Julian appeared in medical as soon as he had the go ahead. He wanted to be the one to give Elim the news.

He stepped into the ward, smiling despite the fact it couldn't be seen. "They say, Mister Garak, that with a professional carer at home for night and morning checks, you just might be able to go home."

It had been two weeks.

The drugs keeping Elim sedated have been slowly withdrawn and sometime in the next twenty six hours, he would open his eyes and hopefully see again.

So Julian is staying in the med lab, so that when the machine shifted the readings to indicate waking to consciousness, Julian would be there already.

He is currently sitting by Elim's bedside, typing on a datapadd and waiting. Hoping.

Julian had given up sleeping again.

He came in early in the morning, having spent the night in the holosuite, taxing his mind and body and trying to unwind the unhealthy levels of adrenaline building in his system.

He came back feeling closer than ever and more numb than he ever imagined.

He sat down on the couch and stared at the wall for a while, thinking more.

It couldn't be.

It was all that made sense.

It's stubborness.

Or stupidity.

Or - worst of all - it may be idealism.

Maybe he just wants this excuse to do it. Elim would approve of that.

It took him longer to hack Elim's computer than it did Odo's, which shouldn't surprise him by now, but hacked it is and the codes for transmission are typed into the terminal.

Elim's terminal. Because he suspects the woman on the other end may be just paranoid enough not to trust any other.

It has taken Julian ten minutes past the end of shift to confirm that Elim is gone.

It takes him fifteen minutes from the end of shift to arrive at Sisko's office, calm and collected and looking for the world like everything was right and perfect and he is here on routine.

He presses for access, ignoring the small look Dax throws him while he waits.

His thumb rubs his wedding ring.

It's easier to get back for an appointment now. With the stable transport and return location and all. And he's even correctly adjusting the time difference for stationary, linear times and places.

It's mid afternoon in PrIME when he arrives at Lorne's office and knocks on the door.

Late into the night, as the shifts finally cycle through and the order is given for the command staff to step off duty for four hours, Julian finally leaves medical and goes back to the quarters.

To his husband.

His jacket and boots are both off before he gets into the room. He can't decide what he wants most, a shower, some sleep or to just spend whatever time he has with Elim.

He knows which he's probably going to take and he'll never regret that. "Elim?"

To his credit, he has come back on his next available day. He sent the email two days ago, but now he actually has time. For however brief amount of time between the last fight and the next.

He makes his way quietly to Lorne's office, trying not to disturb the paintings or individuals residing in the school until he's outside and can lightly knock on the door.

Waking where he didn't go to sleep was always disconcerting.

He woke up on edge and half flailing, uncertain of where he was and just knowing it wasn't the biobed he had gone to sleep on.

After a moment, he worked out where he was. Those quarters that he'd been given and virtually never made it to. Well, wasn't it nice to see them, even if he didn't remember how he got here.

((OOC: NSFW ahead))

"Stardate... um. Well, damned if I know. I don't even know what time it is, let alone the date. Personal log."

Julian sat in the medbay of The Defiant, leaning on his knees.

"It's been a month since we were forced to abandon Deep Space Nine. Since the war really began. Since I had an actual night of sleep.

"We've been on the run. Dukat's personal vendetta against Sisko - and potentially his hatred for Elim - seems to drive him to send ship after ship in chase of us. The cloak helps, and we have a crew second to none, but the strain is showing. Deeply.

"I haven't managed to get back to the school. I need to. But there's simply no end. In the last month, we haven't made it through an entire night without an emergency. The stream of injuries seems never ending.

"I just need some sleep."

He stared at the wall and rubbed his eyes.

"End log."

It would be nice to imagine that their first night in their new suite was something special. Touching. Intimate.

Truthfully, they'd already christened the place before they got everything moved in, and Julian had gotten called in for emergency surgery minutes before his shift ended. By the time he got home, Garak was mostly asleep and Julian not far behind, doing little more than stripping and flopping into bed before falling asleep.

But the scent of cleaning, the antiseptic and sour smell of surgery clinging to his own body woke something else. The strange room, the newness of it, the alienness even...

He woke short hours later, blind in the darkness of the room and screaming.

It's a perfect pretense.

Having ignored all instructions to rest and brushed off inquiries about what happened, Julian has happily gotten on with wartime life. He works, he spends his nights with Elim, when possible, and he occasionally even fits in meals or sleep.

And now he's running ten minutes late to lunch with Garak and trying to finish reading the report in his hand as he walks into the Replimat.

He hasn't moved since he was laid in the biobed, small monitors blinking on his temples and chest.

It's been five days. He should be awake. But he's not. He just lays there, eyes not even flickering. The medical staff whisper when they think they're out of earshot and throw worried glances. Occasionally, Jabara comes over and speaks to the doctor, during the times when he doesn't have visitors. And even then, he gives no sign of being there, even when his hand is patted.

Wherever Julian Bashir is, it's not here. And he still doesn't look like he's coming back.

He didn't tell Garak why they were meeting in his quarters. He just told him to come in dinner wear and bring a bottle of drink that would go with spicy red meat.

Julian's gone to a fair amount of effort on this. He cooked the meal himself, set up the table with candles and turned the lights off in the main room for sensitive Cardassian eyes.

He even dressed in something Garak had made for him, some years ago when he hadn't noticed the flirting for what it was and Garak was indulging in his games with an unwitting partner.

But now...

He takes a deep breath and hopes this goes off as planned.

Julian is enjoying getting away from concerned people.

It started after the interment camp. Then there was the whole enhancements thing and people either flinched when he spoke to them or cared so much about how hard it was on him and then there was taking care of Garak and the injuries and Garak's concern and his nurses trying to hide the wedding from him and-

He wants a normal conversation. With someone not concerned.

When he sees Jadzia, he raises his hand to her, cheering up at the sight of her.

Jadzia's presence is like that.

He’s thought long and hard about this. Asked around. Talked to people. Dismissed all advice and made up his own mind.

( This thread will be graphic. Please use discretion when viewing. )

“Good night, Doctor Bashir.”

“Mm?” Julian looks up from the computer, rubbing at dry eyes. “Oh. Good night, nurse.”

He turns back to what he was doing before her interruption. He’d voluntarily taken a thirteen hour shift (Arguably against better sense) to try and get all the reading done in the privacy and professional disclosure of his office.

He’d really read everything he needed in the first four hours, but he hadn’t been able to make himself stop yet.

Territoriality. Changes in scale flushing. Increased aggression. Bulking of mass to drive off competitors.

It took a lot of forms. Rearranging rooms, hoarding, verbal and physical assaults, possessiveness. Eventually, seeking out the committed partner and spending a day or two in a frenzy.

It normally ends the same when there’s a non Cardassian partner involved. The pictures are quite explicit on that. Bajoran women who bled out from their necks, pelvises cracked, arms and hips and necks a mass of black bruises.

The marks of a primal drive that millenia of culture haven’t driven out of the Cardassian male. Eragh Mahk. Burning.

Brought about by chemical and hormonal triggers set off by – as the Cardassian texts refer to it – behaviour indicating a long term mate. And almost inevitably fatal to any poor non Cardassian partner.

He rests his hand on his neck and stares at the screen, trying to work out what to do.

Julian twisted his neck, wincing as the skin pulled.

"I can't believe you did that."

He ran the dermal generator over the spot, watching the discolouration fade and the skin heal under the careful ministrations.

This incident had definitely just made it onto his top ten list of "things to turn you off sex in under ten seconds". It had been fine when he was lightly bitten. It had been fine when it stung.

It had been much less fine when he felt the skin and muscle give and blood over his shoulder. Even now he still had wet blood down his back and arm.

"I thought we'd addressed the 'delicate, not armour plated' issue, Elim?"