Chapter Text
Julian regards Chief O'Brien's back, the only view of the man he's been afforded for the past two hours: sitting hunched over the runabout's navigation console, tilting his head from side to side like a particularly patient bird, calmly noting every little detail. Focused, always; difficult to read, in general, and especially from the back.
For two hours Julian has tried, without much success, to focus his attention on reading—first reviewing the mission brief, but there just isn't much to it, just a remote Bajoran village in some sort of undefined medical distress—then medical papers he's been meaning to catch up on, but these don't much hold his interest. In the end, he keeps putting the datapads back down. He's far more interested in the Chief of Operations.
He's not sure what started the fascination, exactly—'gruff and silent mechanic' has never stood out as a type he normally goes for, but more and more he finds he can't help himself. Beneath that hard, taciturn exterior is dry wit and a blistering intelligence to which he is irrepressibly drawn. Of course there's been nothing so far to indicate the interest is mutual, but Julian has always been an optimist. If they could just have a proper conversation, surely...
But here they are, on a trip he's been looking forward to all day, and they've barely exchanged more than formal pleasantries. He feels like a fool. What did he expect, anyway, from an older married man, an introvert, an officer who's lived through hardships Julian can only imagine?
Well. Friendship would be nice.
"Chief," he says finally, after a lot of false starts, "may I ask you a question?"
"Of course." O'Brien doesn't move, doesn't turn around, fingers still tracking skillfully over the console.
"And I'd like an honest answer," Julian is quick to add. He means this sincerely, and he generally does not fear criticism, but nonetheless he feels a small burst of anxiety as he voices it.
O'Brien snorts. "You'll get one."
Julian draws a quiet breath. He can do it. He's braced. "Do I... annoy you?"
The Chief stops short, looking up, but still he doesn't quite manage to turn around. "Annoy me? What sort of a question is that?"
Which certainly seems like irritation, as responses go, but Julian just chuckles nervously as he replies, "Well, the thing is we've just spent the last two hours alone together in this runabout and you've hardly said a word to me the whole time."
"Really," says O'Brien, with a little huff. "I hadn't noticed."
"Oh." Julian looks down slowly, not sure what to make of that. "I see."
It seems like an outright defeat—that Julian's presence apparently doesn't carry enough weight to warrant conversation—but then again, while the Chief could easily leave it at that, he instead says, "I suppose it's because I was too busy thinking."
"Thinking?" Julian looks up quickly, immediately curious.
"That's right."
"About what?"
O'Brien's tone takes on a bit of an edge; if not annoyed, then bewildered: "What?"
"What were you thinking about?" Julian is aware this is a bit of an odd question, but being able to pick O'Brien's brain is a tantalizing possibility. How can he pass the opportunity up? "I'm just curious."
There's a pause while the Chief seems to be absorbing this, still without turning to face Julian; Julian keeps his eyes on the man, hoping for something, he doesn't know what. The start of a conversation. An intriguing anecdote. Something.
"Well, let's see, erm..." O'Brien shifts his weight. "I was thinking that when we get back to the station I'll have to run a level one diagnostic on the phase coil generators."
Julian's face falls slightly. That's some work ethic. Not exactly what he'd been hoping for.
"Satisfied?" O'Brien says.
"I suppose so," murmurs Julian.
"Glad to hear it."
Julian supposes he ought to leave it at that, but, well, perhaps he simply hasn't made his intentions clear. If he can just make O'Brien understand that he's trying to initiate a friendly chat, surely the pieces would fall into place. He can't seem to help himself. The words spill out, as they usually do: "I mean, the only reason I bring it up is because your opinion means a lot to me." With good humor he acknowledges, "And I'm aware that I have a tendency to run off at the mouth sometimes."
"Is that a fact," says O'Brien, though Julian barely registers it.
"Suppose it's just a nervous habit," he babbles, and looks sharply back at the Chief. "I hope you don't hold it against me."
"Oh, not at all, sir," says O'Brien thinly.
Julian smiles a little to himself. It's not the first time O'Brien has referred to him like that. It just sounds so odd. "And one more thing," he says after a moment's hesitation.
"What's that, sir."
"I don't think it's really necessary to call me 'sir,'" says Julian, watching him for a reaction. How O'Brien manages to hold an entire conversation with his back turned like this is beyond him.
"Well, what should I call you?" O'Brien's fingers are still moving over the console, still busy, never quite fully invested. "You're my superior officer."
"How about Julian?" he says, softly, trying to mask any hopefulness he may feel. This is already unorthodox—there's no regulation against it, but it's certainly not a typical request.
O'Brien hesitates. "Is that an order?"
"Oh, no! Of course not," says Julian hastily. "It's just that... I'd simply prefer it if you... called me by my first name."
"...All right." There's no enthusiasm in the Chief's voice, but Julian decides to take it as a victory anyway. Of course, what he'd really like to hear is 'then I suppose you should call me Miles,' but that doesn't seem to be forthcoming. Well, some people take time. Julian can be patient. It's been known to happen. Theoretically.