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[patientman]

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[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.

[patientman]

"Your Peacekeepers sound very Cardassian." There's no judgement, only recognition of what is and was. "I don't know about Sebaceans, but humans are pack animals."

It's not the clearest way to express what he's thinking, but he hopes the meaning carries through.

[notleavingquietly]

"I'm still not clear on what a Cardassian is." He is also not particularly concerned about that. "Sebaceans are never alone - and I do mean never literally." Why is this the theme? ...Because it is the problem. Probably the problem.

[patientman]

"A single Cardassian is a large, bipedal lizard that loves to argue, usually giving me a headache, and is overly fond of secrets, strict government, or both." You see? That's helpful.

"And here you are." Not alone, per se, but the only one of his sort.

[notleavingquietly]

"Unless I want to expend a tremendous amount of energy in understanding or being understood." He gestures toward Julian with his bottle, then takes another drink. "Except you. You're relatively easy." After that he actually puts the bottle down to rub at the back of his neck. "And even then, comparatively...."

[patientman]

Is that the first time he's appreciated being called 'easy'? Probably.

"Here, let me." Bashir puts his glass down and shoves at Crais until he can rub the other man's neck. "If I told you to get a regular massage, would you listen?"

[notleavingquietly]

He twitches, just a little, but he actually really likes the touch because he can't help it. "No. If I told you to grab the interface, pull and throw it against a wall, would you?"

[patientman]

"No, it looks sturdy enough that it might dent the wall and I'd hate to lose my deposit." Arse. He huffs and settles in for a proper neck and shoulder rub.

[notleavingquietly]

"Only if you factor in your strength." He let Bashir go on with the massage for a bit, drank some more fireball and drunkenly considered doing 12 things at once, all of them bad ideas. "I don't know how to care about people." also he really, really wants to yank that interface out and he knows he will regret it but super wants to.

[patientman]

"You seem to do fairly well as far as I've seen." Bashir slows the massage, but keeps his hands on Crais to maintain their connection. "You care for me, even when I'm being difficult."

[notleavingquietly]

"I do not care for you, I have a feeling toward you." ...Look, he was working toward drunk, rapidly, and really drunk at that and that statement made sense in his head. Total sense.

[patientman]

"The feeling is mutual. Or at least a feeling is mutual." He tugs at Crais to lean back against him, get comfortable and let Bashir keep an arm around his waist.

"And, when I have my eventual, impending moment of panic at settling in and not wanting to leave, I expect you to care for me by bringing me more of whatever was in the bottle."