"And any time you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain. Don't carry the world upon your shoulder.

'Cause well you know that it's the fool who plays it cool by making his world a little colder."

(Trivia Note: Paul McCartney wrote the song Hey Jude in 1968, based on some advice he gave to John Lennon's son. The initial title was "Hey Jules")

It was a delicate business, to make the tempura just so - crisp enough that the batter would not be weak or soggy, but not so overdone that all the taste was burnt away. Keiko O'Brien paused, listening to the satisfying murmur of the pan, and sighed. She could have simply used the replicator, especially being as tired as she was chasing after husband, daughter, and now a new baby son. But on some nights, Keiko just felt the urge to cook.

Her daughter watched - stared - from the edge of the table, so intently that Keiko found herself wondering if she would even notice anything on the periphery. She's learning, the girl's mother reminded herself, although she couldn't help but wish that she might have had this moment alone. And she's out of the way, just like you asked her. The former schoolteacher in her was quite proud of her daughter's innate curiosity.

She'd already shooed Miles away just moments before, but sweetened his banishment with promises that later in the night she would more than make up for whatever huff he might get himself into.

"Set the table, Molly?" she asked.

"Okay!" Molly nodded enthusiastically and ran to fetch the plates. She carried them quickly to the dining area, holding them in front of her as though they were the most delicate items on the station.

To have her energy again, thought Keiko, shaking her head with a wry smile.

The door chime sounded. "He's here!" Molly yelled, jumping up and down so maniacally that Keiko started to wonder if Miles had been feeding her too many jumja sticks again. There was a high wail from her son's bedroom.

"Molly," she chided, abandoning her cooking to let it simmer lightly. "What did we say about making too much noise when the baby's asleep?"

"Sorry," said Molly. But she was already shinning up the back of the sofa.

Miles was stirring from his place on the couch, and set down a pile of tech manuals. "It's all right," Keiko told him before he could say anything. "You get the door, and get her down. I'll see to Yoshi."

"Hi," shouted Molly, and beamed up at their visitor's face. Her father was not far away. He stood behind her, wrapping his arms loosely about her shoulders. Somewhere in the next room was the slightly muffled sound of a baby crying.

But O'Brien's smile was tight, barely reaching his eyes, and the only movement was that of Molly reaching up to scratch the tip of her nose. The soft wail gradually quietened and stopped.

"Uh…" said Julian.

Keiko moved into view, brushing flour from her clothes and hands. Bashir saw a flash of anxiety behind her dark eyes, in the instant they made contact with his own. But it quickly disappeared behind the practised calm of a hostess greeting a regular dinner guest. Passing them by, she slapped her husband on the arm. "Where are your manners?" she whispered, and smiled.

"It's nice to see you, Julian. Come on in."

Dinner was an odd affair, with much of the conversation being entirely dependant on the changing moods of Molly O'Brien. She started off strangely exuberant, even jumping several times from her seat to fetch her most recent drawing, or special pink shoes, and finally her new doll. ("Nerys gave her to me. Her name's Lupi. You like her?")

At the fourth and final attempted escape, her father grabbed her by the arm and whispered in her ear. "Remember what we talked about?" She settled down, but grew decidedly moody, folding her arms across her chest and scowling at her pinafore as though the line of tiny stitches along its hem had somehow done something to offend her.

"She gets it from her father," Keiko whispered from across the table. Bashir noted with surprise that his own smile was barely forced at all.

He wondered, as he often did in secret, whether he could have gotten married himself - possibly raised a family. The thought of two or three little Bashirs running underfoot, chatting raucously to each other about all the peculiarly mundane things that children find to chatter about, coming to him whenever they scraped their knees or bumped their heads, or even just wanted a cuddle - for a moment it all seemed unbearably appealing. He'd always told people that he wasn't the type, or that he'd forgone the possibility of children for the sake of his career. But the truth was, too often the dream of a family seemed as much beyond his reach as any other.

Miles must have caught a glimpse of something in his eyes, because his next words were far too overtly cheerful. "So, are we gonna eat, uh? Who's hungry?"

"I am," said Molly, apparently rousing herself from her earlier huff.

"It smells delicious," Bashir assured Keiko. "Honestly, you didn't have to…"

"Oh, nonsense. I enjoy cooking. And it's not often we have guests."

"No, really. I'm sure…"

"It's all right." O'Brien dismissed the budding apology with a wave of his hand. "Tuck in, everyone. There's more than enough to go around. Isn't there?"

"Oh, absolutely," said Keiko.

They're watching me, thought Bashir. Trying not to make it obvious, but they're noting every move I make. He lifted a ball of steaming white rice, held it up particularly for their benefit, and breathed upon it to cool it down. Warm, moist air found its way to the top of his throat before the first mouthful. It was delicious, somehow cooked exactly right. But his muscles resisted slightly as he forced himself to swallow.

After just five mouthfuls, his stomach already felt uncomfortably full, his chest as tight as their conversation. Keiko had begun to fill in the lengthy silence with news of her upcoming trip to Bajor. "You should come with us," she assured Bashir. "We could always use somebody with a good working knowledge of exobiology."

A cushy research job, Bashir thought with some distaste, before reminding himself that such an assessment wasn't at all fair. There was nothing cushy about the kind of research expeditions Keiko was involved in. He sighed. "Thanks for the offer, but I still have to be on Earth for… ah… the trial."

He looked down at his plate of barely touched tempura and rice. Seeing that even Molly was staring at him now, he sighed, and managed a wan smile. "Well. Thank you for a lovely meal." He slapped the table and made as if to stand.

"Hey." O'Brien pointed him back to his seat. "You. Stay. There. You're not leaving until we know that you've enjoyed yourself. I promised Doctor Hayes a full report, and you know I'm a man of my word."

Feeling more weary than he had since leaving the Infirmary, Bashir sagged in his chair. "A report?" he despaired. "What, are you two spying on me now?"

"Mommy?" said Molly, her voice high and plaintive. "Why…?"

"Not now, honey," Keiko whispered.

O'Brien simply shrugged. "You'd have done the same for me, several times over. And besides, what are friends for?"

Oh Seven Hundred, Hayes had said. Bashir would have risen far earlier than that - for lack of sleep as much as anything - if it hadn't been for the tall Bajoran nurse appearing regularly at his bedroom door.

Suicide watch. The doctor's words replayed in his mind, shifting and mingling with those of Admiral Bennet. He'd heard Nurse Bandee checking on him several times during the night, and every one of those times he'd lain very still and focused on slowing his breathing to the deep, steady rhythm of sleep. At least he'd been allowed back to his own quarters. But somehow it just didn't feel private. The longed for rest continued to elude him.

Any one of the Engineering crew could easily have set up monitoring devices in the walls and ceiling. But he suspected that Hayes thought it would be far too easy for him to seek them out and remove them without anyone even realising they were gone. Perhaps he's right, Julian thought, sensing seconds tick into minutes, minutes into hours. But as it was, there had been no such devices to find.

When he felt that the morning had crawled towards a respectable hour, he rolled to the edge of his bed and sat up, wearily setting two bare feet upon the floor. He rubbed his face with the palm of one hand and took a moment to flex his aching muscles. "Computer, time," he mumbled.

"The time is Oh Six Twenty Five."

He nodded. "Of course it is."

There was still half an hour to go - time enough for a quick sonic shower, and to do something about the stubble that had found its way onto his face. His minder had disappeared, but Bashir was not fooled for a moment. Nathan's testing me, he thought. To see if I'll show. Clever. He glanced through the window at the constant star scape, wondering if he could possibly get away with not…

Several days ago, he'd asked Miles to leave him be, wanting nothing more than quiet and solitude - to shut himself away from everything save for that dark, speckled void.

Best not to risk it. Setting his jaw, he adjusted the hem of his shirt and turned away to face the world.