Stolen
The chime is hushed, muffled by the mattress beneath it and the uniform to which it is attached, yet it rouses Julian nonetheless. He hasn't really been asleep; he's been lying contentedly at Miles' side for the span of several daydreams, paying no attention to the chronometer.
"Miles," he whispers now, shaking the man on his bed. "Chief. Wake up."
"...wasn't asleep," the engineer mumbles through lips that won't cooperate. He does not open his eyes, even though his comm badge chirps insistently. "Fix that, would you?"
"It's your communicator," Bashir tells him. "It's probably your wife."
Miles' eyes snap open and he jerks himself into a sitting position, wincing and rubbing at his neck with one hand while the other slaps the metal on his chest. "Yes?" he croaks.
"Miles, where are you?" It's Keiko, all right. That shrill tone is unmistakable. Julian is angry at himself for thinking it, but it's also the truth: Keiko O'Brien can be an intolerable shrew.
Even someone who wasn't in love with her husband might think so.
"Molly's been throwing up all night," the strident voice continues. "You were supposed to be here hours ago!"
"I'm sorry, sweetheart!" Miles scrubs at his face with a hand, shifts his legs off the bed. "There was a problem with the plasma relays in one of the struts, and Captain Sisko asked if I could take a look at..."
"Miles, you've been in Dr. Bashir's quarters for the past three hours," Keiko cuts him off, not interested in hearing about any crises, real or feigned, her spouse may have been wrangling this evening. "Just get back here. I haven't slept all night."
The doctor watches Miles continue to twist his neck; he resists the urge to reach over and massage it. "I'm on my way, sweetheart," Miles assures Keiko with a guilty frown that Julian has come to recognize since the first time this happened: Miles crashing in his quarters, Keiko calling to demand that he come home.
He wonders what causes the guilt. Whether it's Miles' straightforward regret that he stole a bit of sleep away from his sick daughter and exhausted wife. Or whether it's something more complicated -- something to do with why Miles ends up on Julian's bed in the first place, a little drunk and a lot content, discussing plans for a new Trafalgar simulation. Miles always seems oblivious to the proximity, though Julian never is. Yet he holds back from the feeling, filing every moment into his perfect recall for later, when he is alone and can remember without restraint.
"I have to go," Miles says unnecessarily, not looking at Julian as he straightens his boots. "We'll finish tomorrow, all right?"
Of course, they won't finish tomorrow, or the next night, or the next month. Yet Julian can't bring himself to regret that. These stolen hours are all that he can expect to have of Chief O'Brien...these, alongside the hours he steals alone with his memories.
He hesitates, and Miles glances back at him. "All right?" he asks more forcefully, with a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice, for Miles depends on Julian. He depends on Julian to give him the support he needs to tolerate his family -- the children he doesn't really understand, the wife he will never admit he does not love. For Miles to admit that he does not love Keiko, and perhaps has never loved her as more than a companion, he would have to admit what he loves. How he loves. Who he loves.
It's something Julian can't imagine Miles ever doing. Miles would be a different person if he could. Maybe Julian wouldn't love him then. So it's worth it, sending him home now, offering the smile that Miles expects.
"Tomorrow," Julian agrees, standing to walk his best friend to the door. Not tomorrow. Maybe never. But it is easier to live without knowing than it would be to live with knowing what he has lost.