Chapter Text
There was blood on his hands, dripping sluggishly from fingertip to wrist. It was dark and unlike any he had encountered at medical school. Julian stared at his shaking hand, gripping it in an attempt to stop the mounting horror. Before him lay the body of the Jem’Hadar with a puncture wound in his jugular, the pool of dark blood slowly collecting on the floor. Julian felt a pounding in his ears and stared at the makeshift shank he’d used not seconds ago without a thought. It had been the heat of the moment, self-defence, and desperation after a month of confinement. But now the realisation struck him like a blow; he’d broken his oath. He’d done harm to another with devastatingly efficient results. He’d deliberately ended another life. The glassy eyes of the Jem’Hadar stared back relentlessly judging.
He felt sick.
He awoke with nausea and automatically bolted for the refresher. He wretched over the sink and gripped the bowl for support as his stomach rebelled. But there was nothing to bring up, he only had to ride out the muscle spasms. He breathed shakily and ran the cold water to splash his face and dry it with a soft hand towel. When he lowered the towel he finally dared look in the mirror. Looking back was a face he only somewhat recognised. Hollow eyes and prominent cheekbones were covered tightly by sallow skin. He realised he was the palest he’d ever been despite working in deep space for several years. Mindlessly, he scratched his scab where the Jem’Hadar had struck him over his eye. It was bruised but healing adequately. He noted then that his hand was clean and there was no sign of blood. He washed his hand nevertheless. He scrubbed vigorously under every nail but still he didn't feel clean. In the dim light, he thought he could see grime crusted around his fingertips but couldn’t be sure.
“The hydrox soap will do it,” he muttered to himself, picturing the soap he used when he scrubbed for surgery. “Computer, what’s the time?” he asked as he stumbled back to the bedroom to throw on a civilian jacket over his pyjama top. “The current time is 02:48 AM Central Bajoran Time,” came the reply. Julian huffed and considered just getting back into bed. But he could still feel something sticking to his hands. He put on a simple pair of shoes and walked out to the promenade. The infirmary lights were on as always, a welcoming sign of familiarity since his incarceration. He was glad the promenade was mostly deserted to avoid any unwanted conversation but also appreciated the quiet activity of the night watch shift, it reminded him that life on DS9 was never stationary. All the while he picked the skin of his hands, desperate to rid himself of the gore he felt clinging to him. He entered the infirmary to the surprise of the attending Nurse Jabara. “Doctor, what are you doing here? There’s been no emergency calls.”
“I know Torel, I just… couldn’t sleep so I thought I get caught up on the inoculation manifest. I don’t expect my doppelganger was meticulously keeping track of the inhabitants’ inoculation records?” He hoped she would take his hint to leave but Nurse Jabara was not to be taken for a fool. Instead, she stared at him. Torel Jabara hadn’t actually seen the real Julian Bashir for quite some time. Although she had been informed that the man she had worked alongside for several weeks was actually an imposter, she had yet to see the original since his return to the station with Garak, Worf and General Martok.
“There is a time to rest, Julian, and a time to be productive. And, I was the one keeping tabs on the records so you can consider them completed to the highest standard,” she said carefully with a raised eyebrow. She had seen Bashir in poor states of health several times before. The image of him lying clinically dead on the biobed from the Lethean attack sprang to mind. However, this was different. Although he had wrapped himself in layers of civilian clothing, he seemed thinner than ever. His eyes were deep set, his jaw seemed more pronounced and she noted a healing wound on his head that she realised he must have treated himself. She noticed his hands fidgeted as he held himself by the doorway. Five weeks of containment had dulled him. Some would say it was an improvement on the overtly enthusiastic, boastful young doctor who had arrived at the station five years prior. But now she felt a deep sense of wrongness at seeing someone so hopeful being stripped of youthful optimism. In the occupation, it was a common occurrence to see teens lose their innocence early, it struck Jabara that the Federation shared a similar loss in their officers.
Julian nodded slowly, “but I’m still staying here anyway. You may as well take some time off, you’ve been doing more treating than me for the last month anyhow.” He said firmly, ushering her towards the door. But Jabara stood firm and folded her arms. Although she was accustomed to Bashir’s incessant conversation, over the years she had come to understand there was an underlying privacy he kept to himself. “You’d better not accept any patients without informing me. I wouldn’t trust you to treat a stubbed toe in this condition.”
“You don’t trust me?” Julian said, surprising himself. He didn’t realise he’d said the words aloud.
Jabara looked more shocked than she had when Julian had come through the infirmary doors. “Of course I do, Doctor,” She said immediately. “I only meant that you look like you could do with more rest before getting back to normal work hours. We both know that lack of sleep means poor judgement, Sir.” She tried unsuccessfully to win Julian over with a weak smile. They both knew the other was unconvinced. Jabara decided to let her superior win this round and moved towards the door.
“He wasn’t like you, exactly,” Jabara said, half-turned towards the infirmary doors. “He was…false, like you couldn’t see behind the eyes. I’m so sorry I didn’t realise.” She looked at Julian straight on. He nodded back.
“It’s not your fault the changeling was good at his job. They fooled everyone,” Julian looked away. Jabara made a move to speak but hesitated and said, “Goodnight, Julian. Don’t push yourself. It’s good to have you back, Doctor.”
“Goodnight, Torel.” Julian sighed with relief when she left and he hurried to the operating room at the back of the infirmary. He tore off the long sleeve jacket and rolled up the pyjama sleeves as far as they would go. With the haste of his fastest surgeries, he scrubbed his fingers raw with the bristle brush, loaded with hydrox soap. His fingers turned red with the combination of sonic rays, chemicals and rough brushing. He scrubbed and scrubbed with such intensity that he barely noticed when his cuticles began to bleed.