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Perhaps the thing Julian hated most about the Dominion war was the slog. Days upon days of patrols, of guarding supply lines, of battle after battle after battle. There was no time to breathe, to even think, before the next crisis reared its ugly head. The Dominion war was always going to be one of attrition— nine hundred billion lives in the balance— but now he knew it wasn’t only a game of numbers, but of stamina. How much the Federation could bend before it broke. Given the rapidly deteriorating morale on the Defiant, Julian wasn’t about to start taking bets.
For the third time in as many days, the red alert klaxon blared over Julian’s head. The ship pitched and rolled from the force of the assault. Julian gripped the biobed to keep himself on his feet and bent over his patient. Third degree burns stretched across their chest. The sick, rich smell of roasting meat flooded Julian’s nose.
“Easy,” Julian murmured, removing another piece of charred muscle and melted uniform from the crewman’s torso. The patient, thankfully, was unconscious; Julians comfort was directed at the nurse on the other side of the biobed and, somewhat selfishly, at himself. He couldn't even remember the last time his heart rate dropped below 100 bpm. “Nice and slow. Don’t pull too hard.”
“Doctor!” Someone careened through the med bay doors, dragging along a half-concious ensign from engineering. At least, Julian thought it was engineering until he took a second look, throwing the young man’s arm over his shoulder and guiding him to the last free bed. The ensign’s gray shirt was saturated with blood. As soon as he was down, his companion disappeared back into the chaos outside.
Julian quickly scanned the man, blinking away the fuzziness at the edge of his vision. “Nurse! Get the delta wave inducer and a surgical kit.”
Cutting away the crewman’s shirt revealed a thick piece of metal plating jutted out just below the man’s ribs. “Am I…going to die?” He asked. His eyes just barely focused on Julian.
Julian put on his best reassuring smile and lied through his teeth. “We’ll have you back on your feet in no time.”
The man died seven minutes later, as Julian tried to remove the plating from his chest. He didn’t even have time to mourn; by then the med bay had more cases than beds, all of them in desperate need for attention. Gripping his tricorder tightly in his bloody hands, Julian sought out his next patient.
It was hours before the steady influx of casualties slowed to a trickle. By then Julian couldn’t even feel his feet, and his hands felt absurdly empty without a tricorder and a laser scalpel. A tension headache buzzed at his temples. All he wanted was to sit down for an hour, a minute, a single second, and close his eyes. He couldn’t, though. Not yet. He had death certificates to fill out, and a casualty report to file. If he didn’t do them now, they’d never get done. At the very least, though, he could treat himself to a coffee, extra strong. He never drank the stuff before. He’d never needed to. But the unending demands of the war had finally turned him to the dark side- pun unintended.
One cup of coffee turned into two, then three. The death certificates took ages to complete, not least because Julian had to rack his brain for the details of each one. They all seemed to blur together in one long, bloody nightmare; one that smelled like burning flesh and clawed at his arms for mercy. One in which a line of patients stretched out the door into infinity, all on the brink of death.
He jerked awake, spilling long-cold coffee across the desk. The awful smell lingered in his mind, as did the horrible sensation of helplessness. Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, Julian grabbed a dirty shirt from the growing pile in the corner of his office and mopped up the spill. Thankfully the coffee hadn’t soaked into any of his PADDs. On one of them, a message from Captain Sisko flashed with a bright red ‘urgent’ marker. The requisition order Julian had put in for new equipment would be rejected, unless he could include a full report justifying the expense. Julian closed his eyes against the headache building beneath his skull, and then ordered another cup of coffee and opened the requisition order.
Really, he should have taken the opportunity then to get some rest. He should’ve forced himself to go back to his quarters for a shower and a decent eight hours, or even just curled up on one of the biobeds for a nap. But in a war there was no such thing as unimportant work, and by the time Julian had finished one task another had cropped up to take its place. He only managed a few hours of restless dozing in, and each time a nightmare jolted him awake, his heart pounding in his chest.
He was on the bridge with Sisko, discussing the best way to provide a nearby ally with medicine needed for a viral outbreak, when Dax’s sharp voice cut through their conversation.
“Captain, incoming Jem Ha’dar at nine o’clock!”
“Battle stations!” The red alert blared before Sisko even finished the order.
Julian fled the bridge just as the Jem Ha’dar opened fire.
The next hour was a blur of blood and broken bones. Julian’s hands never stopped moving. He stopped seeing the individual patients; he only saw the gaping wounds, the scanner readings, the flash of surgical instruments and white gauze. The tricorder’s death-tone whine became a constant in his ears. His hands trembled as he reached for the next person who needed his help.
Amidst it all, Dax’s voice once again snapped him back into sharp reality. “Julian!”
He looked up, focusing first on her. Her hair had come partially out of its ponytail, and was singed in some places. A deep purple bruise bloomed on her cheek. She was supporting someone. Julian only recognized her from the silver dangling from the half-severed mess of her ear.
“Major!” Julian guided her to a clear space on the floor, setting her down with care. Her shoulder and neck were a mess of burns, sizzling angry red and oozing clear fluid. But that was nothing compared to her head; her ear hung on only by a thin strip of skin, and Julian could spot the white bone of her skull under the bloody ruin of her scalp. Her heavy-lidded eyes roamed the med bay aimlessly; her mouth moved in a slurred medley of Bajoran. Julian ran the tricorder over her and swallowed down a knot of bile at the result.
“Is she going to be okay?” Jadzia asked. Her deep, oak brown eyes bored straight into him, searching for the truth.
Julian’s mouth felt like it had been scrubbed dry with sandpaper. “Yes,” he said, and forced himself to mean it.
“I have to get back,” Jadzia said. She gripped his shoulder tightly; the sensation sent a shock spiking through Julian’s skin. “Let me know as soon as she’s out of the woods.”
“I will,” he promised.
Jadzia left him kneeling next to the major. She was barely conscious; even when Julian took her hand, she showed no sign of recognition. He wanted to reassure her, but he had no idea what he would even say. He knew no Bajoran prayers for healing, and anyway she wouldn’t be able to hear him. Instead, he laid her hand gently at her side and then straightened, flagging down a nurse.
“I need a cortical scanner, 1 cc of trianoline, and a cranial surgery kit, stat!”
The damage was extensive. It took every ounce of concentration just to keep his hands steady, his mind focused on the task. At some point the alarm klaxons died. At some point the tide of new patients ebbed. Occasionally he paused his work to give orders to the nurses or short, terse status updates to Captain Sisko, and once to allow the nurses to lift Kira onto a table with Julian’s fingers still pressed against a pulsing vein in her skull. He registered none of it; he only registered the work. The hemorrhage, the fragments of bone buried in the matter of her brain. Twice, he thought he’d gotten it all only for a new bleed to spontaneously erupt.
Finally, Julian stepped back and allowed the nurse to press a white bandage to the Major’s temple. Her breathing was even, and her pulse was steady. Her brain function was a little on the slow side, but nothing to be worried about.
“Bashir to Dax,” Julian said into his comm. “Major Kira is out of surgery and stable.”
“I’ll be right there.”
A moment later Jadzia was at his side, speaking to him. Julian blinked. She must have transported directly from the bridge; he had no memory of her walking through the med bay doors.
“Julian!” Jadzia said again, more insistantly.
Julian shook his head. “Sorry! I…I was thinking.”
“Are you alright?” She was looking at him now with that carefully scrutinizing expression, like he was a problem she needed to solve.
“Yes, yes, she’ll be alright. Bed rest for three days at least, and then I only want her on light duty for the rest of the week. Sisko won’t like it, but—”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Jadzia’s question clicked into place. “Oh.” Somewhere nearby, a tricorder wailed a high, plaintive cry. “I’m fine.”
“When was the last time you slept?”
“Slept? Oh. I think…today.” He didn’t even know if it was still today.
Jadiza looked at him a moment longer, and then they were standing next to of the empty makeshift cots they’d set out for triage relief. It was empty, albeit encrusted with blood around the edges. Julian looked down at it. He didn’t recall moving, but here he was on the other side of the room.“Sit,” Jadzia ordered.
“I’m fine,” he protested. Now that he was out of the throes of surgery, his legs felt like fresh gagh under him.
“Julian. If you don’t get some real sleep, you’re going to hurt someone.”
Julian hated her for being right. The part of his brain that was still a doctor knew he couldn’t operate like this. Really, it was a miracle he hadn’t hurt someone already. His hands shook at his sides, from the fearful realization and the fear of falling asleep. Something else might happen— the Jem Ha’dar might attack again. The major might get worse. His nightmares might finally creep out into reality.
“I can’t.”
“You have to. Please. For me.”
Although his infatuation had long since passed, Julian still would’ve done anything for her, and she knew it. Damn her.
“Alright,” Julian relented. “Just for an hour.”
“Sure,” Jadzia agreed— in hindsight far too easily. The next thing Julian knew, he was lying down on the cot. Jadzia knelt next to him, a tired smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Sleep tight. Don’t let the blood fleas bite.”
“I won’t,” Julian murmured. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. His eyes closed of their own accord, and finally, finally, Julian rested.