TITLE: Sleep
AUTHOR: Aimee
RATING: G
DISCLAIMER: Julian Bashir, Sloan, and all things DS9-related belong to Paramount. By writing this story, I have rather blatantly infringed upon their copyright; however, I don't really care.
SUMMARY: Sloan watches Julian sleep at the end of "Inter Arma Enim Silent Leges." This story assumes you know what happened in that episode, so you probably should wait until you've seen it to read this. Otherwise, this might be hard to follow.
WARNING: This is a slash story -- sort of. It's a Sloan/Julian story -- sort of. And it's a work of erotica -- sort of. Actually, it's more of a character study than any of those three things, a glimpse inside of Sloan's mind (a strange place to visit, and I definitely wouldn't want to live there). I was a bit unsure about posting this to an erotica list -- this is rated G, after all -- but I decided to go ahead, because . . . well, I think this *is* erotica! Anyway, if even the idea of m/m relationships creeps you out, you might want to skip this one.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'm only an occasional viewer of Deep Space Nine, and I've missed quite a few episodes, so "Inter Arma" was my first encounter with Sloan. After some initial confusion (what the hell is Section 31?), I managed to figure out what was going on and enjoy the ep. I was rather struck by the slashy dynamics going on between Sloan and Julian -- Sloan seems rather obsessed with him, imo. I was particularly interested in the way he kept breaking into Julian's quarters to watch him sleep. The first time it happened in the beginning of the ep, it was quite clearly done to disorient Julian, to catch him off guard and vulnerable, so that Sloan would have the upper hand in their subsequent encounter. But the second time, at the end of the ep -- that was a different story altogether. For one thing, there was no plot-level reason for Sloan to do that whatsoever. Secondly, he was much more gentle with Julian here than at any other point in the ep. Why? This story is my theory on what might have been going on in Sloan's head while he was sitting in the dark watching Julian sleep.
"Sleep"
by Aimee
It's dark, and I can't see him as clearly as I'd like to in the minimal amount of light available -- as clearly, I'm sure, as his genetically-engineered eyes could, were our situations reversed -- but that's all right. His face is imprinted on my mind; I know every beautiful line of it. But even so I can't help wishing I knew what he looked like in sleep. Would he look relaxed, peaceful, serene? Innocent?
How could he possibly look more innocent than he already is?
Dr. Julian Bashir. What am I going to do with you?
You think you've lost your naivete, your illusions; you think you've become disenchanted and cynical. You think you've seen the worst men have to offer, seen the ugly face hidden behind the Federation's idealistic mask.
Don't you understand? That in itself shows how very innocent you still are. The reality of political expediency is much, much darker than this brief, bloodless little episode, and the Federation, for all its lofty ideals, is a political organization, after all. Section 31 has done worse things for lesser gain, and all with the full, if unofficial, sanction of Star Fleet.
I know that notion would offend you deeply, but I can't help that. It's the truth. And . . . I'm glad you are still honorable enough -- and, yes, *innocent* enough -- to be capable of taking offense.
Nothing offends me anymore.
And, I think . . . that is why I take such pleasure in this simple act of watching you sleep. I'm reassuring myself that your basic integrity remains intact. And it does: it's so innate in you that you even demonstrate it while you're unconscious. Awake, you are passionate in your anger and disgust. Asleep . . . ah, now, that's a different matter altogether. Only someone who still trusts in the goodness of humankind could possibly sleep through an enemy's presence in his quarters.
The sleep of the innocent.
I wonder when you will wake up.
When you do, this sweet moment will slip irretrievably away, lost to your anger and hate. You do hate me, I think. It's a common impulse -- kill the messenger. I'm the one who opened your eyes a bit, gave you this little glimpse of the bleakness of reality, and you think I must have caused the ugliness you saw there. It must be my fault. You don't want to admit that the ugliness is just there, independent of you or me.
So go ahead and hate me, if that's what you have to do to protect your cherished illusions, the ones you think you don't have. It's all right. I need you to retain those illusions just as badly as you do.
The universe needs moral people like you. Why else would I be doing this? That's the whole point. I do what I do to protect people like you.
To protect *you*.
So I don't mind if you hate me. Besides, it's not your hate that would hurt me. I can work with hate. It's passion, after all.
But your indifference would kill me.
Your purity of soul shines bright and clear, drawing me to you like a moth to a flame. You think I chose you, marked you for Section 31, but in fact it's you who chose me. You pulled me into your orbit, and I was helpless to resist.
I know I can't stay here for long. My presence destroys those parts of you that most attract me; my darkness tarnishes your light.
But I won't leave just yet. This moment is too perfect, too comforting. Your body trusts me even if your mind does not. You haven't stirred once in all the time I've been sitting here. Maybe that means there is hope for me yet, or maybe it just means there is none for you. I don't know.
Probably both.
Your leg just twitched. Does that mean you're waking up? Don't, Julian -- stay asleep while you can; revel in your peace. Sleep well, sleep deep.
No.
Wake. Wake now, and look at me.
Sleep. Wake. Sleep.
Wake . . .
THE END