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[patientman]

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[notleavingquietly]

"I am so glad that being here has not provided you from your ability to learn and experience novelty." He doesn't look up, doesn't move. Sprawled as he is, probably most of him is in reach. "I cannot imagine what you would resort to for mental stimulation, otherwise."

[patientman]

"Nothing good, I can assure you. As difficult as I am now, if I'm bored, I'd give you all a run for your money." Snuggle, back rub, blankets, and so forth. "Even the Doctor would roll his eyes and weep."

[notleavingquietly]

"That depends entirely on whether or not you were bored enough to indulge his anger and destructive impulses." He blows a breath out against Bashir's shoulder. "How is Jadzia adjusting? Do you know?"

[patientman]

"Well enough, given the situation, but being shipwrecked is an acknowledged risk." Wrapping one arm half around his waist, Bashir lightly skritches at whatever bit of Crais is close.

"I should have her over again. So you can get all the embarrassing stories you'd like from her."

[notleavingquietly]

Crais... shivers a little at the light scratching and snorts, without moving. "You should contract her and move her out of the Down."

[patientman]

That gets a rumbly, thoughtful noise from Bashir. "I've considered it, but I...unless she asks, I don't think I can offer."

He could offer, but he really would rather not.

[notleavingquietly]

"Why?"

He'd add more or move or something, but frankly he does not fucking want to and the word covers it.

[patientman]

"Because, because I saw her die. Because I couldn't save her, and because I love and loved Dax." He makes a small, pained sound and squirms.

"And because I haven't told her that. It's not fair to contract if she doesn't know."

[notleavingquietly]

He finally finds the motivation to move, plants his hands on Bashir's shoulders and uses that for leverage to shove himself up to sitting.

"I'll take your word for it," he says, wryly, "and will refrain from suggesting the obvious. Do you keep alcohol here?"

[patientman]

"I don't have any, no. All I have handy is something I, ah, liberated for science from that awful dinner at the Creator's house." Because you better believe he nicked a handful of vials of that not-quite-MDMA so he could get a better understanding how it worked.

[notleavingquietly]

"Only you." He is not that interested in experimenting with that, thank you. He leans leans forward a bit and pulls his hair the rest of the way down so he can get it all back where it belongs.

Doing that puts the covered plate in line of sight and - "I'm leaving. I bet if you asked the Doctor nicely he'd give you some space if you wanted to invite someone over for dinner and conversation, if you were particularly inclined toward doing that."

[patientman]

"No, I'm not particularly inclined. If you're not hungry, it's tomorrow's lunch." Bashir frowns, he is pretty sure he ought to be better at understanding Crais, but he's missing something.

"If you're going to go get drunk somewhere, may I come with you? Or let's bring the bottle back here. I can even promise not to speak, if that's what you need."

[notleavingquietly]

"What the frell do you think not speaking is going to help?" He's baffled, but shrugs and finishes up his hair. "If you're not going to do anything else with your apartment I'll bring the bottle back. You don't need to come with me to buy the bottle."

Bashir can't understand what Crais isn't giving him.

"It won't take me long, but do leave the door unlocked this time. Are you also drinking or just watching me?" How much does he need to buy?

[patientman]

"I'll stay here and I'll drink with you when you return." He doesn't drink all that often, but if needs be, he's willing. Whatever it is that he's not getting, Bashir suspects that it's a 'needs be' sort of situation.

"I don't know what's hurting you, and you don't have to tell me, but you're my friend and ...and I am not always good at this sort of thing." But he's trying?

[notleavingquietly]

"I'm cranky and tired - including tired of being sober - and I know you're my friend. You're fine. I'll be back in twenty minutes."

He is, too.

With something the shop owner said was popular and fairly neutral for Bashir and Fireball for himself.

He's also grateful for Bashir.

[patientman]

While Crais is gone, Bashir puts the food into the fridge, tidies up a little, and makes sure to put glasses of water and painkillers out on the bedside table. He fusses over his plant, turning it towards the sun, and thinking a bit too much.

Eventually, he returns to the sofa with the softest blanket he has and a book to read while he waits for Crais to return. There are empty glasses on the table and a bowl of grapes.

[notleavingquietly]

He locks the door behind him, leaves his boots on and goes to the sofa. He passes the 'better' bottle of alcohol to Bashir, opens his own (and floods the area with the scent of cinnamon).

"I think you've missed just how uncivilized I actually am." He drinks directly out of the bottle, blinks at the burn when it makes his eyes water, "and you underestimate yourself again. I don't know exactly what this sort of thing is, but you're better at it than anyone else here."

[patientman]

"I've experience with a lot of very strange situations," he says before opening his bottle, pouring out a couple of fingers of whatever it is, and having a sip. Not bad. Certainly no kanar.

"If I start singing, you have my permission to smother me with a cushion. It'll be for your own benefit."

[notleavingquietly]

"I have very nearly reached the point where I would welcome you screaming directly into my ear. I doubt singing is going to prompt me to engage in unsafe breath control."

He keeps his bottle with him, leans back and keeps drinking.

That he's ignored dinner and is ignoring snack-- well, it is what it is.

[patientman]

He's dealt with Garak on a bender and this has something of a similar feeling; it makes him think about the wire and Crais' implant. With a thoughtful hum, he takes another drink and leans back as well.

He doesn't move into Crais' space, but there's an angle to the way he's on the sofa that leaves his body turned towards his friend.

[notleavingquietly]

Crais is not inclined to avoid contact at all. He won't give up the ability to drink freely - he is a man on a mission - but he absolutely makes firm contact with Bashir, if only by pressing his knee out and into Bashir's.

"I miss the Peacekeepers," is what he eventually comes out with, after taking several hefty slugs from his bottle.

[patientman]

Contact is good. Bashir makes a noise and wriggles his way up against Crais' side and he's lean enough that he ought to be able to slip under his arm without overly impeding his drinking.

"Why?" He has a theory, but it's not his place to voice it.

[notleavingquietly]

"Because there were a lot of them and we all knew the rules." Which is not actually a good expression of what he misses, but it's probably as good as it can be in that precise moment.

Bashir wiggled into place to provide physical contact is welcome and that is also not a surprise at least to him.

[patientman]

"It was a world that made sense?" Bashir can understand that. He loved the variety of DS9, but there was still a sense of order to it. At first, anyway. With the coming of Section 31, all that changed, and it left him a stronger person, if on unsteady moral ground.

[notleavingquietly]

"No." A pause. "Yes. No." You're going to love him when he's actually drunk, Bashir. "What the Peacekeepers were didn't make sense. Where the lines were drawn didn't make sense, but they were clear and it was easy."

He's tired. He's frustrated. He actually sounds kind of pissed off. Still got an arm around Bashir, though and isn't really moving around.