Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The corridors blurred. You were vaguely aware of your boots scraping the deck, and of someone’s arm around your shoulders, but the air was thick in your lungs, like trying to breathe through thick cloth. You could tell you were no longer on the transport pod and you were in the bright large corridors of deep space nine, so you’ve made it home at the very least…

You felt unbearably uncomfortable, head throbbing, chest heaving, there was a metallic tang in your mouth that wasn’t blood—it was something else. Something chemical.

“Stay with us, commander,” a voice urged. Commander Worf’s, you thought distantly. He was half-carrying, half-dragging you down the promenade, his movements urgent but careful.

The light of the Promenade hit your eyes like a warp flash. People turned their heads, voices muffled through the swelling in your ears. Then the sliding doors of the infirmary hissed open and a new voice, clearer, sharper, familiar… cut through the haze.

“Put her here.”

The biobed’s surface was cool, and for a heartbeat, you wanted to sink into it forever. But then his face swam into view above you: sharp cheekbones, dark eyes narrowed with focus, a lock of hair escaping its combed order.

“Julian…” Your voice was a rasp, and you weren’t even sure he heard it.

“She’s been exposed to something,” Worf reported his voice even and serious as always. “We encountered heavy resistance retrieving the specimen. She took an energy discharge… and afterward, she began to lose coordination.”

Bashir’s tricorder was already humming. “Pulse elevated… blood pressure low… and your pupils…” He didn’t finish. His jaw tightened, and he turned toward his staff. “Get a tox screen, wide spectrum. I want a metabolic panel and full neural scan.”

He glanced back at you, quickly, almost as if he were checking you were still there, still you.

This isn’t the first time you’ve landed yourself in Bashir’s infirmary. Hopefully not the last. You’ve been working on DS9 for about a year now, and had a knack for sticking your curious head into things you shouldn’t…. And the occasional injury while doing various adventures or activities in the holodeck.

You can’t seem to make your head stop spinning enough to remember what happened on today’s away mission… but it was quite clear that this was a lot bigger than a couple of cracked ribs or a fever.

“I’m going to figure this out,” he said quietly, and you could swear the words weren’t entirely meant for the official medical record.

You wanted to smile at him. Tell him you believed him. But the world tilted again, and darkness pooled at the edges of your vision.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

When you woke again, the room was dim, the medbay quieter. You were no longer in your uniform and you lay in the comfortable medical drapes. Your mouth is uncannily dry and got blink a few times before you start to feet a better feel of your surroundings.

For instance…something warm and heavy rested on your hand, and when you turned your head, you found the source: Julian, asleep in the chair beside your bed, still in his uniform, his head tilted toward you, his fingers curled gently around yours.

For a moment, you simply looked at him. The ridges of stress smoothed from his brow in sleep. His breathing was slow, even. In your dazed state you almost forgot that this wasn’t exactly a normal occurrence. Were you dreaming still..?

The monitors beeped softly as you shifted, and his eyes snapped open, instantly alert. He ripped his hand from yours and sat up, wiping both of his hands on his pants.

“You’re awake.” His voice was low, clearly relieved. “Good. That’s good.”

“What happened?” you asked, though your throat still ached from the dryness.

“You were poisoned by a neurotoxin in the atmosphere in that lab… from what Worf reported you must have tripped some sort of trap or accidentally opened something that was laying dormant. I’ve neutralized most of it, but…” He hesitated, and you caught the flicker of worry before he masked it. “You’ll need to stay here for observation.”

“That bad?” you murmured.

Julian smiled softly. “Let’s just say I’m not letting you out of my sight until I’m sure you’re safe.” He clasped his hands together and spun on his heel, “how about we see how well you handle some food, hm?”

You opened your mouth to reply but your breathing started to stagger as you lay in bed. Your vision started to blur again as your throat closed. The Med bay began to spin as you could hear the faint sound of Julian yelling for help, and the sudden pinch and hissing sound of a hypospray against your neck before the room went dark again.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

It had been days of this, random bouts of instability, it came in waves but the lingering feeling of unease settled into your bones. You had no energy, your muscles ached despite not using them for anything the last few days besides barely picking at some food, or turning your head to tease your doctor.

Today the medbay was quieter than you’d ever known it. No injured engineers bickering about plasma burns, no Chief O’Brien limping in with yet another “mild” injury, no Kira standing stubbornly against bed rest. Just you, the steady hiss of the air recyclers, and the occasional chirp of a monitor.

You’d been told (firmly) not to get up. Apparently, the neurotoxin wasn’t in any of the station’s medical database. Julian was running every test Starfleet protocol would allow, plus a few creative ones you were fairly certain he was making up as he went.

“You’re staring at me again,” you said without looking up from your PADD. You were growing restless, and had been attempting to get some work done while you are sentenced to seemingly endless bed rest.

Across the bed, Julian didn’t smile or even pretend to have been caught. “I’m monitoring your neural response times,” he replied, eyes still fixed on you. “If you’re able to notice me watching, that’s a good sign…. You haven’t been very responsive today..”

“Or maybe you’re just really bad at being subtle,” you countered and then you held your breath “and I’m.. sorry…”

His mouth quirked. “I’ll have you know I am excellent at subtlety. And Lieutenant you needn’t apologize, I’m just concerned,”

“Okay.., and is that subtly what you call hovering in the doorway when you think I’m asleep?”

He froze for half a second before setting down his tricorder with exaggerated dignity. “I was checking your vitals.”

“Uh-huh. And holding my hand?”

Julian coughed into his fist. “You were… restless.” He shifted his weight before tapping on his PADD “I feel like you just don’t know how to appreciate a thorough doctor,” he finished with a grin.

You let the silence stretch just long enough to watch a faint pink creep up his ears. It was almost worth the whole poisoning ordeal… almost.

You and Bashir had been getting closer over the last year… it started with research projects you’d collaborate with. Eventually you were needed on more away missions with him and your friendship eventually started to consist of more teasing and light banter and joking flirting.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

By mid-afternoon, he’d returned from the lab with a sharper crease in his brow. You knew that look… it was the one he wore when he’d just eliminated his fifteenth theory and probably had seventeen more to go. He was relentless, in most things, it was part of what made you respect him so much. He’s a very intelligent and talented doctor with a real passion for it.

“Well?” you prompted.

He perched on the stool beside your bed, leaning in a little. “It’s definitely synthetic, whatever it is. Some kind of engineered compound meant to target neural pathways. But it’s unlike anything I’ve seen before—it adapts.”

“Adapts?”

Julian tapped a finger lightly on the edge of your biobed. “When I introduce a counter-agent, the toxin’s chemical structure changes, like it’s… learning.”

“That’s… unsettling,” you admitted, though his proximity was making it hard to focus entirely on the threat to your life.

“Which is why,” he said, lowering his voice slightly, “you are not leaving this infirmary until I find a permanent solution.”

“You say that like it’s a punishment,” you teased. “Being trapped here with you fussing over me? Sounds like shore leave.”

The corner of his mouth twitched again, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he adjusted the scanner over your head, fingers brushing your hair just enough to make your breath hitch.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The medbay lights were dimmed for night cycle, the only illumination coming from the soft glow of the consoles and the pulsing blue of the biobed’s displays. Somewhere outside, the distant hum of the station’s systems was punctuated by the muffled thrum of a passing freighter docking.

He was still at it… pouring over data on the main display. You’d given up pretending to sleep.

“You know,” you called softly, “most doctors would be in their quarters by now, sleeping like normal people.”

He turned, eyes tired but warm. “Most doctors don’t have patients who think they can charm their way out of a life-threatening condition.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Is it working?”

Julian laughed a small soft laugh, genuine and just for you. “Ask me again when you’re cured.”

Julian had left you for exactly twenty-three minutes, just enough time for the symptoms to return. It started with a faint tingling in your fingertips, then a slow, creeping numbness crawling up your forearms. You’d been through Starfleet medical training yourself, and you knew what it meant: neural degradation, likely temporary but potentially progressive.

When he came back in, carrying a steaming mug of raktajino for himself, you were already flexing your fingers like you could coax sensation back into them.

He noticed immediately. “When did that start?” His voice was calm, but the mug was on the nearest console before you could answer.

“About ten minutes ago,” you admitted. “It’s worse than before.”

Julian grabbed his tricorder, scanning with sharp, precise movements. “The toxin’s moving deeper into your central nervous system.” He frowned. “It’s… bypassing your blood-brain barrier entirely now. That shouldn’t be possible.”

“Guess I’m an overachiever,” you murmured, trying for lightness.

His eyes flicked up to yours, a faint spark of annoyance…not at you, you realized, but at the situation. “This isn’t funny. Whoever engineered this knew exactly how to hide it from standard detection. That means they probably knew how to make it… irreversible.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

He stayed close after that, well… closer. Running more tests in rapid succession, pulling up records from Starfleet Medical and even Cardassian archives (not something you saw him do lightly.) The two of you fell into a rhythm: him explaining his theories in bursts of medical jargon, you challenging them with your own science officer’s perspective.

It was very early in the day cycle, he glanced over the edge of the display at you. “You really should be resting.”

“I’m not much good at lying still,” you said, shrugging softly… a gesture that was starting to become difficult to fulfill. “Besides, if this thing’s changing as fast as you say, you might need me awake to tell you what’s happening.”

His mouth curved, just slightly. “I suppose I can’t argue with having a second scientist in the room.” Then, softer, almost to himself, “Especially one worth listening to.”

Chapter Text

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Hours later, the numbness had spread to your jaw, making your words come slower. You watched him mix a compound in the lab area, his sleeves pushed up, the light catching on the faint sheen of sweat at his temples. He looked utterly focused, the way he did when lives were on the line.

“Bashir,” you said quietly.

He glanced over. “Hmm?”

“Why are you still here? Really here. You’ve got nurses, orderlies… hell, you could monitor me from Ops if you wanted to.”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. The hiss of the equipment filled the space. Then he said, without looking away from his work:

“Because this is a very serious case obviously” He hesitated, and for the first time, you saw him almost falter. “And.. well.. I just feel rather motivated to get to the bottom of this.”

When the compound was ready, he returned to your bedside, holding the hypospray like it was the most important object in the galaxy.

“This is experimental. It might work, it might… not. But if the toxin adapts again, we’ll need to be ready to change strategy.”

You nodded. “Let’s get it started.”

The hiss of the hypospray was followed by a brief burn under your skin. Julian’s gaze stayed fixed on your face, watching for any sign, good or bad. When your fingers twitched and sensation began to creep back in, you saw something like relief pass over him as he watched you flex your hands and smile.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” you whispered.

His answering smile was small but real. “Good.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

You had two good days, feeling extremely hopeful in the symptoms beginning to subside… but then… an episode started without warning.

One moment, you were sitting up right in the biobed for the first time in days
, watching Julian argue with a holographic molecular model. Chimming in with your theories or observations… feeling normal again… The next, your vision narrowed, sound distorting into a deep, pulsing hum. Your limbs felt impossibly heavy.

Then the monitors screamed.

Julian was at your side instantly, his voice sharper than you’d ever heard it. “Neural activity is dropping—dammit. Dammit dammit fuck…” He said in a frantic tone, then grabbed a cortical stimulator and fitted it against your temple.

You tried to speak, but your tongue felt disconnected from thought. The hum in your ears swelled until it drowned out everything but his voice. Your back slumped as your head swelled, it felt like someone was squeezing your brain through a juicer and you wanted to pass out and vomit.

“Don’t close your eyes. Look at me. *Now.*” He barked, tilting your chin up with one hand while he scanned with the other.

Despite the amount of effort it took to keep your eyes open and not heel over—you obeyed. His face swam in and out of focus, but the fierce determination in his eyes was unshakable. You felt the sudden pinch of another hypospray as your vision pulsed.

The stimulator stabilized your neural readings, but only barely. Julian was already moving toward the lab bench, pulling out a vial of something faintly luminescent whenever you seemed to be able to keep yourself awake on your own.

“This is it,” he said with a bit of a shake to his voice.

“What… is it?” The words scraped out of your throat like gravel.

“A neuro-regenerative nanotherapy,” he said, loading the hypospray. “It’s not approved for human use… yet, well it’s- it’s too unpredictable. But if I calibrate it correctly, it could target the toxin directly.”

“And if you calibrate it wrong?”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours. “Then it could… accelerate the degradation.”

It wasn’t much of a choice. “Julian—”

“I cant stand another day sitting here and watching you die, (y/n)” he said suddenly, his voice breaking through the calm façade. “I can’t believe you’re still so. Calm and you can sit there and smile at me when, when, I feel like I’m going to.. lose..—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening, but the words hung there anyway, unfinished and heavy.

Your pulse was loud in your ears. “Then do it.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The hiss of the hypospray still rang in your ears as the invasive pressure spread like wildfire through your skull, wrapping around every nerve, every fragile thread of thought. You could taste metal, feel the heat of the biobed beneath you, hear the sterile hum of the infirmary machines suddenly roaring in your perception.

Julian was right there… so close that you could feel the movement of his breath, short and quick. His hands were hovering, never quite touching but ready to catch you, ground you. The tension in his posture was palpable, his back bent over your bedside like he could shield you from the pain by sheer proximity.

The nurses were moving in a controlled flurry at the edges of your vision… adjusting scanners, handing him instruments, monitoring your vitals… but the only anchor you could truly hold onto was the sound of Julian’s voice, low and steady.

“Hold on. Just a little longer… you’ve got this…”

Your body convulsed violently, legs shaking against the restraints as you bit down hard, trying to contain the scream clawing its way out of your throat. The monitor’s steady beeps quickened, reflecting the battle raging in your nervous system.

You forced your eyes open, just enough to catch him in profile, eyes glistening but unblinking, fixed on the readings, jaw tight with a kind of determination that looked a lot like desperation.

And then, like a sudden shift in gravity, it happened.

The suffocating stillness inside your head broke. A cascade of pins-and-needles tingling rushed into your fingers, your toes, filling you with an almost unbearable, sharp awareness of your body again. You gasped loud, ragged, clutching the railing until your knuckles burned white.

Julian let out a breath you hadn’t even realized he’d been holding, a tremor running through it. His forehead came to rest briefly against your temple—not a planned gesture, not a calculated comfort, but something raw and instinctive.

“It’s… it’s retreating,” he murmured, voice thick, almost incredulous. “You’re stabilizing.” Julian exhaled. The contact was fleeting but achingly human.

You felt the faintest brush of lips against your forehead, so light you might have missed it if you weren’t clinging to every sensation. It wasn’t romantic in the way holodeck fantasies were romantic. It was something deeper. A release. A thank-you to whatever force in the galaxy had allowed this moment to happen.

The world felt smaller then… just the faint scent of his cologne mostly covered by his sweat, the warmth of his hand steadying your arm, the tremor in his breath as if he still wasn’t entirely sure you were safe.

You wanted to speak, to reassure him, but all you could manage was to let your head rest ever so slightly toward his. And in that unspoken gesture, he seemed to find the answer he needed.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

A few hours later, after falling asleep without realizing it… The medbay had gone quiet. The nurses had slipped away to tend to other patients, leaving only the steady hum of the bio-monitors and the low rhythm of the station’s systems in the background.

You were propped slightly upright in the biobed now, an IV line feeding nutrients back into your system. The worst of the convulsions had passed, but the ache in your muscles and the lingering pins-and-needles sensation reminded you how close you’d come.

Julian hadn’t left.

He sat in the chair beside you, still in his uniform, his posture half-slouched in the way of someone who’d been fighting exhaustion for hours but refused to give in. Every few minutes, he checked the readouts on the monitor, then glanced at you like he was making sure you hadn’t vanished.

“You should rest,” you murmured, your voice rough but steady.

He didn’t even pretend to agree. “So should you.”

“I am resting.”

“That’s not rest,” he said gently, tilting his head toward you. “That’s recovering. Different things.”

You smirked faintly, too tired for a real retort. “Semantics.”

Julian’s expression softened, the corners of his mouth twitching into the smallest smile before fading again into something more thoughtful. “When I calibrated the nanotherapy, there was a moment I thought…” He trailed off, shaking his head dismissing the thought, but you caught the way his hand flexed against his leg. “I thought I might lose you.”

Your chest tightened, luckily not from the remnants of the toxin, but from his tone.

“You didn’t,” you said softly.

His gaze met yours. “No. But I’ve seen enough to know that doesn’t make the fear go away.”

The silence between you stretched, not uncomfortable, but heavy with shared understanding. Eventually, Julian leaned back slightly in the chair, his voice quieter now.

“I stayed because… I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

You let your eyes close briefly, “Thank you,” you whispered. “For all of it.”

Julian didn’t reply right away. Instead, he reached out, brushing his fingers lightly across the back of your hand, his touch warm and grounding.

“Get some real rest,” he said, his voice low but certain. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And you believed him.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The first thing you noticed was the smell of coffee. Not the harsh bite of a replicator brew left too long in the cup, but something fresher—raktajino, if you weren’t mistaken.

You opened your eyes slowly, the dimmed night-cycle lights having shifted to the gentle brightness of morning. The medbay was quiet except for the occasional muted beep of the monitor beside you.

Julian was still there.

His uniform jacket was folded neatly over the back of his chair, leaving him in a plain undershirt. His hair was a little mussed, and there was a faint crease on his cheek from where he’d rested his head on his hand while watching the readouts. The empty mug beside him told its own story of how he’d gotten through the night.

When he noticed you were awake, a smile tugged at his lips, relieved, warm, and just the slightest bit shy. “Good morning. How’s the head?”

“Better,” you admitted, your voice still a touch hoarse. “Everything feels… quieter in there.”

“Good,” Julian said, leaning forward, the familiar focused gleam in his eyes returning for a moment as he checked the scans. “Your neural activity has normalized, and your reflex responses have improved. You’re past the worst of it.”

“That’s because I had good care,” you teased lightly.

His mouth curved, but there was a softness to the expression. “I do my best for all my patients.”

You arched a brow. “All of them get overnight watch and freshly replicated breakfast?”

Julian didn’t answer right away. Instead, he tapped something into the replicator and a tray materialized—a simple plate of eggs, toast, and fresh fruit, with a second mug of raktajino.

“Only the ones who give me a heart attack,” he said finally, setting the tray down on the small table beside your bed. “Which, by the way, I don’t recommend repeating.”

You laughed softly as he slid the tray closer. “I’ll try not to make a habit of it.”

The two of you ate together in companionable silence for a while, the medbay’s hum and the faint clink of cutlery the only sounds. It was… peaceful. Not the kind of peace that came from quiet corridors or empty schedules, but the kind that came from simply being in the company of someone you trusted implicitly.

You notice he was staring again…

“What?” you asked, half-smiling.

He shook his head, looking faintly embarrassed. “Just… glad you’re still here.”

You reached for your mug, letting the warmth seep into your hands. “Me too, Julian.”

And in that moment, it didn’t matter that the station outside still had its mysteries and dangers. Inside the medbay, the galaxy felt a little smaller, and a lot safer.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The peaceful rhythm of breakfast didn’t last long.

Odo arrived mid-morning, gliding into the medbay with the expression of a man (or shapeshifter) carrying a particularly unwelcome truth. He didn’t bother with preamble.

“I think we’ve identified the source of your toxin,” he said, nodding toward you before his gaze shifted to Julian. “But it’s not straightforward.”

Julian straightened immediately. “What do you mean?”

Odo’s voice was steady but grim. “A shipment from an independent freighter docked here three weeks ago; medical supplies, supposedly… had traces of the same compound. The freighter’s manifest listed a colony in the Argaya system as the point of origin, but my contacts say it’s a cover. Someone’s been moving contraband biochemical agents through neutral space.”

Your stomach tightened. “So the away mission wasn’t just bad luck.”

“No,” Odo confirmed. “It’s possible you were targeted. Or at the very least, exposed by someone who didn’t care if you lived long enough to find them.”

Julian’s jaw tensed, his voice low. “If the nanotherapy hadn’t worked…”

You caught the flicker of something angry in his expression, a flicker of rage you haven’t seen before.

Odo glanced between you both. “I’ll need your medical scans for comparison with the compound samples I recovered.”

Julian nodded curtly. “I’ll transfer them now.” He reached for one of his PADDs.

Odo gave a short nod, then turned to leave. “If anything changes with her condition, let me know immediately.”

When he was gone, the room felt heavier.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Julian busied himself at the console, fingers flying over the controls, transferring the encrypted files to Odo’s database. You watched him for a long moment… the rigid line of his shoulders, the tension in his movements.

“You’re not fine,” you said softly.

He glanced over, clearly about to deny it, but the words faltered. “I hate that you were in that situation. That I wasn’t there.”

“You couldn’t have been.”

“That doesn’t make it easier.” He hesitated, the console’s hum filling the silence between you. Finally, he stepped away from it, crossing to your bedside. His voice dropped, lower now, edged with the vulnerability he usually kept tucked behind precise diction.

“When I said I couldn’t stand another day watching you die… I wasn’t exaggerating. It’s not just professional concern, or friendship, or…” He stopped, the last word catching in his throat.

You held his gaze. “Julian—”

“I care about you,” he said, the words rushing out before he could stop them. “More than I should, maybe. More than what’s… appropriate for our particular situation, but it’s the truth.”

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. You could see the uncertainty in his eyes, but also the relief of finally saying it aloud.

Your voice was quieter than you meant it to be, but steady. “Appropriate might be a stretch… but it’s certainly returned.” You say in a teasing tone.

Something in him eased, his shoulders dropped and his face looked much less uncertain. Instead, he let the fragile moment sit between you, “I’m sorry I waited so long to tell you…,” he finally said.

“It’s okay… but I’d like to say, waiting until after I almost die is.. a choice to say the least” you chuckled softly and his face flushed a bit.

“Yeah I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” Julian replied with a wink as he straightened a bit, trying to put his confident demeanor back in place.

“When does your shift end..?” You asked as you closed your eyes briefly, your chest felt a bit heavy again and you winced.

“Er…” Julian peered at the monitor and then back at you, “Three hours ago” he finished with a grin. His shoulders slumped again as he scratched the back of his neck, “I just wanted to stay with you and continue looking into the case..”

“Look who’s overworking themself now,” you quipped and reached up to flick his arm. For the last year that was all you heard him bicker about to you whenever you were getting closer to burning yourself out. He let out a small laugh. “When’s the last time you got a good nights rest, Bashir?”

He tilted his head, hand still rubbing his neck nervously, “let’s see… you’ve been in here how long?” He bit his lip as he smiled and scanned your face for your reaction.

“Take your uniform off,” you said after rolling your eyes.

“Well that feels a bit forward Commander-“ he looked at you with wide eyes as he stood up, “I- well? In the med bay?- I don’t think you’re in any shape to- well-“ he stumbled a bit as he reached for the zipper of his uniform.

“No! Stupid, oh my lord…” you giggled and covered your face with your hands in embarrassment. “I meant- to make yourself comfortable- since you’re off duty-“

Julian froze mid-zip, a sheepish flush creeping up the back of his neck. “Right. Of course. Obviously.”

You lowered your hands, still laughing softly, and gestured toward the chair he’d been camped in all night. “This can’t possibly be comfortable, at the very least go to your quarters and have some proper sleep please...”

He glanced at the chair, then at you, his mouth twitching. “But I don’t want to leave you alone…”

“Fine you big baby,”

Julian chuckled and, after a moment’s hesitation, shrugged out of the rest of his uniform jacket. Without the Starfleet armor of perfectly pressed fabric, he seemed a little younger, a little less the untouchable doctor and more just… Julian.

He sat again, but you shook your head. “You’re impossible.”

“What now?”

“That chair is criminal for sleeping. You’ve been hovering over me like a hawk for days, you deserve a proper rest.”

His brow furrowed in cautious amusement. “And by proper, you mean…?”

You shifted slightly on the biobed, patting the space beside you. “There’s room. Just this once. Commander’s orders.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move. You could see the calculation behind his eyes, the awareness of propriety, the risk of… well, whatever this was between you. But eventually, he exhaled and toed off his boots, sliding carefully onto the bed so he was lying on top of the blanket, avoiding your IVs and making sure you were comfy before settling against you.

“Comfortable?” you asked.

He smirked faintly. “I think you’ve just upgraded my quarters.”

You rolled your eyes, then reached up, fingers threading gently into his hair. He stiffened at first, then melted under the slow, absent strokes, his breathing starting to deepen.

“See? That’s better,” you murmured.

His eyes drifted closed, and for the first time in days, you saw him without the weight of the case, the fear, or the constant vigilance. Just Julian… tired, human, and safe.

“You’re spoiling me,” he said quietly, his voice already thick with approaching sleep.

“Good,” you replied. “It’s about time someone did.”

Within minutes, his breathing evened out entirely, his head a little heavier against your chest. And you let him rest, your hand still in his hair, the hum of the medbay cradling you both as you grew tired yourself.