Chapter Text
Between the three of them, he, Reed, and Polly manage to drag Garak and Tucker to the car without worsening their injuries too badly. “We have to get to a hospital,” Julius says.
“No. There’s a—safe place, a few hours away.” Polly’s mouth is tight. Julius doesn’t know what happened to Tucker, but he looks—bad. “Drive. I’ll tell you where to go.”
They hoist Garak and Tucker into the back and Reed climbs into the back seat as well. “I’ll watch them,” he promises.
“Drive as fast as the car will go and avoid all police interaction,” Polly tells him. She unfolds a map and shows it to him. “This is where we’re going.”
He takes a second, memorizes it, nods. With a bag of weapons in the trunk and two bloody men in the backseat—definitely no police. Polly only has to tell him to speed up once before he realizes that he’s the one driving because of his enhanced awareness. As long as there are no police nearby, he can truly floor it—well. He also has to make sure that the car doesn’t break down. But he keeps it just at 80, eyes on the road and hands steady on the wheel. “Nothing’s changed,” Reed says periodically. “They’re still unconscious.”
“You don’t need to tell us that,” Polly snaps, and Julius is a little terrified to hear her sounding upset. “Another hour at this speed. I will guide you.”
Without his—gifts, he would never have dared to drive this fast on these roads. They’re narrow, twisty and dark, and the paving gets worse and worse the further they drive. He knew they weren’t exactly going to be on the highway the whole time when Polly showed him the map, but this feels like a barely-controlled dive, as though the minute he slows or breathes they’ll go careening off the road.
“Here,” Polly says suddenly, “At the light.” It’s not even really a streetlamp, but he brakes enough to make the turn and then he really does have to slow down. It’s a dirt lane, well-maintained but dirt nevertheless, lined on both sides with neat split-rail fencing. The more he pays attention to his surroundings, the less he thinks about Garak in the backseat.
He's about to ask Polly where they are—they’re off the map she showed him, now, there were no streets—when he realizes they’re approaching a house. There’s someone standing in the doorway, backlit in yellow warmth, but Julius can see the shape of a shotgun in his hand. He glances sidelong at Polly, but she says nothing as he slows further and then stops. “We have two wounded men,” Polly calls, her voice low and urgent, and the man sets his shotgun down—he must know Polly—and approaches the car.
“Garak again?” The man’s voice is gentle, a little wry. “Tucker too—it must have been a bad one. Katie!”
A woman joins them, and in a blur of staggering and hissed “watch out!” and “careful, I’ve got his head!” they all manage to get into the house. “Into the bedroom,” the woman says, and there’s such an air of command in her voice that Julius is moving before he realizes it.
Reed helps him lay Garak gently on one of the beds as the man and Polly drape Tucker over the other. Julius lingers, brushes a few strands of Garak’s hair out from beneath the bloody bandage on his head, squeezes his hand tight and doesn’t let go until Polly says, “Julius.” He follows her out of the room.
It’s jarring to see Polly and Reed in full light again. He can’t imagine that he looks much better, dirty and bruised. “Katie, Chakotay—this is Julius.”
“The newest acquisition?” Katie hangs up the telephone. “The doctor should be here soon.” She’s an imposing woman with ash-blond hair in a thick braid down her back, in what must be a nightgown.
“Somehow I’m not surprised.” Chakotay smiles, first at Katie and then at the rest of them. He has some kind of tattoo over one eyebrow—tribal, maybe?—and there’s a dimple in his cheek when he smiles at Katie. “I hope whatever you were doing went well. They didn’t look too bad.” Julius shudders to think what his definition of "too bad" would be.
“Could be a brain injury, but it’d be hard to tell with Tucker.” Reed’s joke lands awkwardly. Julius winces at Polly’s expression. Her face is usually so emotionless that it’s terrifying when she loses the mask.
“How far away is the doctor?” Julius asks. Both Katie and Chakotay are loose, relaxed—surely if Garak was dying, they would be tense, even if they tried to hide it?
“Another five minutes,” Katie assures him.
Chakotay gestures to the kitchen table. “Please, sit down, have something to eat. There’s potato stew, and Katie had nothing to do with making it.”
Katie rolls her eyes. “Bowls in the cupboard, pot on the stove, help yourselves.” It’s not until Reed moves toward the bowls that Julius realizes that he is, improbably, very hungry.
Still, he leaps to his feet when the doctor arrives, his bowl of stew forgotten. The doctor is a very grumpy-looking man, bald but for some tufts of dark hair on either side of his head. It must be nearly five in the morning, Julius realizes. “What have you brought me this time?”
“Two men who need medical attention,” Polly says stiffly. “They are in the bedroom. I will show you.” She leads the doctor in and Julius follows them.
The doctor examines Garak first, lifting each eyelid to check his pupils with a small light and grimacing at the bandage on his head. He listens to Garak’s chest and runs his hands over it gently. “Is there anything else wrong with him?” He glances at Julius and Polly and purses his lips. “Anything more than what’s wrong with you?”
“Just the head wound,” Julius says, and he has to fight to keep his voice even. “How is he?”
“I would say at least one or two cracked ribs, from that bruise on his side, but nothing broken. You won’t know if there’s any significant brain damage until he wakes up, but his pupils respond to light and he has visible pain responses.” At Julius’s face, he adds, “It doesn’t look bad. But change that disgusting bandage in a few hours.”
So, the doctor is familiar with Garak. “All right,” Julius says. He sits on the edge of Garak’s bed and lets his hand find its way to squeeze Garak’s. He’d like to think he isn’t imagining it when Garak squeezes back.
The doctor tut-tuts as he examines Tucker. “Definitely two broken ribs, maybe more. You’ll have to try to make him take it easy when he wakes up. But I don’t hear anything wrong with his lungs.” He checks Tucker’s mouth and grimaces. “Might as well while he’s out,” he says—a horrifying thing to hear—and pulls out what looks like a broken bloody tooth. Polly watches stiffly; Julius finds that he wants to vomit, but he swallows it back. “No obvious neurological damage, though,” he tells Polly. “Tell him that I ordered bed rest, when he wakes up. Tell him that his one of his broken ribs is on the verge of puncturing his lung. It’s not!” he hastens to add. “But it might keep him still a little longer.” He leaves the room, whistling, and calls, “Katie—”
Julius meets Polly’s eyes. “It would probably be a good idea to—keep a close eye on them,” he tries. “I might sleep in here.” He has the feeling that she wants to sleep next to Tucker but is unwilling to admit it. Just a hunch.
“Yes,” Polly says. “I believe the beds are—wide enough.”
Julius closes his eyes briefly. “Do you think Reed would get the bags from the trunk?”
“One of these days,” Reed announces from the door, “I’m going to find someone highly competent to bring on a mission and then she, too, will sit beside my bedside with a loving, concerned expression on her face while I lie unconscious.” He drops Julius’s suitcase and Polly’s bag with a clunk.
“If you’re looking for someone more competent than you are, I should think you’d be spoiled for choice,” Polly tells Reed. Julius and Reed stare at her. She just told a joke. She must be very upset indeed.
“I’m,” Julius says, and waves vaguely at the door. The exhaustion is hitting him. “Going to sleep here.”
“Yes, I gathered,” Reed says. “You too, Polly? I didn’t realize—”
“Thank you for your assistance with the baggage,” Polly hisses, in a tone that tells him in no uncertain terms to get out.
Julius is too tired to do more than toe off his shoes and pull his belt off before he climbs very carefully onto the bed next to Garak. He can’t find the wherewithal to remove the uniform. He allows one hand to rest, very gently on Garak’s unscathed arm, and is unconscious before Polly has gotten her own shoes off.