#fic bitching

"I still don't see why you're making a big deal out of this," Kira mutters, looking as tough as one can when laid flat out on their back and completely unable to get up of their own strength, "People get sick all the time and they don't need a doctor hovering over them like a mother sun hawk."

Julian, sitting at the edge of the bed beside her and scanning her for the fifth time in two hours, doesn't take his eyes off the readings as he replies, "They are not 6 months pregnant, trying to fight a chest infection that could take down an elephant with nothing but sheer force of will."

Kira glares at him, if only because she hates when he's right. "My will is very forceful." She asserts. It's a weak defense and she knows it, but she's saying it anyways.

"Oh, I'm well aware," Julian says, looking up at her, "Unfortunately, it couldn't bring your fever down, but the antibiotics have finally done that," He sets the scanner aside, "Congratulations, your brain is no longer at risk of boiling."

"Joy of joys." She grumbles irritably.

"It wouldn't have gotten to this point if you had just rested in the first place," Julian points out, "It's almost like you want me hovering over you like a mother hen. Or a mother sun hawk, as you put it."

Kira gives him a look that, if looks could kill, would have incinerated him on the spot. "Don't flatter yourself." She retorts.

"No?" Julian hums, with that infuriating smirk of his on his face, "What else could it be, then? Because it's either you want my company, or..." He leans in closer, "You admit that you're far too stubborn for your own good."

Kira could throw a pillow at him, if she had the strength to lift her arms. "I hate when you do that." She mutters.

"Do what?" Julian asks, still smirking, "Be right?"

"Be smug."

"I'm always smug." Julian's smile only grows.

"Then I always hate you." Kira huffs.

"No, you don't," Julian reaches over, adjusts the cold cloth he'd put over her forehead earlier, "You're very sick, and very pregnant, and looking for any excuse to hate everything and everyone because you hate being stuck in bed," He gives her a knowing look, still smiling, still all soft around the edges even as she's doing everything she can to bite him, "Have I got it right?" He asks gently.

Oh, she hates that especially. Hates that he can read her like a book. Who gave him the right? "Hate you." She mumbles petulantly, rather than concede.

"Mhm," Julian gives her cheek an affectionate pat, "Patience, Major. I'll have you on your feet in no time, but until then, you need to let yourself rest. For your own sake, and for the sake of this little one," He rests a careful hand on her belly, his smile softening as he does, "Who, thankfully, seems to be every bit as strong as you." He murmurs.

Kira can't help but soften herself, sighing quietly. It's been a long few years since she was capable of staying annoyed with Julian. "I didn't hurt him, did I?" She asks, "I really didn't realize I was this sick. I've been so swamped lately..." Between all the appointments she's had for this unexpected pregnancy, and there never being a dull moment on this station, she's barely had any downtime. She didn't have time to be sick- it started as just a cough, easily powered through.

She really didn't know it had gotten this bad.

"He's perfectly fine," Julian tells her gently, no trace of judgement to be found on his face, "Like I said, he's very strong. And pretty damn stubborn I'd say- he's an O'Brien, after all," He chuckles, and adds, "With a bit of Kira in there as well."

"But," He continues, taking his hand off her belly, "I will be having a chat with the captain, about taking a bit off your plate."

"Julian-"

"Nerys," He cuts in, not letting her even start to protest, "I'd be recommending lighter duty even if you weren't pregnant. You're working yourself to the bone, and it isn't healthy. I know," She opens her mouth to try arguing again, but he beats her to it, "I know we're all working ourselves half to death right now. If I could get lighter duty for all of us, I would. But I can get it for you, circumstances being what they are, so that's what I'm going to do." His tone has a finality to it.

Kira sighs again, heavy and exhausted. She knows better than to argue against that tone of his, no matter how much she wants to. Unfortunately for her, he does know what's he's talking about. "Fine," She relents, resting her hands on her belly, "I'll do it for his sake. If it was just me, I'd be powering through this no problem." She asserts, just to say she can.

"Of course you would," He indulges, with a smile that screams bullshit, "Now, what would you like for dinner? I'll get it replicated for us." He offers.

She starts to protest. "I can-" Then she pauses, "Wait," She says, squinting at him, "Us?"

"You think I'm letting you be on your own?" Julian questions, "Absolutely not. I'm keeping you under observation for at least the next 52 hours- my observation. You'll stay put, I'll get you everything you need, and the only time you'll need to get up is to use the refresher." He informs her.

Once again, Kira finds herself tempted to club him. Curse her exhausted arms. "That's ridiculous!" She protests, indignant, "I'm a grown woman, not-"

"A very good patient," Julian finishes for her, "The second I leave this room, you're going to be up on your feet making yourself busy. Tell me I'm wrong." He challenges.

"You don't trust me?" Kira asks, accusing.

"Oh, I trust you with my life," He replies smoothly, "But I absolutely do not trust you to actually rest. So, what'll it be for dinner?" He asks, once again not inviting any argument, "Hasperat, or spring vegetable soup?"

Kira considers him for a moment. Considers arguing, considers ordering him out. Bur he would just argue back, and pull rank on her as a doctor, and cite some dumb clause that puts him in command. Or, worse, he'd tell Sisko, who would back his orders. He's not above that, which she's learned the hard way. She has two options here: fight and fight until she exhausts herself into complacency, or surrender quietly and retain some energy.

"Soup," She decides to surrender quietly, "Please."

"Coming right up," He pats her knee as he stands, "Won't be a moment. Don't," He points a warning finger at her, "Try to get up. I'll know." He warns.

Kira rolls her eyes as he steps out. She listens as he heads into her kitchen, listens to him tap at the replicator before she hears his voice. She settles herself back with another sigh, closing her eyes for a moment. She can think of worse company. Out of all the medical staff on the station, he would be her first choice. Not that she'd ever tell him that. His ego's too big as it is.

He comes back with two bowls of soup in his hands, and a plate of spring rolls balanced on one arm. She didn't ask for them, but he remembered that she liked them. She can't help but smile, finally, as he sets everything down and helps her sit up so that she can eat.

"You know, Doctor," The drawling, disdainful voice grates on his ears and makes his blood pressure tick up, "I don't think I've ever been this tired of eating soup."

Julian counts backwards from 10, breathes his frustration out quickly before he makes his reply, "I could always feed you a rock, if you'd prefer." He spoons himself a bowl of said soup- an eclectic mix of some rations and anything edible he could find outside this cave they're holed up in.

Gul Dukat, infuriatingly smug even now, just smirks at him. "What a thing to say to a wounded man," He says, all theatrics, "Is that the sort of bedside manner they teach in your Federation?" He asks.

He's trying to get a rise out of him. Has been since yesterday, when they found this cave and declared it their shelter. But knowing this, unfortunately, doesn't stop Julian's temper from rising to the bait. He bites down on the reaction that wants to fire out, wrestling himself back under control, determined to not give Dukat the satisfaction.

"Apologies," He mutters, as he steps back from the fire and lowers himself to sit. He winces as he does, free hand moving to cradle his side, "But bedside manner is difficult to maintain when the doctor is also wounded." Deep plasma burn, stretching down from his lower ribs to his hip. He's done what he can, with badly shaking hands and nearly biting right through his bottom lip. But it hasn't helped much.

Dukat regards him with a raised brow. He didn't escape the crash unscathed- Julian had to wrench his knee back into place, shrapnel gouged deep gashes into his abdomen. His eyes flick to the improvised bandages poking through from the tears in Julian's uniform, before going back up to his face.

"A smarter man would have treated himself first." He remarks.

Julian had used most of their medical supplies on Dukat. Naturally, he's found some way to turn that into an insult. "Fortunately for you, I'm not a smarter man," He replies, not looking up to meet the eyes he can feel are fixed on him, "If I was, you would've bled to death." He tucks into his soup. It's bad. The texture of the root he found and boiled makes him nauseous, but he eats, anyways. Survival is rarely comfortable.

"I suppose I should be thankful." Dukat muses.

"Maybe." Julian hums, not really caring whether or not he is.

Dukat sets his bowl down, metal clinking loudly in the quiet of their cave. "Somehow," He says, still talking, "I get the feeling you don't want to hear gratitude from me."

Julian really, truly doesn't care whether or not Dukat is grateful. He couldn't physically care less. "Perhaps I just don't want to hear from you." He suggests, taking another bite.

"You don't like me very much, do you, Doctor?" Dukat asks, with a tone that indicates he clearly knows the answer to that question.

Julian doesn't see the need to lie here. He's always been quite clear with his feelings regarding the Gul. "Not particularly." He replies, before lifting his bowl to his mouth to drink the last of the weak, watery broth.

"I understand," Dukat says, "After all, I am-"

"Save the pity party for someone who wants to hear it," Julian cuts in as he lowers his bowl, not remotely in the mood to hear Dukat lament about his own atrocities, "You can play at being self-aware and apologetic, but I don't buy it. You won't get any sympathy from me." He tells him firmly, his tone iron and blunt.

Dukat is quiet for a moment. For one merciful, peaceful moment. And then he chuckles, lips twisting back over sharp teeth as he tilts his head back, and honestly chuckles. The sound is low, and mocking, and Julian closes his eyes and breathes through his nose as it pounds at the headache he's had since yesterday.

"Doctor Bashir," Dukat coos, "That almost sounds like hatred."

Julian spears an undercooked vegetable and pops it in his mouth. "Like I said," He says around the mouthful, "I don't particularly like you."

"Then why save me?" Dukat asks, "I'm your enemy. You hate me. All of your friends would be better off with me dead. You wouldn't even have had to kill me- you could've just let me bleed out, ruled my death as accidental. Nobody would have questioned you, a man of such integrity. So tell me," There's a wickedness to his smile, like this is some sort of game he's already won, "Why save my life?"

Julian pauses in his eating. Looks into his bowl for a moment- broth gone, chunks of vegetables and roots he can barely stomach. Then he looks up, finally meets Dukat's gleaming eyes, and says, "Because I'm a doctor."

Dukat tilts his head at him. "Is that it?" He asks, still smiling that awful smile.

"That's it," Julian confirms, "I'm a doctor. No matter what I think of you personally, I still took an oath to save lives. If I start picking and choosing who I save, then I betray my oath. I betray myself," He looks back at his bowl, spears another vegetable, "And I refuse to do that, no matter how much I might dislike someone. I will always do everything I can to preserve life. That's what it means to do no harm," He considers the vegetable on his fork, if only to stop looking at Dukat, "And that's the code I live by." He takes the bite, forces it down. What he wouldn't give right now for some of Sisko's cooking.

Another chuckle. "An honourable sentiment," Dukat says, his tone dripping condescension, "Perhaps the most honourable sentiment there is. Yours is a noble profession, Doctor." It almost sounds like praise. Almost.

"Glad you think so." Julian mutters around another mouthful.

"But you have done harm, haven't you?"

Julian freezes. His blood freezes solid in his veins. The fork screeches against the bottom of the bowl as he nearly drops it. It feels like his heart stops and starts again, jumping from resting to racing in half a second.

He looks up at Dukat. Composure cracked, eyes wide.

"I don't know what you mean." He lies.

Dukat's grin grows. Sharp canines gleam in the firelight. "When you've lived a life like I have," He purrs, looking like the cat that's caught the mouse, "You quickly learn to identify people by their eyes. Those who kill, and those who are killed. You, Doctor Bashir, have always had the bright, optimistic eyes of a naive boy who will be killed. But that's changed since I last saw you," He observes, eyes narrowing as he looks at him, "You've killed." He states simply.

Julian's heart is in his throat. There's a buzz in his ears.

"I wonder," Dukat continues in a slow drawl, savouring his words, "What it was that drove you to it?"

He's back in that cell. Cot-crammed and dark, smelling of blood and sickness.

"You must have been truly desperate."

He had to get out. 5 weeks of pure hell, he had to get out.

"Who was it, Doctor?"

Jem'Hadar. He didn't know his name. All he knew was where to thrust the knife to end it quickly.

"How did it feel?"

Blood gushed hot into his hand, down his wrist. He felt nothing. He just ran.

Julian looks at his hand. He can still feel it. Hot, sticky. Afterwards, he had scrubbed it until it was stinging and raw, and even then, the feeling never went away. He doubts it ever will.

"You're an idiot."

"Being rude to the wounded is poor form."

"You're not wounded," Kira scoffs, even as she adjusts her grip on Julian to carry more of his weight, "You fell on your ass playing racquetball. That doesn't count as wounded. That's just clumsy."

Julian grimaces, not protesting her adjustment. He leans more heavily against her, practically hopping on one foot at this point. She's tempted to throw him over her shoulder. "In my defense," He says, still managing a stupid grin even as he's wincing in pain, "I fell very hard."

"Like a drunk Klingon after a barrel too many," Kira mutters, "You should've let me call a medical team. Or just transported right to the infirmary." She scolds. Navigating a limping doctor through the Promenade isn't exactly easy, and she's regretting giving him her shoulder to lean on. Not for anything he's doing, he's being pretty pliant, but there are so many people and they have no spatial awareness and she's going to strangle the next person who jostles her.

"The transport pad in the infirmary is down for repairs," Julian reminds her, entirely unhelpfully. She might throw him at the Chief when they get there, "And a medical team for this? It's a sprained ankle, Kira, not a crisis. I have some dignity." He huffs.

"News to me." She grumbles, not nearly as annoyed as she makes herself sound.

"Hey!" He protests, though he's still grinning.

Kira gives him a sidelong glance. "You planning on telling me just what distracted you out there?" She questions, "You're not exactly graceful, but you're not usually a klutz. Your eyes were glued to the audience, not the game. What was that all about?"

Julian quickly looks away, grin gone and looking very interested in anything except for her. "I... do not have an answer for you," He replies suspiciously, "Must've been lost in thought. Lots to think about, you know, being CMO and all."

Kira squints at him. "You're full of it, Bashir," She accuses, seeing right through his awful liar face, "What was it?"

"Must I?"

"You must."

"But you're going to laugh."

"Julian, I'm practically carrying you across the Promenade, when I could've sat back and called a medical team to stretcher you out and cause an even bigger scene than this," She nods around, to where people are peering at them curiously, "If whatever made you wipe out is so embarrassing for you that it'll make me laugh, then that is the least you owe me."

Julian gives her a pleading look. "Can't I just buy you a drink?"

"Don't be sneaky," Kira chides, though the audacity of that request does make her smirk. He never really gives up, "Tell me which pretty girl had you so distracted you sprained your ankle on a flat surface."

Julian's face turns pink, caught. Then, he sighs, and admits, "That visiting ensign, Larro."

Kira barks a laugh, shaking her head as Julian scowls at her. "You're hopeless." She teases, still giggling.

"You can drop me here, thanks," He sulks, "I think I'd like the floor to swallow me up, now."

"Oh, don't be like that," She nudges her shoulder under his, "Now you just need to hit her with that wounded puppy act of yours. Do that thing you do with your eyes that works for whatever reason. You're down, but not out."

Julian can't help but chuckle. "Ah, you've noticed that one, have you?" He asks.

Kira snorts. "I've noticed all of them. You're a menace."

"You're cutting me right to the core today, Major." He laments playfully, still smiling.

“Elim?” 

Gentle hands resting on his shoulders rouse Garak from a sleep he didn’t even realize he’d fallen into. He jerks awake with a rather undignified snort, more startled than he’d care to admit as he straightens himself up in his chair. Falling asleep at his desk… he really is getting sloppy.

Those hands squeeze his shoulders gently. He would know that touch anywhere.

“Only me, love,” Julian’s voice murmurs, soft and reassuring, “Didn’t mean to startle you.” 

Garak glances back over his shoulder, wincing slightly at the kink that’s developed in his neck from his awkward sleeping position. “You’ll have to forgive me, my dear,” He replies, offering Julian a tired smile, “I seem to have lost track of the time.”

He takes a moment to give Julian a quick once-over, his eyes heavy with sleep but no less sharp. He looks dishevelled, his hair a mess of loose curls and his jaw lined with a shadow of stubble. He doesn’t have any visible injuries, and his uniform is rumpled, but intact. So today was long, but likely not life-threatening. Good. He’d been worried, before he went and passed out.

Julian smiles back at him, a warm expression, though very tired. The lines under his eyes are deep. “I’ll forgive you, if you forgive me for being so late,” He offers, gently rubbing Garak’s shoulders, “Sorry to have kept you waiting. I was drafting requests for more medical equipment, and lost track of time myself.” He explains.

“How could I ever fault you for such a noble endeavour?” Garak asks, leaning back into Julian’s hands, which are doing wonders for what’s become a permanent stiffness in his shoulders, “I’m sure the staff appreciate your efforts.” His doctor has done marvellously, adapting to working in a Cardassian hospital. It took a couple of crisis situations before the rest of the staff finally took him seriously, but he’s managed to find a place for himself with minimal friction, as far as the hospital staff are concerned. Usually a Human would never have been accepted so quickly, but these are desperate times, and they can seldom afford to turn away such a capable pair of hands. 

“They’ll appreciate it when I actually get the equipment,” Julian replies. He works his thumbs into a knot at the base of Garak’s neck, and Garak all but melts against him, a pleased sound rumbling low in his chest, “Dare I ask what you’re doing with Kukalaka?” 

The question snaps Garak out of his pleased little trance. He glances back at his desk and finds that the bear is, in fact, sitting there, a needle still attached to thread hanging loose from his leg, which is half-sewn to his body. “Ah,” He says, now recalling what he was doing before sleep so unceremoniously claimed him, “Yes, that… well, I was rather hoping to surprise you with that tomorrow…” He hums, feeling a flash of annoyance at his plans being thwarted. 

Julian leans over his shoulder, examining his handiwork. “Oh, Elim…” He murmurs, like Garak has just handed him the world, “You wonderful, wonderful man. You really are too good to me.” He wraps his arms loosely around Garak’s neck, rests his weight against him as he presses his warm cheek to the side of his head.

It never ceases to amaze Garak, just how easy it is to make Julian’s day. The smallest acts have him behaving as if Garak has put the suns in the sky just for him. “Hardly,” He refutes, because he could never be too good for the man who reminds him days after day that good exists in this universe simply by existing, “You may have convinced the little ruffian’s mother that you weren’t upset over Kukalaka being torn asunder, but I know you far better than that. I may not understand the significance of the little fellow, but I would be remiss if I allowed him to remain in tatters when I could easily repair him.” He reasons, and it’s an awfully long way to say I hate to see you sad.

“That little ruffian was all of 3 years old,” Julian points out, a smile in his voice, “And teething, might I add, so understandably cranky. But… thank you,” A warm kiss is pressed to Garak’s cheek, an action that turns him into a puddle of bliss and affection, “I would tell you just how much it means to me, but I’m afraid I’m much too tired to adequately express myself.” He kisses Garak’s cheek again, and nuzzles against him.

Garak hums happily, reaching up to rest a hand on Julian’s arm. “Oh, I don’t know,” He muses, rubbing circles into Julian’s arm with his thumb, “I believe I could infer the depths of your gratitude from, say… more kisses.” He suggests, tilting his head so that he can flash Julian a cheeky grin. 

Julian snorts, buries his face in Garak’s neck as laughter shakes his slender shoulders. When he lifts his head again, he has the loveliest smile lines on his rosy-cheeked face, and the lines under his eyes don’t seem quite so deep anymore. 

“You’re incorrigible.” Julian tells him, earnestly and completely affectionate. 

“Yes,” Garak agrees, “And I do believe you love me for it.” 

“Oh, very much,” Julian agrees, leaning in till his nose taps against Garak’s, “It’s one of your most endearing traits.” 

Garak rubs their noses together, a gesture that is indescribably affectionate and also quite silly. “Tell me again about all those endearing traits of mine?” He requests.

“I’m far too tired for that,” Julian replies, his eyes flicking to Garak’s lips, “I think I’d much rather kiss you silly. Is that an acceptable substitute?” He asks.