PSL: Post-DF for Beverly

[stigmaofsuccess]

Waking up in the camp, on that small, cold cot was a nightmare. Despite assurances that no one ever remembered their time in the Fleet, Julian could, flashes and hints, his enhanced brain refusing to let go of what it had experienced.

There was no time after that for thinking on it. Everything was go, invasions and deaths and horror and then plunging through the wormhole into the safety, comparatively, of the assembled Alpha Quadrant Fleet.

By the time Julian got out of his debriefing, all he wanted was a shower and bed. But when he got to his quarters, all his belongings had been rifled, moved, different smells and different things and Julian balked.

He went to his office, where at least it felt like less of a personal violation and showered there before settling behind his desk. He had slightly over a month of information to catch up on and he doubted he'd be sleeping.

He toyed with messaging the Enterprise.

He didn't. He remembered but Beverly? Almost certainly didn't.