Crystal Burning : A Deep Space Nine story by Sue Castle. Rated PG-13, no infringement intended.

Doctor Windese's field was xenohematology. She would have claimed it was a matter of survival, if she ever discussed the reasons for her obscure specialization. They wouldn't understand, but then they didn't need to understand. And they certainly didn't need to hear her rationale. She wouldn't have explained even if anyone could have gathered enough courage to ask.

Doctor Julian Bashir studied his visiting colleague as covertly as possible, which wasn't nearly as discreet as he imagined. He'd greeted her upon her arrival with all his normal enthusiasm. Her utterly professional courtesy in response to his overtures had nearly frozen him to the deck, and he'd been bloody well professional right back at her. His stiffness had amused Kira, until the major had been withered by a blast of Windese's formality herself. The irritated Bajoran first officer had been quick to return to Ops, with a sarcastic aside for Julian to "enjoy himself" as she left the infirmary. He didn't think that was a likely possibility. He sighed, and made one last stab at hospitality.

"It's getting late, Doctor. Would you care to join me for dinner?"

She raised her head slowly from the spectrascope, her short cap of curls shining blue-black in the bright overhead lights. He was struck again by her strangely colorless eyes, with irises like clear crystal, sparkling and bottomless. Her elegant, pale face was utterly expressionless as she refused his invitation with the least possible words needed to remain within the realm of good manners. Feeling completely put in his place, he found himself torn between relief and disappointment. His initial reaction to her beauty had been attraction banked but not doused by her icy attitude, and it stubbornly refused to fade in the face of her continued indifference. She bent her head back to her instruments, long, slender fingers moving delicately over the datapad, clearly dismissing him. He raised a brow at the sleek top of her head, shrugged, and left with a slightly miffed "Good night, then." She didn't respond.

The infirmary was silent for several long moments after the young man had left. Her hands gradually stilled, her arrow-straight spine slowly curved, and she sat in a relaxed slouch at the console. She raised her eyes to study the closed door, then swept her glance over the empty infirmary. Rising a bit unsteadily from her stool, she moved across the room to lean against the wall next to the replicator. Punching the keypad with swift, sure strokes, she quickly reprogrammed the menu and whispered a short phrase. Instants later, one hand closed around the neck of a two liter container of liquid while the other rapidly reversed the programming, erasing all signs of the meal she had just replicated. With a thirst bordering on desperation, she raised the carafe to her lips and drank deeply.

The shakiness began to ease and a light flush spread over her collarbones up into her throat. She drank until the liquid was completely gone, then placed the container in the bin to be recycled with the medical waste. As she washed the last drops of warm crimson fluid from her mouth and hands, she met her own eyes in the mirror above the sink. A brief smile curved her firm lips and she wondered what the lovely young lad would say if he'd seen her dinner. Probably pass out, she mused, and returned to her research with a shrug.

"Zsanis Kristeen Windese. What an unusual name." Dax couldn't resist gently teasing Julian. Obviously, the new researcher on temporary assignment to DS Nine had gotten under his skin.

"Unusual. Right," he snorted indelicately. "First class ice queen, that one is."

"Didn't she fall for your charm, Julian? Now, that does surprise me!"

He shot her a reproachful glance from huge olive eyes. It had not been a good day, and Jadzia'a warped sense of humor was not helping his admittedly sour mood.

"Oh, it wasn't just me. Ask Kira! Windese was a block of ice to her, too!" He heard the petulance in his own voice, and tried to lighten the conversation. "She really is quite brilliant. Holds several advanced degrees, including xenobiology and xenohematology from the Vulcan Science Academy."

"Maybe that's why she's so reserved, Julian. It couldn't have been easy, being a Human student in such a small field at VSA. Perhaps she's just shy."

"Are you saying if I give her time perhaps she'll thaw?" Dax nodded and he pretended to mull it over. "No. She's only here for two months. Two millennia, maybe -- two months? Not a chance!"

She laughed at his disgruntled expression and deftly changed the subject. Julian was going to have to share his small lab with the woman. He didn't need to have his mealtime conversations filled with her presence as well.

Two and a half weeks. Eighteen days. Four hundred and sixty eight hours. Julian often appreciated the additional two hours per day he'd gotten since he arrived at Deep Space Nine. Now they seemed like an extra penance he was paying for some heinous crime he wasn't aware of committing. Not that Doctor Windese was unpleasant. Or pleasant. She merely moved around him as if he were a piece of lab equipment, and not very interesting equipment at that.

Unfortunately, his awareness of her had continued to grow, until her effect on him was becoming obvious. Not to mention embarrassing. And he didn't see any way around it. He couldn't very well let her drive him out of his own infirmary, and she couldn't do her research anywhere else. They were at an impasse, but he seemed to be the only one having a problem with the situation.

Stepping into the corridor, he tapped his commbadge and tried to find a calm, upbeat tone.

"Bashir to O'Brien."

There was a muffled thump over the open line before a distracted voice answered, "O'Brien here, doctor. What can I do for you?"

"Are you up for a game of racquetball, Chief?"

Miles didn't answer for a moment, then, suspiciously, "At two o'clock in the afternoon?"

Julian's eyes widened and shot to the wall chrono. It was only 1400? It felt like 2100. At least.

"Um, no, of course not now. I meant tonight. After duty. Of course."

"Honestly, Julian, I'd kind of like a break," came the weary reply. "In the last couple weeks we've played nearly every night, and lately you've been brutal. Something bothering you, doctor?"

"Oh, no, really," Julian hastily answered, unconsciously shaking his head. "I'm sorry about that, Miles. I didn't realize I was being so demanding." He sounded discouraged.

"That's all right, I -- like the challenge." O'Brien almost managed to make it sound like he meant it. "But tonight I'd really rather just rest up a bit."

"Sounds good. Well, then ... Bashir out."

Great, he grumbled to himself. Now what do I do with myself. His thoughts turned to the long, deserted corridors near the outer perimeter of the docking ring. Ah, exploration, he suddenly grinned. If nothing else, a nice long hike would tire him out enough to sleep without any more embarrassing dreams. He hoped.

They weren't as smart or as fast as the t'kla rats that roamed the Vulcan desert, but they were canny in their own way. They provided a decent chase and satisfied her hunger. Zsanis pounced lightly as a hunting cat on the Cardassian vole, swiftly avoiding the slashing claws and competently snapping its neck. When she had finished feeding, she laid the lifeless body neatly in a shadowed corner, confident the other voles would make short work of the corpse.

With a silent word of thanks to the departed vole for the nourishment and entertainment it had provided, she tidied her jumpsuit and brushed her hair back from her face. Noticing a scratch on her wrist, bleeding slightly where one of the creature's claws had nicked her, she delicately licked it clean. It had already almost completely healed, and it finished closing as her tongue flicked away the last of the blood. Relaxed and satiated for the moment, she leaned against a rusty support beam and thought about her current situation.

Her research was going well. She had isolated at least two and possibly three elements in Bajoran blood that might be useful in solving her particular problem. The research into interspecies blood-born viruses that was her public research goal would also benefit, but she'd been trying to isolate and correct her own mutated genes for over five hundred years. If the Bajoran platelets didn't work, it would mean another several years of pseudoplasma and rodentia.

A slight noise caught her attention, and she faded into the shadows. A single beam of light cut the darkness, followed by young Bashir's lanky form. To her hastily suppressed amusement, he was muttering to himself, the words carrying clearly to her hypersensitive ears.

"-don't know what else I'm supposed to be doing," he growled softly, poking and picking his way through the debris. "Tried sonic showers. Tried cold swims. Just about beat poor Miles to death on the courts." His expression of self-disgust sent a fresh wave of giggles through her, but she managed to control them.

"Why do I always do this? First Jadzia. Then Kira - - ha! Latent attraction, my eye. Of course she's gorgeous, but she'd sooner spit in my eye than ever go to bed with me!"

He paused, thinking about this for a moment with an arrested expression on his face, then shaking his head dismissingly and continuing. "And now the Ice Queen herself."

He kicked disconsolately at a rusty piece of tubing, sending cascading echoes rippling through the corridor. Windese winced in pain and grabbed her ears, glaring at the oblivious Julian. She missed the next few words, shaking the lingering pain from her eardrums, and he ambled on. As the last of the ringing disappeared, his muttering voice also faded.

"Why do I always want the ones who don't want me?"

She could sympathize. He didn't realize it, but his presence was pushing her resistance to the limits. The close confines of the lab made avoidance impossible, and the combination of his long- limbed, dark beauty, eloquent eyes, medical brilliance and basic sweet nature undermined her determination to remain aloof. Not to mention the fact that he smelled absolutely delicious.

The problem was that she didn't trust her own reactions. It was quite possible that she could lose control, given the force of her passion and the length of her celibacy. Besides having to go on the run again, she didn't want to hurt Bashir. His opinion to the contrary, she enjoyed his company. He'd just never know it, not if she could help it.

She pushed herself away from the wall and willed herself back into her quarters, anxious to avoid accidentally running into Julian in the empty corridors. Hopefully, she could give herself up to the forgetfulness of sleep for a few hours. If she was lucky, the dreams wouldn't intrude and disturb her rest. She was seldom lucky.

He was driving her to distraction. For nearly a week he'd been involved in cracking the code on a Bajoran genome responsible for spinal malformation in a significant number of adults born in Cardassian labor camps. He had isolated the permutations in the strand the previous day, and had been so excited by his progress that he'd worked through the night. All night. In the lab. Next to her, behind her, all around her. The replicator in the infirmary was the only one she could safely reprogram, and the voles weren't much better than a snack to supplement her diet, so she was getting a little light- headed from not eating. Or perhaps it was his scent.

She stared at him with barely concealed hunger as he matched one record with another, for once oblivious to her presence as his eyes flew over data and his mind sorted rapidly through combinations and connections. He didn't notice her stare, completely caught up in the medical puzzle before him. In an instant of breathtaking beauty, his face lit up with triumph.

"That's it!" His fingers flew over the keypad, and he stored his results with a satisfied sigh. "There are a few further tests to be run, of course, to cross check these results, but I think it might well be the answer to-" he swung around to share his discovery with her, only to be stopped by the oddly intent look on her face. She tried to smile at him, a painful effort he put down to lack of practice.

"Congratulations, Doctor Bashir. This is quite an accomplishment." Her voice sounded strangled, as if she wasn't getting enough air. Her face was even more pale than normal, and her luminous crystal eyes seemed to have flames dancing through them. How unusual, he thought distractedly, burning crystal. Fiery ice. Triumph forgotten in concern over his colleague, he pushed himself out of his chair and put a steadying hand on her arm.

"Are you all right, Doctor Windese?"

She inhaled sharply, unwillingly, then swayed slightly, eyes half closed and fixed on his face. He brought his other hand up to her opposite shoulder, fearing she might faint. She smiled dreamily up at him and he caught his own breath at her incandescent beauty. The fire from her eyes now seemed to glow under her skin, and she entranced him.

"My name is Zsanis. What is that scent you're wearing, Bashir?"

"Julian," he automatically corrected, stunned by the change in her. "And, um, I'm not. Wearing any cologne, or anything, that is, I mean."

He was tripping over his tongue, but he couldn't help it. His brain felt foggy with fatigue from his intense research, the long all-nighter combining with his rampant lust for this unexpectedly sensual woman to turn his mind to mush. She was leaning slightly against him now, sliding one hand along his chest to wrap it lightly around his throat, slipping the other arm around his waist to gently urge his chest against hers. He was somewhat taller than she, and she fit perfectly along the line of his body. The attraction he had fought unsuccessfully all month overpowered his control, and he curved his hands around her back, smoothing the long muscles and cuddling her close to him. He felt like he was floating through a heavy mist of desire, as if nothing was quite real. A low moan escaped his lips as she moved against him, making him tremble.

His scent surrounded her, causing her to lose the last tenuous grasp on her control. When he touched her, concern evident in his beautiful light voice, it was already too late. She was drawn to his warmth, his flushed skin, his sweet taste. Lab coat, jumpsuits, boots, stockings, underthings were stripped away, and they came together under the force of an ages-old attraction. As he cried out his fulfillment she found hers, leaning over his tensed body, finding the carotid artery thrumming with the force of their passion. At the precise moment his world flew apart, so did hers, as her fangs bit delicately into his flesh. She drank deeply, satiating them both. He felt an incredibly shattering level of awareness at the end, as if his nerve endings were flaming, as if his soul was breaking away.

She managed to rein in her hunger before she did anything permanent, but it was a struggle for control she nearly didn't win. Panting with exertion, she pulled her head back from his outstretched throat, and a low growl rose unbidden from her chest. He was barely conscious, and she cradled his head against her, smoothing back his hair and softly kissing him. This was her fault. She'd known she was playing with explosives, between his attraction to her and her own weakness for him. Wearily, she pulled herself away from him and reached for her jumpsuit.

"Zsanis."

His whisper startled her, and she whipped away from him, raising a hand to cover her stained mouth. She wasn't quick enough. He laughed softly, with an edge of hysteria.

"That was the best sex I've ever had in my life. Now would you please tell me what the hell just happened?!" His voice gained strength as he spoke, raising until he was almost shouting. She put her fingertips over his lips, and he tasted the slick saltiness of his own blood. His eyes grew huge over her restraining fingers, and she smiled gently at him, deliberately flashing her fangs. His throat moved in a long, slow swallow, and she nodded her head.

"Yes, dear. We have to talk."

"A virus?"

"Um hum." Clothed again, colleagues again, only sore muscles and tiny throat wounds to show they'd ever been more. She marvelled at the strength of his professional curiosity. He clung to it like a lifeline.

"And the physiological changes, the ability to shape-shift -- this is amazing. How were you infected?"

She leaned back as he sat forward. He had no idea how appealing he was, and no idea yet of how much she was trusting him.

"It was 1916. I was a nurse with the Austro-Hungarian army in the Vasges during the First World War-" at his utterly blank look, she sighed. "Ancient history. Anyway, I'd disguised myself as a man and trailed after my lover into the army. When he was killed, I didn't see any reason to leave. There was so much confusion, and we were so short handed ... let's just say they didn't look too closely at the volunteers. Especially in the mountains. I kept myself apart from the others as much as possible, and one night this soldier came to me. He was very pale, almost emaciated, and weak, or so I thought."

She fell silent, remembering the pain and fear of the encounter, as well as the unexpected ecstasy. He saw the conflicting emotions on her face and took her hand gently to comfort her. His warmth distracted her from the harsh memories, and she was able to give him a brief sketch of the time that followed. The decades of unwilling murder, until a suitable pseudoplasma was developed, the hassle of constantly reinventing her life, the feeling of always being on the run.

"Never being able to allow anyone too close, for whom could I trust? How would I know whether their desire would turn to fear and disgust when they discovered the truth?" And how would I keep myself from giving in to the temptation to create more monsters like myself, if only to stop being so alone, she thought, but didn't say aloud. He had enough to think about with adding that particular concern.

"So you've been cross-matching blood from various carbon based species in an attempt to discover a treatment to reverse the virus?"

"Or at least counter the effects."

"Have you been aging at all?" His hands were moving gently but firmly over her face, examining her eyes, her neck, down her arms, across her palms. His touch was detached, impersonal, but it still burned her. The hunger rose again and she drew her lips back. He glanced up, saw the razor tips of her incisors, and hastily dropped her hands. "Sorry!"

She drew a ragged breath. "It's all right. Really. But you probably shouldn't touch me. It's been a long dry spell, and you're ... rather intense." And tasty, she mentally leered, careful not to let it show on her face.

He blushed slightly and touched the puncture wounds on his throat with tentative fingers. Maybe a little space would be a good idea.

"Would you like some help?" he asked abruptly. This was a puzzle he could really sink his teeth into -- the double meaning hit him and he groaned. She cocked her head and gave him an inquiring look, and he shook his head.

"I would like to stop this disease. And your talent as a researcher is unquestioned. But I need to know one thing."

"Which is?"

"Can you keep your mouth shut?" She shrugged at his hurt look. "Well, you do have a reputation as a motormouth. If you're going to talk, I might as well pack it in and run now."

"I won't say anything," he promised, determination plain in his expression. She looked at him for a long moment. He certainly would try not to say anything, she decided, and she might as well trust him. If worse came to worst, she could always hop a freighter. One thing hundreds of years of experience had taught her was to find out where all the exits were first.

"I'd appreciate the help."

It was an odd month. They only touched by accident. Miles was completely exhausted and actually prayed for something to break so he would have an excuse not to play racquetball. The vole population decreased dramatically. Lab equipment was utilized to 124 per cent capacity. There were lots of showers, but little warm water was used. Julian found himself dropping for impromptu sets of pushups on the isolation ward floor. Zsanis held her breath whenever he came near, although there were more than a few illicit sniffs when he wasn't looking. They got an incredible amount of work done.

They didn't find a cure.

Or even a viable treatment.

Julian was intensely frustrated, in more ways than just one. Zsanis was more used to failure but still, it was difficult. Finally, the day before her scheduled departure, he watched her packing away datachips with a heavy frown. She glanced up and caught his expression. Moving over to join him, she ran a finger lightly over his pouty lower lip.

"If nothing else, we made some breakthroughs on the interaction between Cardassian plasma and the neuroallergins. Who could predict the serum would break down that way? So at least there was some benefit to our work."

"Certainly. Just none for you," he groused, trying to catch her fingertip with his teeth.

"Some for me, Julian. Even negative results tell us something. They show us which paths not to follow. You know that."

"Yes." He didn't sound happy about it. "But what will you do?" He gave in to impulse and wrapped her in a gentle hug.

"The same thing I have been doing for centuries." She returned the embrace, holding him tightly, resting her head in the hollow of his shoulder. "I'll keep searching."

"We both will." She drew back to search his face, somehow not as surprised by his reaction as she supposed she should be. There were depths here she would dearly love to explore, if she could only trust herself.

"Thank you, my friend." She reached up to kiss him, meaning to keep it short, an expression of appreciation and a goodbye.

Big mistake.

Their mouths came together, and her fang tip lightly grazed the tender flesh of his inner lip. He jerked slightly, a slight trickle of blood dashing across his tongue, and hers caught it as they slid together. A jolt of awareness sizzled through her body, and her lip curled back. Her mouth slipped from his to leave a moist trail across his jaw, under his ear, down the side of his neck. He arched into her caress, and she was vaguely aware that she really should stop this before it got out of hand. Her body wasn't listening, so her mind gave up the fight.

Once again it was a conflagration. When they came back to themselves, clothes were draped from one end of the lab to the other, the exam table was shoved over two feet, the diagnostic computer was tilted sideways. He was wrapped around her, she was draped over him, and there was blood on her lips. She sighed.

"We really have to stop doing this."

His voice sounded far away, exhausted. "Well, you are going away tomorrow. We could consider it a ... going away party, without the chocolate cheesecake and the dancing."

She giggled, feeling young and a bit dizzy. Trailing butterfly kisses up the smooth contours of his chest, she lapped like a kitten at the fresh puncture wounds on his neck.

"I have to leave pretty early in the morning." Her tone dropped slightly, and she nuzzled the hollow of his throat. "I'll miss you, lad."

He rested his chin lightly on top of her head. "We'll stay in contact, you know. I'm not giving up on finding a cure, I promise."

She smiled against his skin. "I know. Between the two of us, we might just lick this thing." They both chuckled at the imagery, then sobered. "I hate goodbyes. Please don't see me off in the morning."

"If that's what you wish, then I won't."

He rolled to his feet, gently pulling her up beside him. They dressed in silence, pausing for affectionate touches and teasing kisses. Coming to stand in front of her, he cupped her face in his hands and brought her mouth up to meet his, kissing her tenderly and thoroughly. They held one another briefly before she drew away.

"I'll be checking back with you, then. I ... look forward to it." She struggled to keep her voice light.

He nodded, keeping his head down. She studied him for a moment, reaching out to touch the deep sable curls gently in farewell. Turning without another word, she left the darkened infirmary.

He rubbed his fingertips together lightly, as if to rub away the swiftly healing puncture marks he had felt on her throat when he held her and kissed her. Walking slowly into the tiny bathroom, he activated the lights over the mirror and studied his reflection thoughtfully. His teeth appeared normal, but there was no denying the thin trickles of blood trailing from the corners of his mouth. Nor could he deny the odd burning in his veins, the blood singing through his system. He grinned slightly at himself.

One way or another, it would be one hell of a research project.

end