Two bodies moved together slowly and sensuously, flesh rubbing flesh with delicious friction. The air was hot and filled with unintelligible murmurs and moans. The view shifted to show red and gold silk fluttering and floating. The body above him arching and bending with pleasure. There was a whisper, and searing heat. Then, the face.

His face.

Grinning.

Mocking.

Doctor Julian Bashir awoke with a start, sweat dripping from his brow, the bedsheets entwined around his legs. He kicked his legs wildely and flailed off of the bed, fighting to free himself from the damp silk cloth. He ended up in a heap on the floor, his head striking the corner of the nightstand sharply.

"Fucking hell." He grabbed the back of his head and couldn't tell if the dampness coating his fingertips was blood or sweat.

"Computer! Lights!" The light's blared on, temporarily blinding him. When he blinked them clear he was relieved to see no redness tinging his fingertips. He sighed, taking a deep breath to calm his racing pulse as he peeled the sheets away from his legs and sat himself upright against his nightstand. The image of that face kept flashing behind his eyes and the doctor groaned.

It was the fourth night in a week that he had awoken hot, sticky, and spent, all over such an abstract dream.

He knew that it was simply his subconscious trying to tell him something. Unfortunately he knew exactly what it was saying. And it was definately something that the good doctor had to ignore.

Bashir slowly stood and tossed his dampened sheets back onto the bed, trudging into the bathroom with the hopes that a sonic shower would be as good at removing the images from his mind as it was at stripping the grime from his body.

He stripped out of his soggy pajamas and shivered as the cool air hit his overheated skin. The shower switched on, belting the doctor with warm and soothing waves of sound.

Bashir leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, focusing his thoughts on the day ahead.

His shift started at 0700 hours and as it was midweek, there would be merciful few emergencies to tend to, bar the minor holodeck exercise. At 1200 he had a scheduled lunch with Garak, though the tailor hadn't turned up in a few days, so maybe he could skip the trip to the replomat and just grab something at Quarks. He was supposed to meet Kira and Odo for a meeting at 1500 and at 1700 he had dinner with that sweet Betazoid Dabo girl.

He stretched the kinks out of his shoulders and ran his fingers through his hair, the sonic shower drying and fluffing it. He took a good look in the full length mirror on the edge of the shower and rubbed the stubble that was growing on his chin. With a sigh, he switched the shower off and snatched the razor from the shelf, switching the low intensity laser on, and quickly ridding himself of the stubble and revealing the youthful, smooth, and cheerful face that the residents of Deep Space 9 had grown accustomed to.

Two steps brought him to the pressed uniform jumpsuit that he had set out the morning before, and two more had him dressed and ready to go.

The issue was, it was too early to go anywhere. The promenade didn't open for another two hours, and no one he knew was on shift in ops.

That left the doctor with two options. Sneak into his office to catch up in some paperwork, or sit down, and find something to occupy his time.

"Well Julian, what a fine thing this is. up too early to get anything done." The doctor stepped around his living quarters and flopped into the raggedy arm chair that he had insisted be brought in from his apartment on Earth. The worn cloth was patched in several places, and the whole of it looked like it belonged in an Ancient Earth Museum, but it was comfortable, and cozy, and he was quite attached to it. Bashir flopped into and muttered for a raktajino, something that had become a morning ritual ever since he had placed the chair within arms reach of the replicator. Once the humming of the replicator had subsided, the doctor brought the bug to his lips and cradled it in his hands, savouring the bold and bracing scent. He took a long sip and smiled as it simultaneously calmed his nerves and cast off the last dregs of sleep.

"Computer. Give me the daily station report. Authorization code Bashir Zed four." Bashir commanded, wanting something to occupy his thoughts.

"There are four scheduled freighters arriving today. One from Andor, and three from Bajor. The T'Pring will be returning from the Gamma Quadrant at 0800 hours." That peaked Julian's interest.

Usually a science vessel's return meant a days work of tending to minor ailments and debriefing ship's doctors.

"Perfect."

"There are two wedding services scheduled for today at the chapel. The special at Quark's is Taco's and Plomeek soup."

"Hold on. Tacos? Elaborate."

"A taco is an ancient Earth dish of Hispanic origin dating back to-"

"I know what a taco is. Confirm that the special at Quark's is tacos."

"Affirmative." Bashir laughed nearly spilling his raktajino in the process.

"With all the Vulcan's coming in, I understand the Plomeek, but Taco's?"

"Please restate the question."

Bashir shook his head and wondered if Jadzia had heard about this yet, or if she had been the one to tell the Ferengi about the dish.

"Computer. Are any of my personal contacts awake?"

"Affirmative. Contact Garak is awake." Julian grimaced as the uttering of his friends name made his stomach flutter unpleasantly.

"Inform me when Lieutenant Dax is up."

"Reminder set."

"I really have to see if she's the one who's got Quark digging through old Earth recipes." The doctor glanced over at the clock and was thoroughly dismayed at how little time had passed. He made up his mind to simply walk down to his office and hope that Odo wouldn't be around to berate him for breaking promenade curfew. Bashir downed the rest of his beverage, and slipped on his shoes, before stealing himself down the corridor and into the turbolift. It was there that he was met with the least expected, and certainly least desired sight of his day.