A/N: I had some leftover hurt/comfort style stories from my last group of DS9 fics. Any warnings that apply will be included at the beginning of each fic.

When Julian Bashir had lost Jadzia Dax it had not been a lost romance. It had been something deeper, something more solid. It was not just friendship or potential love. There was complete and utter trust and understanding between them. Jadzia was the one who chased away the loneliness that plagued him. Her smile and laughter could light up a room and leave him happy for hours, days even. Her humor was infectious. Then she was gone, leaving a hole in his life that loomed larger and larger within each passing hour after her loss.

He wanted to believe that there was a way he could have kept her alive. She had been there, breathing and with blood pumping through her veins. He should have been able to save her. The wraith's deadly powers overcame all attempts to keep her breathing. The internal bleeding was extensive and it was too little too late. In the end he was only able to save her symbiote. She had been glad it was safe, and the thought that she had valued it more than her own existence made him both sickened and saddened.

He had given confirmation of her looming death to his friends with slightly moist eyes. Even his considerable genetic enhancements could not come up with a solution to reverse the damage that had been done to her.

After the symbiote was sent on a transport and Worf had finished mourning with the body, Bashir was sent off duty. Everyone went to grieve alone or with a lover. Some individuals prayed, others wept. Bashir could not bring himself to do either. If only he had reached her sooner she might have stood a chance. He could have kept her in stasis and then quickly corrected the damage to her organs. He could have replaced what she had lost and now because of him, she was gone.

Not for the first time he felt like a stranger in his own skin. He took off his scrubs slowly and with an empty expression. He emerged from the infirmary and stepped onto the promenade. He paused.

Everyone was going about their business. The restaurants on the promenade bustled with activity and merchants and travelers flitted about. Something felt wrong about it all, as if the whole station should be quiet and in mourning. Instead it was loud, bright, and full of sights and smells. He was often on the brink of a sensory overload with his genetic enhancements and now this environment nearly put him over the edge.

He fled through the crowd. Noises bombarded him. There was the shriek of young children and the chatting of diners and shoppers. Quark's varied menu produced sour and salty smells. There was the odor of produce, the gentle clinking of jewelry, and the brush of Bajoran tunics and shawls on his shoulders as he pushed through the crowd. The colors were too bright and the details were too vivid. He walked quickly. He bumped into an older Bajoran who dropped her shopping bags with a curse.

"Doctor? Doctor!"

A voice called after him and it nearly got lost in the haze of voices. Julian ignored them. He had to get to the lift or just somewhere dark and quiet. This usually did not happen to him. Something must have triggered his disorientation. A hand grabbed his arm.

"Doctor, is Commander Dax-"

Julian finally turned and faced the curious individual to find that it was Garak who had stopped him. The tailor's expression was nearly inscrutable, but to Julian's experienced gaze his anxiousness was revealed. As the human watched, the Cardassian's shoulders sagged.

"I see."

The tailor must have observed the answer to all of his questions written plainly on his face. Julian started to tilt away from him, displeasure at his surroundings showing in his body language.

"Garak, I have to go."

The doctor was on the verge of hyperventilating. He needed to leave now or risk becoming completely undone before the Cardassian's eyes. There were very few people he would show his grief to in the Alpha Quadrant and Garak was not one of them. Their relationship's stability relied on mutual respect and verbal sparring. 'Grief counselor' would not be a title he would attribute to the tailor any time soon.

Elim must have seen something of his desperation reflected in his gaze. He took a small step backward, no longer crowding him.

"I can also observe that you need some time in peace. If you should ever need anything, I am at your service."

"Thank you." Julian's gratitude was genuine.

Garak gave a parting incline of the head and let the doctor beat a hasty retreat. Bashir fled the scene and stepped onto the lift before the doors could close. The lift was crowded and hot, but he could bear it until he reached the habitat ring. With a thunderous whirr, the lift traveled down. The doctor could feel the bile rise up in his throat in response to the sensory bombardment.

After what seemed like much longer that a few seconds the lift reached the habitat ring and Bashir was the first out of the crowded space. He was walking in a daze, the ringing in his ears reaching a deafening pitch. When he reached his quarters he staggered. Luckily no one was there to direct concerned queries at him. He entered his rooms and abruptly sat down. His world suddenly stopped whirling about. The displacement was reduced to a shudder, a ripple, a calm body of water.

He breathed in deeply through his nose and exhaled through parted lips. His toes and fingers tingled. This was good. He was calm. He idly gazed about the room, focusing his attention on tangible objects. There was his computer console and his grandmother's pottery…

When he reached his bookshelf he saw a book on Trill physiology. His careful control cracked.

The wall communicator was beeping. The sound was jarringly loud. The human rose up, bed sheets becoming tangled around him. His hair was mussed spectacularly. After his private storm he had somehow managed to crawl into bed. The station rotation schedule said he was off duty until tomorrow. He could not have slept for long.

"Computer, identify caller."

Caller identified as Mr. Garak.

What did his friend want now? In his condition it never occurred to him that the call might have been issued to check on his welfare.

He was at a loss of what to do. He did not feel like talking, hell, he was not even sure if he was capable. It seemed that everything he had kept bottled up since the start of the Dominion War had come pouring out of him. The casualty reports, the patients that died in transport, the extra work hours…it had all been let loose with the death of Jadzia. He had let it ravage him until his face looked like he had seen several wars. He glanced at the reflective surface of the monitor. He could not put himself on screen looking like that.

"Answer with voice hail."

Acknowledged.

"Ah, doctor, how good of you to answer this time." There was gentle reproach in the Cardassian's tone.

"I've been asleep, so I didn't hear the call alert."

"My apologies for disturbing you. Is there a particular reason why my monitor is treating me to a view of your quarters and not your charming presence?"

Julian felt his ire rise. He had lost a dear friend, one of his most trusted confidants. Did Garak expect for him to just bounce back from that and slip a smiling mask on?

"What do you want, Garak?"

"Want? Nothing. Is it not a human cultural practice to provide company for someone who has suffered a loss? The question, dear doctor, is what would you like from me? I have a bottle of Quark's best kanar, ample means to treat a friend to dinner, and even a willingness to attend a holosuite program."

Julian frowned. He said nothing. After a long pause, Garak spoke again.

"Come doctor, a one sided conversation isn't ideal for any Cardassian."

"That's very kind of you, Garak, but I need to have some time to myself."

"We've both been having an overabundance of that lately, don't you think?"

The statement surprised him in multiple ways. Not only was the Cardassian refusing to back down, but he had just come close to admitting that he was lonely. Ever since the war started they had spent less and less time together. Julian was constantly busy in the infirmary and Elim was decoding messages and keeping an eye on the war front.

"I won't be very good company."

"My dear doctor, your company is appreciated in any form." There was no lie in his tone.

The doctor thought it over.

"…the kanar sounds nice."

"Dinner will be available should you change your mind. Does a quarter of an hour give you enough time to prepare?"

"Yes."

"I'll meet you in your section of the habitat ring."

"All right."

As the transmission was cut off, Julian wondered just how much of it had been real. The more he got to know the tailor the more of an enigma he proved to be. Perhaps a mystery is what he needed now, but more importantly he needed the company of a friend.
Feeling a sharp tug in his chest, he remembered how Jadzia would play the role of getting him out of his private world when something was troubling him.

He glanced over at the stars twinkling through the viewport, recalling her smile and her glimmering eyes. Her wise words echoed through his mind. Remembering her like this made it seem as though she was still alive, thinking about him in some distant place. He felt her presence linger as an ethereal warmth of body and mind. That was how he would remember her.

The End