He doesn't need Trance to tell him that hatred is easy, especially hatred of the Nietzscheans for what they did to the Commonwealth. He's danced along the edge of that particular trap himself, come close to falling into it and forgetting that whatever Gaheris and the Nietzschean rebels did, there are others out there who don't deserve his hate just for being who they are.

There were Nietzschean loyalists, after all. Are Nietzschean signatories to the charter, even if some of them are proving to be a lot of trouble.

He's still glaring at Trance as she presses the lollipop into his hand.

"I'd appreciate that, Doctor," he tells Bashir, mindful of Trance's suggestion that this world bore parallels to their own that could be informative, as well as of the need to understand his own potential situation. "Can't hurt to understand it. And to have a doctor around who has some idea what to expect with me." There's a tightness in his smile that turns it wry. "I'm used to medics who know how to treat a Heavy Worlder."

The news about Harper makes him frown.

He's been through helping people through withdrawal as Captain, most recently with Beka after she'd used flash to try to thread her way through the impossible slipstream clues she thought she'd found to Tarn-Vedra. That hadn't been pretty, though he'd done everything he could to help.

He shakes his head.

"Harper's probably not going to think of it that way. He doesn't always think things through."

Dylan sits up, rubbing at the spot where Trance just stabbed him again.

"How's he coping?"