bajoran first officer had been
quick to return to Ops, with a sarcastic aside for Julian to "enjoy
himself" as she left the infirmary.  He didn't think that was a
likely possibility.  He sighed, and made one last stab at
hospitality.
     "It's getting late, Doctor.  Would you care to join me for
dinner?"
     She raised her head slowly from the spectrascope, her short
cap of curls shining blue-black in the bright overhead lights.  He
was struck again by her strangely colorless eyes, with irises like
clear crystal, sparkling and bottomless.  Her elegant, pale face
was utterly expressionless as she refused his invitation with the
least possible words needed to remain within the realm of good
manners.  Feeling completely put in his face, he found himself torn
between relief and disappointment.  His initial reaction to her
beauty had been attraction banked but not doused by her icy
attitude, and it stubbornly refused to fade in the face of her
continued indifference.  She bent her head back to her instruments,
long, slender fingers moving delicately over the datapad, clearly
dismissing him.  He raised a brow at the sleek top of her head,
shrugged, and left with a slightly miffed "Good night, then."  She
didn't respond.
     The infirmary was silent for several long moments after the
young man had left.  Her hands gradually stilled, her arrow-
straight spine slowly curved, and she sat in a relaxed slouch at
the console.  She raised her eyes to study the closed door, then
swept her glance over the empty infirmary.  Rising a bit unsteadily
from her stool, she moved across the room to lean against the wall
next to the replicator.  Punching the keypad with swift, sure
strokes, she quickly reprogrammed the menu and whispered a short
phrase.  Instants later, one hand closed around the neck of a two
liter container of liquid while the other rapidly reversed the
programming, erasing all signs of the meal she had just replicated. 
With a thirst bordering on desperation, she raised the carafe to
her lips and drank deeply.  The shakiness began to ease and a light
flush spread over her collarbones up into her throat.  She drank
until the liquid was completely gone, then placed the container in
the bin to be recycled with the medical waste.  As she washed the
last drops of warm crimson fluid from her mouth and hands, she met
her own eyes in the mirror above the sink.  A brief smile curved
her firm lips and she wondered what the lovely young lad would say
if he'd seen her dinner.  Probably pass out, she mused, and returned
to her research with a shrug.



     "Zsanis Kristeen Windese.  What an unusual name."  Dax
couldn't resist gently teasing Julian.  Obviously, the new
researcher on temporary assignment to DS Nine had gotten under his
skin.
     "Unusual.  Right," he snorted indelicately.  "First class ice
queen, that one is."
     "Didn't she fall for your charm, Julian?  Now, that does
surprise me!"
     He shot her a reproachful glance from huge olive eyes.  It had
not been a good day, and Jadzia'a warped sense of humor was not
helping his admittedly sour mood.
     "Oh, it wasn't just me.  Ask Kira!  Windese was a block of ice
to her, too!"  He heard the petulance in his own voice, and tried
to lighten the conversation.  "She really is quite brilliant. 
Holds several advanced degrees, including xenobiology and
xenohematology from the Vulcan Science Academy."
     "Maybe that's why she's so reserved, Julian.  It couldn't have
been easy, being a Human student in such a small field at VSA. 
Perhaps she's just shy."
     "Are you saying if I give her time perhaps she'll thaw?"  Dax
nodded and he pretended to mull it over.  "No.  She's only here for
two months.  Two millennia, maybe -- two months?  Not a chance!"
     She laughed at his disgruntled expression and deftly changed
the subject.  Julian was going to have to share his small lab with
the woman.  He didn't need to have his mealtime conversations
filled with her presence as well.



     Two and a half weeks.  Eighteen days.  Four hundred and sixty
eight hours.  Julian often appreciated the additional two hours per
day he'd gotten since he arrived at Deep Space Nine.  Now they
seemed like an extra penance he was paying for some heinous crime
he wasn't aware of committing.  Not that Doctor Windese was
unpleasant.  Or pleasant.  She merely moved around him as if he
were a piece of lab equipment, and not very interesting equipment
at that.  Unfortunately, his awareness of her had continued to
grow, until her effect on him was becoming obvious.  Not to mention
embarrassing.  And he didn't see any way around it.  He couldn't
very well let her drive him out of his own infirmary, and she
couldn't do her research anywhere else.  They were at an impasse,
but he seemed to be the only one having a problem with the
situation.
     Stepping into the corridor, he tapped his commbadge and tried
to find a calm, upbeat tone.
     "Bashir to O'Brien."
     There was a muffled thump over the open line before a
distracted voice answered, "O'Brien here, doctor.  What can I do
for you?"
     "Are you up for a game of racquetball, Chief?"
     Miles didn't answer for a moment, then, suspiciously, "At two
o'clock in the afternoon?"
     Julian's eyes widened and shot to the wall chrono.  It was
only 1400?  It felt like 2100.  At least. 
     "Um, no, of course not now.  I meant tonight.  After duty.  Of
course."
     "Honestly, Julian, I'd kind of like a break," came the weary
reply.  "In the last couple weeks we've played nearly every night,
and lately you've been brutal.  Something bothering you, doctor?"
     "Oh, no, really," Julian hastily answered, unconsciously
shaking his head.  "I'm sorry about that, Miles.  I didn't realize
I was being so demanding."  He sounded discouraged.
     "That's all right, I -- like the challenge."  O'Brien almost
managed to make it sound like he meant it.  "But tonight I'd really
rather just rest up a bit."
     "Sounds good.  Well, then ... Bashir out."
     Great, he grumbled to himself.  Now what do I do with myself. 
His thoughts turned to the long, deserted corridors near the outer
perimeter of the docking ring.  Ah, exploration, he suddenly
grinned.  If nothing else, a nice long hike would tire him out
enough to sleep without any more embarrassing dreams.  He hoped.



     They weren't as smart or as fast as the t'kla rats that roamed
the Vulcan desert, but they were canny in their own way.  They
provided a decent chase and satisfied her hunger.  Zsanis pounced
lightly as a hunting cat on the Cardassian vole, swiftly avoiding
the slashing claws and competently snapping its neck.  When she had
finished feeding, she laid the lifeless body neatly in a shadowed
corner, confident the other voles would make short work of the
corpse.  With a silent word of thanks to the departed vole for the
nourishment and entertainment it had provided, she tidied her
jumpsuit and brushed her hair back from her face.  Noticing a
scratch on her wrist, bleeding slightly where one of the creature's
claws had nicked her, she delicately licked it clean.  It had
already almost completely healed, and it finished closing as her
tongue flicked away the last of the blood.  Relaxed and satiated
for the moment, she leaned against a rusty support beam and thought
about her current situation.
     Her research was going well.  She had isolated at least two
and possibly three elements in Bajoran blood that might be useful
in solving her particular problem.  The research into interspecies
blood-born viruses that was her public research goal would also
benefit, but she'd been trying to isolate and correct her own
mutated genes for over five hundred years.  If the Bajoran
platelets didn't work, it would mean another several years of
pseudoplasma and rodentia.
     A slight noise caught her attention, and she faded into the
shadows.  A single beam of light cut the darkness, followed by
young Bashir's lanky form.  To her hastily suppressed amusement, he
was muttering to himself, the words carrying clearly to her
hypersensitive ears.
     "-don't know what else I'm supposed to be doing," he growled
softly, poking and picking his way through the debris.  "Tried
sonic showers.  Tried cold swims.  Just about beat poor Miles to
death on the courts."  His expression of self-disgust sent a fresh
wave of giggles through her, but she managed to control them.
     "Why do I always do this?  First Jadzia.  Then Kira -- ha! 
Latent attraction, my eye.  Of course she's gorgeous, but she'd
sooner spit in my eye than ever go to bed with me!"  He paused,
thinking about this for a moment with an arrested expression on his
face, then shaking his head dismissingly and continuing.  "And now
the Ice Queen herself."  He kicked disconsolately at a rusty piece
of tubing, sending cascading echoes rippling through the corridor. 
Windese winced in pain and grabbed her ears, glaring at the
oblivious Julian.  She missed the next few words, shaking the
lingering pain from her eardrums, and he ambled on.  As the last of
the ringing disappeared, his muttering voice also faded.
     "Why do I always want the ones who don't want me?"
     She could sympathize.  He didn't realize it, but his presence
was pushing her resistance to the limits.  The close confines of
the lab made avoidance impossible, and the combination of his long-
limbed, dark beauty, eloquent eyes, medical brilliance and basic
sweet nature undermined her determination to remain aloof.  Not to
mention the fact that he smelled absolutely delicious.
     The problem was that she didn't trust her own reactions.  It
was quite possible that she could lose control, given the force of
her passion and the length of her celibacy.  Besides having to go
on the run again, she didn't want to hurt Bashir.  His opinion to
the contrary, she enjoyed his company.  He'd just never know it,
not if she could help it.
     She pushed herself away from the wall and willed herself back
into her quarters, anxious to avoid accidentally running into
Julian in the empty corridors.  Hopefully, she could give herself
up to the forgetfulness of sleep for a few hours.  If she was
lucky, the dreams wouldn't intrude and disturb her rest.  She was
seldom lucky.



     He was driving her to distraction.  For nearly a week he'd
been involved in cracking the code on a Bajoran genome responsible
for spinal malformation in a significant number of adults born in
Cardassian labor camps.  He had isolated the permutations in the
strand the previous day, and had been so excited by his progress
that he'd worked through the night.  All night.  In the lab.  Next
to her, behind her, all around her.  The replicator in the
infirmary was the only one she could safely reprogram, and the
voles weren't much better than a snack to supplement her diet, so
she was getting a little light-headed from not eating.  Or perhaps
it was his scent.
     She stared at him with barely concealed hunger as he matched
one record with another, for once oblivious to her presence as his
eyes flew over data and his mind sorted rapidly through
combinations and connections.  He didn't notice her stare,
completely caught up in the medical puzzle before him.  In an
instant of breathtaking beauty, his face lit up with triumph.
     "That's it!"  His fingers flew over the keypad, and he stored
his results with a satisfied sigh.  "There are a few further tests
to be run, of course, to cross check these results, but I think it
might well be the answer to-" he swung around to share his
discovery with her, only to be stopped by the oddly intent look on
her face.  She tried to smile at him, a painful effort he put down
to lack of practice.
     "Congratulations, Doctor Bashir.  This is quite an
accomplishment."  Her voice sounded strangled, as if she wasn't
getting enough air.  Her face was even more pale than normal, and
her luminous crystal eyes seemed to have flames dancing through
them.  How unusual, he thought distractedly, burning crystal. 
Fiery ice.  Triumph forgotten in concern over his colleague, he
pushed himself out of his chair and put a steadying hand on her
arm.
     "Are you all right, Doctor Windese?"
     She inhaled sharply, unwillingly, then swayed slightly, eyes
half closed and fixed on his face.  He brought his other hand up to
her opposite shoulder, fearing she might faint.  She smiled
dreamily up at him and he caught his own breath at her incandescent
beauty.  The fire from her eyes now seemed to glow under her skin,
and she entranced him.
     "My name is Zsanis.  What is that scent you're wearing,
Bashir?"
     "Julian," he automatically corrected, stunned by the change in
her.  "And, um, I'm not.  Wearing any cologne, or anything, that
is, I mean."  He was tripping over his tongue, but he couldn't help
it.  His brain felt foggy with fatigue from his intense research,
the long all-nighter combining with his rampant lust for this
unexpectedly sensual woman to turn his mind to mush.  She was
leaning slightly against him now, sliding one hand along his chest
to wrap it lightly around his throat, slipping the other arm around
his waist to gently urge his chest against hers.  He was somewhat
taller than she, and she fit perfectly along the line of his body. 
The attraction he had fought unsuccessfully all month overpowered
his control, and he curved his hands around her back, smoothing the
long muscles and cuddling her close to him.  He felt like he was
floating through a heavy mist of desire, as if nothing was quite
real.  A low moan escaped his lips as she moved against him, making
him tremble.
     His scent surrounded her, causing her to lose the last tenuous
grasp on her control.  When he touched her, concern evident in his
beautiful light voice, it was already too late.  She was drawn to
his warmth, his flushed skin, his sweet taste.  Lab coat,
jumpsuits, boots, stockings, underthings were stripped away, and
they came together under the force of an ages-old attraction.  As
he cried out his fulfillment she found hers, leaning over his
tensed body, finding the carotid artery thrumming with the force of
their passion.  At the precise moment his world flew apart, so did
hers, as her fangs bit delicately into his flesh.  She drank
deeply, satiating them both.  He felt an incredibly shattering
level of awareness at the end, as if his nerve endings were
flaming, as if his soul was breaking away.
     She managed to rein in her hunger before she did anything
permanent, but it was a struggle for control she nearly didn't win. 
Panting with exertion, she pulled her head back from his
outstretched throat, and a low growl rose unbidden from her chest. 
He was barely conscious, and she cradled his head against her,
smoothing back his hair and softly kissing him.  This was her
fault.  She'd known she was playing with explosives, between his
attraction to her and her own weakness for him.  Wearily, she
pulled herself away from him and reached for her jumpsuit.
     "Zsanis."
     His whisper startled her, and she whipped away from him,
raising a hand to cover her stained mouth.  She wasn't quick
enough.  He laughed softly, with an edge of hysteria.
     "That was the best sex I've ever had in my life.  Now would
you please tell me what the hell just happened?!"  His voice gained
strength as he spoke, raising until he was almost shouting.  She
put her fingertips over his lips, and he tasted the slick saltiness
of his own blood.  His eyes grew huge over her restraining fingers,
and she smiled gently at him, deliberately flashing her fangs.  His
throat moved in a long, slow swallow, and she nodded her head.
     "Yes, dear.  We have to talk."



     "A virus?"
     "Um hum."  Clothed again, colleagues again, only sore muscles
and tiny throat wounds to show they'd ever been more.  She
marvelled at the strength of his professional curiosity.  He clung
to it like a lifeline.
     "And the physiological changes, the ability to shape-shift --
this is amazing.  How were you infected?"
     She leaned back as he sat forward.  He had no idea how
appealing he was, and no idea yet of how much she was trusting him.
     "It was 1916.  I was a nurse with the Austro-Hungarian army in
the Vasges during the First World War-" at his utterly blank look,
she sighed.  "Ancient history.  Anyway, I'd disguised myself as a
man and trailed after my lover into the army.  When he was killed,
I didn't see any reason to leave.  There was so much confusion, and
we were so short handed ... let's just say they didn't look too
closely at the volunteers.  Especially in the mountains.  I kept
myself apart from the others as much as possible, and one night
this soldier came to me.  He was very pale, almost emaciated, and
weak, or so I thought."  She fell silent, remembering the pain and
fear of the encounter, as well as the unexpected ecstasy.  He saw
the conflicting emotions on her face and took her hand gently to
comfort her.  His warmth distracted her from the harsh memories,
and she was able to give him a brief sketch of the time that
followed.  The decades of unwilling murder, until a suitable
pseudoplasma was developed, the hassle of constantly reinventing
her life, the feeling of always being on the run.
     "Never being able to allow anyone too close, for whom could I
trust?  How would I know whether their desire would turn to fear
and disgust when they discovered the truth?"  And how would I keep
myself from giving in to the temptation to create more monsters
like myself, if only to stop being so alone, she thought, but
didn't say aloud.  He had enough to think about with adding that
particular concern.
     "So you've been crossmatching blood from various carbon based
species in an attempt to discover a treatment to reverse the
virus?"
     "Or at least counter the effects."
     "Have you been aging at all?"  His hands were moving gently
but firmly over her face, examining her eyes, her neck, down her
arms, across her palms.  His touch was detached, impersonal, but it
still burned her.  The hunger rose again and she drew her lips
back.  He glanced up, saw the razor tips of her incisors, and
hastily dropped her hands.  "Sorry!"
     She drew a ragged breath.  "It's all right.  Really.  But you
probably shouldn't touch me.  It's been a long dry spell, and
you're ... rather intense."  And tasty, she mentally leered,
careful not to let it show on her face.
     He blushed slightly and touched the puncture wounds on his
throat with tentative fingers.  Maybe a little space would be a
good idea.
     "Would you like some help?" he asked abruptly.  This was a
puzzle he could really sink his teeth into -- the double meaning
hit him and he groaned.  She cocked her head and gave him an
inquiring look, and he shook his head.
     "I would like to stop this disease.  And your talent as a
researcher is unquestioned.  But I need to know one thing."
     "Which is?"
     "Can you keep your mouth shut?"  She shrugged at his hurt
look. "Well, you do have a reputation as a motormouth.  If you're
going to talk, I might as well pack it in and run now."
     "I won't say anything," he promised, determination plain in
his expression.  She looked at him for a long moment.  He certainly
would try not to say anything, she decided, and she might as well
trust him.  If worse came to worst, she could always hop a
freighter.  One thing hundreds of years of experience had taught
her was to find out where all the exits were first.
     "I'd appreciate the help."



     It was an odd month.  They only touched by accident.  Miles
was completely exhausted and actually prayed for something to break
so he would have an excuse not to play racquetball.  The vole
population decreased dramatically.  Lab equipment was utilized to
124 per cent capacity.  There were lots of showers, but little warm
water was used.  Julian found himself dropping for impromptu sets
of pushups on the isolation ward floor.  Zsanis held her breath
whenever he came near, although there were more than a few illicit
sniffs when he wasn't looking.  They got an incredible amount of
work done.
     They didn't find a cure.
     Or even a viable treatment.
     Julian was intensely frustrated, in more ways than just one. 
Zsanis was more used to failure but still, it was difficult. 
Finally, the day before her scheduled departure, he watched her
packing away datachips with a heavy frown.  She glanced up and
caught his expression.  Moving over to join him, she ran a finger
lightly over his pouty lower lip.
     "If nothing else, we made some breakthroughs on the
interaction between Cardassian plasma and the neuroallergins.  Who
could predict the serum would break down that way?  So at least
there was some benefit to our work."
     "Certainly.  Just none for you," he groused, trying to catch
her fingertip with his teeth.
     "Some for me, Julian.  Even negative results tell us
something.  They show us which paths not to follow.  You know
that."
     "Yes."  He didn't sound happy about it.  "But what will you
do?"  He gave in to impulse and wrapped her in a gentle hug.
     "The same thing I have been doing for centuries."  She
returned the embrace, holding him tightly, resting her head in the
hollow of his shoulder.  "I'll keep searching."
     "We both will."
     She drew back to search his face, somehow not as surprised by
his reaction as she supposed she should be.  There were depths here
she would dearly love to explore, if she could only trust herself.
     "Thank you, my friend."  She reached up to kiss him, meaning
to keep it short, an expression of appreciation and a goodbye.
     Big mistake.
     Their mouths came together, and her fang tip lightly grazed
the tender flesh of his inner lip.  He jerked slightly, a slight
trickle of blood dashing across his tongue, and hers caught it as
they slid together.  A jolt of awareness sizzled through her body,
and her lip curled back.  Her mouth slipped from his to leave a
moist trail across his jaw, under his ear, down the side of his
neck.  He arched into her caress, and she was vaguely aware that
she really should stop this before it got out of hand.  Her body
wasn't listening, so her mind gave up the fight.
     Once again it was a conflagration.  When they came back to
themselves, clothes were draped from one end of the lab to the
other, the exam table was shoved over two feet, the diagnostic
computer was tilted sideways.  He was wrapped around her, she was
draped over him, and there was blood on her lips.
     She sighed.
     "We really have to stop doing this."
     His voice sounded far away, exhausted.  "Well, you are going
away tomorrow.  We could consider it a ... going away party,
without the chocolate cheesecake and the dancing."
     She giggled, feeling young and a bit dizzy.  Trailing
butterfly kisses up the smooth contours of his chest, she lapped
like a kitten at the fresh puncture wounds on his neck.
     "I have to leave pretty early in the morning."  Her tone
dropped slightly, and she nuzzled the hollow of his throat.  "I'll
miss you, lad."
     He rested his chin lightly on top of her head.  "We'll stay in
contact, you know.  I'm not giving up on finding a cure, I
promise."
     She smiled against his skin.  "I know.  Between the two of us,
we might just lick this thing."  They both chuckled at the imagery,
then sobered.  "I hate goodbyes.  Please don't see me off in the
morning."
     "If that's what you wish, then I won't."
     He rolled to his feet, gently pulling her up beside him.  They
dressed in silence, pausing for affectionate touches and teasing
kisses.  Coming to stand in front of her, he cupped her face in his
hands and brought her mouth up to meet his, kissing her tenderly
and thoroughly.  They held one another briefly before she drew
away.
     "I'll be checking back with you, then.  I ... look forward to
it."  She struggled to keep her voice light.
     He nodded, keeping his head down.  She studied him for a
moment, reaching out to touch the deep sable curls gently in
farewell.  Turning without another word, she left the darkened
infirmary.
     He rubbed his fingertips together lightly, as if to rub away
the swiftly healing puncture marks he had felt on her throat when
he held her and kissed her.  Walking slowly into the tiny bathroom,
he activated the lights over the mirror and studied his reflection
thoughtfully.  His teeth appeared normal, but there was no denying
the thin trickles of blood trailing from the corners of his mouth. 
Nor could he deny the odd burning in his veins, the blood singing
through his system.  He grinned slightly at himself.
     One way or another, it would be one hell of a research
project.