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The medbay hummed with its familiar nocturnal rhythm — the soft beeping of monitors, the gentle whoosh of air recyclers, and the occasional rustle from the night staff making their rounds. Dr. Julian Bashir hunched over his workstation, shoulders tense with concentration as he manipulated molecular models on his display. The Rigellian fever samples glowed amber in their containment fields nearby, their deadly beauty belying the havoc they could wreak on humanoid physiology.
"Computer, run simulation sequence gamma-seven," he murmured, rubbing his tired eyes. The chronometer showed 0347 hours — he'd been at this for nearly eighteen hours straight.
"Still trying to save the galaxy single-handedly, Doctor?"
Julian's heart skipped as that familiar, melodious voice reached him from the entrance. He turned to see Garak emerge from the shadows, immaculately dressed despite the late hour, his pale eyes gleaming with fond exasperation.
"Garak," Julian breathed, a smile tugging at his lips despite his exhaustion. "I didn't hear you come in."
"The night staff are quite accommodating when one asks nicely," the Cardassian replied, gliding closer with that predatory grace that still made Julian's pulse quicken after all this time. "Though I suspect they're growing tired of my midnight visits to collect my wayward doctor."
Before Julian could protest that he was making real progress, he felt warm arms slide around his waist from behind. Garak's familiar scent — that intriguing blend of kanar and exotic spices that clung to his clothing — enveloped him as skilled fingers splayed across his abdomen.
"The samples will still be here tomorrow," Garak murmured against the shell of his ear, his breath sending shivers down Julian's spine. "As will your brilliant mind, though considerably more rested."
Julian leaned back into the solid warmth of Garak's chest, feeling his resolve crumble. "The outbreak on Rigel VII—"
"Will not be solved by a physician collapsing from exhaustion," Garak interrupted gently, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive spot where Julian's neck met his shoulder. "Come to bed, my dear."
The endearment, spoken in that low, honeyed tone, dissolved the last of Julian's resistance. He felt Garak's arms tighten around him, not quite dragging but certainly guiding him away from his work with unmistakable determination.
"Alright, alright," Julian laughed softly, allowing himself to be maneuvered toward the exit. "But I'm setting an early alarm."
"Naturally," Garak agreed, though Julian caught the hint of smugness in his voice that suggested no such early rising would occur.
As they passed the nurses' station, Julian caught sight of Nurse Kellec and Dr. Tarses sharing knowing looks. Garak, ever the picture of Cardassian courtesy, raised his hand in an elegant wave.
"Good evening," he called pleasantly. "I'm afraid I must steal your chief medical officer for the remainder of the night. Medical emergency in my quarters, you understand."
Kellec snorted with barely suppressed laughter while Tarses shook his head with amusement. They'd witnessed this scene enough times to know exactly what kind of "emergency" required the doctor's immediate attention.
Julian felt his cheeks flush as Garak guided him into the corridor, his arm still firmly around his waist. "You're incorrigible," he murmured.
"And you're brilliant, dedicated, and utterly exhausted," Garak replied, steering them toward the lift. "One of us must be practical in this relationship."
As the turbolift doors closed around them, Julian found himself relaxing for the first time in days. The Rigellian fever would wait. His patients were in capable hands. And Garak, as always, was right — he would be no good to anyone if he collapsed from exhaustion.
"Your quarters or mine?" Julian asked, though he already knew the answer.
Garak's smile was answer enough as he pulled Julian closer. "Mine, I think. I have that new Cardassian novel you wanted to read, and my replicator has been programmed with that dreadful human coffee you're so fond of."
Julian laughed, feeling the tension finally drain from his shoulders as the lift carried them away from duty and toward the promise of rest, warmth, and the gentle devotion of the man who always knew exactly when to rescue him from himself.
The station hummed around them, eternal and watchful, but for now, Julian Bashir was content to let someone else stand guard while he found peace in Garak's arms.