They had drugged him. He was sure of it.
There couldn't be any other explanation for the clouds of pink fog now filling his head. His mind had been clear—confused, but clear—until they had taken her away from him. Now her face filled every corner of his consciousness. So lovely. So frightened. And now she was in danger…
Bashir gripped the back of the sofa and tried to focus. He tried to remember what the rogue guard had said about her being the cause of… something, but the heavy pink sedative sensation came back and all he could see were those fearful eyes, those trembling lips, those… funny silver things on her teeth. Wait a minute… she hadn't been fearful, had she? She had seemed positively annoyed!
Another pink wave washed over him, and Julian gave up. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a little voice of reason screamed, but it was no use. A burning desire rose in him, so sudden and fierce that it seized hold of his limbs and forced him into motion. A word. A dream. A duty.
For some reason, he felt he should be wearing a cape.
With a sigh, Julian picked up the ceramic Horgon from its decorative plinth and gently concussed the fangirl who was feeding him grapes and telling him her life story.