Chapter Text
“I’ve been reviewing my old research on Ketracel, but I honestly don’t think it’s anything helpful.” Julian briefly considered the fact that he was simply too tired to understand the research, but quickly wrote it off. It was only 0200 hours, after all; his augmented brain could handle it.
He had been staying up late rather often lately due to these meetings, eager to please the important people from Starfleet command and the representatives from as many science and medical departments they could get to come along. They had been devising a plan to get the Jem’Hadar off Ketracel-white, and it hadn’t been going well so far.
Julian was one of the only scientists outside of the Dominion that had ever had the opportunity to work with White directly, and as luck would have it, his augmented mind was able to memorize all that research before Miles had destroyed it. The research wasn’t much at all, though- the basic compound White was made of, some samples of Jem’Hadar DNA, but not much on how they interacted with each other.
“I do think there’s something in here I haven’t been seeing. Whether it’s small or game-changing, I have to find it. Even the most insignificant bit of research could prove invaluable right now. Maybe there’s some- some link between the DNA and the White I hadn’t noticed. If I just had some actual DNA, or the full chemical makeup of White I could…”
He felt like a madman rambling into his personal log like this. It wasn’t exactly rambling, of course, he knew rambling well and this wasn’t quite it, but his mind felt disjointed and his words came out fast and quiet. Perhaps he could be done for the day. Or, perhaps he just needed to take another look at the research.
He was pulled out of his thoughts by a chime at his door. Why the hell anyone was up as late as he was, he had no clue. Without thinking and without looking up from his research, he yelled a quick “come in,” and the door slid open.
“Doctor Bashir? Are you busy?”
It was a captain from the Ketracel meetings. She was in charge of a science vessel, so she was quite well-versed on the subjects they spoke about. Her ship was one of the first to do research in the Gamma Quadrant. Captain Sadie Devereaux, he remembered. She spotted where he was sitting and made her way to stand near the open doorway into his bedroom.
“Not really. Just going over some things for the meeting,” he replied, turning and looking at her.
“How convenient, I had some questions about your research. Do you have time to answer them for me?”
He considered it for a moment. Perhaps talking through it with an actual person instead of the station’s computer would help. “Yeah, no problem.” He gestured to the sofa to the side of the room, “I was about to take a break anyways.”
They both sat down, Julian bringing over some of the padds he was looking through and writing on a moment earlier. “So, what was it you had to ask me-”
And she was kissing him.
It was… odd. He hadn’t been expecting it of course, so it took a moment to register that no, he in fact did not want that. He pulled away.
“I- I’m sorry, I don’t think, um…”
Her hands shifted down to caress his hips. The sensation would’ve been arousing in a vacuum, but given how sudden it all was, it was a bit unsettling. “I’ve read your files, your research… everything about you is so intriguing.”
Okay. That was weird.
“I’m… I think you got the wrong impression.” She was an attractive woman. He could absolutely see himself sleeping with her, but he was tired, and he barely even knew her. He just wanted to finish his research and go to sleep.
“I’m not sure I did.” Her eyes moved downwards, and his followed. Ah. He could see the confusion. He regarded the growing hardness between his legs with a bit of embarrassment, and he shifted to conceal it.
He knew it was just a biological reaction- an instinct that he had some, but very little control over. Simple blood flow and hormones.
“Oh, come on, Doctor. I’ve read about your enhancements. They give you control of all sorts of bodily functions. I know this has to be one of them.”
It was becoming increasingly clear that this woman was an augment fetishist. It made sense, he supposed. It was only a matter of time before he met one, but it didn’t make it any less unsettling.
She leaned over to catch his lips in a kiss again, and Julian pulled back in disgust. “I really don’t want-”
She roughly pushed down on his shoulders, cutting him off and straddling him.
“You need to get off of me,” he said firmly. He wasn’t scared of her. Of course what she was doing was disturbing, and he would most definitely report it, but he could fight her off if necessary.
“Or what?” She punctuated the question by pushing him a bit further down into the cushion that, he was now realizing, was not comfortable to lie on.
“You’ll report me? Fight back? Who will they believe, Doctor,” she scoffed, “the captain or the augment?”
All his plans of fighting back suddenly evaporated. If he left a single mark on Devereaux, he could be arrested. He could call it self-defense, because that was in fact what it would be, but he was sure no one would believe him. Doing the calculations, he found there was only a 14.2% chance that, without concrete evidence, he would get out of this situation and be able to remain in Starfleet. Even then, there was only a 5.1% chance that he would remain on Deep Space Nine. It just wasn’t an option.
She saw the wheels turning in his brain, and took the opportunity to lean downwards, placing a few kisses to Julian’s neck that brought him out of his thoughts rather quickly. She slowly moved her mouth up to Julian’s ear and whispered in an utterly condescending tone, “just lay there and look pretty.”
He didn’t want to. He couldn’t imagine he looked very pretty then. But he decided to just go still. He lowered his heart rate as much as he could, tried to regulate his flow of hormones as best he could as to not give her the satisfaction, but after a few minutes, he simply gave up.
In that moment, all he could do was wish that his memory hadn’t been enhanced.
He did not want to remember this.
He couldn’t breathe.
His entire body ached. He was shaking. He didn’t know what to do.
What could he do? This had never happened to him before. Was it rape?
He went over the definition in his head to confirm that yes, it was, as if his mind hadn’t been screaming ’ this isn’t right, fight her, this is rape, don’t let her do this’ the entire time she was on him.
He was, on a surface level, aware of what he should do. He had to deal with this kind of thing from time to time. But he dealt with those as a doctor, not a victim. He tried to think what he’d do if he was the doctor here, what he was trained to say to someone in his position.
The patient should consider getting a rape kit, and should be advised that they can choose whichever doctor or nurse they’d be most comfortable with to administer it.
A rape kit was a good place to start. He would be able to get DNA evidence, and he could even administer it himself. He knew all the procedures, but he also knew how invasive they’d be- even if he did them himself. He shuddered at the thought of tricorders hovering over and scanning him, of swabs and bags and brushes and paperwork- a rape kit wasn’t an option.
The patient should consider taking photographic evidence, in case they change their mind about reporting the assault later on.
He really didn’t know how heartless he could’ve been to suggest this to so many victims. Yes, it was procedure to advise it. Yes, it would provide important evidence. Yes, he was sure he’d hate himself for not having any evidence later on. But he’d sooner die than take pictures of what she had done to him.
When the patient has gathered whatever evidence they feel is necessary and feasible, they should clean themselves thoroughly and treat any wounds from the assault.
This was the first procedure he would actually go through with. He slowly moved himself up to a sitting position and reached for the dermal regenerator he had stashed away in the drawer next to his bed. He slowly moved it over some of the bruises- the ones on his wrists, chest, and hips were easy enough, but as he moved the device to his neck he stopped himself.
The spotty red handprints seared his skin as the ghost of her seemed to press her hands back into his skin, with enough ferocity to make him quickly lose his breath.
It wasn’t real, of course, but his body couldn’t seem to tell. He would just have to leave the handprints, it seemed.
The patient should take antiviral shots, be screened for STIs, and may be administered a pregnancy-preventative hypo if they deem it necessary.
He wouldn’t need a morning-after hypo, and he hoped Devereaux wouldn’t need one either. He was caught up on his birth control, and he could only hope she was as well. Although the risk of his birth control failing was minimal, it would be too much for his taste if he was the only one taking it.
As for STIs, he’d need to replicate an antiviral shot. The sooner he took it, the better his chances.
He thought to himself that it was likely pretty odd how efficient and analytical he was being, and how a counselor would tell him to take some time to process what had happened. However, he could put off his brain responding to what happened for a bit, but he couldn’t stop his body. He’d deal with the trauma later. For now, he just wanted to take care of what needed to be taken care of.
He shifted over and put his feet onto the cold floor of his room. He took in a deep breath, and stood up. His legs were shaking, and he could feel the pain that shot up from his knees to his pelvis to his neck and- he had to grab onto his nightstand to avoid falling as his knees buckled.
Slowly, he pulled himself upright, and trudged towards the replicator. He typed in the command instead of saying it. His throat hurt like hell, having been doing nothing but whimpering and sobbing and screaming and being choked to oblivion for what he felt had been hours.
The thought made his breath hitch for a moment before he was brought back to the present by the whirring of the replicator. He went to place the hypo to his neck, and paused. He slowly moved it down and placed it against his upper arm. The soft hiss it gave might have been calming in a different scenario.
The patient should eat and drink as well, if they feel they will be able to properly swallow and keep down food. If not, they may be advised to sleep or otherwise rest to regain some energy.
Julian did not feel that he could properly swallow and keep down food. He also didn’t think he could sleep. He did feel utterly drained, though.
He moved to sit back down on the bed, almost laying on it before hesitating. Maybe he’d sleep on the couch tonight.
The patient should consider counseling, and should be given the proper resources to find a counselor they feel comfortable with.
He didn’t want anyone to know. And Devereaux was right, no one would believe him. They’d likely spin a story about how he was the aggressor. He’d just have to keep it to himself for now. Possibly forever.
The patient should consider counseling.
But he couldn’t.
The patient should consider counseling.
The patient should…
A blinking red light in the corner of his room caught his eye.
Wait-
“Computer?” He winced at the sound of his voice, hoarse and abused. “How long has this been on?”
“Dr. Julian S. Bashir’s personal log has been recording for 43 minutes and 29 seconds.”
Oh.
“…computer, end log.”