769: Exposed

by Jariel Camen
0201.1800
One Hour After The Coward’s Way

-=Bajor=-

“I know you have other deliveries to make, but you are just going to have to wait.”

Vedek Ram closed the link with the Yridiian freighter Captain, and stored the communications device in a pocket with his left hand, as the right hand tried to contain the continually squirming Gillan Tress. Battling her intense spirit for freedom, the heat of the day, and his own morbid obesity had turned what should have been a fifteen-minute stroll from the spaceport to the medical center in Polera Province into a one-hour ordeal.

He was only moments from boarding the freighter when Vedek Selivere had warned him that he may have been exposed to Vellat Fever. Vedek Ram knew all too well just how dangerous the corrupted vaccines sent out to the poor provinces of Bajor were. He had, after all, played a large part in their dissemination.

The once simple plan he had devised with Vettan Brell of Relanon Bio-Medical and Dendre Hald of the Bajoran Health Ministry was going increasingly complicated by the moment. The child was to be turned over to an orphanage outside the Federation where Jariel Camen would never be able to track her down, unless of course he agreed to their demands.

Jariel was to use his power as a Vedek to cover up all of Relanon’s role in the Vellat Fever outbreak. Then he was to leave Bajor, never to return. Only then would he be allowed to know the location of Gillan Tress, so he could reclaim her.

The charges against Fleur Le Marc would also be dismissed, and like Jariel, she would be forever banished from setting foot on Bajor. If Jariel failed to meet their demands, Tress would be turned over to whatever family saw fit to adopt her, and Le Marc would be swiftly convicted of kidnapping, and spend the rest of her days in the stockade.

With Le Marc safely locked away, all that remained was to get Tress off the planet. Ram was only moments from accomplishing this goal until fear for his own life compelled him to abandon the spaceport in favor of medical treatment.

He smiled politely at the curious onlookers as he struggled to maintain a hold on Tress. It was only the fact he was recognizable as a Vedek that prevented them from question exactly what it was he was doing.

As soon as he entered the medical center, Ram identified himself as a Vedek, and was quickly whisked off to an exam room. The Nurse eyed Tress, and Ram quickly suggested that perhaps she was already experiencing the fever, and could use a sedative.

The woman agreed, taking the Vedek’s word as impeccable, even if he was not a Doctor, and gave Tress a sedative.

“Maman, Papa.” She mumbled, as she drifted to sleep on the pillow in the exam room.

“I’ll need to input your information in the Computer, and the doctor will be right in, Vedek.”

“How soon will the doctor be here? I am on business for the Assembly. Please have any other patients bumped back so I can be seen as soon as possible.”

The Nurse left the room, and placed Ram’s information into the medical computer. At that same moment, Jariel Camen and Azalea Adams received an alert that the Vedek had been admitted to the medical center. The pair had already made their way to the transporter hub, where they were awaiting the call.

Before the Nurse even completed inputting Vedek Ram’s information, Azalea and Camen were already materializing in the lobby of the medical center.

“Where is Vedek Ram?” Jariel demanded, as he charged towards the main desk. Azalea had to jog to keep up with him.

“Vedek Jariel! They just took him back to Exam Room two. You can go back and visit him if you like, but just be warned you may be exposed to Vellat Fever. We have not had a change to examine him yet.”

“I’ll take my chances, thank you Nurse.”

Azalea moved to follow him and the Nurse got between Jariel and the door to the exam rooms.

“I’m sorry, she cannot go in with you, unless she is family.”

“Doctor Adams is Starfleet Medical, and has extensive experience with Vellat Fever. Vedek Ram’s health is in danger, and she can help him. Now, stand down.”

The nurse wilted, daring not to question the Vedek, and stepped aside.

“Have a lovely day,” Azalea said, as she brushed by the Nurse and through the doors.

Camen threw open the door to the exam room, and found Vedek Ram hurriedly trying to down a dose of pain pills he kept concealed in his clothing.

“Doctor, thank you for seeing me on such short notice.” Ram began, before looking up, and realizing the man in the doorway not the Doctor. Jariel said nothing, staring down on Vedek Ram, who had turned white as a ghost.

“Bwa…. Bwa… Vedek Jariel. What are you doing here?” Ram shifted his bulk to try and conceal Tress from Jariel’s view.

Camen reached around him, and picked the sleeping Tress up off the bed.

“Is she all right?” Camen asked, handing Tress off to Azalea Adams.

“Security! Security!” Ram shouted.

“Shut up.” Jariel suggested, cool and calm. “Where did you send Le Marc?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ram blathered.

“They’ve given her some kind of mild sedative, but she seems all right. Though by the color of her face and mouth I’d say she had not had a proper meal in at least twelve hours.” Azalea glared at Vedek Ram.

“What’s going on here? Someone called for Security?” Doctor Drelid Svail stood in the doorway, with two large men over his shoulder.

“Please have Vedek Jariel removed. He is trying to take my child!” Ram pleased.

“Your child!” Camen and Azalea said in unison.

“Why don’t we just ask Tress who her father is?” Camen suggested.

Doctor Drelid held his men back, as Azalea cooed softly to Tress to get her to open her eyes. She turned the girl towards the two men, and when Tress’s groggy eyes opened slightly, she immediately saw Jariel, and reached out towards him, extending her tiny fingers across the gap between them.

“Papa!” She mumbled softly. Azalea handed her off to Jariel, and she tucked her face into his shoulder, as the sedative took hold once again and she drifted back to sleep.

“She was struggling with him when she came in, like she was trying to get away.” The same Nurse that had admitted Ram whispered to the Doctor.

“With all due respect, Vedek and Vedek,” The Doctor began, nodding respectfully to both men, “Each of you will remain here until Child Protection Ministry can come to sort all of this out.”

“And what will Minister Dressal say when he finds out you were planning to take Tress off the planet? No doubt you did not share that with him. And I’m sure you have some sort of papers showing you’ve booked passage off the planet on your person right now.”

Vedek Ram sat silently. Not so much out of defiance, but out of knowledge that Jariel had him dead to rights, and a search of his left pocket would yield the information Jariel needed to have him imprisoned.

“Then we’ll wait.” Camen said.

Jariel sat with Tress on his knee, letting her sleep peacefully while Azalea Adams regaled Doctor Svail with the tale of Gillan Tress’s journey from orphan in the Plains to soon to be adopted daughter of Fleur Le Marc and Jariel Camen.

When Minister Dressal arrived, Tress’s sedative just began to wear off, and the girl was now demanding food from Vedek Jariel.

Each man pleaded his case to Dressal, but Tress’s clear love of Jariel made it obvious who the girl really belonged with. If that was not enough, Vedek Ram’s communicator beeped.

[Vedek Ram! I can’t wait any longer. Are you coming or not?]

“Who could that be, Vedek?” Jariel asked.

[Vedek Ram, please reply!]

Ram sat quietly still, as the Yridiian captain’s damning voice filled the room.

[Fine, we are leaving. No refunds!]

The channel went silent. Minister Dressal folded his arms across his chest. “We will have a full hearing into these matters. If the child is indeed an orphan, as you say Vedek Jariel, you may petition at that time for full adoption rights to be granted. In the mean time, I’m placing the child in your care temporarily. I will see each of you tomorrow first thing in the morning.”

“Don’t be late for the hearing Vedek. We’ll be watching for you,” Jariel warned as he stood with Tress to leave. “I can offer you this much, Ram. If you tell me where Le Marc is being held and order the charges against her dropped, I may be persuaded to put in a good word for you at your sentencing. A little cooperation may make twenty years in prison into fifteen.”

Ram shoulder’s slumped, and he let out a heavy sigh. “She’s being held at the jail in the Capital City, under the number 56349.”

-=Fifteen minutes later=-

Fleur Le Marc sat in the corner of the cell, alone, again. She had gotten close to Jariel Camen finally, after so many years, only to be ripped away from him, so suddenly. Her heart told her he was rescuing Tress, and that was why he had not come. Her self-doubt told her she simply wasn’t worth coming for.

Camen entered the block, looking for her number on the wall beside the cells. Azalea was waiting outside with Tress. Camen had to convince the child to wait to see Fleur, because he wanted to see her first. As she heard him approach, her sad eyes lifted from the floor, expecting to see the guard.

When she saw his face, her heart skipped a beat as it always did when he was near. As it had for years.

“Tress?” She asked immediately, standing up from her seat in the corner.

“Outside, with Azalea Adams.”

Camen reached out to the control panel and deactivated the forcefield.

“I convinced Vedek Ram that it was in his best interests to drop the charges against you. Let’s go home, Fleur.”

********************
Jariel Camen
On Bajor

653: Altaan Awaits

by Jariel Camen
81109.2000
After Beyond Belief

-=Takesian Plains, Bajor=-

He could have stayed like this forever. Holding Fleur so close brought a sense of comfort and relief to him that he simply could not describe.

He had expected the feel of Fleur in his arms to fill him with peace, but what he had not expected was how young Tress had completely disarmed him. Like so many children of Bajor she had lost so much but still had everything to give.

However, even as he reveled holding Fleur close and knowing Tress was nearby, his comfort was shattered by the impending crisis in Altaan. Even seeing Tress now brought fear to his soul, as he saw her skin burning red with the growing fever.

Each one of Fleur’s tears was like a dagger to him as well. Things had been progressing so well in the Plains, and in Camen’s heart, recently. Now another crisis was upon them, and the love rekindling between Fleur and Camen would have to be set aside. Or, perhaps, this was another chance for them to fall even more deeply in love, as they watched each other selflessly serve the children on Bajor in the coming days.

Fleur had already made her intentions clear. She would not let Camen out of her sight once he left for Altaan. He had protested as a knee jerk reaction, but the fact remained she was immune to the fever, and Camen honestly did not want her out of his sight, either. For more reasons than one.

He cared for the children of Altaan, and Timal so deeply. Camen would need her strength at his side to guide him through difficult times ahead.

“You must eat now,” she said finally.

Camen sat down at the table, and waited for her to dish out a bowl of soup.

“What’s that?” He asked, seeing the letter he himself had written folded up on the table.

“Oh, zat? Just a list of some supplies I was needing.”

Camen reached out for the letter. “Oh, let me read it. I can pull some strings to get you what you need.”

“Non!” Fleur reached out and snatched the letter away. Camen’s eyes grew wide with curiosity at her overzealous reaction. “Sorry, it is, not complete yet, and I’m not sure I will be needing these things anyway.”

She slipped the letter into a pocket on her clothing, and set his bowl of soup down. Camen slowly poked at it with his spoon for a moment.

“Is it all right?” Fleur asked.

“It is wonderful, I just feel guilty not sharing it with Timal and the others,” Camen said.

He took a sip of broth, and could not help but give an “Mmm,” to the taste. There was nothing quite like the taste of her soup.

“Soon enough, we will be sharing with Altaan.” Fleur said.

Camen wished he could go there right away but he simply could not risk interacting with any other Bajorans between here and there. The only safe way to get to Altaan was through the Federation vessel, where he could transport without risking exposing himself to any fellow Bajorans.

The wait would be unbearable, he knew, for time always passed slowly when one wished they were helping those in need. Unfortunately there was no way to speed up the process. If he went to the transport hub now, he would expose himself to the operator, who in turn would spread the virus to his family. From there it would go through the schools, and to all the children’s families.

Soon a relatively well-contained virus would spread across all of Bajor, and turn into a pandemic.

Camen finished his soup, and lifted Tress into his arms. He could almost feel the change in temperature of her skin as he held her, and the fever increased. Tress made a simple sign to him.

[[Cold.]]

She tugged at his clothing, attempting to wrap herself in his sleeve. He was no doctor but he knew it was a terrible thing when one as hot as Tress complained of being cold. She was too young to understand what was happening to her as Camen did. But even he, as a grown adult, presented a challenge to Fleur when she tried to feed him and get him to drink.

“Do we have a clean washcloth?” Camen asked.

“Of course,” Fleur fetched one, and soaked it with water. Camen sat at the table, cradling Tress, as Fleur twisted the cloth to try and drip a few drops of water in Tress’s mouth.

“Mmm!” Tress protested, pushing the cloth away.

“Non, mon petite fille. You need water.” Fleur gently tickled the girl’s stomach, until she got a giggle. She then twisted the cloth and dripped water in Tress’s unsuspecting mouth.

Camen could not help but laugh, as Tress, realizing she had been had, clenched her mouth shut.

“So gentle,” Camen commented. “I find it almost impossible to believe you’ve never been a mother before.”

“I learned things by watching Brigitte all those years. Watching only, she did not afford me the same care that she did the others.” Fleur’s voice was resolute rather than sad as she spoke of the woman she had believed was her mother for so long.

“When one has a fever as bad as this you must keep them hydrated any way you can. Wet cloths, ice chips, glasses of water. Anything they will take. I would help care for my 'siblings' when they were ill. I had to grow up very fast, and learn life skills at such a young age. So, it is not inaccurate to say I did have some mothering skills.”

Camen took the cloth from her, so Fleur could take her own bowl of soup to eat.

[[Cold.]] Tress complained again.

Camen found a small blanket, and wrapped her up in it.

[[Blanket.]] He signed, and then tugged on the wrap for emphasis. He made the motion several more times, before Tress mimicked him, and pulled on the blanket herself

“Good girl.”

“And how is it you do this, eh, never having been a father?” Fleur asked.

“Like you I was surrounded by many children in my younger years, and had to grow up very fast. The orphanage is not kind to those who do not learn to care for themselves, or others. I could never help wishing to lend a helping hand to those younger and less fortunate than me. That has always been in my nature.”

Camen held Tress in one arm, and ladled himself a second bowl of soup with his free hand.

“We should talk about what we will need when we go to Altaan.” Fleur said.

“We’ll need many clean cloths for washing, clean bedding to replace contaminated sheets. Plastic or paper cups for dispensing clean water. Basically we need to be able to replace everything we bring in with new. Hopefully the Federation will share its replicators with us to provide the supplies, because there is no telling what if anything we can get from Bajor. Especially if the fever spreads.”

Camen rubbed his finger over the ridges on his nose.

“Mostly what you need is rest to prepare,” Fleur observed. “There will be little asleep ahead.”

“You know, Fleur, there is so much to be done in the Plains. There is no reason you need to come along as well. You have already done so much, no one will think less of you if you stay here and continue to work with the people of the Plains,” Camen said.

“I promised I would not leave you side, Camen. Maybe no one else would think less of me, but I would.”

Young Tress had drifted off to sleep as Camen cradled her in his arm. He set the child down to sleep, and she groaned softly, as she rested. Her sleep would be very unsettled and that meant Camen and Fleur’s would be as well. There was simply nothing that could be done now but to watch over her and hope the fever broke quickly.

“Fleur,” Camen began, as he watched Tress sleep. “Pace is still a very young man, and he has aspirations to possibly join the Vedek Assembly in the future. He is not ready for the responsibilities of fatherhood.”

“I would agree. His potential is limitless. He is a such a bright young man.”

“I was wondering if perhaps I should devote more time to caring for Tress, at least until some permanent arrangement can be made. The child seems to have taken to me.” Camen turned towards Fleur, “And to you as well.”

Fleur opened her mouth to speak, but Camen continued. “Of course, I don’t intend to volunteer you for motherhood, I’m just saying I think it would be good for Tress and Pace both if she had a steady adult influence, and he had the chance to focus on his studies without being worried about who is caring for his sister. Pace deserves every chance to flourish from adolescence into adulthood like his peers.”

“When the time comes, Pace can raise her himself if he chooses, or see that she is placed with a willing family.” There was a third option Camen considered but did not say right now. That being that the time may also come when, if Camen and Fleur move into a committed relationship, that Tress becomes a part of their family permanently.

“I believe that is an acceptable arrangement Camen. We will have to discuss it with Pace of course, once these events with the fever calm down.”

Jariel Camen
On Bajor

652: Uncertain

by Commander Adams
81108.16
Following Mission of Mercy

-=USS Alchemy=-

Commander Adams stood in the middle of the bridge, still in awe and quite unsure as to exactly how she'd come to be there.

Her memories were still hazy when it came to her previous assignment, though in the few days since her last resequencing she had remembered several people from it, and the name of the ship she had last served upon as well.

She remembered that the vessel itself had been lost, that they'd been involved in some sort of a paradox situation. She was grateful though, for however long it lasted, that she could not remember exactly what had taken place inside that paradox.

Her strongest memories were of three others from the crew of the lost prototype ship Perseids; a young pilot named Gira Lassiter, the ship's Executive Officer Lt. Commander Ashton Ledbetter, and of course her captain, Keiran O'Sullivan.
She heard the echo of O'Sullivan's lilting brogue in her head, but couldn't recall when or where they'd had the conversation in question.

-=Flashback=-

K.O. you look fine this evening in that suit." A far cry from the man she had ever only seen wear two things; his uniform, or a pair of faded jeans and a button down shirt.

"Thanks 'Zalea. So do you. Wearin' red at that..."

"Closest I'll ever get to Command colors, I figure."

Keiran laughed heartily. "Don't bet on that, no? Somehow I believe that you can have absolutely an'a'thing you put that mind to."

-=End Flashback=-

As she considered how quickly she had ended up taking a command position, even only temporarily, she hoped that his faith in her was justified.

"What the hell is this thing!"

She heard an astonished male voice over her shoulder and turned to see Commander Lance Hartcort of the USS Revolution standing just behind her. "It's...it's...

"It's a prototype with transwarp capabilities." Azalea informed him.

"You're joking." He scanned the faces of the rest of the bridge crew, including Dane Cristiane and Micah Samson. All indicated by their expressions that Adams was completely serious.

"I am not. This is why we are taking the Alchemy. You see, it seems that Captain Zanh Liis was raised at the orphanage in question, and so was the Serendipity's chaplain, Jariel Camen.

The same Jariel Camen who almost became Kai a decade ago and used to be the Federation's ambassador to Bajor. He still has powerful friends in the government. Taking into account that the people who run the place are very much their family, Commander Salvek did not hesitate to give us the very best technology available to reach the province as quickly as possible."

"Just how quick is 'quickly'?"

"Four days."

Lance whistled. This was a third of the time it would take any standard starship in the fleet at best possible Warp.

"What you see, and experience aboard this ship is to be considered highly classified," Adams added. "The Alchemy's true nature and capabilities are one of the best kept secrets in Starfleet today. We have been entrusted with that secret, so that we can use it to the full to save lives." Adams looked into Hartcort's eyes and believed she saw a man she could trust there. "Do I have you word?"

"Of course." Lance agreed. "What are your immediate orders for me, Commander?"

"Please take stock of Sickbay for me. I know that it's very small, but in case we have any need of it I would like you to be familiar with everything it has to offer us. Also, if you could double check the supplies we've brought and see if there is anything that you think I've overlooked, I would be most grateful."

"Right away." Lance took to the turbolift and Adams regarded the command chair again.

"We're ready to depart, Commander, by your leave." Dane announced, having received final clearance from the Sera's bridge. "They wish us Godspeed."

"We'll need it." Adams said, as she gracefully lowered herself into the center chair. "Take us out, Ensign Holt," she addressed the man at the helm.

Moments later the Alchemy was free in space and traveling at increasing speed, ready for the first transwarp jump of her journey.

"Should I...brace for this or something?" Azalea asked Dane softly.

He smiled at her. "No need."

"All hands, prepare for transwarp jump." Azalea decided to give the rest ample warning, just in case. But just as Cristiane had promised, moments later the jump was complete, and they were moving at high standard Warp toward Bajor.

"Wow." She shook her head.

"Yes, Sir. Wow." Dane echoed. "Would you like me to let the Sera know that we're safely on our way?"

"Please do."

Azalea listened to his panel beep as he input the appropriate commands, and her mind drifted back to the wedding that she had attended just the day before; that of her former Captain, and the Serendipity's.

-=Flashback=-

"I wanted to give you this gift myself," Ashton Ledbetter said, as he and Azalea greeted the groom after the ceremony.

The bride had been pulled away for a moment, and so only Azalea, Ash and Keiran were walking together toward the large, elegantly decorated tent that would house the reception.

Ledbetter held an isolinear chip out toward O'Sullivan, who regarded it with trepidation.

"Ash..." Keiran had an idea what it might contain, but sincerely hoped he was wrong.

"This holds the name of a good therapist, a marriage counselor, and the divorce attorney that is the only reason that Mother and I got to keep the large apartment in Seattle when Maris went for the jugular."

"Ashton!" Azalea exclaimed in horror, covering her eyes.

"You don't know the lovely bride as I do." Ashton insisted, holding up a hand in his own defense. "I just want him to have options in place should the worst ever happen." Though, in fact, in his eyes it already had. Ashton could think of no 'worst' that was worse than marrying Zanh Liis to begin with.

"Thanks for caring." Keiran said flatly, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, you're quite welcome. Now, I am rather thirsty. I think I will go and do something about that." Ledbetter took off ahead to seek out a drink, and Azalea shook her head.

"I can't believe he did that. He just doesn't like her much does he?"

"'Tis all right." Keiran smiled, giving her a wink. "I like her enough for the both of us." He held out the chip toward her. "Do us a favor, dear? Get rid of this thing for me. I don't want Liis to find out about it, or she may end up getting arrested for assault and battery at her own wedding."

"Will do." Azalea tucked the chip into her handbag, vowing to herself to dispose of it the first chance she got.

-=End Flashback=-

Adams wished now that she knew more about this Zanh Liis, and the people at the facility where she had grown up.

She had a feeling that she had once known a great deal about her. That O'Sullivan had taught her chapter and verse about the woman's life when they served together those two years. But the resequencing left those memories inaccessible, at least for the time being and so there was little she could do but wonder.

She swiveled the chair slowly from side to side as she began to review the latest reports from Bajor about the situation at hand.

Something caught her eye, and she realized that she had to speak with Hartcort about this new information immediately.

"Lt. Samson, you have the bridge. I'll be in Sickbay."

After she'd gone, Dane shot Micah a glance as he rose from the science station to take the center seat.

"Do you think we'll see Vedek Jariel on the planet?"

"Don't know, been wondering that myself." Micah replied, shifting uncomfortably. "I know one thing for sure, though."

"What's that?"

"If we do, I don't plan on being the one to tell him that Zanh Liis just got married."

Dane sighed. "Neither do I."

----------------------------------
Commander Azalea Adams
Currently Commanding the
USS Alchemy NX-53099
en route to Bajor

651: Beyond Belief

by Fleur Le Marc
81107.17
Following Written for Her

-=Takesian Plains, Bajor=-

Fleur stared at the words on the page in shock and dismay.

She had watched him write them, right before her eyes, as though she was not standing in the room.

She couldn't help but ask herself as she dissected the lines one by one in forensic detail if they were only the ravings of a man delirious with fever, or the true emotions of one so shy that he was unable to reveal them to her under any ordinary circumstances.

I wish you could see and feel the way you made me feel in another time, when we were husband and wife, and believe that I want you to make me feel that way now.

"I wish I could believe it, too." She whispered to the empty room.

The sound of the soup pot threatening to boil over brought her quickly to her senses, and she hurried to the stove to turn it off.

Had she really been reading and rereading his letter so long that it was now finished? She checked the chronometer and sure enough, it was time to wake him.

As she approached him, though, she was loathed to do it. Nights had been so fitful for him due to the fever, to see him so still and at peace in sleep was a gift.

She was about to turn around, deciding to keep the soup warm until he woke up on his own and asked for it, when she heard his voice and stopped.

"No! You're still not listening to me!" He exclaimed, sounding frustrated. He lifted his arms from the bed to sign, but in his dream only half finished the gestures, making them impossible for her to interpret.

"I'm telling you, it's not that I don't-" He began to thrash about, and Fleur wrung her hands, debating if she should try to rescue him from the dream.

"No! It doesn't have to be this way! I'm trying to tell you how I really feel," he declared. He heaved a heavy sigh.

Just as Fleur reached out to touch his hand, again Camen began to sign and speak at the same time.

The only word she could make out now amidst his incoherent mumbling was a name; one that cut her to the heart.

"Liis,"

Fleur stopped mid-motion and backed away. *Liis?*

Her heart sank, and she was certain it was breaking in her very chest as she hurried from the room.

"Liis, we can't go on like this," Camen continued, but only after Fleur was too far away to hear. "I can't pretend any longer. It's over."

Fleur leaned her hands flat against the counter in the kitchen, too stunned to cry.

No matter what he had written, it seemed he had not finished working out all of his feelings for Zanh Liis after all.

She had little time to dwell on her confusion, however, because she nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of a frantic pounding on the door.

"Delle?" Fleur was shocked to see the Vedek here, and even more shocked to see who she had brought with her.

"She's sick," Delle was near panic as she held a glassy-eyed Gillan Tress out toward Fleur. "The fever came on her so suddenly. I don't understand it. She had the vaccine, she was supposed to be safe."

Tress began to wail and nearly leapt from Delle's arms into Fleur's. She shook as she rested her head against Fleur's shoulder.

"Mama," she repeated softly over and over, a pitiful mantra to try to comfort herself.

Her curls were damp against her forehead, her cheeks bright red with fever.

"My god, Delle, is anyone else sick too? Pace?" Fleur asked.

"He seems to be all right. Two of the other children show early signs, but they've been quarantined with their family." Delle had tears in her eyes. "I hate to have to ask this of you, child, knowing you are already overwhelmed caring for Camen,"

"No no, it's all right. Go. Get some rest, before you get sick too." Fleur insisted. Tress's wails had dropped to whimpers, and she twisted a strand of Fleur's hair around her chubby fingers as she clung to her tightly.

Delle debated telling Fleur the rest of what she'd just heard, unsure if it was wise to do so or not.

She decided in the end that Fleur needed to understand the full scope of the developing situation.

"I am so sorry to have to tell you this, but it seems that young girl, the one that came to visit Camen from Altaan..."

"Milea?"

"Yes. She apparently came down with the fever shortly after returning to the orphanage, and now there's a full blown outbreak there."

"Oh my God." Fleur worried not only for all of the children, but she worried what would happen to Camen when he heard the news.

She had no idea that he'd been awakened by Tress's cries and was standing just over her shoulder.

"How many?" He asked, gravely concerned as he leaned against the wall and fought to stay on his feet.

"Sixteen, by last count. But the number is expected to rise...and Camen," Tears fell down Delle's cheeks as lowered her eyes to the floor. "One of those stricken is Vedek Timal."

"We have to send help." Camen's eyes focused with intense clarity now, and he stared at Fleur as she gently rocked Tress side to side on her hip.

"We've got to contact Starfleet. Favors are owed to me, we can have all of the Federation's best resources here within,"

"There is a team already on the way," Delle advised. "Two doctors, medical supplies..."

"Did you hear the names McKay or Hubbard?" Jariel was certain that if Starfleet had contacted the Serendipity and told Liis of the situation, she'd have made their very best available to Altaan in a heartbeat.

"No, I'm sorry. I can't recall their names, but I know those were not the ones spoken to me."

"I have to go there." Jariel announced. Both Delle and Fleur gasped.

"No! You are in no shape to go anywhere!" Fleur objected.

"When is the team due to arrive in orbit?" Camen demanded.

Delle sighed. "By last report, thirty-six hours."

"Then in thirty-six hours they will beam me to their ship, and I will accompany them to Altaan. I warn you, if you do not assist me in making this happen, Delle, I will find my own way there and could be at risk of exposing others to the remnants of my fever."

Delle knew better than to argue with him. "As you wish, Vedek Jariel. I will be sure that the message is sent. May the Prophets guide your steps."

She hurried along on her way, and Fleur rushed into the other room, setting Tress down onto her cot and bundling her up in blankets. "Tress, hungry?"

The baby simply stared at her, moaning softly.

[[Hungry?]] Fleur made the gesture, knowing that Jariel had been teaching Tress a few simple signs to enhance her language development in recent days.

Tress shook her head 'no'. Then she stuck her thumb into her mouth, clutched onto Fleur's blanket with her other hand, and closed her eyes.

"Stay here, chou chou, I will be right back." Fleur kissed Tress's head, and tears began falling down her face at the sensation of the baby's skin burning up.

She looked up and locked eyes with Jariel.

"Camen, we have to go with you."

"Absolutely not, Fleur. You can't."

"Don't you understand?" Fleur insisted, raising her voice to him for the very first time that she could remember. "Altaan may need Vedek Jariel, but Tress and I need Jariel Camen!"

Camen stared at her a long moment in something of a state of shock.

Finally, he did the only thing he could do.

He pulled her into his arms and held her, as her tears of fear and sadness rained down onto his shoulder.

----------------------
Fleur Le Marc
The 24th Century's Answer
to Florence Nightingale
Currently on Bajor

646: Mission of Mercy

by Dane Cristiane
81104.16
Concurrent with New Things...
Soundtrack: Human, by The Killers


-=/\=-


-=Quarters of Dane Cristiane=-

As Dane stared blankly at the computer console in front of him, he had an image stuck in his head that refused to let him go.

It was something he had witnessed while he was sitting on the ground outside Zanh Liis' new home last night. At the time, he was staring up at the sky at the fireworks display that Keiran had arranged with the help of most of the now very tired Engineering department.

Dane, for one, hoped that O'Sullivan was at least going to get them a keg of very expensive beer in thanks for all the hours they put in off the clock on that one.

The fireworks weren't the image stuck in his head, though.

Neither was it the sight of Zanh and O'Sullivan embracing beneath the starry sky, as striking a view as that had been after all he'd seen in the paradox.

No, the snapshot stuck in his head as if pasted to the back of his eyelids was of that girl, standing without shoes on in the sheer, rose colored dress she was wearing.

She'd been wearing a hat earlier in the day, which had thoroughly disarmed Dane the moment he saw her shyly looking up from beneath it.

In his memory, she was holding that hat in her hands by the enormous brim, and she stood in the middle of the garden, staring up into the black at the colors exploding overhead.

She glanced back at him over her shoulder, hair blowing in the breeze. Dane wanted nothing more than to approach her, but her expression asked him not to.

She held one hand to her heart, tilted her head toward him, closing her eyes. Dane closed his own as well, remembering the kiss they'd shared earlier.

When he looked up again, Gira had simply vanished. He searched all over, asked everyone he could find, but no one had seen her.

She was just gone.

Now, as he contemplated the cursor blinking at him mockingly on the screen of his computer, he wondered if she'd meant it when she said he could send letters.

He also wondered if she meant it when she said she didn't think she'd be able to read them if he did.

[Blane to Cristiane.]

Dane checked the chronometer on the desk. He was working third shift today- he was in no way late for duty. What the hell did Blane want now? "Here."

[Ensign, we're looking for officers familiar with the Alchemy who want to volunteer for a mission of mercy. Interested?]

Dane immediately sat up straighter in his chair. Was he ever.

He still felt he had a long way to go in making up for past mistakes, and so he'd decided that any time he had an opportunity to take on work that might go toward making Keiran O'Sullivan proud of him, he was bound and determined to accept it. "Yes, sir."

[Then pack a bag, and report to the Alchemy immediately. You'll be doubling as Security and Communications. Orders to follow. Blane out.]

-=Alchemy Bay=-

"Doctor Adams?" Dane looked up at her in surprise, expecting to find TC Blane but finding the former Perseids physician instead.

"Mister Cristiane," She said, stacking a heavy crate of medical supplies atop a growing pile.

"Here, let me get that." Dane began to move the crates from the anti-grav unit himself, allowing her a moment to catch her breath.

"Thank you. Did they tell you where we're going?"

"No, just that it was some sort of mercy mission."

"I was due to report to the Takesian Plains on Bajor in about a week's time," Azalea explained, wiping beads of perspiration from her brow with the back of her hand.

"But there's been an outbreak of Vellat Fever in the area, and it's spread to an orphanage in a neighboring province. No one seems to know how it happened, but it's a serious situation and they've asked me to get there as soon as possible.

"Commander Salvek volunteered the Alchemy for the mission with Admiral Lassiter's blessing, and has briefed me on what she can do. We've asked that visiting Doctor Hartcort from the Revolution come along as well. If we took the LMH it would leave the Sera without a senior physician, and we can't do that."

"Don't they have doctors on Bajor?" Dane puzzled. His question was entirely sincere.

"Of course. But Starfleet has major fences to mend when it comes to the mishandling of relief supplies after the disaster in the Plains. Since I was due to go anyway, and since the orphanage involved has strong ties to this ship, the diplomats decided that-"

"Wait." Dane's eyebrow shot up. "Where is this orphanage?"

"In Altaan."

Dane's heart fell to his feet.

That was the orphanage where Zanh Liis had grown up, the one where elderly Vedek Timal was still in charge.

"They didn't tell Zanh Liis, did they?" He hated to think that the one chance she and Keiran had ever had for some peace would be taken away before it had even begun.

"No. Blane and Salvek concurred there was no point in telling her, since there is literally nothing she can personally do about it. Vellat Fever is a childhood disease that poses more of a threat to adult Bajorans, and this strain seems to have mutated. It's apparently able to infect even those who had the disease as children. Therefore, Captain Zanh couldn't go there to help if she wanted to, Starfleet would never allow it."

Adams was personally grateful, for Keiran's sake, that this was the case.

"Since it's not a danger to Humans," Azalea continued, stopping as she saw an unfamiliar man in medical blues approaching.

Dane realized at that instant that he hadn't even thought to ask if the disease posed a danger to humans...

"Lance Hartcort, reporting for duty," the man said with a nod.

Azalea extended her hand. "Commander Azalea Adams. I'm grateful that you're coming with us, Doctor," Azalea had almost said 'Lieutenant Commander', still getting used to the new rank she had earned after the Perseids mission.

"I've been given command of the Alchemy for this trip. Dane, I'll be depending upon you and the rest of the Serendipity crew present to help me out a lot as we go along."

Knowing how important Adams was to Keiran, Dane had no problem swearing his loyalty here and now. "We'll do all we can. I promise you."

"Thank you." She again began helping Dane to finish loading the supplies. "We've got to get moving."

Hartcort pitched in as well, picking up a crate and proceeding up the ramp.

"We're about ready, Commander," Micah Samson said, appearing at the foot of the loading ramp. "Helm reports all systems are go, the crew is standing by and ready for departure. Have we got everything?"

"Just about, Micah, thank you. Ensign Cristiane, please take your station and request permission to launch." Adams instructed.

"Yes, Sir." Dane gulped hard as he contemplated what may await them on Bajor.

He no longer had any doubt what his first letter to Gira was going to be about.

-----------------------
Ensign Dane Cristiane
Communications Officer/Temporal Investigations Intern
USS Serendipity/Alchemy

640: Written for Her

by Jariel Camen
81102.1700
After Revealed: Two

-=Takesian Plains, Bajor=-

The idea of eating Fleur's homemade soup, after so many days of eating so little, was indescribably wonderful.

He looked forward to savoring every bite of fresh cooked vegetables that would warm his body as well as his soul. There was something so different about food that was prepared with love as opposed to assembled by a lifeless replicator.

He had watched her prepare the food, taking note of every step in the process. Camen could tell she was tired but she pressed on, peeling and washing until the large pot was full to the brim with ingredients. She set the lid on top of the pot, and adjusted the heat to create a slow boil.

“How long?” Camen asked.

“At least four hours, to properly cook. Would you like something in the meantime?”

The fever had broken, but his exhaustion from the ordeal left him still feeling very much delirious and dizzy. He was on the down slope of the event but by no means yet healthy or completely coherent.

Camen was, however, feeling hungry. His strength was down, and his body was commanding him to eat. Still, he very much wished to save the bulk of his appetite for the soup later.

“Nothing special, do we have any hot cereal? That will tide me over while the soup cooks.”

Fleur nodded, and filled a small pan with water to boil.

“After you eat, you will rest more until the soup is ready, eh? Just because the fever broke does not mean you can be up and about all day.”

“Of course, Fleur.” The longer out of bed, the more his body told him that he still had much recovering to do.

She added the hot cereal mix to the now boiling water, mixed it to the proper consistency, and portioned out a bowl for herself and Camen.

“Sugar?” She asked, even as she was already measuring out a heaping tablespoon from the canister, knowing the answer. Camen simply smiled and let her add the sugar to his bowl without even answering.

“Thank you so much.” He said gratefully, as he took the bowl and began to eat.

“It is nothing at all, two minutes to cook.”

“It is everything, because you took the time to do it for me.”

She blushed, and ate her own bowl while leaning against the counter, keeping a constant eye of the soup lest it boil too fast and spill over onto the oven.

“So, I know you were very young.” She began, with her eyes cast down to the floor. “But do you remember anything more of your parents?”

“I remember the night vividly, when the Cardassians found us, and took us away. My father was a true guardian. He did not say much but when he had something to say, everyone listened. My mother, she was beautiful beyond words, it was no wonder why he adored her so.

“I was still far to young to hear the stories of how they met or when they decided to marry. I do remember a photograph of the two of them, on their wedding day. They were in civilian clothing. No Bajorans in those days had grand weddings. There was simply no place to even find a dress with the Cardassians in charge. It was just the two of them and a local Prylar to perform the ceremony. The photo was crumpled and torn but each of them carried one everywhere, as we were always on the move.

“When mother and father went to a lake or stream to wash off, I’d sneak the photo out of the pockets of their clothes and look at them. I just remember how happy they looked, to be married. Even though they had no guests, no formal ceremony, and no temple around them where to Prophets could watch over them. It made me sad to see them that way, because I never got to see the joy on their faces that was in that photo.

Fleur slowly stirred her food, listening intently to his every work.

“It was not that they weren’t very much in love, they were, it was that the constant vigilance required to keep us away from the Cardassians wore them down. I suppose in a lot of ways I blamed myself for the burden that was on them, to protect my sister and I. I considered running away many times, hoping it may be easier for them to feed only Relanna instead of both of us. All it took was a raid by Cardassian soldiers on our village to make me realize I could never make it on my own.

“Did you manage to save any of the photographs?” Fleur asked. She would have loved to see the wedding picture of the man and woman that brought such a beautiful child into the world.

“No, but.” Camen set his empty bowl down on the counter, and rubbed his head “The Cardassians never.” He paused, looking for the right word, but there was none.

“They never buried their victims clothed. They kept clothing to distribute to the slave labor, since it was cheaper than providing it themselves. So perhaps, somewhere out there, some Bajoran found one of those photos crumpled up in their pocket.”

Camen shrugged, “But they probably would have just thrown it away.”

He felt himself becoming increasingly dizzy again, and Fleur set the back of her hand on his forehead.

“Ah, see, you are getting warm again. The Doctor warned me you would need much rest after the fever broke or you would not recover. Come, you have been up too long. I will awaken you when the soup is prepared.”

Camen did not argue. As lightheaded as he felt, he knew sleep was all he was up for at the moment, though he could have watched and listened to Fleur all day and night if she would have let him.

He lay back down on the cot, and pulled the blankets up tight. Fleur tucked in the sides around him.

“I must keep an eye on the soup, no? But I will be back and forth, you will never be alone more than a few moments.”

"You can't just stare at me all day, how will you occupy yourself?"

*Oh, but I can. * Fleur thought. “Vedek Delle left me some books with the soup ingredients, I will have plenty to do.”

“Ok.” Camen reached out and grabbed her wrist. “Fleur, thank you so much, for being here with me.”

His hand on her body sent bolts of electricity through her. “Of course, Camen.” He released her, and it was all she could not to simply wilt down onto the cot with him.

Instead she returned to the soup, to check on the pot and stir it. She found a book on Bajoran prophesies amongst the reading material Delle had left for her.

Returning to Camen’s side, she began reading. He was already asleep, and still mumbling. For an hour she read until it was time to stir the soup again.

She set the book down, and walked back into the kitchen. The soup was coming along well, and she could not wait to serve it to him when it was ready.

“Paper.” Camen’s labored voice came from the other room. She set the lid back down and hurried back to his side.

He was not awake, but rather tossing and mumbling in a haze.

“Paper.” He said again, “and pen. I have to tell her.”

“All right, just a moment.” She found what he was looking for and handed it to him. His eyes opened, but did not totally focus on her. He was still in the netherworld between being awake and being asleep.

Camen took the paper and pen, and rolled to the side, away from Fleur. He began to write furiously, as Fleur sat back down across the room from him.

Fleur,

I just had to write you. I’m not well, but I’m getting better.

I wish you had my perspective. I wish you could see and feel the way you made me feel in another time, when we were husband and wife, and believe that I want you to make me feel that way now. How easy it would be to settle right back into that life we shared.

But, how much I enjoy the idea of wooing you as you deserve to be. In a certain way I envy that you don’t remember any of it. I envy that when I finally take you into my arms and kiss you, it will be the first time you will ever know the warmth of my touch and my embrace.

For a moment I thought perhaps I would want this fever to take away the memories I have of holding you. Not because I didn’t cherish them, but because when we are finally together in this life, I want to learn about you all over again.

Then I realized, when, and if, I am fortunate enough to have you let me into your heart, that it all will truly be new. I have never been with the woman you are, and you have never been with the man I am.

There is a fever in me
That occupies my thoughts

I hear your voice
And know what I need

I will show you
All I am is yours

The fever will not break
Until you hold my heart

~Jariel Camen

He folded up the letter, and scribbled Fleur’s name on the outside.

“Please.” He mumbled. “Give this to Vedek Delle, she knows who it is for.” Fleur nodded, and read her own name on the outside of the letter. She paused to ask Camen what it meant, but he was already asleep once again.

Fleur brought the letter to the kitchen, and set it down on the table. She could not imagine, in his delirious state, what he could have possibly written.

She sat at the table staring at the paper, knowing whatever he had written came directly from his dreams at the center of his soul. It was unedited and untainted by the filters we put on our thoughts when we speak to others.

An hour past, with Fleur simply staring at the folded piece of paper in front of her. The soup was half done now, and in a few hours she would need to wake him to feed him.

When he woke up would he even remember writing this? Would he think it was a dream? Would he be upset if he found out she didn’t read it? Or would he be embarrassed to find out what he thought was a dream was real?

Without another thought, she reached out, grabbed the paper, and unfolded it.

--------------------------
Jariel Camen
On Bajor

631: Light the Sky

by -=/\=-Zanh Liis
81022.16
After the wedding reception

-=/\=-

-=The O'Sullivan Residence; Ireland, Earth=-

The cake had all been served.

The Meade shared among the guests, and the traditional toasts made.

A ways off in the distance, Keiran's family began taking down the tables and chairs inside the tent, their continued chatter making for a sweet soundtrack as the bride and groom looked up at each other from across the garden and realized that for the first time all night, they were finally alone.

Liis' hair had half fallen out of the clip by now; tendrils cascading loosely around her face tossed about by the evening breeze.

Her lips turned up into a slow, sultry smile as she saw her husband approaching.

His tie was now hanging around his neck undone; the top buttons of his shirt unfastened. She looked down again at his wrists and found to her amazement that he was still wearing his wedding gift.

He had never in his life looked more handsome.

Smiling at her now in the way that only he could, Keiran stole her breath away.

He curled his finger and beckoned her nearer with the mangled one-word local greeting that, when he said it, had the power to stop her cold.

"Cmereawantcha."

The autumn air was chilly and as he observed her shivering, he quickly removed his jacket and draped it over her bare shoulders.

"I'm sure this looked much better on you than it does on me," She laughed, grateful for the warmth of the coat and the man who had given it.

"Don't bet on that," he replied reverently, reaching out to caress her face.

Liis closed her eyes and smiled. "Careful, O'Sullivan. You'll spoil me."

"You've been through a lot. Seems to me you could stand a wee bit of spoiling."

Her lips parted in surprise as she looked up at him.

This was not the first time he had spoken those very words to her.

She remembered clear as day that he said exactly the same thing during their first real conversation in this timeline. In the arboretum, the day that they were officially introduced.

The day that his smile had so taken her off guard, only at the time she had no idea why.

Before she could recover enough to speak, he took her hand and tugged her gently across the lawn, away from the last of the dwindling crowd.

He led her toward the arbor, and Liis saw two chairs arranged side by side beneath their favorite tree.

The placement of the furniture looked rather...premeditated.

"What's all this then?" She indicated the scene with a curious tilt of her head.

"You'll see. Please, sit down," he rumbled with soft laughter as he observed her slowly swivel her hips to the side in an attempt to sit gracefully in what she had been referring to all night as 'this thing'. "If you can." He added.

"I am so glad," she sighed slowly as she finally settled in and straightened her gown, "that you didn't suggest a blanket on the grass this time."

"A wise man plans ahead for these things."

"Indeed he does." Now she was really curious. The look in his eye told her that he was up to something, and she was dying to know just what. "So, what else have you been planning ahead, a chuisle?"

"Mmm, soon enough." He smiled, positioning his chair in just the right spot so he could observe, not what was about to take place, but instead her reaction to it. "Close your eyes for a moment. Please."

Liis pretended to be annoyed, but secretly she loved every minute of this. "All right. They're closed."

He took his combadge out of his pocket and tapped it.

"O'Sullivan to Salvek, stand by."

[Acknowledged, standing by.]

In turn, from his vantage point down the meadow, Salvek executed the next command in the perfectly scheduled sequence.

[Salvek to Fate and Destiny,] he addressed Ensigns Hok and Todd simultaneously as they piloted their respective shuttles. [Stand by for countdown.]

"O'Sullivan to Cristiane." Keiran continued, seeing to the last small, but important detail of his plan.

[Here,] Dane answered, causing Liis to crack one eye open in wonder as to where 'here' was.

"No no! Keep them closed until I tell you, Missus O'Sullivan."

[Sir?] Dane asked, sounding rather confused.

"Fine." Liis sighed again, the anticipation driving her mad.

"Ready, Dane?"

[Aye, Sir.]

"Salvek?"

[By your leave.]

"Go." Keiran held his breath and watched, waiting to see if the plan that he had put together with the help of a full quarter of the Sera's officers in the past two days was about to come together, or fall apart.

Each person on his team began a synchronized ten-second countdown; and Keiran counted softly aloud along with them.

When he reached 'one', he wrapped his arms around his wife and pressed his lips to her ear.

At 'zero', the sound of music began emanating from every open window of their house.

"Liis, my darlin'," he whispered. "Look up."

Her eyelids fluttered open and she puzzled as she tried to figure out what she was looking for, exactly.

She heard the initial explosion and startled as she raised her eyes heavenward.

The instant she recognized the song that was playing and saw the first flashes of light explode miles above, she started to cry.


Fireworks erupted across the night sky, set off not only by two of the Sera's shuttles flying in formation overhead, but also from launchers on the ground that Salvek, Lair and Dengar had taken great pains to set up. They had been careful to situate them down the hill and obscured from view to keep their existence secret, until now.

-=/\=-

"We did it," Dane sighed with relief, slumping down onto the front steps of the house to watch the show.

"We did it," Kellyn clapped her hands in excitement, grinning at Rada, and then at Salvek.

"Pretty!" Arie exclaimed, spinning in joyful circles as she watched from a safe distance with Wren and Tam.

-=/\=-

Forgetting she had ever felt cold, Liis allowed Keiran's jacket to drop from her shoulders and fall across the back of her chair.

Rising slowly she took a few steps forward, wrapping her arms around herself as she wept tears of disbelief at the beauty surrounding her.

She was simply overwhelmed by the meaning of Keiran's gesture, and all the trouble he'd gone to in order to make it.

He followed in her footsteps and stood just over her shoulder. Placing arms around her waist he leaned down, resting his chin on her shoulder.

He whispered a few carefully chosen words in her ear.

Liis' shoulders shook. His words were a reference to the song that they used to sing in the camps.

The song Liis' grandmother used to sing to her, when she was so very small.

The song she had blocked out the words to for so many years because it was just too painful to remember them.

"I know we're a little late for the Perseids this time," he added, "but I hoped this would be the next best thing."

"It is...you are..." she stuttered breathlessly, "perfect."

She grasped hold of his arms tightly as they encircled her; finding that, he too, was trembling.

Streaks of heliotrope, crimson and gold lit up the darkness of night, illuminating her features in soft colors as Keiran held her close.

"That girl, that child of war, may be a grown woman now. Still, you've always carried her pain," he explained, his voice breaking. "My prayer is, and has ever been for you to sleep peacefully." He kissed the crown her head. "I pray that you'll find peace now, and at last, a home. Knowing you're always, always safe in my arms as you sleep. I..." he closed his eyes, "I love you, Liis."

Liis sobbed, and slowly he rotated her around to face him.

She clasped her arms around his neck as they slowly began to dance, swaying side to side beneath the stars.

She kissed him deeply, unaware that anyone else in the world existed even as Keiran's family emerged from the tent in the distance behind them.

The O'Sullivans gathered now without a sound; in awe of the fireworks, but more amazed still by the sight of their brother as they had never seen him.

In love and at peace, finally having found his way home.

-------------------
-=/\=- Zanh Liis
Commanding Officer
USS Serendipity NCC-2012

624: Revealed: Two

by Fleur Le Marc
81028.17

…continuing from part one…

-=Takesian Plains, Bajor=-

-=/\=-

A long night followed. Camen was still burning up, restless in his sleep. At times he spoke aloud, making very little sense as he was held fast in intense dreams that he could not seem to separate from reality.

Fleur stayed by his side, placing cold cloths against his head and forcing water down him, sometimes drops at a time. The doctors had said there was nothing she could do but wait this out, and the wait seemed longer than almost any other she’d ever endured.

The only one that had ever seemed longer, she thought, was the wait for the medics to come to the bakery the day he had collapsed on the station, all those years ago…

-=Flashback, DS23=-

He enclosed his head in his hands.

Fleur managed to keep it from slamming into the deck as he slumped out of his chair, and a commotion rose in the room over the Vedek's loss of consciousness.

People started to come out of the kitchen upon hearing the disruption in the dining room, and Fleur shouted to them to get medical help, right away.

"It will be all right," she whispered to Jariel as she cradled his head. She wrapped her arms tightly around him and began gently rocking him to and fro. "You will be all right."

-=End Flashback=-

Morning arrived again at last, and three full days after it began, Camen’s fever finally broke.

Fleur helped him to the shower and waited just outside as he washed, listening closely to be sure that he was all right.

When he reappeared he was dressed in clean clothes. Now that the flush of the fever had abated, his unshaven face looked deathly pale.

She propped him up in a chair while she attended to some necessary housekeeping.

He was still contagious to other Bajorans, they had warned her, for at least three days after the fever subsided. So she made note of the time in her journal before she turned her attention to putting fresh blankets on his bed.

As instructed, she took the ones that he had been sleeping on outside, started a small, contained fire and burned them- along with his clothing.

Once she was finished, Camen ambled across the room and sat down on his freshly made up cot.

He gratefully accepted the fresh water she offered and looked up, into her weary eyes. “I had very vivid dreams the past few nights.”

“I can imagine.” She began to fix him some tea, knowing that food would be too heavy on his stomach until a little more time had passed. “You were talking, how do you say, silver streak.”

His eyes flashed terror at the thought.

“Do not worry, I hardly understood a word you were saying. I only know you were serious about whatever it was.”

“Last night I dreamed that you were telling me about your childhood,” Camen said, accepting the weak cup of tea and forcing himself to drink it.

“That was no dream. You asked, I told.”

“Oh.” He frowned. He had hoped that story had only been fiction.

“Do you remember any of it?”

“You four when Henri framed you for stealing food. You were nine,” he said slowly, “When you found out that the Le Marcs were not your parents.”

“You remember all of it, then.” She drank slowly from her own cup of tea.

“Did they ever tell you the truth, of what happened to your parents?”

“Not by choice.” Fleur’s eyes again grew distant.

Camen set his cup aside and fought the urge to take her into his arms and hold her. She looked so lost, and he wanted so much to find her.

“I stayed with them, after they sent the others away to school, I was the last one left helping Maman run the bakery,” she began again, her voice a ghostly echo.

“When I was seventeen, Papa died. They said it was his heart, but I know better. It was the drinking that finished him off. His life was one of lower morals than you could imagine, Monsieur le Vedek,” she slipped, in her distraction, and called him the pet title she had since the day she’d met him. “He had, how do you put it, a wandering eye. Unfortunately, the rest of him followed.”

Camen was incensed. “I see.”

“I think that is why Maman was so bitter,” Fleur tried to justify the behavior of the woman who raised her, though Camen had a hard time accepting any explanation as valid for the way she singled Fleur out as the family scapegoat or the way she neglected her.

“He never made a penny. When she gave him money for the little amount of work he did at the bakery, he gambled it away or spent it on wine. Or other women. He simply could not be trusted.

“I don’t know why he ever had a kind word to say to me, but I listened to him and he was right. I could make a living at what I learned, and I saved every penny I managed to get as wages from the age of sixteen so that I could go to proper cooking school.

“I had a talent for cakes and pastry and I began to enter competitions. The proceeds from those competition wins went toward further schooling.”

“You could have gone out on your own long before you did,” Camen surmised. “Yet you stayed?”

“I felt I owed her something for keeping a roof over my head all those years,” she explained, “Especially after Odil died. Then it was just she and I. The others never came to visit, let alone help her.”

“Wonder why.” Camen shrugged, thinking that her behavior even toward her own children did not befit the title of ‘mother’ in any sense.

“I was just about to turn twenty-one,” Fleur explained, when one day, just before dinner, there was a knock at the kitchen door. It was a man, a solicitor. How do you call it?”

“Some kind of legal representative?”

“Oui, exactly. He asked to speak to me, and I saw my Maman’s face go white. She sent us up to the apartment, and he sat me down at the table in the kitchen and told me that I was a very rich young woman now.”

“What?”

“He handed me an enormous bundle of papers, and I didn’t understand what any of it meant.” Fleur explained. “I saw words that said things such as ‘held in trust’ and “rightful share of estate’ and I was lost.”

Camen gaped at her, also lost.

“Then, he proceeded to tell me a story,” she whispered, wringing her hands. “The story of my mother’s life.”

-=Thirty-one years ago, Paris, France:
Residence of Ambassador Dominique Saint-Just=-

Finally alone with her, the man could restrain himself no longer.

He picked her up, took her into his arms and kissed her passionately.

“This is wrong,” The young au pair whispered between kisses, even as she clung to him tightly.

The man who was, even now trying to draw the shoulder of her blouse away from her skin as he kissed her was young, dashing, powerful…and married.

“Charlotte,” he breathed into her ear, “how can it be wrong to love someone?”

“You have a family,” she objected, finally regaining enough of her senses to push him away. She spun out of his reach and grabbed for the door handle. “You are a leader of the people. You cannot,”

“Cannot have what I want?” He pursued her, and seventeen-year-old Charlotte Leveque felt her resolve weakening.

“My marriage was arranged, Charlotte. I do not love her. And if you are patient, just a little while longer,”

“It is you who should be patient then,” she insisted. “God himself will punish us if,”

Her objections were lost on him, and once again he kissed her.

“You are the one thing in this world that makes everything matter,” he pleaded, “Do not abandon me now."

She closed her eyes, released the door handle, and fell into his arms.

-=/\=-

“Au…pair?” Jariel asked, unfamiliar with the term.

“Kind of like…um, a nanny. For the children.”

“He was married, and had children?”

Fleur nodded, reddening with shame. “She should have run away from him.”

“She was young.”

“She knew better. She must have known better. Knowing my grandmother, I believe she had to have been raised to know right from wrong. She was weak, and she paid the price for that weakness.” Fleur’s lips tightened as did her fingers, into fists. “She had me.”

-=Flashback, thirty-one years ago=-

“You can’t be pregnant.”

Dominique Saint-Just stomped around his library, watching as the pale and trembling au pair stood across the room, leaning against a bookcase for support.

“I am telling you, I have been to the doctor, and I am certainly pregnant.”

He picked up a glass vase of flowers and threw it across the room. Upon impact it shattered right beside Charlotte, leaving her even more shaken and in tears.

“It’s not mine, then!”

“It is!” She insisted, rushing up to him despite her fear. “I promise you, I have never,” she whispered, embarrassed to admit now that she had made the ill advised decision to choose as her first lover a man who was already someone else’s husband.

“You have to get rid of it.”

“No!” She shouted, her hands closing over her belly protectively though there was no way to tell yet what was within it. “You can’t expect me to-“

“Oh, I can. And I do. Do you understand what will happen if anyone finds OUT about this? Right before the election?

Charlotte wept. “You said that our love was all that mattered. Dominique, let us leave this place. Ask Sabine for a divorce. We can have the children live with us, most of the time, and we can,”

“No.” Saint-Just said, simply and with finality.

“No…”

“No.” The man’s eyes were cold and angry. “This problem is going to go away, or else you will.”

The sound of a key turning in the locked door made both of them jump; and an instant later, standing before them was a furious Sabine Saint-Just.

“You little whore,” she spat at Charlotte, flying at her and grabbing her by the front of her dress. “You dare to come into my home, seduce my husband and now you expect him to raise your bastard child with our OWN?” She drew her hand back and slapped the girl across the face.

Charlotte fell to her knees. “Madame, I am so sorry, you do not understand,”

“No,” Sabine continued. “It is you who does not understand. Get out of my house, and do not dare to ever show your face here again. If you do, I will kill you myself.”

-=End Flashback=-

“Oh, Fleur,” Jariel’s eyes reflected his horror at hearing this. “Did she go to the authorities? Sue for some sort of support for the child?”

“No,” Fleur whispered, “She took Saint-Just’s words very much to heart. She knew that the family was very powerful. She tried to return home only to be turned out by her parents for breaking God’s law. She was left with nothing, and no one, to help her.”

“What happened then?” Jariel prodded, wondering even as he asked how it was possible that Fleur could be the flesh and blood of such a heartless man.

“She could have gone to public Federation agencies for help, but she was too ashamed. So she went to a convent. Stayed with the sisters there. She prayed and begged God for forgiveness for her sins. Then, right after I was born, she just…disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

“She wrote a note, left me behind and was never seen or heard from again.”

Camen’s hand flew to his mouth. He leaned back against the wall as he sat on the cot, closing his eyes.

“The parish priest managed to find my grandparents based upon pieces information that my mother had given him, and he contacted them. Told them that I was not to be punished for the sins that brought me into this life, and that I was their responsibility. But they were old, and bitter.

“So they did what they did best. They used guilt to motivate their second daughter, who was already married and had children of her own, to take me and raise me.”

“Brigitte and Odil?”

“Brigitte and Odil.”

There was only one missing piece of the story now and Camen knew he could not rest until he’d heard it. He returned his gentle gaze to her.

“Why did the solicitor come to see you?”

“To tell me that my biological father had died, and that in his will, he had left me an equal share of his fortune as to his other children.”

Fleur’s face was indescribable as she shook her head.

“You should have seen the look on his wife’s face when I showed up at her hearing to contest the will. All it took was a simple DNA scan to verify my parentage. The magistrate upheld the trust and I inherited what I considered to be blood money. My mother’s blood.”

She let her words linger for a long time before she spoke again.

“I took only what I absolutely had to have to begin an entirely new life. I gave a sum to Brigitte to repay her for raising me, far more than she spent and enough so that she could retire.” Fleur explained. “Then I left the rest untouched in an account and started again,” she looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears. “On a space station in the Klingon outback called Deep Space 23.”

Camen realized now just why Fleur was such an angry young woman when he had first met her there.

“All these years, I had no idea what to do with the money. I just tried to forget it, but then I realized that it could do so much good for other people, if I only spent it wisely.”

He reached out, taking her hand and tugging on her sleeve until she finally sat down beside him.

“After we spoke, on the Alchemy,” Fleur whispered, avoiding his eyes now, “I realized that I needed one more fresh start in my life, and that now was the time to take that money and be rid of it, once and for all, and to do so in a way that only benefited others. Those who had no one to help them. So I came here, and I spent it all.”

“Everything? You didn’t keep any for yourself, for your future?”

“I could never again build a future for myself with money that my mother bought with her soul.”

She saw the look in his eyes as he reached out, unconsciously, to touch her face.

“Non, non. Please, Monsieur, do not look at me that way. This is exactly why I never told you of my family. I did not ever want to see you look at me that way.”

She rose and crossed the room, headed for the door. Halfway there she remembered that he could not be left alone as sick as he was.

She’d been warned to watch for signs of certain complications that the fever could bring on and as badly as she wanted to escape, she could not risk his health by allowing herself that luxury now.

“I’m sorry,” he averted his eyes, understanding that the very last thing she wanted was his sympathy.

“Besides, when it is compared against your childhood mine looks like a trip to the amusement park, eh?”

“Don’t say that,” Jariel summoned the strength to rise and approached her, taking her hand again. “One person’s suffering does not negate another’s. Your experiences are your own, and nothing changes that. I am sorry,” he tried to lead her back to sit down again, “For all you've gone through.”

“I am not that girl any longer.” Fleur insisted, standing her ground. “Nor am I the confused young woman who made her way so far from home to run away at last.

“No, I have met people that have influenced my life in the past several years, and the changes in me are not only for the better, they are permanent. People like Salvek of Vulcan. Lair Kellyn of Bajor. February Grace and yes, even Dabin Reece of Trill. But more than any other, one man has taught me that it is better to serve and keep going than to allow the darkness of the past to pull us backward. We must keep moving to remain ahead of it, and work is the best way to do that.”

“Did that man ever tell you that sometimes work is just an excuse we use to escape dealing with our emotions? That eventually we have got to slow down, to stop, and feel them? Otherwise we are as much a prisoner of them as ever?”

“No.” Fleur looked away. “You have never told me that.”

“I’m telling you now.”

She could stand his intense stare no longer. “I must go and fetch more drinking water. I will be back soon. Will you be all right?”

He nodded.

“I will hurry.” She broke free and ran out the door, stopping only once she was out of his view from the window.

-=/\=-

When she returned she not only had the water but also a basket of fresh fruit and vegetables looped over her arm.

“Delle left these on the front step,” she indicated the small cooktop across the still unfinished kitchen and the single pot that sat atop it. “I will make soup for you.”

“You don’t have to, I can eat some more instant cereal,”

“Pffffft. I do not think so. In fact, I know not.” Fleur set about washing and peeling the vegetables, and Camen sat in a chair opposite her, knowing if he asked to help, as sick as he still was she’d only refuse him.

“May I ask you a question please?”

“But of course.”

He hesitated. Perhaps he shouldn’t. “What…ever happened to Charlotte?”

Fleur stopped peeling the root vegetable in her hand and drew a breath.

“I have heard two variations on the story of her life. One from the solicitor and one from Brigitte. Which one is true, I do not know. Perhaps neither.” She shrugged,

“Anyway, does not matter. She gave me life, for that I am grateful, because she did not have to. She could have taken the easier course and I would not be here right now, and it would have been her own choice to do so. I never would have known the difference.”

Camen recoiled at the thought of a universe without her in it.

“What were the stories?”

“Is it so important to you to know, Monsieur?”

“Yes. It is.”

She sighed.

“Well, by one account, she managed to find work with another family. She went to school and she married well. She moved far away from Earth and is out there, somewhere; but all ends were dead when they tried to find her. That is the story the solicitor told me.”

“And the other?”

“That she ended up living on the streets after she left the convent and died before she was twenty.”

Camen frowned. He truly hoped that the second story was the incorrect version.
“But as I told you, it matters not to me. She left me with the sisters at the convent without even giving me a name. Mother Superior chose it, according to documents at the church.” Fleur scoffed at the very idea behind her name.

“Fleur Aurore. Or, as they wrote on the record, flower of the dawn. Complete nonsense.”

Camen looked up at her with tears in his eyes.

“I think it suits you perfectly.”

Fleur turned back to the cooktop where the water was just starting to boil, and kept on scrubbing the vegetables for his soup as Camen stared at her, mesmerized by her every move.

-----
Fleur Le Marc
On Bajor

623: Revealed: One

by Fleur Le Marc
81028.17
Two days after Sudden Onset

-=Takesian Plains, Bajor=-

Jariel shivered, and she gave him yet another blanket.

“Here,” she lifted a bottle of water to his lips. “Drink.”

“No.”

“Camen,” she insisted sternly, “drink. One sip only. Come on.”

He groaned. Fleur gently lifted his head from the pillow to allow him to swallow. He took one small gulp and then closed his eyes.

“You must sleep,” she insisted. “They said rest is the only thing that will help you get better."

Camen continued to tremble, feeling as though he was freezing to death and burning alive at the same time.

“Can’t sleep.” He rasped, trying in vain to find a comfortable position as his head continued to pound. “Talk to me.”

Fleur found herself suddenly at a loss for words. “What shall we talk about?”

“Anything. I just want to hear…sound of your voice.”

Hearing him say that, she felt even more tongue-tied.

“I know,” he said, shifting slightly and drawing closer to her. “Tell me about you.”

“About me? You know all about me.”

Camen laughed weakly. “No.” He shook his head just barely from side to side. Fleur grabbed a cool, damp cloth and gently mopped the sweat from his brow. “I’m only beginning to realize how little I really know about you.”

“There is not much to tell.” She waved her hand. Again, he managed a small laugh.

“I don’t believe that. Not for a minute.”

“Well what specifically do you want me to tell you?”

“Everything.” Camen forced his eyes open to look at her.

“That will take awhile.”

“I don’t think,” he paused, feeling shorter of breath the more he spoke, “I’m going anywhere.”

“Very well. Where to begin…”

“Begin,” he said simply, closing his eyes again to focus on her voice, “At the beginning.”

“The beginning…” Fleur sighed softly, as she began to process years of rapidly rewinding memories. “My earliest memory?”

He nodded, his teeth rattling as the fever continued to shake him.

“I remember…” she closed her own eyes and the room around her melted away. In an instant, she was very far from Bajor.

“I am standing in the kitchen of the family business, trying to see over the counter as my mother is kneading bread dough…”

-=Flashback: Paris, France, Earth: Twenty-six years ago, current timeline=-

“Fleur, go and sit in the corner. I cannot work with you at my heels.” The tiny, angry woman working over the amazing smelling mound of raw bread dough instructed.

Fleur did as she was told. Her stomach rumbled as she breathed in all of the wonderful aromas emanating from the oven across the room.

“When may I eat supper, Maman?”

“You will have no supper tonight, Fleur, I told you. You were a bad girl, taking that cookie without permission.”

“But Maman, Henri took the cookie,”

“Hush! I told you not to lie!”

Fleur’s lower lip protruded. She had not taken the cookie. Yet somehow when it came down to his word against hers, Henri always got the benefit of the doubt.

And dinner.

“May I go play?”

“No. You will sit there and think about what you have done, eh? Think about this. That greedy little girls who steal cookies displease God, and next time will not only go without dinner but will be spanked as well. Understand?”

Fleur’s tears rained down her round, dimpled cheeks. “Oui, Maman.”

“Good. Now sit quietly, I must finish this before dinner hour.”

Brigitte Le Marc moved as quickly as she could. Soon, her older children arrived from school, and she set about quickly putting them to work.

Anne, the oldest at ten, was sent to set tables with china. Henri, who was eight, was told to fold napkins and Catherine, six, was told to straighten the menus and smile at the customers.

Last to arrive for the evening shift was Odil Le Marc. He dragged his feet, clearly unhappy to be here.

“You’re late.” Brigitte complained as he donned an apron and washed his hands.

“I was trying to sell a painting.”

“Ah, and did you?”

He scowled

“Bad enough you waste what little money we have on paint and brushes but you cannot even sell the monstrosities you create.”

“I will,” Odil growled, “You’ll see. You mind your cooking, woman. Leave art to those of us who know it.”

He marched up to Fleur and looked her over. “What is the meaning of this?” he indicated the four year old as she sat on a much too large, uncomfortable chair in the corner.

“She stole food again.”

“Maybe if you fed her more,” he growled,

“Shut up. You’re undermining me. She’ll never learn.”

“Fleur,” he leaned down, whispering. “Did you steal?”

She shook her head.

“I believe you. Go on, run along and help Catherine with the menus. I will bring you something to eat soon, eh?”

Fleur nodded gratefully, though she knew that there would be trouble later if she moved, so she stayed where she was.

“Don’t you dare.” The woman gestured with a long wooden spoon in her hand. The meaning was clear to Fleur: forget what her father said, or she’d be feeling the effects of that wooden spoon very soon as it stung her skin.

The two adults began to argue, and as she always did when they yelled, Fleur retreated somewhere inside her own head. She thought about her teddy bear, back upstairs in the small apartment, waiting for her on her bed.

She just wished for the day to be over so she could curl up with the ragged stuffed toy, (named for some reason that no one knew, Alphonse) and another day would be over.

-=End Flashback=-

“Why did your mother favor your brother so?” Camen asked hoarsely, as Fleur once again insisted he take a sip of water.

“Because,” Fleur said softly, “He was not my brother, and she was not my mother.”

Camen’s bloodshot eyes looked up at her in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t either,” she whispered, “Not for a very, very long time.”

-=Flashback: Twenty-one years ago, current timeline=-

“See what you’ve done? You’ve ruined the whole pot!”

Fleur stood over the pot of boiling soup and looked down into it, where the pepper container had just dumped its entire contents into the liquid as she’d tried to add a dash as she’d been told to do.

*Henri…* She thought, wondering why her brother went to such lengths to cause trouble. She was certain that he was the one who had ‘accidentally’ left the cap unscrewed when he’d refilled it earlier.

“I’m sorry, Maman.”

“Sorry will not feed the dinner crowd! Get out of my kitchen!” The woman yelled, and Fleur hurried from the kitchen in tears.

Hearing the yelling, Odil Le Marc once again tried to intervene, and a shouting match ensued.

“All these years we have put up with her and she’s not even ours!” Brigitte screamed in frustration at the culmination of the argument.

Fleur bounded back in through the doors; suddenly unafraid of any whipping she might get by speaking out so boldly. “What did you say?”

“Fleur,” Odil began gently, “Go back into the dining room.”

“Non. Tell me what you meant when you said I’m not yours.”

“You are not my child!” The woman who Fleur had believed to be her mother yelled. “I should have sent you away when you were a baby. You are nothing like the others!”

“Fleur,” Odil reached out for her but Fleur stepped back, shaking her head in denial. Her eyes filled with tears as she asked Odil silently if this was so.

He stared at her sadly in reply, and she ran out the back door and into the alley.
She took to the creaky metal staircase leading up to the family apartment over the restaurant, not stopping until she reached her bed.

She threw herself down upon it, burying her face in Alphonse’s threadbare fur.

“We shall run away, Alphonse,” she whispered resolutely. “We’ll keep going until no one can find us ever again.”

“Fleur,” Odil hurried into the room, and he gathered the child up into his arms. “You must not do any such thing. You must not listen to her. She is a very unhappy, bitter person. That is in large part my fault. It is in no way yours.”

“Tell me the truth, what did she mean?”

“It is the truth, Fleur, you are not our daughter. I did mean to tell you, when you were older. Not now, and not this way. I am so sorry.”

He kissed her forehead and wiped away her tears. “That woman in the kitchen down there, she is your mother’s older sister, and I am your uncle, by marriage to her. I have tried very hard to raise you as I have my own children, not to make any distinction between you. But Brigitte,” he sighed, “She is not capable of such behavior. It has never been your fault, you do not deserve to be treated this way.”

“What did I do wrong? Why didn’t my mother keep me?” Fleur asked, automatically assuming that her circumstances were her own fault somehow.

“It is a story for when you are older, Fleur. Until then, you must know that she did the very best that she could.”

“What about my,” she stumbled over the words. “My real father?”

Odil’s eyes turned to ice. “That, too, my girl, is a story that must wait until you are older.”

“When will I be old enough?”

“When you are ready to leave this house. Until then, you must be a good girl and continue to do your best, in everything. You are smart, Fleur. You can go anywhere; do anything. Study hard, and pay attention in the kitchen. It will not be easy, but you can build a life if you learn well what she can teach you.”

Fleur nodded, still clinging to her teddy bear as Odil set her back down on the bed.

“Now, wash your face and hands and come help set up for dinner, eh? We haven’t much time.”

“Papa,” Fleur felt strange calling him that now, for the first time in her life. He listened. “Do you…love me still?”

He kissed her forehead. “I always have loved you, Fleur. Words change nothing. You will always be my daughter.”

-=End Flashback=-

“He was…” Camen said slowly, fighting to stay awake so he could hear more of her story, “A good man.”

“No,” Fleur shook her head. “He may have been kind to me, but a good man he was not.”

She kissed Camen gently on the forehead, smoothing his damp hair back away from his skin. “Sleep now. I will tell you more later.”

“Promise?”

“Oui,” she said softly, moving to her own small cot across the room to try to rest a little while. “I promise.”

Fleur Le Marc
On Bajor

622: Sudden Onset

by Fleur Le Marc
81028.16

The Morning After The Accident

-=Takesian Plains, Bajor=-

Vedek Delle knelt in prayer; awake, as usual before sunrise.

She kept startling herself each time she caught sight of her new robe out of the corner of her eye. She’d move her arm and glimpse the sleeve, or she’d observe the bright orange fabric swishing against the floor as she moved.

This would take some getting used to.

She couldn’t believe it when Jariel had given it to her last night, along with the official order from the Central Vedek Assembly bestowing the title upon her in place of her old one, Prylar.

She had long since given up on ever becoming a full Vedek.

She hadn’t been able to go back to complete the studies, or take the examinations and give the testimonies of faith before the committees that were required. But Jariel had written an impassioned plea begging the Assembly to credit her for the work she’d done, not only since the storms, but also over a lifetime of service.

He spoke of her in a way that made Delle blush. She did not expect any special consideration for simply doing her job, and she saw that job as caring for the people regardless of her title. That would never change.

Still, so impressed had the Assembly been that Camen’s words had indeed been prophetic in their own right- within a month of his arrival here, she was granted the full status and title of Vedek.

She would do just as he told her, and use the influence that came with that title for the good of the people. That she’d be able to do more to help them, and speak up for them, meant more to her than words could express.

She thought she heard him cough in the next room, and concluded her prayers quickly.

It was never a good sign around here when someone developed a cough, and she was in a hurry to find out what, if anything, was ailing young Jariel this morning.

As Camen staggered out of bed and dressed, he tried to tell himself that it was nothing.

Feeling first a little chilled, and then very warm all at once, he shuddered. His chest felt tight when he tried to breathe and upon trying to force a deep inhalation, he coughed involuntarily.

He sat back down on the edge of the bed to catch his breath, and had no idea how much time had passed when he heard Delle calling his name and asking if she could come in.

He found that his shirt was soaked with perspiration and he’d only just put it on.

*This was not good. *

“Camen, you’re not well.” It only took one look from the wizened woman to show her all she needed to see and more than she wanted to know.

She moved toward him in a most motherly fashion, applying the back of her hand to his forehead.

“You are burning up. Fleur said that you caught good and cold yesterday, it seems that you are paying the…wait,” she turned stark white, her eyes flying open. “Camen, have you ever had Vellat Fever?”

“Vellat Fever, are you joking?” He forced the words past chattering teeth. “Only children get that.”

“No, sadly, I’m absolutely serious.” She sighed. “Many of the children were just vaccinated for it, and in Bajoran adults who have not had the vaccine or the illness as a child,” She shook her head, “If you’re exposed to a newly vaccinated child, can catch it.”

“But…” he looked at her, “Wait,” he was having a hard time forming thoughts as his fever continued to rise.

“Tress was vaccinated, only days ago.” Delle shook her head. “That’s it. Straight to bed with you, I’ll send a medic around if I can find one that’s certain of their immunity.” Like Camen, many adults on the planet had grown up in the child welfare system; and even those whose families had survived the Occupation intact often had incomplete memories recording illnesses suffered in childhood.
“What about you?” He had spent the night in an empty room of her small home, still under construction. The structure had barely been roughed in, but it did have working fixtures in the bathroom-only completed two days ago- and a makeshift kitchen.

“I’ll have to go stay with Fleur. I had the Fever as a child but that was so many years ago, it is a risk to those my age.” Delle had to be at least sixty, and Camen felt horrible about the thought her health could be at risk because of him.

Hearing her name, another terrible thought occurred to him.

“Fleur?”

“She’s in no danger. Terrans are immune to Vellat Fever.”

Suddenly, the room began to swirl around Camen and he grabbed for the nearest wall. His stomach was churning, but the worst thing was the pain in his head and the burning of his skin and eyes.

“You must be watched over,” Delle insisted. “I’ll send someone.”

She had no doubt in her mind that a certain young Terran would volunteer for the task.

She helped him back to bed and then hurried to throw her few spare articles of clothing into a bag. “See you in about a week, Camen. You must rest, don’t try to exert yourself you’ll only make things worse.

Knowing he couldn’t fight if he wanted to, Camen fell back against the pillow, pulling the blanket up tighter around him as he closed his eyes, and fell into a fitful sleep.

-=Fleur’s kitchen=-

She dropped the ladle she was using to stir the hot breakfast cereal and stared at Delle.

“What did you say?”

“Camen has taken ill. I believe it’s a common childhood illness that has gained a foothold here since the storms with so little medical care available.”

Fleur was already untying her apron. “I must go to him,” she decided, before even hearing what it was he was suffering from, exactly. “Please Delle, you will have to care for Tress. Pace will help you. I must stay with him until he is well.”

“You don’t even know what’s wrong with him yet! Aren’t you afraid for your own sake?”

“No. Not at all.” Fleur began to gather up a few items to take with her from the kitchen. “He is all that matters.”

“You must truly love him, then.” Delle answered gently. She had never spoken of this openly to Fleur before, even though it was obvious just from the way the young woman looked at the handsome Vedek how she felt.

Fleur did not waste a second even trying to deny it.

“More than life.” She declared. A moment later she was gone.

“Wait! I’ll send a medic out, but if it’s what I think it is, you must wait the fever out. Try to keep him calm if you can, but don’t use any medications to treat him because they will only prolong the fever.” Delle warned through the window.

Fleur waved to indicate she’d heard, as she began to run at a good clip past buildings in progress, toward Delle’s small abode.

“Walk with the Prophets, Fleur Le Marc,” Vedek Delle whispered, next uttering words of prayer on behalf of Jariel Camen.

-=Later=-

The medic had spoken to Fleur through the door, looking in at Camen through the window.

He had left Fleur a tricorder to take his life sign readings with, but as contagious and unpredictable as Vellat Fever was, the man felt he could take no chances in coming in to examine the Jariel directly. He was needed by the masses here, until the new Starfleet doctor arrived to help; he had to stay healthy himself.

“The greatest risk to his health is injury if the fever causes a seizure. Do you know what to do if he has one?”

Fleur nodded grimly. She had been required to take basic first aid upon her assignment to the Serendipity, she had just never thought she’d have to rely on that knowledge for Camen’s sake.

“He should be all right, it just has to pass on its own. Keep him hydrated, and if he becomes unresponsive or combative, notify me right away.”

“How long should I expect the fever to last?”

“Could be as long as four days, usually, it’s somewhere around sixty hours or so from onset. You don’t have to worry about catching it yourself-“

“I’m not worried.”

“…because you’re not Bajoran.” The man clarified, finishing his statement. “You do however still require rest or you could come down with something else. So be sure you’re eating and sleeping as well.”

“Yes, yes. I understand.” Fleur tapped her foot, anxious to begin watching over him.

“Walk with the Prophets,” The man said as he turned back to the road. “I’ll check in with you later, in the meantime if you need me use the communicator I gave you.”

“Merci.”

As the man disappeared, Fleur suddenly felt very nervous, and very alone. She was afraid now to walk into the other room, terrified of seeing him this way.

She found he was restless in his sleep, tossing and turning and mumbling softly as he shook beneath the blanket.

The first thing Fleur did was search out another blanket, draping it over him.

She knelt down beside his cot, and spoke his name.

Jariel struggled to open his stinging eyes and looked at her as if in a dream.

“I am right here, Camen, and I will not leave you.” She was shocked by just how hot his skin felt when she brushed her hand against his cheek.

“I will never leave you.”

Fleur Le Marc
On Bajor