The BLTS Archive- Departures by EndlessDelirium (EndlessDelirium@msn.com) --- Julian was frightenend. He could feel the distance. In the kiss. As if this man with whom he were bonded were moving - Traveling - already. He pulled back, searched Wesley's eyes. They were unfocused and, within them, constellations seemed to fall. "You're leaving," Julian said. His voice was as matter-of-fact as he could make it. Wesley's eyes closed. Julian could almost feel the effort Wesley exerted attempting to haul himself - his higher mind, that thing, he once explained to Julian, that fired his Wanderings - back to their quarters. Julian wondered what unseen geometries spun about their bed this night; what vistas only Wesley's intellect and will kept in abeyance. "I'm sorry." "But you will leave." "I would like -" he broke off. "I would stay if I had a choice." "There's always a choice, Wesley." Wesley smiled. "Not always." He leaned in. "Not for me." He was all present for the kiss this time. They fell back into the bedcovers. "I think," Wesley said, "that Doctor Bashir will miss me." "Idiot," said Julian, a small smile on his face despite his misgivings. "Stop that." "Make me." "I have superior hand-eye coordination," Julian warned. "Perhaps." Wesley straddled him. "But I'm stronger." He grasped Julian's wrists and forced them back onto the bed above Julian's head. He was stronger. His childhood on the Enterprise was far behind him. These days he carried the hard efficient musculature of a soldier. Julian was wholly pinned. "You're just trying to distract me." "You betcha." Wesley leaned in again, this time to work with lips, tongue, and teeth the flesh at Julian's jawline. "I ... Oh my - ." Julian arched his neck. Wesley's weight, the forced immobility, the nibbling at the jaw were working - as they always did - to send him into a red haze. Minutes - perhaps hours - passed. Wesley's ministrations were thorough; he worked Julian as if at worship, as if the doctor's narrow frame and the personality housed therein were his last best chance. He stopped a moment only, just long enough to whisper: "I will return to you, Julian Bashir. Believe that." And Julian froze. The heat bled out of him and a stillness opened in his mind. The fear returned. He had heard those words before. Those exact words. The dream had felt like prescience. He freed his hands, pushed Wesley back. He was not at all surprised to see starfields again spinning in the depths of Wesley's eyes. "I'm sorry, Julian. I go so far when I'm with you." - Julian had a feeling Wesley was not actually seeing him, not really - "You make me safe." "Safe?" he asked quietly. "From what?" They were very nearly nose to nose still. Julian could smell himself on Wesley's breath. "From ..." - Wesley shook his head, returning to the here and now; he shrugged - "...from myself." "You realize you will have to explain that." Wesley paused. "Right now, please." "No." "What? No? What do you mean, 'no?' What the hell do you mean?" "I can't." Julian hissed. "More like 'won't'." He put his hands gently to either side of Wesley's face. "You like seeing me this frightened? Do you?" "No." Wesley ducked in, kissed Julian's chest, lingered a moment to graze a nipple, and then pulled away, got off the bed. He walked to the portside window and stood looking out. His back, bare and crossed -hatched by scars, some thin, some brutal ropes, seemed eloquent as a shout. Julian found himself studying - for the thousandth time - that ravaged puckered flesh. Dermal therapy would have repaired the damage easily - there was an especially vicious slashmark sloping unbroken from the left shoulder blade to the uppermost swell of the right buttock - but the one time Julian offered, Wesley had refused, politely, saying only, One should recall always the paths of education. Julian had yet to discover how he came by his injuries. Another of the indelible mysteries not to be discussed. Wesley spoke without turning: "There are places, Julian, with memories like songs longer than the breadth of any history we know." His voice is so old, Julian thought, yet I've more than a decade on him. "There's an echo we - Travelers - can follow. I don't -" He leaned onto the window's faux-glass, looking absurdly like a child on the Promenade considering sweets in a vendor display. "Starfleet, the Federation, they haven't a clue, Julian." "About what, Wesley? Tell me." Wesley straightened. He turned. And Julian found himself suddenly speaking though he'd had no intention of interrupting. "Those words you said to me before, about returning, I dreamed them. I dreamed them and then there was fire and your voice. And you were screaming and in pain. You were screaming my name, Wesley, and I couldn't find you. I couldn't even move. And you were screaming my name." Wesley was very still. Julian watched the play of muscle in his abdomen; clear, defined, and lightly furred. "Was I dreaming, Wesley?" He felt his eyes stinging and fought to keep his voice steady. "Or was it something else? A warning? A future? What is it the Federation hasn't a clue about?" Wesley returned to the bed. His face was stern. "Things," he said, folding Julian into a tight embrace. "Things ... not yet certain." Julian breathed. Wesley smelled ever so slightly of cinnamon. "I'm sorry," Wesley said. Julian sighed. "You've decided not to tell me, haven't you?" Wesley absently stroked Julian's hair. "Was a near thing, though, wasn't it?" "Yes," Wesley said. "Will you ever tell me your work?" "Oh, Julian, God yes." Julian sighed again. "Good." He shifted so he could see Wesley's face. "Are you in danger?" Wesley smiled. "Not today. Not for quite some time." "I'm still frightened." "I know." "Very." "I know." "Just so you know." "I know." "Good. Just so you know. When do you leave?" "Soon." "Then perhaps," Julian said, "I should ensure I'm not forgotten." He pushed Wesley down on the bed. His hands began a slow methodical exploration. "I'm a doctor, you know," he said, "well versed in nerve inductive therapies. Well, look at that. There's a nerve that needs some therapy. And there's another one. And another. How about I just push that here and ..." "Oh ... oh jeez ... that's ... nasty." --- Later, as Julian slept, Wesley dressed. The powerful tug of galaxies spinning behind his eyes was all consuming. He could deny its call no longer. He needed Travel. He kissed his mate, concentrated his higher mind on the intricate matrices of location and being, felt the coolness of gathered space slide around him - I will return to you, Julian Bashir. Believe that - then stepped sidewise off the station and into another tale. --- The End