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dark_sinestra) wrote2010-04-08 01:08 am
Under the Skin--Part III, Conclusion
Julian
The Infirmary
It was slightly more than an hour since Garak had left his office, slightly less than three until what most would consider a decent lunch time. They had no patients, and there were no nuisance diseases currently circulating through the population. He couldn't focus on his routine record keeping. “This is ridiculous,” he sighed, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. “Why can't I just decide on a course of action and stick to it when it comes to him?” He had tried to be as gracious as the Cardassian had been, as mature and understanding. He had believed that he was once and for all setting all of that behind them, particularly after the holosuite incident. So why had it taken every ounce of his control to allow the tailor to leave without doing something horribly rash?
The thought of waiting three hours just to sit across a table at the Replimat from him and talk about things that didn't matter was intolerable. “Get a grip,” he muttered. He considered paying an impromptu visit to Leeta and immediately rejected the thought. She'd be deeply asleep right now and not appreciative of a surprise visit just because he was suddenly horny and frustrated. She was perceptive enough that she might even figure out that it had nothing to do with her. That would never do. Shaking his head, he stood and strode from his office. He found one of the nurses in the lab, unpacking new supplies and putting them away. “I'm stepping out. Call me if you need me.”
“All right, Doctor,” she said, never even looking over at him from her work.
That suited him fine. He wasn't sure what anyone would see if they looked at him too closely. He left the infirmary and paused on the Promenade. His initial intention had been to go to his quarters for quick relief, but Garak's open light caught him like a flame a moth. This is crazy, he told himself. You're crazy.
He crossed the flow of foot traffic and slipped into the shop. Garak had his back to the door, arranging older merchandise on the back racks. Julian watched him and allowed himself an unadulterated moment of pure enjoyment. Garak was graceful and precise in almost everything he did. It didn't matter if he believed that he had an audience or not. He found himself staring at the gray hands. Swallowing, he stepped further in. He wondered how close he could get before the tailor perceived him and then how much longer Garak would make him wait before letting him know he knew he was there. It was possible he already did.
He was a little over halfway to him when Garak said without turning, “It's early for lunch, wouldn't you say? Is there something I can do for you, Doctor? I am a bit busy at the moment.”
“I want a fitting,” he said without thinking.
Garak's hands stopped moving over the rack. He turned and glanced at Julian over his shoulder. “Now?” he asked.
“Yes,” Julian replied, glancing quickly over the merchandise. “That,” he pointed at something with four different clashing colors and random looking patterns. It was the first thing that really caught his eye, and he already regretted selecting it. Garak was critical enough of his fashion sense, or lack thereof as the man loved pointing out.
“You'll forgive me for saying it,” Garak said drolly, “but I don't think the latest in Andorian fashion is for you.”
“Yes, I forgive you for saying it. Now, are you going to help me or not?” he asked tightly.
The Cardassian eyed him for some long, tortuous moments before nodding and hanging what he already held in his hands. He walked the short distance to the Andorian outfit and plucked its hanger then gestured Julian ahead of him into the nearest fitting room. He hung the clothing on a wall hook. “When you've put it on, let me know. If you need any help with any of the fastenings, just say so.”
He knew better than to say he needed help with his uniform. His mouth now dry, he nodded and waited for the tailor to leave. What in the hell are you doing? he asked himself. He didn't have a good answer for it. Quickly stripping from his uniform, he started struggling with the loud outfit. It was more complex than it looked from the outside, very typical of most of Garak's creations. Either it truly wasn't designed for the human body type in any way, or he had done something very wrong. “Garak?” he called out hesitantly. “I think I need help.”
Did the tailor keep him waiting longer than usual, or was he just that eager to have him in the small fitting room with him? He was about to call out again when the curtain briefly whisked open just enough to admit Garak. Amusement and a little annoyance flashed in the blue eyes. “You really did make a mess of things,” he chided him, immediately reaching to a set of clasps Julian had fastened at his left shoulder.
Yes, I did, Julian thought. Garak's touch was nothing but professional and yet every brush of the cool gray fingers eroded his composure. He tried not to watch them while they sorted out his clumsy mistakes. There was no safe place to rest his gaze, neither on the tailor nor on the mirrors around them. Seeing their joint reflections was somehow worse.
“Now,” Garak said, taking him firmly by the shoulders and turning him to face his own reflection. “I have to say, the cut isn't bad on you. You're as slender as they are, but the colors are atrocious with your complexion. You look positively yellow.”
Garak was right, of course. The garish orange, purple, green, and gold brought out a sallow tone in his skin. He looked himself in the eyes. How could Garak not see what was blatantly there? His gaze shifted downward and stopped on the curved gray fingers still clasping his shoulders. The grip was tight. Was the tailor trying to prevent him from turning around? He couldn't see Garak's face in the mirror, just the sleek curve of his hair. He pressed backward subtly and felt his shoulder blades touch Garak's chest. The Cardassian didn't step away.
He then pressed not so subtly, and there was the resistance he had been expecting. Garak's grip tightened further and his arms stiffened, preventing any more backward movement. Julian held his breath. The silence between them had dragged for far too long. Any moment he expected admonition or an airy return to the professional charade of shop keeper with a difficult customer. When neither came and the silence continued to weigh upon him, he reached back between them, sliding his palm flat over the front of Garak's tunic beneath his belt. He gasped softly at the feel of a hard, unyielding bulge, unmistakable even through the layers of thick clothing.
Garak's grip grew vise-like, but he didn't thrust the doctor away. Taking the lack of outright rejection as encouragement of sorts, Julian fumbled his hand beneath the tunic hem, bunching it up against his wrist while he felt for the clasp of the trousers. With deft surgeon's fingers, he managed to work it loose one handed. His breath came more quickly, and he gasped again as he slipped his hand into the parted fabric, closed his fingers around the wet heat of Garak's cock, and stroked the entire length of it. The Cardassian's only concession to him came from a press of forehead to the back of his head.
He didn't dare to glance at the mirror. He didn't want to see his own expression while he took this forbidden pleasure from a reluctant partner or the obscene bulge in a body suit not designed to be accommodating of such displays. That Garak was reluctant to accept this he had no doubt. He could feel it in his profound tension and the absolute control he maintained in the face of the skillful ministrations. He squeezed and drew upward. He felt wetness coating his fingers and palm and the perfect weight and heat of something he had missed more than he realized until right in that moment. He circled his thumb at the sensitive opening and felt Garak's breath spill warm down the back of his neck. He tried to turn. The implacable grip wouldn't allow it, and the tailor gave him a small, harsh shake as though to insist that he stay put. He sensed that if he spoke, he would shatter the moment, so he didn't, furtive breaths and the rhythmic pump of his hand over increasingly slick flesh the only sounds in the dressing room, not loud enough to call attention to them.
The enclosed space grew stuffy from their combined body heat. Julian felt damp all over and flushed. He wanted Garak to touch him, too, to give him something besides his stillness and tacit agreement. More frustrated than before, he rubbed his free hand over the garish fabric, too closely woven and tight for him to get any sort of grip on himself. Garak suddenly released his shoulders, seized his wrist, and forcibly pulled his hand away from the front of his body. He stilled his other hand over the Cardassian's cock and held his breath again, wondering what he intended to do to him next. In the mirror, he saw one fierce blue eye reflected at him from over his shoulder. He couldn't look away, not when he felt deft hands unfastening the complex outfit, nor when he realized that Garak was undressing him.
Yes, he thought. Thank God, yes. He shrugged out of the clinging fabric, having to release the tailor to do it, and stepped from the pants legs. The garish bodysuit became a puddle of vibrant color on the floor, stepped over and forgotten. He turned and clung tightly to the man, pulling at the back of his thick tunic and knotting it in both of his fists. Garak twisted his face slightly so that Julian's hungry kiss met a jaw ridge instead of his lips. Undeterred, he lipped and bit at him, demanding a response, thrusting at him with his hips, grinding cock to cock. Damn you, he thought, I know you want this as much as I do.
He lifted both hands to the cool face, pulled it to him, and forced Garak to allow the kiss mouth to mouth. Unrelenting, he growled low, biting at his lower lip and tugging back, delving his tongue inward. He slid his hands further back and tangled them in the thick black hair, tugging sharply. Kiss me like you mean it, you bastard!
Garak moaned softly, a desperate sound from the back of the throat. Suddenly, he wrapped his arms tightly about Julian, his blunt cut nails digging and raking at his back. They staggered as they pushed one another, seeking leverage. Julian felt cold mirror at his back. It stung the shallow gashes. He didn't care. He welcomed the pain, all of it. He bit with abandon at Garak's neck ridges and relished every harsh shudder against him, knowing they were as much from pain as pleasure. He was too starved for this to show mercy or give quarter.
He brought shaking hands down between them to fumble at the fastenings of Garak's tunic. Garak grabbed his wrists and forced the backs of his hands against the mirror. No, he thought, not this time. You don't get your way this time. He jerked his hands from the grip, Garak's surprise only partially registering. Thrusting with his back against the mirror, he managed to turn them so that it was Garak who was pinned and went for the tunic a second time, working it open and only by some miracle managing not to burst any of the delicate hooks and eyes. He rubbed chest to chest, deliberately raking his nipples over the sharp ridges. The pleasure wracked him straight to his core.
He wanted inside that amazing, alien sheath, penetration that was tighter and sweeter than anything else he had ever experienced, before or since his last time with the tailor. It took him a few tries. It seemed almost as though Garak was trying to thwart him, and maybe he was. It didn't matter. He wanted what he wanted, and he was determined to have it. Both of them groaned and clung to one another just a little tighter when he felt the outer ridge shift and part and felt his cock nestle into a velvety space that was barely large enough to accommodate it beside the fullness of the base of Garak's erection.
He lifted his hands again, his palms against Garak's jaw, the gray face between the arch of his fingers, tilting the Cardassian's head back against the mirror. He held him there, looking deeply into the blue eyes that were so adept at holding secrets within secrets. They were as enigmatic as the blood streaked mirror. Had he been expecting more? Had he thought that if he could get Garak to yield to him like this, he would open him wide and obliterate all that stood between them? He kissed him extra harshly to shut those eyes and tasted blood, not his own. He ground his hips against him, drew back, and thrust again. Garak's jaw muscle rippled beneath the tiny scales of his cheek in a silvery gray flash, his teeth clenching.
Julian knew he was hurting him. He knew it wasn't like him to do this to anyone, much less someone he cared about, so why couldn't he stop? Why was he thrusting with all the mindlessness of a targ in musth? Why did he crave the knotted tension building in his partner? How much more of this can he take? he wondered, watching Garak's lips draw back in a grimace. He wasn't expecting him to open his eyes again or the feeling of exposure when recognition of whatever drove him and contemptuous amusement flashed in the blue depths. One look was all it took for the balance of power to shift, for his inexplicable anger to drain. Instead of twisting him or pushing him back, Garak simply shut his eyes again and clenched his hands at his hips, encouraging him to continue.
He leaned forward and laid his cheek against Garak's, biting down on his own tongue to keep from crying out. It felt too good. It felt as though his strength flowed from him right along with his seed in a wracking release that lasted twice as long as what he was used to. He slid down Garak's body and dropped to his knees. Heedless of the mess, he rubbed both cheeks and his parted lips over the man's soaked cock and the ridged scales to either side of it. He opened his mouth wider and raised up so that he could plunge downward over head and shaft. He gagged once, shifted himself and tried again, relaxing his throat. It had been too long. He had momentarily forgotten, but now he knew what he was doing and how to ease the way. He tasted himself on Garak, a strong, sharp musk over the milder but more pervasive glaze of thick lubrication. He lapped and sucked, only partially flaccid and wondering if he was going to work his way back up to full arousal with this. How long had they been in the dressing room now?
He didn't know and didn't care, a reckless attitude during work hours. He knew this, too, and allowed the thought to slip away. All that mattered right in that moment was Garak, his pleasure, the taste and feel of him, a scent that he realized he caught faintly from time to time when they lunched together and now wondered if he had been secretly aroused at those times, capable of hiding it when he concentrated and chose to do so, unlike his unfortunate human counterparts. There was no hiding it now. He came up for air and plunged down again, ground his nose against the raised ridge, and swallowed hard to caress him with his throat. As he pulled back, he felt Garak's cock swell and pulse. His mouth flooded, and he found himself wondering how long it had been for him last. He was slow to pull back, wanting to prolong the moment for as long as he could.
Panting, Garak braced himself against the streaked mirror, letting his fingers slip away from Julian's hair. He glanced down at him and reached to pull his trousers up. “You can clean up in the washroom,” he said. “I have a portable dermal regenerator in my emergency med kit. I'll get it for you.” Julian nodded and somehow managed to force his rubbery muscles to do his bidding, climbing to his feet, flexing his back, and wincing. Garak left and returned with the small device in hand. “Better let me,” he said in a matter-of-fact way. “If you miss a spot, I wouldn't want to be you answering the question of what that is or how it got there.”
He nodded again and turned his back so that Garak could erase his handiwork. He regretted the loss. That pain helped to anchor all of what they had just done in the reality of the here and now, a feeling that was already beginning to fade and slip away.
“Done,” Garak said.
Julian turned and took it from him. “Hold still,” he said, raising his free hand to brace Garak's chin so that he could run the regenerator over his ravaged lips. He kept his focus on the healing flesh so he wouldn't have to look into his eyes. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what expression would show itself now that they were re-establishing their barriers. “I'm sorry I hurt you,” he murmured.
Garak waited until he finished to answer. “No you're not.” He took the regenerator back and left the dressing room again. Julian knew he wasn't coming back this time. Sighing to himself, he carefully gathered the Andorian outfit and hung it back on its hanger, not sure if he fastened it all correctly or not. He zipped up his jumpsuit without his turtleneck and raced the short distance to the washroom so that he could clean up thoroughly before dressing. He was grateful no medical emergencies had come through and very aware of how lucky he was for that.
“You're an ass,” he told his reflection. Outwardly, he looked as respectable as ever. No one knew how deceptive appearances could be more than he. He stepped from the wash room into the stock room. Garak slipped past him wordlessly so that he could clean up, too. Unsure of what to do, he waited. He decided he'd let Garak set the tone for whatever came next.
When Garak emerged, he seemed somewhat surprised to see him there. “Aren't you supposed to be working?” he asked.
“Yes, I am,” he said.
“Then I suggest you get back to it,” he said. After a short pause, he added, “I hope you don't mind, but I don't think I'm up for lunch today after all. Perhaps another time.”
Julian winced. “If that's how you feel, I'm not going to argue with you, but I would like the chance to talk about this later.”
“Talk about what?” the tailor asked, tipping his head. “Do you think this is the first time I've ever been used? It's not. There's really nothing to talk about.”
His angry denial died on his lips. Hadn't he done just that? He had an itch that Leeta couldn't scratch. He wasn't prepared to leave her. He couldn't give Garak what he felt he deserved, so he had no intention of trying to pretend. That always ended in disaster. “You're not upset with me?”
“Do I seem upset, Doctor?” he asked.
It was the dreaded polite businessman front, the expression that was the equivalent of tapioca, bland and utterly inoffensive. If he knew Garak as well as he believed he did, it meant he had cut him, but how deeply? He also knew that he wasn't going to get an answer in the shop, not during business hours, not when Garak could retreat into Cardassian virtuous industry. “We both know you never seem upset if you don't want to,” he said. “If it's all right with you, I want to stop by later after work and talk.”
“You're going to force this, aren't you? You can't just leave it alone?” Garak asked, irritation sharpening his voice.
“Yes to your first question. No to your second. I'll see you tonight,” he said, smiling slightly and turning to leave. Now he had an entire afternoon to brace himself for what might be a very unpleasant conversation and to sort out exactly why he had been so rash to begin with. He hoped it would be enough.
Garak
Garak's Clothiers
After Julian left, Garak returned to the fitting room to retrieve the outfit. It needed cleaning, as did the mirror. He removed it to the stock room and returned with a cloth and solvent for the mirror. With just a few spritzes and wipes, he had the polished surface gleaming. He dabbed up the few spots on the floor and gave the room a critical once over. Good as new.
The rhythm of his work day allowed him to calm the turbulence stirred by the unexpected visit. Public wasn't the place for sorting out messy emotions or having angry outbursts. He took a few of his pills to stave off anticipated trouble, not looking forward to having to renew the prescription. A few customers, evidently wanting to impress the First Minister, came to him to purchase Bajoran formal wear. Aside from the sporadic distractions, he was able to get his displays shifted in anticipation of the newest collections coming out within the week.
When he finished, he closed early. He wasn't eager to have the promised conversation, far from it. He wanted the time to settle himself and sort his uncharacteristically complicated reaction into something manageable. He made his way to his quarters quickly, hoping not to run into anyone who would want to talk to him along the way. There were few enough of them. Logistics were on his side.
The first thing he did behind closed doors was to strip from his clothing and take a long, thorough shower. Nothing physical could wash away the soiled feeling of being used; however, being clean always made him feel better. Afterward, he chose a dark tunic with little embellishment and a conservative cut. You allowed it. You actively participated, he thought to his reflection. It had been too long since he felt truly wanted. Holding himself apart from any who might have possibly taken an interest had been a mistake, made him vulnerable to his own needs. Of course the doctor was intelligent and perceptive enough to sense that. He had been foolish to believe he would never try to exploit it.
You weren't the only blind one, he addressed Julian in his mind. There are parts of you I failed to see. It had been flattering to think of a somewhat naïve young man enamored of his experience and wanting to learn what he had to teach. The doctor was a better pupil than he anticipated. He added pride to the list of internal casualties his isolation on Deep Space Nine had cost him, one more piece of what made him Cardassian taken away.
He ate an early dinner and allowed himself a small, seated nap. When he awoke, he felt more clear headed. It occurred to him that he could simply not be there when Julian arrived. That would only postpone the inevitable. It was a small station, seemed smaller all the time. There was nowhere he could go to avoid this confrontation. It wasn't in his best interest to do that, anyway. He allowed something in a moment of weakness. That didn't mean he had to remain in that position. No, there were specific things he could do and say, he knew, to leverage this to an advantage of sorts. He nodded slowly to himself. A setback was not necessarily a loss. He plucked a PADD from a side table and pulled up a new enigma tale. New literature out of Cardassia was growing rare. He savored it when he managed to get his hands on it.
His door chimed about an hour after Julian would have gotten off work, assuming a normal day. Garak called, “Enter,” casually and set the PADD aside as the doctor stepped into the room dressed in an outfit he knew Garak liked. Conciliation, or seduction? Garak wondered, maintaining his detachment. “Please,” he said without rising, “have a seat.” He gestured at the chair catty corner to his spot on his sofa.
“Thanks,” the doctor said, offering a fleeting, closed lipped smile and taking the seat. Garak noticed he sat straight, not settling in. He was uncomfortable. Just as well.
“May I get you anything?” he offered cordially, content to play the consummate host.
“No, thank you. I just finished supper. Garak,” he said, hesitating before adding, “I owe you an apology.”
“For what, precisely?” He felt it best to see how the doctor saw what had happened between them before trying to push his own agenda.
“For what I did to you today. For...re-opening old wounds and crossing a line we both decided some time ago we'd never cross again. I took advantage of...” He hesitated again, umber eyes searching Garak's.
Are you going to say it? Garak wondered as he watched him and listened. Are you going to point out blatantly that I'm alone?
“Your feelings,” he said instead.
“What feelings might those be, Doctor?” he asked mildly.
The man laughed nervously. “You're really intent on making me pay for this, aren't you?”
“How can I accept your apology if I don't know what it is you're sorry for?” he asked reasonably. “Or for that matter, what it is you think you've done?”
“I know you still love me,” he said quietly.
Garak laughed. He couldn't help himself. Of course he loved him, but that had nothing to do with what happened in the dressing room. Julian's angry, perplexed look just served to amuse him that much more. “What a world you live in,” he said, his voice still rich from his laughter. “Chased by so many, truly held by none. Yes, I can see how you'd believe you wounded my poor, yearning heart.”
“I don't understand what's so funny,” he said, sounding almost petulant.
“I know that,” Garak said. “It should set your mind at ease to know I'm not twisted in knots with longing or wanting a return to what we had. At our best, it still didn't work very well, did it?”
The doctor gave him a long, searching look. “You expect me to believe you're not upset?”
“Would it be easier for you if I were?” he asked. “Perhaps that's what you'd like?”
“Of course not,” he retorted, frowning deeply. “I don't want you hurt.”
“That's not the impression you gave me earlier,” he all but purred, satisfied at the instant color rising in the man's cheeks. After all these years, he was still ridiculously easy to provoke to a blush. “Please, Doctor, you're not the young ingénue on your first adventure. Why the coyness now, after the fact?”
“That wasn't like me, and you know it,” he replied, looking away.
“Wasn't it?” he asked, arching an eye ridge. “You see, I think it was very like you when you're conflicted. You were angry with yourself and taking it out on me. It was easy, because I allowed it. I didn't fight you, and I didn't answer in kind. To tell you the truth, I was intrigued, curious just how far you'd go.” He dropped his voice to an intimate whisper as he leaned toward him. “I should have kept my eyes closed.”
“You're enjoying this,” Julian accused. “You love the fact that when you look at me these days, I look more and more like you.”
Garak smiled. Well, that was an unexpected little gift, that revelation. It somehow made his own recent hit to his pride more bearable. It was true. Misery loved company. “Don't worry, my dear. You have a way to go yet before any of your friends would pick up on it.”
“It won't happen again,” he said stonily.
“That's entirely up to you,” Garak replied, spreading both hands and sitting back once more. “I told myself that I wouldn't interfere in your relationship, and I meant it. It never occurred to me that you'd come to me. I could have stopped you. Is that why you're angry with me, because I didn't stop you? Or is it that you want me to be as furious with you as you are with yourself? You want my scorn as a scourge for your guilty conscience? I let you use my body today. That's not enough for you?”
“You'll forgive me if I'm skeptical,” Julian retorted. “As manipulative as you are...”
Garak cut him off. “Yes, that would be easier for you, wouldn't it? Painting over the scene with an opaque glaze of delusion and denial. It must have been my pulling the strings, not your impulsiveness or selfishness at all. When I went to see you this morning, I must have slyly planted subconscious seeds of desire, my invitation to lunch a coded offer of a clandestine tryst. Imagine my surprise when the seeds bore fruit a full three hours before the appointed time!” Sarcasm sharpened his voice, anger dangerously close to returning in force.
“No, you're right,” he conceded unexpectedly. “I can't blame it on you.” He looked down at his loosely laced fingers resting between his thighs. “I have tried so hard to find...a balance point...when it comes to us. I've tried to let go the way you did. It seems I can emulate some of your less endearing traits a little too well, but when it comes to sacrifice...” he gave a small, humorless chuff of a laugh and glanced at Garak, “is it any wonder I just don't get Preloc?”
Was he reduced to being disarmed with a glance? He knew that wasn't quite accurate. It was the vulnerability behind it. It was one of the few traits in the younger man that penetrated all of Garak's defenses. Had he sensed even a trace of manipulation behind it, he would have happily thrown the doctor out on his ear and washed his hands of him. The doctor wasn't so jaded yet, though, and Garak, no matter how much he wished otherwise, wasn't immune. “This wouldn't happen if we weren't...stuck here,” he said carefully.
“You mean if you could leave?” Julian asked, lifting his head and meeting his gaze.
“Or you,” Garak said, nodding. “Practically everywhere we turn holds a memory. You may not be Cardassian, but I know you have excellent recall. I've explained to you before how my people process and experience the past. Not only are we trapped in the same places, but we travel in overlapping social circles. We're tied to each other in ways we wouldn't be on a planet, or if one or both of us could come and go at will.”
“Is that supposed to be comforting, that if you could get away from me, you would?”
“Must you always take everything I say in the worst possible way?” Garak snapped.
“It doesn't help that you rarely explain yourself,” Julian replied. Had he not been smiling faintly when he said it, Garak might have thrown him out anyway. His patience was running thin.
“You humans are mentally lazy enough. I would be a poor friend indeed if I encouraged such bad habits,” he retorted without heat. “I think getting back together is a colossally bad idea. If you have...appetites...we can work with that.”
“What are you suggesting?” Julian asked, his brow furrowing. “That I just...come to you when I get the urge, sneak around on Leeta, use you? You can't be serious.”
“What you do with Leeta is between you and Leeta. It doesn't concern me. If I'm allowing it, and we're both in agreement about what it is we're doing, it's not using, is it?”
“I don't understand,” he said, shaking his head. “Why would you propose something like that? Do you honestly believe I'd be able to do something like that?”
“You did it today with no prompting or encouragement on my part,” Garak said simply. “Am I to believe that you've already told Leeta, a little light supper conversation before leaving her and coming to see me?” At Julian's dark look, he continued. “I thought not. Now, you can sit there and tell me you'll never do it again and find yourself back in the same position you were in this morning a few weeks or perhaps even months down the line, or you can try to be sensible about this and manage your problem. You said it yourself, Julian. You've tried to find balance, and you've been unable to do so your way. Why should I not be OK with this? It's a very Cardassian solution.”
“I have to say, this isn't what I expected to hear when I came here tonight,” he said, sounding more than a little taken aback.
“No, that much was obvious,” Garak said dryly.
Julian sighed and rubbed his face. “I'll have to think about this. It may be normal for Cardassians. It's not normal for me.”
Garak conceded that point with a faint incline of his head. “No need to rush,” he said. “As I've already pointed out, I'm not going anywhere.”
Frowning, the doctor said, “You seemed to have a lot of contempt for Gul Dukat when he was hitting on Major Kira.”
“I don't need an excuse to feel contempt for Dukat,” Garak said, amused. “You're not married. If you decide you want to be, I trust you will tell me so that I can extricate myself from the situation.”
“I suppose I just have trouble believing you can be so casual about this.”
“If you're wanting me to pine for you or pledge undying devotion while you vacillate, there's the door,” he said, pointing. “It's insulting. If you need that from someone, I suggest you have a deep heart to heart with your good friend Miles. I am certain he will provide you with all of the heart wrenching drama you can stomach.”
“That was cruel,” Julian said.
“No, leading others on with no intention of follow through is cruel,” the Cardassian said without pity. “I think you know as well as I do how that man feels about you. I think you use him, in a different way than you used me, to be sure, but you use him, nonetheless. I've given you a choice, and I have been most charitably open with you about what it is and what it is not. I trust that when you've made a decision, one way or the other, you will at least have the courtesy to inform me.”
Julian drew a shaky breath and let it out. “You know what I'm going to say. You're such a bastard. You enjoy seeing me like this, knowing that you've gotten under my skin.”
More than you know, Garak thought, feeling very much as though he had gotten back a little of his own. Others wounded him at their peril. At least that hadn't changed. “One more thing then,” he said, standing to indicate that as far as he was concerned, the visit was at an end. “Don't come to me during work hours again. That was utterly irresponsible.”
“I know,” Julian said, also standing. “I won't.”
Garak almost thanked him for insisting on visiting, but he decided it would be a crass overplay of his hand. No matter what Julian might think, he knew that he had regained control of the situation. While he would be content to allow the younger man to determine when and how often he came to him, Garak would be the one to control how close they were. He wouldn't make the mistake of emotional intimacy with the doctor again. He was singularly capable of both love and distance at once. In fact he had almost elevated it to an art form long before ever meeting Julian. He took him lightly by the elbow as he escorted him the short distance to his door. “Have a pleasant evening,” he said as the door hissed open and the doctor stepped into the corridor.
He wasn't sure if he heard or only imagined, “Not bloody likely,” just before the door shut once more. Either way, he smiled.
Julian
The Promenade
He had never considered himself much of a voyeur before. Somewhere along the way, meeting Garak changed that, not in a fetishistic or titillating fashion, but in making him a much keener observer. Being superior among the average had made him lazy for a large part of his life. Garak awakened a piece of him that had slumbered, disengaged and unused. He watched the Cardassian now, seated at his breakfast table with Odo. It wasn't the first time he had watched the pair of them. They were fascinating at a distance in their complex and subtle choreography of feint and counter-feint. This morning was different. Odo's stiff posture and precise movements conveyed an odd sort of brittleness. Garak was a stolid presence without being solicitous. To be a fly on that wall, Julian thought.
Deep down he envied the ease with which the two came together. Outwardly, they were so different, yet they had found a way to bridge their differences with a common thread. None of Garak's other relationships seemed turbulent or terribly complex. Of course, none of Julian's other relationships were, either. No, because I'm able to keep them at a certain distance. I've never been able to do that with him, not the way I should.
He slipped away from his observation post—he hoped unseen—and retreated to the orderly world of his work environment. Just as things had changed in the holosuite, they had changed again in the dressing room yesterday. Small pieces of the person he had always thought himself to be were falling away to reveal a stranger, a dark reflection of the shiny facade he worked so hard to create that sometimes he forgot he wasn't that mask. Garak reminded him. Revealed him.
Was the tailor right? Would the two careen away from one another faster than light speed if freed of the traps, bonds, and obligations that bound them to the station and never look back, or would it be as Julian suspected and feared, that even freed of their external bonds, they would be tied to one another so tightly that they'd be doomed to return to the painful spiral until one of them was dead? He didn't have an answer to that, and he privately hoped he wouldn't have to find out any time soon. Having Garak back, even in such a tainted way, was a pleasure that for the moment outweighed any guilt of deception, and that bothered him most of all.
The End
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Things have been very complicated for the boys for a while now. hehe They're complex men. I'm glad you enjoyed the portrayal. Getting in their heads is a lot of fun.
I can't give away the ending, but I can say that there's a long way to go before we get there. Together or apart, they'll always have a tremendous impact on one another. (I am rooting for them, though.)
Thanks for the review!
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Who would be immune to Julian's puppy dog eyes? LOL Well, maybe Sloan, but he's kind of a jerk anyway.
And you know what they say about the best laid plans...;-)
I appreciate the review!
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This was very dramatic! Funny, I've always seen Garak's behaviour in Our Man Bashir as a way of luring Bashir into doing the only right thing. One of the most damning pieces of evidence, is that when he asks for the exit, he doesn't just say: "Computer, Exit!" Or "Arch!" No, he starts this immensely long sentence, giving Julian plenty of time to shoot him, even if he hesitates. Hehe.
I strongly suspect Garak isn't being entirely honest with himself about that moment. ;o)
Oh boy. If they do get back together, it will have to be vastly different from their first time around. They've both changed so much in a very short time. Can't wait to see where it goes!
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Things are definitely going to be different. Thanks for the review!
And yes, LJ has been quite temperamental lately. It's like it doesn't love us anymore.