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“Sisko to Bashir.”
Bashir tapped his combadge. “Go ahead Captain.”
“How are things down there Doctor?”
“Under control Sir. All patients are stabilised and I’m going to try and catch a half-hour nap.”
“Well done Doctor. Sisko out.”
Bashir sat heavily on the makeshift cot in the corner of his office. “Computer, set alarm for thirty minutes’ time,” He commanded. The Computer bleeped acknowledgment.
“Julian! Julian!” Dax crouched and shook the doctor’s shoulder gently.
“Wha—?” Bashir blinked at her blearily. “Who’s injured?”
“I’m here to relieve you.”
“What? No, I need to—“
“Sisko’s orders.” Dax cut him off.
Bashir sat up and drew his knees up to his chest, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Jadzia, you’re not a doctor.”
“And you’re our only doctor,” Dax countered, “We need you well-rested. You’re to go to our quarters and sleep for the next eight hours.”
Bashir frowned and mumbled to himself for a moment, going over a mental list of his patients’ needs. “Ok,” He sighed, unfolding his legs and rising from the cot. “Let me show you what to do.” He beckoned Dax over to the console.
“...And Ensign Marks needs five cc’s of Triptacederine at oh-three-hundred hours. The computer will remind you,” Bashir concluded his run-down of the sick-bay’s patients. “Promise you’ll call me in an emergency or if there’s anything you’re not sure of?”
“I promise.” Dax placed a reassuring hand on Bashir’s arm. “Now, go.”
“Thanks Jadzia,” Bashir said through a stifled yawn.
He was halfway to the door when Dax called after him, “And Julian, you’re going to sleep. No research. Or paperwork.”
“Sleep, right. Goodnight.” The door hissed closed behind the doctor.
Alone in the office, the Trill tapped her combadge. “Dax to Garak.”
“Garak here. Go ahead Commander,” Came the reply.
“Garak, are you busy?”
“Not right now, no. I’ve just finished decoding a batch of Dominion messages. Why?”
“I’ve ordered Doctor Bashir to our quarters. Would you mind dropping by to make sure he goes to bed and stays there please?”
“It would be a pleasure, Commander. I’m on my way.”
“Thanks. Dax out.” The Chief Science Officer sighed, smiling to herself, ordered a raktajino from the replicator, and sat down, putting her feet up on the console.
“Come in,” Bashir called. The door hissed open as he emerged from the tiny bathroom at the back of the cramped quarters he shared with Commander Dax. “Garak.” He tucked the corner of the towel around his waist into itself. “What are you doing here?”
“Hello to you too dear,” Garak sniped. “Commander Dax sent me to ensure you go to bed and stay there.”
“Did she now?” Bashir edged toward the desk.
“Yes, and I’m not leaving until you’re asleep.”
“I’d sleep better without you pestering me,” Bashir grumbled, reaching for a padd on the desk.
“Doctor,” Garak got there first, swiping the padd from under the Human’s outstretched fingers.
“What? I need some light reading before I can drop off,” Bashir protested, face a picture of wide-eyed innocence.
“Light reading, hmm?” Garak slid a thumb across the padd’s screen, activating it. “Ah yes,” He grinned, “Drug inventories make for notoriously ‘light reading’. No Doctor,” He stood on tiptoes and reached up to place the padd on the topmost shelf above the desk, “You’re going to bed now.”
“But Garak—“
“Which is your bunk?”
“Oh, uh,” Bashir fumbled, “Jadzia and I have been sharing the bottom one, actually. It’s been a tough few weeks and it’s nice to have the—“
Garak held up a hand, cutting him off. “You don’t need to explain dear.” He rummaged under the lower bunk’s thin pillow and pulled out blue-striped pyjamas. “Get dressed,” He instructed, tossing the clothing to his companion.
Bashir caught the pyjamas and pulled the shirt over his head. “Alright, alright,” He grumbled.
Once dressed, Bashir squeezed past the Cardassian and into the bed, pushing Kukalaka and Dax’s nightdress into a corner of the bunk. Garak sat down at the desk and took a large square of cloth and a stitch generator out of his pocket.
“What are you doing?” Bashir demanded.
“A little project I’ve been working on to take my mind off our thirty-two-point-seven percent chance of survival,” Garak shrugged, stitch generator poised over a half completed outline of an orchid in bloom.
“I can see that,” Bashir said testily, “Why are you doing it here?”
“Because,” Garak looked up from his work, “I’m not leaving until you’re asleep.”
“That device of yours has the most unpleasant high-pitched hum,” Bashir grouched.
“It’s barely audible dear.” Garak held the piece up to the light, carefully manoeuvring the stitch generator round an especially intricate corner.
“Try having genetically enhanced hearing.”
Garak sighed and put his embroidery down on the desk. “I’ll just sit here then,” He declared.
“That’s creepy,” Bashir complained.
“Doctor, I’m not leaving.”
“Fine,” Bashir flipped the duvet back, “Get into bed.”
Dax paused in the doorway, the deep rumbling snores catching her by surprise. She approached the bunk cautiously, her face breaking into a grin when she caught sight of the Human and Cardassian, squashed together in the narrow bed, Bashir sprawled half-on-top of Garak, cheek pressed against his neck ridges, a half-smile on his lips as he slept, and Garak—with arms wrapped loosely around the doctor—open-mouthed and snoring loudly. She reached over the sleeping pair for her nightdress, changed quickly and, pushing down Curzon’s fear of heights, climbed into the top bunk.
“Computer, lights off,” Dax murmured as her head hit the pillow.