**Chapter 1: A Bad Start to the Day**

Miles Obrien woke up feeling slightly off, but he immediately dismissed the feeling as a minor annoyance. He had no time to be sick, not with the station in shambles and a backlog of repairs to attend to. As he swung his legs over the side of the bed and planted his feet firmly on the ground, he tried to shake off the lingering fatigue. The station was in chaos, with equipment malfunctioning left and right, and Miles was the chief engineer. He couldn't afford to be sick, not now. With a grunt, Miles pushed himself out of bed and began to get dressed. His stomach churned with a queasy feeling, but he attributed it to the usual morning jitters. He was still feeling a bit off when he made his way to the station, but he pushed through, determined to get some work done. As he worked, Miles tried to focus on the tasks at hand, but his head kept spinning and his body ached all over. He rubbed his temples, trying to clear the fog from his mind, but it only seemed to get worse. By the time lunch rolled around, he was feeling worse, but he refused to give in. Just as he was starting to think about taking a break, Julian Bashir appeared at his side, a concerned look etched on his face. "Miles, you look like you're going to collapse," Julian said, his voice firm with worry. "What's wrong?" Miles forced a smile, trying to reassure his friend. "I'm fine, Julian. Just a bit...tired, that's all." But Julian wasn't buying it. "You don't look fine," he said, his eyes narrowing. "Come on, let's get you to the mess hall and get some food in you." Miles protested, but Julian was insistent. "You can't work if you're not feeling well," he said, his voice firm. Miles tried to argue, but his body seemed to be betraying him. As they walked towards the mess hall, he felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. The room spun, and his vision began to blur. "Julian, I..." Miles started to say, but his words trailed off as he stumbled. The next thing Miles knew, he was being caught by Julian, who had swiftly moved to support him. "Whoa, easy does it," Julian said, his voice calm and reassuring. "You're not looking so good, Miles." Miles tried to speak, but his vision was fading fast. He felt himself being pulled downwards, into a dark abyss. "Julian...I...I'm fine," Miles muttered, but his words were slurred and nonsensical. Julian didn't seem to believe him. "You're not fine, Miles," he said, his voice laced with concern. "You're going to sit down and rest, and I'm going to get you some help." Before Miles could protest, Julian scooped him up and began to drag him towards his quarters. "Julian, no...I'm fine," Miles protested, but his voice was weak and unconvincing. As they walked, Miles' vision began to fade, and he felt himself slipping away. He tried to struggle, but his body seemed to be made of lead, and his limbs felt like they were weighed down by anchors. Julian's voice was distant, but Miles could hear him talking, reassuring him that everything would be okay. He tried to respond, but his body seemed to be shutting down. The last thing Miles remembered was Julian's worried face and the feeling of being lifted off the ground. When he came to, Miles was lying on a couch in Julian's quarters, his head throbbing with pain. "What...what happened?" Miles asked, trying to sit up. Julian's face was etched with worry. "You collapsed, Miles. I'm not taking you to the infirmary until you've had a chance to rest and recover." Miles tried to protest, but Julian was firm. "No arguments, my friend. You're going to rest, and I'm going to take care of you." Miles tried to argue, but his body felt like lead, and his mind was foggy. He knew he was in trouble, and Julian was right – he needed to take care of himself. But as he drifted off into a troubled sleep, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong.