- Chapter 4 -
Slowly, he traced the figures' silhouettes, carefully and to his best ability.
The sky above was bright and clear, stretching out far beyond the horizon. The air was warm and filled with the sweet scent of a gentle summer breeze. Fluffy white clouds made their way across the blue sky, billowing and changing their shape in the course of their meanderings. The sun was still high, the blue of the sky almost fading into white around its blurring edges.
A group of trees towered in the distance, their leaves swaying gently to and fro. A bird that had built its nest in the upper branches looked down curiously from above, its twitter a high-pitched sound carried away by the faint breeze.
Flowers in a multitude of colors, from red to blue to yellow and white were speckled across the thick green grass that covered the ground. Their petals ragged, their middles dotted with little black spots, the carpet of flowers blanketed the ground as far as the eye could see.
A clear creek wound its way through the scenery, both sides of its banks lined with stones and thick tufts of fern. He had collected some of the gray pebbles in the sand earlier, keeping them hidden in his pocket. He'd even found some bigger stones, with curious white and purple lines all over them. Perhaps he'd come back later, to see what other wonders there were to discover.
From somewhere above, a raven's croaking filled the air. Hiding somewhere in the sea of leaves, it kept out of sight but continued croaking nosily.
Sitting on the green grass, embraced by the warm, soft sun rays, there were also human figures. One of them tall and slender, her green dress blending well with the green that surrounded her. The other figure was standing next to the first one. Clad in brown trousers, with little pockets on both sides, the figure's blue shirt was of the same blue as the heaven above. Both had their hands up, waving cheerfully.
He wanted to run over to them.
Starting in their direction, he stumbled through the knee-high grass, his smile widening with anticipation. He could see them not far away, just beyond the small creek, on the other side of the meadow.
Running along the river bank, he didn't make it far though, when all of a sudden both figures vanished in the blink of an eye. Perplexed, he stopped. Looking around and turning in circles, he let his eyes wander about the scenery but no matter how hard he tried he wasn't able to find them. It was as if earth herself had swallowed them up before his very eyes. He could still hear the sound of the small creek, flowing sluggishly next to him. Even the raven was still croaking in its hoarse voice. The grass was still swaying in the faint summer breeze. But suddenly he knew that there was something else. Something behind him...
He wanted to turn round, to see what it was that was approaching from behind, though his legs wouldn't obey. No matter how hard he drew and yanked at them, it was as if they were stuck deep down in mud, making it impossible for him to move. Desperately trying to free himself, he felt something cool touch his neck, making him involuntarily draw in a sharp breath of fear.
Then he was running.
He cried out, lashed out and fell forward onto the cold damp ground. In an instant he realized that the grass had vanished, as had the sky. There was no creek any longer, no trees, no birds. He instinctively rolled over onto his back, but lifting his gaze to where only minutes before had been the vast and endless sky, there was now only a huge, black shadow, threatening to bury him deep under its dark wings.
His frightened scream was drowned by the black mass that instantly came collapsing down onto him.
"What do you think, Chief? How much time will the installation of the phase modulation coils take?"
Cocking up his head in surprise about the unexpected voice, O'Brien immediately bumped into the metal strut above. Dropping the scanner to the ground and cursing under his breath, he put one hand to his throbbing forehead, feeling for what surely was already about to change into a nice violet bruise. Freeing himself from the bundle of EPS cables spread across his chest and covering him like the tentacles of a giant alien octopus, he laboriously shoved himself out of the tube beneath the console. The first thing that came into his view from his vantage on the ground was the tall figure of Captain Sisko towering over him, and a group of technicians bustling about the small engine room of the Defiant behind.
"I'm not quite sure, Sir, but I don't think it'll take more than three days," he offered reluctantly. Shoving himself completely out of the tube and dragging himself up into an upright position, he shot a short look back toward the circuitry he'd been grappling with for the last few hours.
"The coils Captain Evans brought with him from the Federation are of very high quality," O'Brien offered, hoping for Sisko to explain the unexpectedly good condition the coils were in. When the captain kept silent, though, O'Brien ran a hand over his tired eyes, blinking several times to readjust them to the bright light of the engine room.
He had thought so. That was always the problem with Starfleet Intelligence. You got the necessary information you needed – and had to do with it. No explanations, no additional comments. Shaking his head, he sighed.
"Well, no matter where those coils are from, Starfleet has spared us many problems."
"Problems?" Sisko arched one brow, obviously curious about the chief's remark.
"Let's put it this way, Sir: The better the coil, the easier the installation. The components Captain Evans has brought with him from Starfleet Headquarters are of such high quality I have never seen before...I don't know how they managed to lay their hands on parts like this but it surely makes a lot of things easier. Perhaps I'll get the installation done in two days, but I can't promise."
Sisko nodded "Good. I'll leave it to you, Chief. If there are any problems, just let me know."
"Aye, Sir," O'Brien replied. "When do we leave?"
"As soon as you're ready, Chief."
O'Brien put the phase scanner back into the holding device of the technical suitcase, retrieving another one of his instruments from the inside which gave off a faint hum as soon as he turned it on.
"Before I can start with the installation, I have to readjust the EPS power relay systems. That'll take some time. But the actual difficulty is in reconfiguring the computer settings…"
O'Brien was already about to crawl back into the tube under the console when a faint hiss announced yet another visitor to the Defiant's engine room. Surprised about the sudden guest, Sisko involuntarily turned. The figure making his way casually toward both of them was clad in wide sports trousers, a white shirt tucked loosely into them. Not used to the informal dressing of the man on the other side of the room, it took Sisko some seconds to catch up with the situation.
"Captain Evans!" he said in astonishment. "I see you've already found your way to the Defiant."
Evans came sauntering over, looking around with interest. Stopping in front of the younger captain, he let his gaze wander once again about the place until he finally faced Sisko. "To tell the truth, I was just curious. I've heard a lot about the Defiant – and all her adventures so far. She's a fantastic ship. I just had to see her with my own eyes." He grinned like a small boy. "Besides, I just wanted to stop by and say hello in case there are any difficulties with the installation. Major Kira told me where to find you. Just in case you need any help."
"Not so far, Sir," came the faraway voice of O'Brien from out of the tube. "It couldn't be better."
Sisko curiously indicated the gray sport bag Evans had slung over his shoulder. "Let me guess, a match of racquetball?"
Readjusting the strap of the bag, Evans nodded. "I promised Dr. Bashir to give him a match."
"I see," Sisko said. "I'm glad you found a new partner for the game."
"As am I, believe me, Captain Sisko. It's been quite a while since I last played. And your doctor seems to be quite a challenge. A good chance to see how fit I really am," the older captain chuckled. "I guess I had better go. However, if there are any problems, you know where to find me." With a last assessing look around, Evans excused himself and headed for the exit.
Shortly after he had left, O'Brien's worried face reappeared from beneath the console. "Captain…" he hesitated, "does he know that Julian is…"
"…genetically enhanced?" Sisko ended the chief's question. O'Brien only nodded.
"I guess no, but he'll find out soon anyway." Smiling to himself, he shook his head. "Go on, Chief, and keep me up to date."
When Evans reached the designated room the station's computer had indicated as the racquetball court, he involuntarily hesitated. Once again he absently readjusted the strap of his sport bag in which lay – carefully wrapped – the old, gray metal racket he hadn't used for some years now. Racquetball was one of those sports he had never lost interest in, no matter how long it was since he'd last had the chance to play. After all these years he could still vividly recall the final match of the sector championship, could recall the heat of the hall, the excitement he had felt in the face of the imminent match, the cool hilt of the racket. On board the Wisconsin or the Columbus he hadn't often had the chance to show his actual talent. Only on Atholes III – even if it hadn't been often but at least once in a while – had he had the chance to compete with other players.
Evans sighed. Had it already been this long since those days? Where had the time gone? Looking back now, it seemed to him like another lifetime...
They had met once a month at the sports grounds next to the town hall. The racquetball court hadn't been very big and the number of players had always been very limited but it had been the fun that had counted. He had always enjoyed those meetings till… well, till his life on Atholes III had come to an end. He had never imagined that he would feel this way again, but standing now in front of the gray metal doors behind which a true challenger was awaiting him, he felt a surge of adrenaline rush through his veins.
The moment he stepped in front of the door, it parted with a faint hiss, revealing the sight of the court behind. The walls were all black with a variety of red crosses scattered over their surfaces. The sight made him feel a tinge of melancholy. Squaring his shoulders he entered.
The first thing to draw his attention was the unmoving figure with his white-gray track suit, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room. Obviously unaware of his presence, the man kept staring absently onto the ground in front of him.
"Dr. Bashir?"
The man startled. Turning his gaze into Evan's direction, he hastily staggered to his feet. Smiling, Evans tried to apologize for his sudden appearance. "Sorry for having kept you waiting."
Dredging himself up, Bashir dismissively raised his hands. "Ah, no problem, Captain."
He seemed tired – even worn. His face was unnaturally pale, and his eyes were missing the mischievous sparkle he had seen there yesterday's evening at Quark's. Julian hardly succeeded in hiding his groggy and exhausted expression, even though he obviously tried hard not to meet the captain's eyes.
"You all right, Doctor?" Evens asked in concern.
"Ah, yes," Julian said almost too quickly. "I just didn't have a very good night, that's all. I guess I had one or two drinks too many." He tried to flash a sheepish grin, taking position at the far end of the room.
"I see," Evans replied dryly. "You're sure you want to play? We can make it another day, if you like. There's still plenty of time until our departure."
Wiping his sweaty palms against his trousers, Bashir shook his head. "No, today is fine with me, Captain."
Evans grimaced. "Please call me Robert."
Julian tried to force on a smile. "Julian," he offered at length.
Evans dropped his bag onto the ground, opened it and gently retrieved the wrapped racket that had been hidden inside. Holding it reverently in front of himself, he smiled. "My first racket, back at the academy. I've always taken good care of it. I hope it won't let me down now."
Bashir tightened the grip around his own racket. "Old or new rules?"
"The old ones of course," Evans replied nonchalantly, positioning himself next to the young man.
Julian was the first to serve. He quickly threw the ball high into the air and batted it with full-force. The ball hit the bulkhead square on, bouncing off in Evans' direction, making the older captain dash forward in response. However, Evans had quite a difficult time to parry. The ball only slightly touched his racket and bounced off in the wrong direction, landing in the far right corner behind the two men.
"Not bad, Julian," Evans arched one brow.
Next it was Evans' turn, but it didn't take too long till the ball was once again rolling on the floor. Again, Bashir had done the decisive hit. They kept playing over more than an hour, most of the matches won by the young doctor which didn't overly disturb Evans. It was not until he suddenly bent over after the last strike that Bashir came hurrying over to him in alarm, kneeling down next to him.
"Are you alright, Sir?" The young doctor asked with a frown, the concentrated look with which he examined Evans clearly giving away that he was most likely already running a mental diagnosis on Evan's condition.
"I could ask you the same, Julian." When Evans saw Julian's confused and slightly startled look, he gestured for the young man to sit down as well. Reluctantly, Bashir obeyed, letting himself drop down to the floor next to Evans.
"I'm… just a bit tired…," Bashir defended himself warily.
"Yeah, that might be, but you know, you play like hell," Evans laughed. It was a warm laughter, full of sympathy.
"Sir?"
"You play as if life itself depends on it. I don't know what exactly is bothering you, but it's reflected in your way of playing," he tried to elaborate. "You play very aggressively. It can't tell if it's your normal style but I think there's another reason for it. Forgive me my directness, Doctor, but you don't even look very well. Is everything okay?" Evans was studying him in concern.
Averting his gaze, Julian kept silent for a moment, obviously pondering Evans' question – and his answer to it. "It's nothing important, really," the young man finally said with a faraway look. Searching for words, he drew a long breath, shaking his head in resignation. "It's just that recent times haven't been the best for the Federation. Every day brings news about new defeat. And an end to the war against the Dominion is nowhere in sight. Every day makes you think it can't get any worse – and every next day when you wake up you realize that you had been wrong..."
Evans nodded. "Nightmares?"
Bashir's head cocked up in surprise, and Evans knew he had hit the mark. Directing his gaze at the far wall opposite them, he sighed: "I though so. After all that has happened in the last months it's not a surprise. I guess it's only natural – and inevitable for everyone with a conscience, anyway."
When the younger man kept silent, Evans continued: "I know how disturbing these kind of things can be. I often have nightmares myself. Dreams from the Telarian Wars, from fears during the course of my career. You wouldn't believe how imaginative a human mind can be..." He turned his attention back to Bashir. "It's easy to say for me but … just try not to let yourself get dragged down too much. It all might seem hopeless now but tomorrow is another day." Smiling sympathetically, he patted the young man encouragingly on the back. "Just try to concentrate on what's lying ahead. That helps."
About to form a reply, Bashir didn't have the chance to respond when Evans' combadge signaled. "Major Kira to Captain Evans."
The older captain hesitated a moment, then reluctantly answered the call. "Evans here, go ahead Major."
"We're receiving an incoming transmission from Starfleet Headquarters. It's from Admiral Nevall, Sir. And it's your eyes only."
Evans shot an apologetic look toward the young man next to him. "Acknowledged. Put him through to my quarters. I'll be there in five minutes. Evans out."
"I'm sorry, Julian. I hope you don't mind," he grimaced, dredging himself up from the floor. Waiting for Bashir to follow, he brushed the dust from his trousers. "Nevertheless it was a pleasure playing with you. Even if I wish I was your age again," he said with a smirk.
A weary smile crept across Julian's features. "As it was for me. I have to say that I'm quite impressed by your skill, Captain."
Evans retrieved the racket from the ground, gently wrapped it into the white linen cloth and put it carefully back into the gray sports bag, still leaning in one corner of the court. "Thank you, Julian. I try to keep in shape, after all. Only because age is claiming its tribute doesn't mean I'll surrender that easily," he said with a wink.
"What about another match before we leave?"
Nodding, Julian followed the captain out into the corridor. "Just tell me when and I'll be there."
As soon as he heard the faint hiss of the closing door behind him, Julian let his head drop weakly back against the bulkhead. Feeling his scantily gathered energy seep away in an instant, he desperately rubbed at his closed eyes, unable to get the whirl of images and feelings under control. No matter how hard he tried, he wasn't able to banish the memories of the nightmare from his mind.
He didn't know what they meant, nor did he know where they came from, though he was beginning to suspect that the dreams had to be more than just pure coincidence. And he started to doubt that the war against the Dominion and the Founders was the trigger for those dark dreams of late.
He had dreamed again. This morning he had woken to his own cry when he had thought he'd been buried under an all-surrounding blackness. It had taken him longer than before to convince himself that everything had just been a bad dream. And still, even hours later the images of the dream kept lingering in some remote corner of his mind, only waiting for the right moment to come flooding back into his consciousness again. No matter how hard he tried to forget them, he just wasn't able to think of anything else but what he had see in the depths of sleep.
After he had woken, he felt as if he hadn't slept at all. Moreover, he had problems organizing his own thoughts. Even several minutes after waking, he hadn't been able to tear his gaze away from the imaginary blackness on the far end of the couch. He had kept staring numbly in front of himself until the realization of where he was and what he was actually doing had finally hit him. Julian hadn't felt up to meeting with Evans as promised, but had he remained all alone in his quarters he most probably wouldn't have been able to form any other coherent thought at all. He had needed distance, something to distract himself. And he had thought that after his match with Evans he would feel better. But he had been wrong. The memory of the nightmare was clearer than before and hadn't let go of him a single second during the game. He hadn't been too surprised that Evans had noticed, even though his presumption concerning the war hadn't been quite right...
Sighing, he drew in a deep breath. If it was not the war causing the nightmares, what was? He didn't know. And he wasn't sure if he even wanted to know. The only thing he definitely knew was, that he was afraid of them. Every night the uneasy feeling in his stomach grew, making a cold shiver run down his spine at the mere thought of what would be waiting for him in sleep. He couldn't even tell what was making him dread those dreams so much that the rational part of his mind was deafened by an overwhelming instinct telling him to run for his life. If it just were this easy...
Reluctantly opening his eyes, he made a decision.
He wouldn't sleep any more. Not as he had intended to last night. No, he wouldn't give his mind any chance to elaborate on the nightmares. He knew that it was senseless. He knew very well that sooner or later his body needed rest. He didn't even need to be a doctor to tell that no human being was able to elude sleep forever.
But in this very moment he didn't care. He didn't know what else to do. As long as he was able to will himself to stay awake, he would not have to face whatever it was that was looming and waiting for him in the dreams. No sleep meant no nightmares and that was all that counted for him right now...
"I'm worried about the intensified patrols along the the Cardassian border."
"You mean, the Cardassians are up to something?" Kira's skeptical expression clearly showed the inner restlessness she'd been feeling ever since the captain had called her to his office some minutes earlier.
Sisko shook his head. Standing next to the black desk in his office, he absently ran two fingers over the even glass surface. "If I knew for sure, I'd feel much better. It's a hard decision to leave the station in such difficult times."
"I see," Kira said in strained tones. "That means you want to cancel the mission?"
"I don't think it's that easy, Major," Odo interrupted skeptically.
"I don't mean to cancel the mission just because of a simple presumption, at all. But I'll contact Starfleet as soon as possible. To the best of my recollection, the Hellas is only a few days away from the station, in the Argus Sector. She could arrive here only a couple of hours after our departure."
"That would be a great advantage for the station's security," Kira agreed absently. Absorbed in her own thoughts, she crossed her arms defensively.
"It's not as if the station is without protection during the Defiant's absence. That is – if there is an enemy attack at all. So far we have nothing but pure speculation and no firm evidence for any unusual Cardassian activity," Sisko tried to calm his officers.
Leaning back with a short sigh on the couch of the captain's office, Kira's mood dropped remarkably. "Which doesn't mean they won't at least try something."
"Perhaps the intensified security along the border doesn't mean anything at all. I'm just not willing to take any unnecessary risks," the captain said slowly.
"Perhaps it would be a better idea if I stayed behind, taking care of DS9 while you're away, Captain," Kira suggested at length.
"I'm afraid we'll need you on Atholes III. I can't afford to leave you behind. Not with your experience and combat skill." The captain sighed, directing his attention to Odo. "That's also why I want you to stay back on the station, Constable. Just in case of an incident."
The Bajoran woman's head jerked up. Odo just nodded. He pretty much understood Sisko's reasoning.
"I'll leave OPS to Commander Tenner. He's a good strategist and I believe he can do the job well. But I also want you to keep a watchful eye on the situation, Constable. If there's anyone who is able to predict the actions of the Founders, it's you. I don't think anything will actually happen, but if there should be any sign of an invasion, I want you here to assist Commander Tenner."
Snorting under his breath, Odo shook his head. "I see. I'm not sure if I can be of much help, but I'll do my best..."
"Very well. If there should be any problems, the Hellas will be at your side. I'll immediately inform Captain Wieland and Starfleet headquarters."
Even before the Constable was able to voice his concern, a sudden call interrupted their little briefing. "Captain, an Andorian freighter has just requested permission to dock. It's been involved in a battle with the Jem'Hadar and has sustained extensive damage. The ship's captain is reporting heavy casualties."
Even though the young Trill's voice was calm and controlled, Sisko could sense the underlying tone of resignation accompanying her few words. Another innocent ship. How many were to follow until the war was finally ended?
"Permission granted. Send a repair team to take care of the damage and inform Dr. Bashir. Beam the wounded directly into the infirmary; I'll be there in a minute. Sisko out."
Sisko saw the sadness in Kira's pale features. "Another proof that the Dominion doesn't differentiate between the enemy and civilians," she said bitterly before she followed the captain out into OPS.
Hours after the first wounded of the Andorian freighter vessel had come in, Dr. Julian Bashir was standing in the middle of the room, letting his gaze wander across the crowded and messy infirmary.
Although he had been able to stabilize most of the patients, some few had died. The blood – barely visible but there nonetheless – had already dried on his dark uniform, sticking to his sleeves and chest. He hadn't even had time to change; the desire to get into clean clothes now that the rush to the infirmary had subsided was growing ever stronger.
He put the dermal regenerator back onto the shelf, went over to one of his patients and studied the readouts of the little chart above the bed. The man's pulse was way too low, his respiration too shallow, but nevertheless he was alive. It still would take him a few days to recover completely, a small price considering the fact that many of his comrades hadn't survived the attack at all...
Almost entirely lost in his own thoughts, Bashir took the PADD he was offered by the night shift nurse. Fifteen wounded and eight dead. Thinking about it, the numbers of casualties were relatively low considering the fact that the small ship had sustained a remarkable amount of damage by the Jem'Hadar. But, as the freighter's crew didn't even comprise forty, the ship had suffered a great loss. The wounded would soon be fully healed, though what remained was the wound deep within their souls – another scar inflicted by the war.
"What about dinner?"
Startled, Julian whirled around, his thoughts all at once dragged back into reality. He hadn't even noticed someone enter.
"You look tired, Julian. What about dinner?" O'Brien repeated, trying to keep his voice low as if afraid of disturbing the patients' sleep. Readjusting the strap of his gray engineer bag, his questioning look met Julian's.
"I don't think we'll get a free place at the replimat this late and to be honest, I'd rather be alone…" Bashir stalled, assessing the bio readings of the next patient. It was a monotone action and absolutely superfluous for if the status of any of his patients worsened the computer would tell him in a second anyway. For Bashir, though, it was exactly the kind of work he needed. He still felt the chief's gaze on the back of his neck when he once again addressed his full attention to the bio console in front of him.
O'Brien didn't give up. "Okay, then in one hour in my quarters?"
Bashir's shoulders palpably hunched, the young man sighing tiredly. "I'm sorry, Miles, but I guess you've got to eat alone. I can't leave now."
The sudden touch on his forearm made him instinctively turn to his left. Nurse Lamara was standing at his side, her lips drawn into a gentle smile. "Don't worry, Doctor, I'll take care of them. And if there's the slightest change in anyone's condition, I'll let you know immediately," she said with a short beckoning toward the back part of the infirmary.
Already about to form a protest, Julian suddenly held back as he realized the sadness in her smile. Lamara was worried about him. And he couldn't blame her.
"Fine," Julian gave in at length, sighing in resignation. He obviously was outvoted.
"So see you in ten minutes in my quarters," the chief grinned encouragingly. "You won't regret it, trust me."
Shaking his head about the stubbornness of the Irishman, Julian couldn't help a smile. "You won't mind if I change first, will you?"
Entering the O'Brien's quarters, Julian was almost immediately run over by the gray furball, shooting like an arrow toward him. Crashing into him with a low purr, the cat snuggled up against his legs, emitting a series of pleasant purrs and tapping in circles around the newcomer. Grinning, Julian bent down and gently stroke the O'Briens' cat. "Chester, long time no see."
Glancing sideways, Julian swiftly scanned the room for the chief, though O'Brien was nowhere to be seen.
"Miles?"
"Just one moment!"
While Bashir settled himself on the couch, Chester kept following him, jumping up next to the young man with a soft mew. Curling up in his lap, the cat yawned and let his head drop sleepily on his paws. Only seconds later, O'Brien came back from the bedroom.
"I just changed…"
Spotting the gray cat in Bashir's lap, the Chief face drew into an angry grimace. "Oh no..." O'Brien exclaimed in dismay. "You treacherous cat! Keep away from our guest, will you!"
The last words obviously were meant to disturb the sleepy cat's rest, though Chester obviously didn't mind, just tapping slightly against Bashir's leg before he curled up again.
"He's ravaged the bedroom!" O'Brien grumbled as if in explanation.
Bashir couldn't help a mischievous smile. "The bedroom? How did he manage that?"
Shrugging, the chief snorted. "I'd like to know that myself. Don't you be too nice to him."
Julian shook his head. "Don't worry, I won't. Perhaps he's just bored."
"Bored? And that should be a reason for behaving like a fury?"
"Perhaps he needs company?" the young man shrugged apologetically.
"Which he'll get. As soon as Keiko comes back with the kids." Walking over to the replicator, O'Brien turned his head in Julian's direction. "I wish Molly were here. She'd keep him busy and out of my sight," he grumbled. "What do you feel like?"
Julian opened his mouth in response but hesitated. "I... I don't think I'm hungry, Miles..." he held up both hands to decline.
"You'll have to regather some strength, Julian. Look at yourself, you look like a ghost! You look as if you haven't eaten or slept in days." O'Brien sounded honestly worried.
"Really, I..." Bashir started, though O'Brien had already turned to address the replicator. "Curry rice," he simply said.
"Curry...rice?" Bashir stared at the brown thick mass that started to materialize on two plates in front of the chief.
"Dear old curry rice," O'Brien retorted. "The kids love it. It's not as good as Keiko's but it'll have to do." Retrieving the two plates from the replicator, he briskly made his way to the dining table.
O'Brien could see the young man's still skeptical look.
"Even if it doesn't look like it, that's exactly what you need." And addressing again the replicator, he added: "And two cups of Raktajino."
"You know, Julian," the chief began in an exaggerated tone, "that's exactly the problem with you." Taking hold of both cups to bring them over to the table, he added: "You need a family. A family to look after you!"
"I don't know, Miles."
"Look at yourself. It always makes me wonder how you ever could become a doctor considering how poorly you take care of yourself."
Bashir just smiled. Even if he didn't feel like arguing with the chief right now, it somehow felt good to have someone around who cared. He laboriously drew himself up, stifling a yawn. Chester, stirred up by the sudden movement, leaped from his lap, padding idly away.
Bashir couldn't help a mischievous grin as he sat down on the table. He really couldn't say he was hungry, even if O'Brien tried to convince him that he should be. But he also knew that his friend was worried. If he was satisfied with seeing him eat, well, Julian would do it. He didn't feel in the least like telling anybody what had been bothering him for the last days, why he preferred staying awake all night rather than using the few hours to rest. If it distracted O'Brien from the actual problem, then Julian was willing to do him at least this small favor. Taking the spoon next to the plate, he sighed.
"I don't believe it!" O'Brien suddenly rumbled.
Startled, Julian lifted his gaze.
Chester stood with his front paws propped on the table, digging his nose into the brown stew on O'Brien's plate. The cat didn't even seem to notice the furious look on the chief's face – or the opportunity of the rare snack outweighed the impending thunderstorm that was already brewing on the horizon next to him.
With only a few steps the chief made it to the table, grabbing the cat rudely by the scruff of his neck. "I think that's enough for today, Chester! Believe me, you'll regret this," he scolded, already heading with the cat in his grip for the children's room.
He didn't make it far, though.
Bashir – who had recovered from his initial shock – suddenly jumped up from the table, catching up with O'Brien even before he had made it to the threshold to the other room. With a quick but well-aimed grip he all at once seized the chief's free arm, jerking him violently around to face him. "STOP IT!" The young man yelled, his face drawn into a furious scowl.
"Julian?"
Too surprised about Bashir's sudden and unexpected behavior, O'Brien involuntarily let the cat drop from his grip. While Chester leaped away the very instant he landed on the floor, the chief couldn't help staring incredulously at the young doctor – then at his hand that still firmly held his arm. He had never before seen Julian this angry and out of control…
Even before he could say anything, Julian's mind seemed to catch up on the situation – on what he had just done. Yanking his hand back, his face drew into yet another grimace of open shock and trepidation, his eyes widening ever farther as he kept staring disbelievingly at the chief. He couldn't bring forth a single word – even if he wanted.
"Julian, you all right?" O'Brien tried, highly alarmed. It just wasn't like Julian to loose his temper like this.
Almost impalpably shaking his head, the young man's face had lost every bit of color. Staring numbly at his own hands, he kept stumbling backwards. "I'm… sorry, Miles," he whispered under his breath before he suddenly spun around and dashed out of the room.
"Julian! Wait!"
Only a few seconds later, O'Brien made it into the corridor, scanning both directions for traces of Bashir, though the young man had already vanished. Sighing heavily, he was unsure what had prompted Julian's sudden behavior – least of all what it should mean. He started to tap his combadge, but hesitated. Perhaps Julian was just overtired and stressed. He had seen his startled expression when he'd realized what he'd done and he also knew for sure that he deeply regretted it. Letting his hand sink he couldn't but hope that Julian just needed some time to be alone. No matter how overly vehement the young man's reaction had been, it obviously had startled Julian no less than it had O'Brien. He'd have to have a talk with him tomorrow morning.
"Now look what you've done!" O'Brien scolded dryly when he entered his quarters and Chester came rushing over, nestling ruefully against his leg. Almost absentmindedly he bent down, stroking the cat's thick fur. "Julian must be quite fond of you…"
