The Big Applesauce

Julian has been trying to remind himself that he isn't a prisoner anymore. Yes, he's stuck in this universe, perhaps trapped forever, but he's not imprisoned in his building. Despite the strangeness of the last 9 days, he has to say that it is certainly a step up from solitary confinement, and prison camp. Nothing is stopping him from going outside, from exploring the streets, the city, his new world. Nothing except for Julian himself, apparently. Which isn't like him. How many strange worlds had he visited that he couldn't wait to start exploring, taking notes on the plants, the medicines, the viruses... this shouldn't be so different, but it was.

He has his job at least. His... training? Whatever it is, it provides distraction as he learns his way around the lab, the research, the equipment. And with it, Imam and Rush, human contact that he finds that he actually, deeply craves every morning. They are the only two people he really knows here so far, and they help, probably more than they know. He misses his lunches with Garak, his evening drinks and darts with Miles... He has been here just over a week, but hasn't found it in himself to seek out much more than what he has now. Eventually, maybe. Instead, he's been going to his quarters... his apartment, and fiddles. He watches TV, getting feel for his surroundings, the culture, the mass information. He has a notebook, and sometimes he takes notes, as if this were an experiment or a patient's medical history chart. It helps, in a strange way. He looks at the appliances, takes some of them apart and attempts to put them back together, which gives him a sense of the technology as well as keeps his mind and fingers busy. While he's figured out the basics, Julian desperately yearns for a replicator. Cooking was never a hobby or skill he had really cultivated, even on Earth. Luckily his apartment had been stocked with plenty of starter basics, but he knew eventually he would have to start shopping and learning how to feed himself properly.

Today, though, Julian had wandered outside. Maybe it was loneliness, maybe it was frustration at trying to brew a decent cup of tea or coffee with the stupid ancient kitchen contraptions he had been left to deal with. So finding coffee out was a last resort. Easier said than done, apparently.

Really, he was supposed to be a genetically-enhanced genius, or something. How hard should it really be to buy a cup of coffee while navigating around a civilization 300 years in your past? Not this hard, surely. But here he is, finally, standing in what seems to be an unnecessarily long line waiting to order and pay. His wallet is open as he examines the contents for the thousandth time, trying to recall what each card is for and why. He has his small notebook stuck in the back pocket of his new jeans, thoughtfully (and a bit strangely, how did they get his sizes? His measurements, so quickly?) provided by someone, probably ROMAC, whoever they are. Soon he will have coffee, real coffee, and he can sit and watch and learn. But it's hard to plan much farther than the actual coffee part.

At first the only sensations Julian can connect with his own body is extreme vertigo and nausea, side-effects Bashir isn't used to experiencing with the transporter beam since he was a first year student. Still, he has the distinct feeling that he is about to puke up everything he's eaten in the last 24 hours, which isn't much thanks to the fact that his Dominion captors weren't all that concerned about giving full meals to prisoners that were just going to die anyway. He squeezes his eyes shut tight, willing himself with all his power not to vomit, and slowly realizes he is on his hands and knees gripping the sidewalk with his fingers like the whole world might slip out from under him at any moment, shaky but clearly alive, his atoms not lost forever in the vastness of space. That is certainly something to be happy about, at least. He doesn't feel like he has any parts missing, either.

Wait, the sidewalk? The surface beneath him is definitely not metallic. Julian forces his eyes open. This is not the Dominian internment camp, and he is really, really glad about that. But it isn't a rescue ship either. Julian is not prone to cursing, but as he looks around the only thing that comes out of his mouth is, "Fuck." Because this is Earth, or a planet that looks very suspiciously like Earth. Which doesn't make any sense at all. This isn't even the Earth he calls his home, but clearly an Earth from... the past? He was always a terrible history student. You'd think his last accidental trip to the past would have made him study it, but he'd thought one accidental time-travel trip was probably all he would have to suffer. Wrong, apparently.

His hand goes to where his comm badge should be before he remembers that the Dominion took that from him too. He is utterly alone, cut off from rescue. Had Garak been lost too, or had he made it out? He hopes Garak is safe, somewhere. No matter how out of time Julian's clothes might be, he is still human, or at least mostly human. Would Garak, the crew look for him, or would they assume Julian was dead? He couldn't be stuck here forever... who knew what future he would change, screw up, just by existing here? From imprisonment to freedom, but not the kind he was hoping for. There would be no rest, no return to his quarters and friends, not yet.
Too many questions, and not the right time. He stands up, gives himself a mental medical check and finds nothing pressing, and takes in a deep breath. Julian presses any remaining panic down and steels himself. "You're an officer, Jules. Act like one. What do you do next?" Survival and not messing up any timelines should be his first directive. He is trained for this, he should know what to do and has been through this before in a way, though never on his own. He needs to get out of sight, first of all. His uniform will need to be abandoned somewhere, and clothes of the time found instead. He hates to steal, but his priorities are to blend in, stay out of trouble, find out where and when he is, and if possible why. It seems to be somewhere between the 20th-22nd century, though Julian has always been a terrible history student. Why, why hadn't he cared more about history? He'd been swept into the past, into mirror universes where the future was different... by now one would think he'd learn from his mistakes.

But... research! Julian loves research. He's good at it too. It is immensely calming to think of this as nothing more than his next research project. Gathering data of his surroundings, to support or go against his formed hypothesis of when and where and why... Yes, that Julian can do. He feels slightly better already. At least so far no-one has spared him a second glance. Wherever/whenever he is, people don't seem to be thrown by strangely dressed men standing in the middle of...wherever he is. Julian needs food, water, and a good long sleep, then he can figure out how to get home without majorly messing up either history or himself.