The Servant of Your Heart, Part I
Dec. 13th, 2009 02:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dark_sinestraAuthor notes: This story spans the Deep Space 9 episodes The Search, Part I through Second Skin. I made some slight changes to the opening scene of Equilibrium to include our favorite tailor in the continuity, but for the most part, as before, I wrote around the episodes to avoid redundancy. The story works as a standalone, but it's also a continuation of what started in “Slow Burn” and continued in “He's No Romeo”.
Summary: As the threat of the Dominion looms large over the station, Doctor Julian Bashir and tailor and spy Elim Garak must make some tough decisions regarding love, loyalty, and the meaning of duty. Each will be forced to sacrifice, but in the end, is the price too high?
Author: Dark Sinestra
Date Written: December, 2009
Category: Slash
Rating: R for some implied scenes of sex, mild adult language and intense adult themes.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these lovely characters, episode plots, or settings from Star Trek Deep Space 9. All remain the property of Paramount, and I receive nothing but satisfaction in playing God.
Word Count: 12,238
Garak
Julian's Private Quarters
2371
The heap of blankets covering Julian's bed stirred slightly. Garak was now awake, that transitional moment for him always nearly instantaneous. His Cardassian eyes had no trouble penetrating the deep gloom. With minimal shifting, he managed to encourage his still slumbering lover into his embrace, Julian's head in the hollow of shoulder and chest, a bare arm and leg snaking over Garak's torso and thighs. Stroking his fingertips delicately over Julian's shoulder and down the length of his exposed back, he coaxed the man to wakefulness. He still marveled at how the doctor awoke in increments, as though parts of his brain came to awareness more quickly than other parts, one of their many differences that secretly delighted him. He looked down into upturned brown eyes, aware that to Julian's perception, his face was currently little more than shadow.
“Mnh,” the doctor protested, his arm tightening in its hold. “Is it really morning already?”
“I'm afraid so,” Garak said, tipping his chin until the man's wavy hair tickled his lips. “What time are they expecting you to report to the docking ring?” he asked.
“0700 sharp,” came the glum reply. “I wish they'd allow you to come along.”
Garak allowed himself a small smile and pressed it to the top of Julian's head. “I'm just as glad they haven't considered it. They'd simply try to put me to work, and before long I'd feel in over my head and completely useless. What place does a tailor have aboard a warship?”
Julian's snorted laughter tickled his scales and pectoral ridge. “You never tire of that game, do you?” he asked, lifting his head and inadvertently letting cold air under their warm cocoon of blankets.
Making a soft sound of protest, the tailor reached up and sealed the breach. “No more than you,” he said. “I'd love to be able to tell you that I awoke in time for us to have a more proper send off for you, but I'm afraid I didn't. If you want to be on time, you're going to have to hurry.”
“Well, then,” the doctor said, bending to nibble along the ridge conveniently in reach, “you will simply have to use some of the down time you'll have while I'm away concocting a plan to make it up to me.”
“After last night, I'm surprised you can say that to me with a straight face,” he replied drolly.
“After last night, I'll be surprised if I can do anything straight for some time,” Julian said smartly. “Nonetheless, I expect you won't disappoint.” He leaned up and kissed Garak soundly then slid from the bed, disturbing the blankets as little as possible.
Garak appreciated the consideration, even more when Julian called the lights up at just fifteen percent. It was still bright to his dark adjusted eyes, but at least it didn't stab into his skull like the tip of a dirk. He watched with unabashed enjoyment while the well built, slender man moved naked about the room, gathering all of his fallen clothing and passing it to him under the blankets. “You really expect me to dress without showering?” he asked.
Julian's lips pursed with amusement. “You're such a bundle of contradictions. You clearly have no issue with getting messy, and you don't insist on jumping right into the shower after even our most strenuous exertions, but you won't put your clothes on without a shower?”
Reluctantly, Garak sat up to face the chill of the room. “If you spent as much time making your clothing as I've spent on mine, it would make perfect sense to you, Doctor,” he said primly. “Besides, I was thinking we could shower together.”
“Since you put it that way...”
They spent the rest of their brief time left together performing what Garak privately thought of as the dance of polite lies, with Julian assuring him that he had no reason to worry for his safety and Garak in turn giving assurances that worry was the farthest thing from his mind. He had a backlog of work to keep him busy, and he knew that they wouldn't be gone overly long. He had every confidence that they would succeed in whatever it was they were endeavoring to do. Julian, of course, regretted that he couldn't just come out and tell Garak what that was, but it was a matter of Starfleet security. Surely he understood. Of course he did, and he'd never put Julian in such an awkward position as to ask!
He had learned over time that the best way to handle any sort of leave taking with the younger human was to keep it simple and light, the proverbial difference between the cut of a scalpel and that of a saw. As soon as he left his lover's quarters, he dropped all pretense of levity. The truth was that the growing threat of invasion had him deeply concerned, and much of that concern centered around his own safety. The others, if necessary, could flee Deep Space Nine and be reasonably assured that at least for some time, they would be safe again. Garak had no such assurances. If he went anywhere but exactly where he was supposed to be, an entire fleet of Federation warships wouldn't prevent the lone assassin in the dark that he knew would find him.
The Promenade was more deserted than he had seen it since the end of the occupation. While he did have a backlog of some work, he wondered if the customers would even be around to pick up their finished products when all was said and done. He couldn't blame any of them, not the Bajorans retreating back to Bajor, nor the other aliens who were booking passage away on any available transports that they could. He would have already done the same if the option were available to him with the promise to write Julian when he was settled. He was not one for heroics and last stands. While they might make entertaining reading for some whose lives lacked sufficient stimulation and excitement, for him heroics was just a synonym for stupidity, and last stands were for those who lacked the wit to escape a situation before they found their backs to the wall.
He worked on his backlog for most of the day. Only when he was sure that the Defiant had departed the station for the Gamma Quadrant with most of the senior Starfleet staff and some of the Bajoran staff aboard did he risk sending a coded transmission to his clandestine contact on Cardassia. He never received anything more than an acknowledgment of his transmissions for his trouble, and sometimes he didn't even receive that. Still, it made him feel useful in a small way to know that despite his exile, he did his part in service to the state. Who better to know the developing situation with the mysterious Dominion than someone close to the front lines?
If his dear Julian knew just how much he gleaned from their seemingly innocent conversations, he would probably never speak to Garak again out of fear of revealing more. Garak didn't have to ask questions or hear anything specific to read between the lines. He sighed softly, reflecting that in his life he had experienced few things worse than the knowledge that he was a well made, finely honed tool crafted for a purpose he was now denied. Tain and the others were being short sighted not using a resource they had cultivated so carefully and for so long, and Cardassia could well suffer for it. You can keep me from my contacts and resources, but you'll never keep me from doing what I know I do best, he thought.
Feeling bolstered after sending his report on the status of Starfleet's intentions with the Dominion, he closed up shop for the day and decided to take a brief detour into Quark's. To his understanding, Quark was included on the Defiant's journey because of Ferengi business dealings. In a small way, it rankled the professional in him. Of course, he had worked hard to cultivate the image that he was nothing more than a tailor. He knew they didn't believe him, but he also knew they had no idea just how useful he could be and that they saw any potential benefit in trying to find out far outweighed by the detriment of his loyalties.
It took him a second or two to realize what felt out of place in the bar. Morn was nowhere to be seen. For that matter, aside from a smattering of tense looking employees, neither was anyone else. He strolled to the bar and took a seat opposite a very disconsolate looking Rom. “Hi, Garak,” Rom said. “Wh-what can I get for you?”
“I'll have a glass of kanar,” he said. “I see my business isn't the only one with a dearth of customers today.”
“Today, tomorrow, probably forever,” the Ferengi said glumly. He set Garak's glass before him and glanced around the empty space behind him. “It's not fair.”
Garak pulled his glass closer and lifted it for a sip. “Fair?” he asked.
Rom nodded, his mouth setting in a bitter line. “All this time I've waited and worked in my brother's bar, hoping that some day it would be mine. Now, even if it happens, it'll just be a place run over by the Dominion!”
“Maybe it's time to come up with a new plan,” Garak said mildly. He genuinely liked Rom. The Ferengi had always been kind to him and deserved better than Quark for a brother and ambitions so curtailed by a lack of confidence.
“Like what?” he asked skeptically.
Garak peered at him a moment before answering, “I have every confidence that you'll figure it out,” and downing the rest of his kanar in a swallow. He set payment to the bar top.
“Y-you do?” Rom asked, eying him mistrustfully, as though he expected a hidden barb.
“I do,” he said, nodding and not elaborating. No amount of unsolicited advice was going to drag the man out of his self-imposed holding pattern. It was quite possible that this Dominion threat could be one of the best things that ever happened to Rom, he believed. As he had personally experienced, there was nothing like the prospect of losing one's entire accustomed way of life to inspire creative thinking.
Rom smiled hesitantly. “Thank you, Garak,” he said.
He inclined his head graciously and returned the smile. “I should be on my way. If things get too quiet tomorrow, come by the shop for a bit. My replicator is on its last legs, but I believe it can manage some tea.”
“I'll do that,” Rom said eagerly. “Maybe I can do something about the replicator, too.”
“That would be very kind of you,” he replied, having his doubts. “Good evening.”
Rom came by early the next day, bearing a small toolkit and asking Garak to direct him to the replicator. He guided him into his stock room and showed him the ailing device. “I've had a request in for some time now for someone to come have a look at it,” he said, “but I'm not high on the priority list, I'm afraid.” Quite the opposite he knew, if Chief O'Brien still felt the same level of hostility toward him as he had displayed in their last encounter.
“We have the same problem at the bar,” Rom told him, kneeling down and removing the panel covering all of the device's inner workings. “My brother says it's because Odo doesn't like him. I think it's Starfleet. They're just like that, thinking they're better than everybody else when they're just the same. Worse, even, because they try to pretend they're not.” He disconnected the power source and got to work.
As Garak watched the work in progress, he found himself startled by two things, the first being that Rom actually seemed to know what he was doing with that toolkit of his and the second that while he was working, he lost his tendency to stammer and hesitate. Not only that, his observation about Starfleet was pointedly accurate. “I try to tell the doctor the same thing all the time,” he said.
“He's nicer than most of them,” Rom said, digging in further and twisting his head to have a look at some of the wiring, “but he's still one of them.”
“That he is,” the Cardassian agreed. “Tell me, does Quark know you're this talented with machinery?”
“No,” the Ferengi replied. “He doesn't have any idea how often things break down in the bar. I just fix them when he's not there.”
“Why don't you tell him?” Garak asked, intrigued at this glimpse into a family dynamic he had never understood very well.
“Because then he'd expect it of me,” he answered, pulling out some wires with degraded insulation. “You're lucky I found these,” he said, reaching up to hand them to Garak. “With all this cloth back here, you could've had a bad fire.”
Garak dutifully took the wiring and gave it his attention. “Yes, it is fortunate you found that,” he agreed, but he was determined not to be deterred from his original line of questioning. With everyone of interest to him on the other side of the wormhole, he craved distraction. “Would it be so bad if he had higher expectations of you?” he asked.
Rom shot him an incredulous look. “He already expects too much, and there's barely enough time in the day to do what he asks. If he expected me to fix everything, too, I'd never have any time to myself.”
“But you fix everything anyway,” he pointed out.
“On my schedule, not Quark's.” He stood then and brushed at his hands. “You've got some burnt out components in there. I have a collection of spare parts at the bar. I'm going to go see if I have what you need. I'll be right back.”
Garak watched him hurry away with that odd, crabbed gait of his, bemused. There was much more to the Ferengi than met the eye. It was a shame he was wasting himself in that bar. It was also a shame he had never bothered before now to talk in depth to the man. He decided that he would carve out a little more time in his schedule for such socializing. Who knew what sorts of things he could learn from unguarded moments?
Rom returned with a tray loaded with various parts. Garak raised an eye ridge. “That much needs replacing?” he asked.
Rom shook his head. “No, but I don't know how many of these are in working order. I scavenge stuff the engineers throw out before it gets taken off for incineration. They're really wasteful sometimes. Just because one component doesn't work, they chuck it out when they could rebuild it instead.” He knelt back in place and began testing the parts.
Garak found himself smiling slightly. He could respect the ethic of frugality. How often had he made it out of a situation simply because he wasn't quick to part with his resources? He knew enough about what Rom was doing to realize that not only was he competent, he was good, really good. He worked with a surety of purpose that no mere tinkerer would possess. After less time than it would have taken Garak working on the same problem with limited resources, Rom had the replicator turning out a decent spice pudding in addition to red leaf tea. “Is that better than it was?” he asked Garak.
“Far better,” Garak replied. “I feel as though I should pay you for this.”
“I did it as a favor,” the Ferengi said, looking somewhat put out at the offer.
Truly, he was full of surprises. Garak inclined his head respectfully. “Then you have my thanks. At least stay for tea and pudding.” Rom beamed and nodded, and the two of them managed to make a pleasant time of it together.
Isolation and idleness had always been challenges for the tailor. He spent much of his time writing in his journal when he wasn't working and staring out his star port when he wasn't writing. Being the one left behind was always more difficult than being the one in the thick of things, he thought. He had new appreciation for all of the patient Cardassian wives whose husbands were married more to their careers than their spouses and thought it a shame that most of those career military men had such little respect or even understanding of just what price their families paid. Were the results worth it? He found himself wondering. Come back safely to me, became a familiar refrain for his solitude.
Julian
USS Defiant
Gamma Quadrant, heading Alpha Quadrant
After the third hail to his cramped quarters, Julian relented. “Enter,” he said.
Dax stepped through the door and waited for it to slide shut behind her. She graced him with an understanding look. “I thought you might want to talk,” she offered.
He nodded, and she took the seat opposite him. It took him some time to formulate what was running through his mind into coherence. The knowledge that his experience of watching Garak shot to death by a Jem'Hadar right before his eyes was just a simulation wasn't much comfort at all. He feared that he would discover that something terrible had happened for real when they got back. If it hadn't, there were still some extremely disturbing implications to the scenario that filled him with nothing less than cold dread. “I know I didn't act like it,” he said, “but the moment Garak went down, I was lost.” He couldn't meet her gaze.
“I'm sure you were,” she said, leaning forward and covering his hand with hers. “But you stayed focused, and you did what you had to do. He'd expect nothing less of you.”
“I know,” he said, nodding and glad of the touch. He was shaken to his core. “The thing that really disturbs me is that most of us in that scenario were hooked in somehow. That Vorta had us linked so that our respective actions were what we'd really do in that situation.” He lifted his gaze to hers and held it. “The real Garak wasn't there, and yet I couldn't tell the difference.”
“You can't blame yourself for that,” she said. “Things were so tense...”
“No, Jadzia, you don't understand,” he interrupted her. “That's just it. There was no way for me to tell, which means that someone has been watching Garak very closely long enough to peg his mannerisms to a 't'. Not just to have his mannerisms down, but to extrapolate his most likely course of action. The Dominion is not only aware of Garak, it clearly views him as a threat.”
She inhaled slowly and sat back, now looking as concerned as he felt. “I see your point,” she said. “Garak isn't the only one they were able to simulate well enough to fool us. Benjamin found the Admiral quite believable, even if he was frustrated with her decisions. And I was completely taken in by their version of Eddington.”
“I'm frustrated. According to Starfleet protocol, I can't tell Garak anything about what we experienced here. I can't warn him of the danger he's in,” he said, feeling the unusual urge to hit something.
Dax smiled slightly. “I truly don't think you have to worry about that as much as you think you do. Garak is one of the wariest, most mistrustful people I've ever seen, not just in this lifetime, but in all my lifetimes. He may not be specifically aware that he's in the Dominion's sights, but you can believe he's not going to be taken by surprise. I think the rest of us are in worse danger than he is.”
“You're so comforting,” he said dryly.
“I have my moments,” she said with an impish quirk of her lips. “You really love him, don't you?”
“Beyond reason,” he said with a sigh.
“Why?” she asked, tipping her head. He started to bristle, but she held up her hands. “I'm not asking that to slight him. I just want to understand.”
“Sorry for being defensive,” he murmured, “but I hear enough versions of 'he's evil and can't be trusted' from Miles and even Major Kira. I know he can't be trusted in the way that most of us consider decent or right, but if you know him well enough, you can have a pretty good idea of what he will and won't do. He wasn't raised with Starfleet ethics, and it's not fair to expect him to have them.”
“I don't disagree with you,” she said reasonably. “I feel the same way about the Klingons, but that's not what I asked you.”
“Why does anyone fall in love, Dax? What is it that connects heart to heart? If I had the answer to that, I could retire from Starfleet a wealthy and famous man and solve a lot of problems before they ever even started. He...tries my patience to within a centimeter of my self-control. Half the time, no, over half the time he argues just for the sake of arguing, has exacting expectations, can be insufferably arrogant and condescending, moody, and downright curmudgeonly. He's cynical, sarcastic, and the most stubborn man I've ever met in my life.”
Dax laughed and fanned herself. “Be still my heart. With a list like that, who could possibly resist him?”
He snorted a soft laugh. “I know. To hear me talk, he's awful, but it's what's beneath all of that that takes my breath away. Just when I think he won't understand something that's really important to me, he grasps it better than people who have known me far longer. While he chides me for not being careful enough and criticizes me for being too trusting, when I do get hurt, his patience and compassion are bottomless. He has seen me at my worst and never flinched away, and he has cared for me as conscientiously as I would a fragile patient. He...doesn't let me get away with not expecting the most from myself, and he keeps my ego in check better than anyone I've ever known. What's not to love about that?”
Her smile softened. “Thank you, Julian,” she said.
“For what?” he asked, confused.
“Helping me to understand. Garak isn't the only one who worries about you, you know. I think after this conversation, at least where you and he are concerned, I'll worry a lot less. Do you want me to stay a while?”
“No, that's all right,” he said, standing and offering her a hand up. “If you really want to stop worrying, get to know him. I think you might be pleasantly surprised.”
She walked with him the short distance to the door and paused. “We'll see,” she said. “He makes me uncomfortable. I do believe he cares for you in his own way. He doesn't have that same sentiment when it comes to the rest of us.”
“He never will if you don't give him a chance,” he countered.
She smiled faintly and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “I will consider it,” she said, “but I can't make any promises. Good night, Julian. Try to get some sleep.”
He tried to follow her advice to no avail. As the Defiant continued on its homeward course for the wormhole and Deep Space Nine, he realized he wouldn't truly be able to relax until he saw Garak with his own two eyes, assuming he wasn't still involved in some sort of mind game simulation. And I accuse Garak of paranoia, he thought ironically.
Garak
Garak's Clothiers
Garak was putting the finishing touches on a new rack display when he heard rushed footsteps closing behind him. Whirling to face whoever it was, he barely had time to say, “Ah, my dear, you're back,” before being clenched in an embrace that would've been uncomfortable to anyone with less solid bone structure. He returned the embrace with a bit more care, somewhat taken aback at how fervent the doctor was in his affections. “It has hardly been that long,” he said, amused and trying to pull back. Julian wouldn't allow it. His amusement faded. “Tell me,” he said. “What is it?”
“I can't tell you,” the man replied, his voice muffled against Garak's shoulder. “I just...I need you. Right now.”
“But the shop,” Garak protested.
“Has no customers,” Julian said gruffly.
Baffled, Garak nonetheless obliged. “Computer, close and lock doors,” he said. “At least let me take you to the back. I don't think the few people on the Promenade would appreciate a floor show.”
The doctor released him only to seize his hand and tug him toward the stock room. He was too confused by the uncharacteristic behavior to feel aroused. More than anything, he was worried. He followed in his wake and just for good measure closed the door to the stock room, too. “I'd be much more cooperative if I knew what this was about,” he said.
“It's about this,” Julian replied, kissing him crushingly. “And this,” he murmured against Garak's mouth, reaching down between them to stroke the tailor through his trousers. Garak realized he'd get no real answers as long as his lover was in the throes of whatever strong drive pushed him to such reckless abandon. His body responded well before his mind decided to back its decision wholeheartedly. The doctor took him quickly and roughly in a storm of passion that ended for both of them in record time.
As Garak lay panting on the floor and staring up at the artificial light strip, again he wondered what that had been about. “You do realize you're going to have to tell me something,” he said a bit crossly, turning his head to look at the man sprawled partially naked at his side.
“I don't ever want to lose you,” the doctor replied cryptically and laced his fingers in his to squeeze.
He didn't know what to say to that, but it filled him with trepidation. Whatever had happened on that mission to the Gamma Quadrant, it couldn't have been good. “How very morbid of you,” he said, sitting up and reaching for his undershirt and tunic, both crumpled together on the floor nearby. It was too cold for him to want to lie about for long in a state of partial undress. As much as he hated putting clean clothing over a soiled body, he hated the thought of traipsing half naked back to his quarters far worse.
“I wish I could tell you,” he said earnestly, also sitting up and starting to comport his uniform.
Garak watched his face as he spoke. He saw the minute pinching together of the brows, the drawing in of the lower lip. Whatever had happened pained the doctor much more than his regret at not being able to share it. He couldn't tell how it had anything to do with him, but perhaps he'd understand more in time. “We've been through that before,” he said gently. “You know I don't expect you to compromise your job on my behalf. Surely you can understand, however, how barging into the shop and ravaging me to within an inch of my life during work hours is troubling?”
“Ingrate,” the doctor said, his lips curving into a sly smile that Garak could tell was mostly feigned.
“No, my dear,” he said, leaning to kiss him lightly before climbing to his feet. “Never that. Everyone else made it back in one piece?” he asked carefully.
“Yes,” he answered and stood up beside Garak. “We're all unharmed. I appreciate that you asked.”
“I know they're important to you,” he said. “In that context, how could I not care? As much as I missed you, I really don't want to set a precedent of closing the shop at odd hours of the day. With business as sparse as it is, I need all the hours here I can manage. Can we continue this conversation when I get off work?”
For some reason, that seemed to amuse the doctor. He gave Garak a final tight squeeze, a very naughty grope, and kissed him with such tender emotion that it stole his breath all over again. “Yes,” he said. “We certainly can. For what it's worth, I missed you, too.”
“It's worth quite a bit,” Garak assured him, opening the stock room door and allowing him to precede him out.
Over the next few days, he believed that he was able to piece together at least part of the puzzle. A conversation with Quark helped a little bit. He was disappointed to discover that the Ferengi had not been present with the rest of them for some of the trip. It didn't stop the bar owner from having his own theories. In particular, what he said of Odo's behavior on the return trip was of keen interest to Garak. It felt strange to be taken deeper into Quark's confidences and to share at least a bit of information with him in return. Common enemies make strange bedfellows, he thought.
Strangest of all so far was Julian's sudden announcement one evening that he and Garak had been invited to dinner by Commander Sisko. Garak took one look at his excited expression and knew that no amount of squirming and begging off would spare him from attending. Resigned, he told the doctor to accept for them and braced himself for an evening of supreme discomfort. Hearing who else would be there just made it worse.
He took off a bit early the afternoon of the engagement to give himself plenty of time to prepare, physically and mentally. It was important to him to look his best, as a good suit went a long way toward making him feel more confident. He also drank a single glass of kanar to take the edge off. It truly didn't matter to him what any of the people attending thought of him. It was what his presence could do to Julian that worried him. He believed that their relationship was a detriment to his long term career prospects by virtue of his very existence and race. The least he could do was to make certain that he said and did nothing to give the Commander or the others reason to believe that he was just using the doctor and that the doctor was too naïve to see it.
Despite expecting the door chime, it still startled him when it sounded. “Enter,” he said. He took one look at what his beautiful doctor was wearing and groaned. “You're actually wearing that?” he complained.
“You're such a flatterer,” Julian said dryly. “I feel so much better now.”
Garak sighed and shook his head. “Honestly, I had hoped that by now at least some of my taste would have rubbed off on you. How many times have I said this cut is all wrong for you? Don't even get me started on the hideous color combination.”
Seemingly exasperated and amused in equal measure, the doctor said, “Just hand me my spare uniform from the closet and give me five minutes to change.”
He tsked primly. “That's an improvement, I suppose, but only just. Hurry up and don't muss your hair, or we'll be late.”
Julian
For all of Garak's fussing, they were nowhere close to late, quite the opposite. They were the first to arrive. Jake greeted them at the door. “Hey, Doctor Bashir...Mr. Garak,” he said. “Come on in. Dad and I are still cooking.”
“Hello, Jake,” Julian said cheerfully. Garak inclined his head in that way he had come to associate with Cardassians in general, and the two of them stepped into the quarters. Delicious smells filled the air, and he was very surprised to see Commander Sisko actually cooking on hot plates.
“Welcome, Doctor, Mister Garak,” Sisko said with a smile. “Make yourselves comfortable. There's wine on the sideboard and a few hors d'oeuvres scattered about.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Julian said, returning the smile and moving to pour himself and Garak a glass of white wine. “Everything already smells amazing.”
“Indeed,” Garak added. “It was gracious of you to invite us.”
“It's my pleasure,” the man replied. Jake rejoined him, and the two continued the meal preparation.
Garak took a seat, looking rather formal and stiff while he waited for Julian. The doctor brought him his glass and sat beside him. “So,” he said just a little too brightly, “when you invited us, I didn't realize you meant that you would actually be cooking.”
“Dad loves to cook,” Jake said. “He's really good at it, too.”
“Thank you, son,” Sisko said, beaming. “It's a weakness of mine, a real home cooked meal.” He turned his attention to Garak. “Tell me, Mister Garak, have you ever had Cajun food?”
“I haven't,” the Cardassian answered between sips of wine. “Judging from the smell, I believe I should be sorry to have to say that. I'm looking forward to trying it. Now, is that a reference to some sort of regional cuisine, or a specific style of cooking?”
The doctor felt a small thrill. He hadn't known what to expect from Garak in this sort of situation, as he had never had the chance to see him in a purely social context with his co-workers. So far he seemed to be maybe not exactly enjoying himself but on his best behavior. He knew that he was scoring at least a few points with the Commander by showing an interest in something that obviously interested him.
“A little bit of both, actually,” Sisko answered. He quickly warmed to the subject, all too happily indulging Garak's curiosity. Julian was content to listen. He didn't want to interrupt the moment, so he sipped his wine and tried some of the cheese ball on the low table in front of him on a cracker.
The door chimed, and Jake moved to answer it. “Hi, Major Kira,” he said. “Come on in.”
The doctor stiffened slightly, glancing out of the corners of his eyes at Garak. The Bajoran woman followed Jake inside and visibly paused when she spotted the tailor seated beside the doctor. Perhaps he should have given her advance warning that Garak would be there, but he had been afraid that if he did, she might not come at all. The look she shot Julian could have bored a hole in the station hull. “I'm glad to see I'm not late,” she managed, bee lining for the wine.
“Not at all, Major,” Sisko said. “Will Odo still be joining us?”
“The last I spoke to him he said he intended to,” she replied. She turned with a full glass and eyed each seat, settling on the one furthest away from the Cardassian. She perched on the edge. “He probably got tied up in Security at the last minute.”
“I was under the impression that things were rather quiet of late,” Garak said mildly.
She glanced sharply at him, again cut a look at Julian, and said, “I really wouldn't know. Things come up.”
“That they do,” Julian cut in. “Just this morning, I wound up with three cases of Bolian rhino virus in the infirmary, even though the last Bolian left the station several days ago. Incubation periods, you know.”
“Fascinating,” Garak said in a way that made him want to elbow him. Had they not been in polite company, he would've. “The Commander was just explaining Cajun cuisine to me, Major,” he said pleasantly. “It has quite the intriguing history, a people forced to leave their ancestral home, settling anew, and being forced to move again. They trek across an entire continent, settle in a region most consider uninhabitable due to all manner of dangerous wildlife, and turn it into food. I do hope I got that right?” he asked, glancing at Sisko.
The Commander looked highly amused. “You did, Mister Garak; I believe in the most succinct way I have ever heard you speak.”
“Brevity is the soul of wit,” he quipped.
“That would explain a lot,” Kira said a bit flatly.
“As you see,” the tailor gestured to the Major with a broad smile.
“What is this wine?” Julian cut in desperately. “It's really very good.” At the rate those two were going, he could tell he'd be drinking a lot of it that night.
“Oh, it's just a nice table brand of Pinot Grigio,” Sisko answered. “I'll make sure you leave with a label if you really like it. I order it on a fairly regular basis. I can always include an order for you with mine.”
“I'd like that,” Julian said. He didn't like the way Garak and Kira were eying one another at all, but he wasn't sure what he could do about it without making things worse. Kira's attitude was to be expected, he supposed. It was Garak's that worried him. He knew that look. It meant trouble, mischief, and provocation. It meant that if Garak wasn't careful, he might get himself slapped. “Here,” he said, standing and plucking Garak's mostly empty glass from his hand. “Let me get you a refill.” He used the moment he had his back to the Major to glare daggers at his lover and mouth, Behave!
“Thank you, my dear,” Garak said. The doctor couldn't tell if he intended to follow his order or not. Nothing had changed in his demeanor. “May I pass you anything, Major?” he asked, waiting until Julian was too far away to intervene. “You're seated quite the distance from the food.”
“No,” she said sharply, adding with some difficulty, “thank you. I'm fine.”
“Don't eat too much,” Jake said gamely. “You'll want to save room for the main course.”
“I wouldn't dream of spoiling my appetite,” Garak assured him.
Kira's mood improved visibly with the arrival of Odo. The changeling took an interest in the food preparation, heading over to watch Sisko and Jake up close. With Kira's attention now on the trio, Julian leaned close to Garak and murmured, “I don't know if it's that you can't help yourself or you won't, but please at least try not to provoke her and make things awkward.”
“My dear Doctor, I have no idea what you're talking about,” he said innocently, sipping his wine.
They turned their attention toward Odo, who was getting an impromptu lesson in souffle making. Everything seemed as though it would work out well after all, until Julian discovered that part of the meal included sauteed beets. “Beets?” he asked without enthusiasm. He should have known better, for the conversation went exactly as it did any time one expressed a dislike for a particular type of food. He was quickly informed that he simply hadn't had them prepared properly.
Dax's arrival gave Garak an opening. He murmured close to the doctor's ear, “Don't be difficult about the food. It's quite rude!”
He couldn't tell if he was serious or just taking the opportunity to goad him. Knowing Garak, the chance of either was around fifty/fifty. The pre-dinner banter continued until Dax discovered Jake's keyboard on the table and began playing around with it. At first, it didn't sound like much, but suddenly, she played a very lyrical refrain.
“That was lovely,” Julian said, surprised since she had expressed her belief that she had a complete lack of musical ability.
“Quiet!” she snapped, trying again unsuccessfully.
Taken aback, he blinked in surprise and stilled. No one said anything for a few uncomfortable moments. When she couldn't reproduce the piece again, she finally gave up, but he could tell she didn't want to. Jake broke the awkwardness with the welcome announcement that dinner was ready.
The food was every bit as delicious as the smells had promised. He did not like the beets, but he ate a few anyway, as much to satisfy Garak as Commander Sisko. He didn't have the heart to tell the man that to him, they just tasted like dirt, sweet dirt, but still dirt. Dax seemed a bit subdued and preoccupied for the rest of dinner, not at all like her. He determined that he would ask her later if something was wrong or if he had offended her in some way. He hoped that her attitude wasn't because of Garak's presence there. It didn't seem too likely. She was as friendly to the tailor as she was to any of them that night.
He was grateful that whatever mercurial mood had seized his lover early in the evening eased with the enjoyment of the meal. Garak made no further effort to provoke Major Kira in any way, and he contributed pleasantly to the dinner conversation without dominating it or becoming overbearing. It was as close to a normal social outing as Julian could have hoped for. They chose to leave at the same time as Dax, earlier than Major Kira and Odo so that they wouldn't be those people, the sort who were first arrivals and the last to depart and always so taxing to a host.
As they strolled back toward Julian's quarters, the closer of the two, they walked arm in arm. “I want to thank you,” Julian said, “for letting me have a pleasant evening out with you and coming along. I know you didn't want to.”
“I'm glad that I did,” Garak replied lightly. “It was most informative.”
Julian arched a brow. “Do you really expect me to believe you found the history of the Acadians and Cajun cuisine that intriguing?”
Garak sighed. “Every time I think you're making real progress, you say something like that and dash my hopes to pieces. It's very cruel of you, you know.”
He rolled his eyes and stopped before his door to key his entry code. Garak gestured for him to precede him inside. He did so, turning toward Garak once the door closed. “I can't imagine what else you may have learned. No one said anything earth shatteringly interesting, and aside from Dax's somewhat odd behavior, nothing of any real note happened.”
The Cardassian's lips quirked into the smile that Julian found his most maddening. It managed to imply that Garak knew something he didn't, felt that he ought to know it, and found it amusing and disappointing that he didn't all at once; not to mention it was mocking. He knew from over three years of association that nothing he said or did would pry the information out of the man once he got that smile. “Be that way, then,” he said in exasperation, heading to his bedroom to change out of his uniform.
He returned to find Garak gazing out the star port. For a few minutes, he stood quietly in his bedroom doorway and simply watched. At times the man held such profound stillness, usually in moments when he wasn't aware anyone was looking. It was hard to catch him like that. When Julian did, he felt as though he bore witness to a gulf of sadness and isolation that he was helpless to combat. No matter what he touched in Garak, he knew on an instinctive level that he never touched that. He doubted that there was a person alive who could, and he wondered if it would disappear were Garak able to return to his beloved Cardassia or if it was an indelible part of his character, forged long before his exile.
To his surprise, he found that while he lost himself in thought, he had become the observed. “Such a look,” Garak said softly.
“I could say the same thing,” he replied, his false cheer ringing flat in his ears. He closed the distance between them and stood behind the man, slipping his arms about his waist and resting his chin on one of his shoulders. “What are you looking at out there?”
“I'm not,” the tailor said cryptically. He covered Julian's hands with both of his and didn't elaborate.
“Something...in here, then?” the doctor asked hesitantly, twisting his neck to press a kiss to Garak's temple so that he'd know what he meant.
Garak turned in his arms and smiled an odd smile. “You are learning after all,” he said. “Aren't you going to ask me what it is?”
Julian nuzzled him nose to nose. “No,” he said. “You'll tell me when you're ready, or you won't. I'm not going to ask.”
The Cardassian's smile deepened, his blue eyes shining. “Oh, my dear, we truly have made some progress. Now, let's go get sweaty so we have an excuse for pillow talk.”
He laughed, startled right out of his contemplative mood. As they headed for the bedroom, he wondered if that hadn't been exactly Garak's intention. Some of his manipulations were so much more subtle than others that it was always safest just to assume intent.
Summary: As the threat of the Dominion looms large over the station, Doctor Julian Bashir and tailor and spy Elim Garak must make some tough decisions regarding love, loyalty, and the meaning of duty. Each will be forced to sacrifice, but in the end, is the price too high?
Author: Dark Sinestra
Date Written: December, 2009
Category: Slash
Rating: R for some implied scenes of sex, mild adult language and intense adult themes.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these lovely characters, episode plots, or settings from Star Trek Deep Space 9. All remain the property of Paramount, and I receive nothing but satisfaction in playing God.
Word Count: 12,238
Garak
Julian's Private Quarters
2371
The heap of blankets covering Julian's bed stirred slightly. Garak was now awake, that transitional moment for him always nearly instantaneous. His Cardassian eyes had no trouble penetrating the deep gloom. With minimal shifting, he managed to encourage his still slumbering lover into his embrace, Julian's head in the hollow of shoulder and chest, a bare arm and leg snaking over Garak's torso and thighs. Stroking his fingertips delicately over Julian's shoulder and down the length of his exposed back, he coaxed the man to wakefulness. He still marveled at how the doctor awoke in increments, as though parts of his brain came to awareness more quickly than other parts, one of their many differences that secretly delighted him. He looked down into upturned brown eyes, aware that to Julian's perception, his face was currently little more than shadow.
“Mnh,” the doctor protested, his arm tightening in its hold. “Is it really morning already?”
“I'm afraid so,” Garak said, tipping his chin until the man's wavy hair tickled his lips. “What time are they expecting you to report to the docking ring?” he asked.
“0700 sharp,” came the glum reply. “I wish they'd allow you to come along.”
Garak allowed himself a small smile and pressed it to the top of Julian's head. “I'm just as glad they haven't considered it. They'd simply try to put me to work, and before long I'd feel in over my head and completely useless. What place does a tailor have aboard a warship?”
Julian's snorted laughter tickled his scales and pectoral ridge. “You never tire of that game, do you?” he asked, lifting his head and inadvertently letting cold air under their warm cocoon of blankets.
Making a soft sound of protest, the tailor reached up and sealed the breach. “No more than you,” he said. “I'd love to be able to tell you that I awoke in time for us to have a more proper send off for you, but I'm afraid I didn't. If you want to be on time, you're going to have to hurry.”
“Well, then,” the doctor said, bending to nibble along the ridge conveniently in reach, “you will simply have to use some of the down time you'll have while I'm away concocting a plan to make it up to me.”
“After last night, I'm surprised you can say that to me with a straight face,” he replied drolly.
“After last night, I'll be surprised if I can do anything straight for some time,” Julian said smartly. “Nonetheless, I expect you won't disappoint.” He leaned up and kissed Garak soundly then slid from the bed, disturbing the blankets as little as possible.
Garak appreciated the consideration, even more when Julian called the lights up at just fifteen percent. It was still bright to his dark adjusted eyes, but at least it didn't stab into his skull like the tip of a dirk. He watched with unabashed enjoyment while the well built, slender man moved naked about the room, gathering all of his fallen clothing and passing it to him under the blankets. “You really expect me to dress without showering?” he asked.
Julian's lips pursed with amusement. “You're such a bundle of contradictions. You clearly have no issue with getting messy, and you don't insist on jumping right into the shower after even our most strenuous exertions, but you won't put your clothes on without a shower?”
Reluctantly, Garak sat up to face the chill of the room. “If you spent as much time making your clothing as I've spent on mine, it would make perfect sense to you, Doctor,” he said primly. “Besides, I was thinking we could shower together.”
“Since you put it that way...”
They spent the rest of their brief time left together performing what Garak privately thought of as the dance of polite lies, with Julian assuring him that he had no reason to worry for his safety and Garak in turn giving assurances that worry was the farthest thing from his mind. He had a backlog of work to keep him busy, and he knew that they wouldn't be gone overly long. He had every confidence that they would succeed in whatever it was they were endeavoring to do. Julian, of course, regretted that he couldn't just come out and tell Garak what that was, but it was a matter of Starfleet security. Surely he understood. Of course he did, and he'd never put Julian in such an awkward position as to ask!
He had learned over time that the best way to handle any sort of leave taking with the younger human was to keep it simple and light, the proverbial difference between the cut of a scalpel and that of a saw. As soon as he left his lover's quarters, he dropped all pretense of levity. The truth was that the growing threat of invasion had him deeply concerned, and much of that concern centered around his own safety. The others, if necessary, could flee Deep Space Nine and be reasonably assured that at least for some time, they would be safe again. Garak had no such assurances. If he went anywhere but exactly where he was supposed to be, an entire fleet of Federation warships wouldn't prevent the lone assassin in the dark that he knew would find him.
The Promenade was more deserted than he had seen it since the end of the occupation. While he did have a backlog of some work, he wondered if the customers would even be around to pick up their finished products when all was said and done. He couldn't blame any of them, not the Bajorans retreating back to Bajor, nor the other aliens who were booking passage away on any available transports that they could. He would have already done the same if the option were available to him with the promise to write Julian when he was settled. He was not one for heroics and last stands. While they might make entertaining reading for some whose lives lacked sufficient stimulation and excitement, for him heroics was just a synonym for stupidity, and last stands were for those who lacked the wit to escape a situation before they found their backs to the wall.
He worked on his backlog for most of the day. Only when he was sure that the Defiant had departed the station for the Gamma Quadrant with most of the senior Starfleet staff and some of the Bajoran staff aboard did he risk sending a coded transmission to his clandestine contact on Cardassia. He never received anything more than an acknowledgment of his transmissions for his trouble, and sometimes he didn't even receive that. Still, it made him feel useful in a small way to know that despite his exile, he did his part in service to the state. Who better to know the developing situation with the mysterious Dominion than someone close to the front lines?
If his dear Julian knew just how much he gleaned from their seemingly innocent conversations, he would probably never speak to Garak again out of fear of revealing more. Garak didn't have to ask questions or hear anything specific to read between the lines. He sighed softly, reflecting that in his life he had experienced few things worse than the knowledge that he was a well made, finely honed tool crafted for a purpose he was now denied. Tain and the others were being short sighted not using a resource they had cultivated so carefully and for so long, and Cardassia could well suffer for it. You can keep me from my contacts and resources, but you'll never keep me from doing what I know I do best, he thought.
Feeling bolstered after sending his report on the status of Starfleet's intentions with the Dominion, he closed up shop for the day and decided to take a brief detour into Quark's. To his understanding, Quark was included on the Defiant's journey because of Ferengi business dealings. In a small way, it rankled the professional in him. Of course, he had worked hard to cultivate the image that he was nothing more than a tailor. He knew they didn't believe him, but he also knew they had no idea just how useful he could be and that they saw any potential benefit in trying to find out far outweighed by the detriment of his loyalties.
It took him a second or two to realize what felt out of place in the bar. Morn was nowhere to be seen. For that matter, aside from a smattering of tense looking employees, neither was anyone else. He strolled to the bar and took a seat opposite a very disconsolate looking Rom. “Hi, Garak,” Rom said. “Wh-what can I get for you?”
“I'll have a glass of kanar,” he said. “I see my business isn't the only one with a dearth of customers today.”
“Today, tomorrow, probably forever,” the Ferengi said glumly. He set Garak's glass before him and glanced around the empty space behind him. “It's not fair.”
Garak pulled his glass closer and lifted it for a sip. “Fair?” he asked.
Rom nodded, his mouth setting in a bitter line. “All this time I've waited and worked in my brother's bar, hoping that some day it would be mine. Now, even if it happens, it'll just be a place run over by the Dominion!”
“Maybe it's time to come up with a new plan,” Garak said mildly. He genuinely liked Rom. The Ferengi had always been kind to him and deserved better than Quark for a brother and ambitions so curtailed by a lack of confidence.
“Like what?” he asked skeptically.
Garak peered at him a moment before answering, “I have every confidence that you'll figure it out,” and downing the rest of his kanar in a swallow. He set payment to the bar top.
“Y-you do?” Rom asked, eying him mistrustfully, as though he expected a hidden barb.
“I do,” he said, nodding and not elaborating. No amount of unsolicited advice was going to drag the man out of his self-imposed holding pattern. It was quite possible that this Dominion threat could be one of the best things that ever happened to Rom, he believed. As he had personally experienced, there was nothing like the prospect of losing one's entire accustomed way of life to inspire creative thinking.
Rom smiled hesitantly. “Thank you, Garak,” he said.
He inclined his head graciously and returned the smile. “I should be on my way. If things get too quiet tomorrow, come by the shop for a bit. My replicator is on its last legs, but I believe it can manage some tea.”
“I'll do that,” Rom said eagerly. “Maybe I can do something about the replicator, too.”
“That would be very kind of you,” he replied, having his doubts. “Good evening.”
Rom came by early the next day, bearing a small toolkit and asking Garak to direct him to the replicator. He guided him into his stock room and showed him the ailing device. “I've had a request in for some time now for someone to come have a look at it,” he said, “but I'm not high on the priority list, I'm afraid.” Quite the opposite he knew, if Chief O'Brien still felt the same level of hostility toward him as he had displayed in their last encounter.
“We have the same problem at the bar,” Rom told him, kneeling down and removing the panel covering all of the device's inner workings. “My brother says it's because Odo doesn't like him. I think it's Starfleet. They're just like that, thinking they're better than everybody else when they're just the same. Worse, even, because they try to pretend they're not.” He disconnected the power source and got to work.
As Garak watched the work in progress, he found himself startled by two things, the first being that Rom actually seemed to know what he was doing with that toolkit of his and the second that while he was working, he lost his tendency to stammer and hesitate. Not only that, his observation about Starfleet was pointedly accurate. “I try to tell the doctor the same thing all the time,” he said.
“He's nicer than most of them,” Rom said, digging in further and twisting his head to have a look at some of the wiring, “but he's still one of them.”
“That he is,” the Cardassian agreed. “Tell me, does Quark know you're this talented with machinery?”
“No,” the Ferengi replied. “He doesn't have any idea how often things break down in the bar. I just fix them when he's not there.”
“Why don't you tell him?” Garak asked, intrigued at this glimpse into a family dynamic he had never understood very well.
“Because then he'd expect it of me,” he answered, pulling out some wires with degraded insulation. “You're lucky I found these,” he said, reaching up to hand them to Garak. “With all this cloth back here, you could've had a bad fire.”
Garak dutifully took the wiring and gave it his attention. “Yes, it is fortunate you found that,” he agreed, but he was determined not to be deterred from his original line of questioning. With everyone of interest to him on the other side of the wormhole, he craved distraction. “Would it be so bad if he had higher expectations of you?” he asked.
Rom shot him an incredulous look. “He already expects too much, and there's barely enough time in the day to do what he asks. If he expected me to fix everything, too, I'd never have any time to myself.”
“But you fix everything anyway,” he pointed out.
“On my schedule, not Quark's.” He stood then and brushed at his hands. “You've got some burnt out components in there. I have a collection of spare parts at the bar. I'm going to go see if I have what you need. I'll be right back.”
Garak watched him hurry away with that odd, crabbed gait of his, bemused. There was much more to the Ferengi than met the eye. It was a shame he was wasting himself in that bar. It was also a shame he had never bothered before now to talk in depth to the man. He decided that he would carve out a little more time in his schedule for such socializing. Who knew what sorts of things he could learn from unguarded moments?
Rom returned with a tray loaded with various parts. Garak raised an eye ridge. “That much needs replacing?” he asked.
Rom shook his head. “No, but I don't know how many of these are in working order. I scavenge stuff the engineers throw out before it gets taken off for incineration. They're really wasteful sometimes. Just because one component doesn't work, they chuck it out when they could rebuild it instead.” He knelt back in place and began testing the parts.
Garak found himself smiling slightly. He could respect the ethic of frugality. How often had he made it out of a situation simply because he wasn't quick to part with his resources? He knew enough about what Rom was doing to realize that not only was he competent, he was good, really good. He worked with a surety of purpose that no mere tinkerer would possess. After less time than it would have taken Garak working on the same problem with limited resources, Rom had the replicator turning out a decent spice pudding in addition to red leaf tea. “Is that better than it was?” he asked Garak.
“Far better,” Garak replied. “I feel as though I should pay you for this.”
“I did it as a favor,” the Ferengi said, looking somewhat put out at the offer.
Truly, he was full of surprises. Garak inclined his head respectfully. “Then you have my thanks. At least stay for tea and pudding.” Rom beamed and nodded, and the two of them managed to make a pleasant time of it together.
Isolation and idleness had always been challenges for the tailor. He spent much of his time writing in his journal when he wasn't working and staring out his star port when he wasn't writing. Being the one left behind was always more difficult than being the one in the thick of things, he thought. He had new appreciation for all of the patient Cardassian wives whose husbands were married more to their careers than their spouses and thought it a shame that most of those career military men had such little respect or even understanding of just what price their families paid. Were the results worth it? He found himself wondering. Come back safely to me, became a familiar refrain for his solitude.
Julian
USS Defiant
Gamma Quadrant, heading Alpha Quadrant
After the third hail to his cramped quarters, Julian relented. “Enter,” he said.
Dax stepped through the door and waited for it to slide shut behind her. She graced him with an understanding look. “I thought you might want to talk,” she offered.
He nodded, and she took the seat opposite him. It took him some time to formulate what was running through his mind into coherence. The knowledge that his experience of watching Garak shot to death by a Jem'Hadar right before his eyes was just a simulation wasn't much comfort at all. He feared that he would discover that something terrible had happened for real when they got back. If it hadn't, there were still some extremely disturbing implications to the scenario that filled him with nothing less than cold dread. “I know I didn't act like it,” he said, “but the moment Garak went down, I was lost.” He couldn't meet her gaze.
“I'm sure you were,” she said, leaning forward and covering his hand with hers. “But you stayed focused, and you did what you had to do. He'd expect nothing less of you.”
“I know,” he said, nodding and glad of the touch. He was shaken to his core. “The thing that really disturbs me is that most of us in that scenario were hooked in somehow. That Vorta had us linked so that our respective actions were what we'd really do in that situation.” He lifted his gaze to hers and held it. “The real Garak wasn't there, and yet I couldn't tell the difference.”
“You can't blame yourself for that,” she said. “Things were so tense...”
“No, Jadzia, you don't understand,” he interrupted her. “That's just it. There was no way for me to tell, which means that someone has been watching Garak very closely long enough to peg his mannerisms to a 't'. Not just to have his mannerisms down, but to extrapolate his most likely course of action. The Dominion is not only aware of Garak, it clearly views him as a threat.”
She inhaled slowly and sat back, now looking as concerned as he felt. “I see your point,” she said. “Garak isn't the only one they were able to simulate well enough to fool us. Benjamin found the Admiral quite believable, even if he was frustrated with her decisions. And I was completely taken in by their version of Eddington.”
“I'm frustrated. According to Starfleet protocol, I can't tell Garak anything about what we experienced here. I can't warn him of the danger he's in,” he said, feeling the unusual urge to hit something.
Dax smiled slightly. “I truly don't think you have to worry about that as much as you think you do. Garak is one of the wariest, most mistrustful people I've ever seen, not just in this lifetime, but in all my lifetimes. He may not be specifically aware that he's in the Dominion's sights, but you can believe he's not going to be taken by surprise. I think the rest of us are in worse danger than he is.”
“You're so comforting,” he said dryly.
“I have my moments,” she said with an impish quirk of her lips. “You really love him, don't you?”
“Beyond reason,” he said with a sigh.
“Why?” she asked, tipping her head. He started to bristle, but she held up her hands. “I'm not asking that to slight him. I just want to understand.”
“Sorry for being defensive,” he murmured, “but I hear enough versions of 'he's evil and can't be trusted' from Miles and even Major Kira. I know he can't be trusted in the way that most of us consider decent or right, but if you know him well enough, you can have a pretty good idea of what he will and won't do. He wasn't raised with Starfleet ethics, and it's not fair to expect him to have them.”
“I don't disagree with you,” she said reasonably. “I feel the same way about the Klingons, but that's not what I asked you.”
“Why does anyone fall in love, Dax? What is it that connects heart to heart? If I had the answer to that, I could retire from Starfleet a wealthy and famous man and solve a lot of problems before they ever even started. He...tries my patience to within a centimeter of my self-control. Half the time, no, over half the time he argues just for the sake of arguing, has exacting expectations, can be insufferably arrogant and condescending, moody, and downright curmudgeonly. He's cynical, sarcastic, and the most stubborn man I've ever met in my life.”
Dax laughed and fanned herself. “Be still my heart. With a list like that, who could possibly resist him?”
He snorted a soft laugh. “I know. To hear me talk, he's awful, but it's what's beneath all of that that takes my breath away. Just when I think he won't understand something that's really important to me, he grasps it better than people who have known me far longer. While he chides me for not being careful enough and criticizes me for being too trusting, when I do get hurt, his patience and compassion are bottomless. He has seen me at my worst and never flinched away, and he has cared for me as conscientiously as I would a fragile patient. He...doesn't let me get away with not expecting the most from myself, and he keeps my ego in check better than anyone I've ever known. What's not to love about that?”
Her smile softened. “Thank you, Julian,” she said.
“For what?” he asked, confused.
“Helping me to understand. Garak isn't the only one who worries about you, you know. I think after this conversation, at least where you and he are concerned, I'll worry a lot less. Do you want me to stay a while?”
“No, that's all right,” he said, standing and offering her a hand up. “If you really want to stop worrying, get to know him. I think you might be pleasantly surprised.”
She walked with him the short distance to the door and paused. “We'll see,” she said. “He makes me uncomfortable. I do believe he cares for you in his own way. He doesn't have that same sentiment when it comes to the rest of us.”
“He never will if you don't give him a chance,” he countered.
She smiled faintly and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “I will consider it,” she said, “but I can't make any promises. Good night, Julian. Try to get some sleep.”
He tried to follow her advice to no avail. As the Defiant continued on its homeward course for the wormhole and Deep Space Nine, he realized he wouldn't truly be able to relax until he saw Garak with his own two eyes, assuming he wasn't still involved in some sort of mind game simulation. And I accuse Garak of paranoia, he thought ironically.
Garak
Garak's Clothiers
Garak was putting the finishing touches on a new rack display when he heard rushed footsteps closing behind him. Whirling to face whoever it was, he barely had time to say, “Ah, my dear, you're back,” before being clenched in an embrace that would've been uncomfortable to anyone with less solid bone structure. He returned the embrace with a bit more care, somewhat taken aback at how fervent the doctor was in his affections. “It has hardly been that long,” he said, amused and trying to pull back. Julian wouldn't allow it. His amusement faded. “Tell me,” he said. “What is it?”
“I can't tell you,” the man replied, his voice muffled against Garak's shoulder. “I just...I need you. Right now.”
“But the shop,” Garak protested.
“Has no customers,” Julian said gruffly.
Baffled, Garak nonetheless obliged. “Computer, close and lock doors,” he said. “At least let me take you to the back. I don't think the few people on the Promenade would appreciate a floor show.”
The doctor released him only to seize his hand and tug him toward the stock room. He was too confused by the uncharacteristic behavior to feel aroused. More than anything, he was worried. He followed in his wake and just for good measure closed the door to the stock room, too. “I'd be much more cooperative if I knew what this was about,” he said.
“It's about this,” Julian replied, kissing him crushingly. “And this,” he murmured against Garak's mouth, reaching down between them to stroke the tailor through his trousers. Garak realized he'd get no real answers as long as his lover was in the throes of whatever strong drive pushed him to such reckless abandon. His body responded well before his mind decided to back its decision wholeheartedly. The doctor took him quickly and roughly in a storm of passion that ended for both of them in record time.
As Garak lay panting on the floor and staring up at the artificial light strip, again he wondered what that had been about. “You do realize you're going to have to tell me something,” he said a bit crossly, turning his head to look at the man sprawled partially naked at his side.
“I don't ever want to lose you,” the doctor replied cryptically and laced his fingers in his to squeeze.
He didn't know what to say to that, but it filled him with trepidation. Whatever had happened on that mission to the Gamma Quadrant, it couldn't have been good. “How very morbid of you,” he said, sitting up and reaching for his undershirt and tunic, both crumpled together on the floor nearby. It was too cold for him to want to lie about for long in a state of partial undress. As much as he hated putting clean clothing over a soiled body, he hated the thought of traipsing half naked back to his quarters far worse.
“I wish I could tell you,” he said earnestly, also sitting up and starting to comport his uniform.
Garak watched his face as he spoke. He saw the minute pinching together of the brows, the drawing in of the lower lip. Whatever had happened pained the doctor much more than his regret at not being able to share it. He couldn't tell how it had anything to do with him, but perhaps he'd understand more in time. “We've been through that before,” he said gently. “You know I don't expect you to compromise your job on my behalf. Surely you can understand, however, how barging into the shop and ravaging me to within an inch of my life during work hours is troubling?”
“Ingrate,” the doctor said, his lips curving into a sly smile that Garak could tell was mostly feigned.
“No, my dear,” he said, leaning to kiss him lightly before climbing to his feet. “Never that. Everyone else made it back in one piece?” he asked carefully.
“Yes,” he answered and stood up beside Garak. “We're all unharmed. I appreciate that you asked.”
“I know they're important to you,” he said. “In that context, how could I not care? As much as I missed you, I really don't want to set a precedent of closing the shop at odd hours of the day. With business as sparse as it is, I need all the hours here I can manage. Can we continue this conversation when I get off work?”
For some reason, that seemed to amuse the doctor. He gave Garak a final tight squeeze, a very naughty grope, and kissed him with such tender emotion that it stole his breath all over again. “Yes,” he said. “We certainly can. For what it's worth, I missed you, too.”
“It's worth quite a bit,” Garak assured him, opening the stock room door and allowing him to precede him out.
Over the next few days, he believed that he was able to piece together at least part of the puzzle. A conversation with Quark helped a little bit. He was disappointed to discover that the Ferengi had not been present with the rest of them for some of the trip. It didn't stop the bar owner from having his own theories. In particular, what he said of Odo's behavior on the return trip was of keen interest to Garak. It felt strange to be taken deeper into Quark's confidences and to share at least a bit of information with him in return. Common enemies make strange bedfellows, he thought.
Strangest of all so far was Julian's sudden announcement one evening that he and Garak had been invited to dinner by Commander Sisko. Garak took one look at his excited expression and knew that no amount of squirming and begging off would spare him from attending. Resigned, he told the doctor to accept for them and braced himself for an evening of supreme discomfort. Hearing who else would be there just made it worse.
He took off a bit early the afternoon of the engagement to give himself plenty of time to prepare, physically and mentally. It was important to him to look his best, as a good suit went a long way toward making him feel more confident. He also drank a single glass of kanar to take the edge off. It truly didn't matter to him what any of the people attending thought of him. It was what his presence could do to Julian that worried him. He believed that their relationship was a detriment to his long term career prospects by virtue of his very existence and race. The least he could do was to make certain that he said and did nothing to give the Commander or the others reason to believe that he was just using the doctor and that the doctor was too naïve to see it.
Despite expecting the door chime, it still startled him when it sounded. “Enter,” he said. He took one look at what his beautiful doctor was wearing and groaned. “You're actually wearing that?” he complained.
“You're such a flatterer,” Julian said dryly. “I feel so much better now.”
Garak sighed and shook his head. “Honestly, I had hoped that by now at least some of my taste would have rubbed off on you. How many times have I said this cut is all wrong for you? Don't even get me started on the hideous color combination.”
Seemingly exasperated and amused in equal measure, the doctor said, “Just hand me my spare uniform from the closet and give me five minutes to change.”
He tsked primly. “That's an improvement, I suppose, but only just. Hurry up and don't muss your hair, or we'll be late.”
Julian
For all of Garak's fussing, they were nowhere close to late, quite the opposite. They were the first to arrive. Jake greeted them at the door. “Hey, Doctor Bashir...Mr. Garak,” he said. “Come on in. Dad and I are still cooking.”
“Hello, Jake,” Julian said cheerfully. Garak inclined his head in that way he had come to associate with Cardassians in general, and the two of them stepped into the quarters. Delicious smells filled the air, and he was very surprised to see Commander Sisko actually cooking on hot plates.
“Welcome, Doctor, Mister Garak,” Sisko said with a smile. “Make yourselves comfortable. There's wine on the sideboard and a few hors d'oeuvres scattered about.”
“Thank you, Commander,” Julian said, returning the smile and moving to pour himself and Garak a glass of white wine. “Everything already smells amazing.”
“Indeed,” Garak added. “It was gracious of you to invite us.”
“It's my pleasure,” the man replied. Jake rejoined him, and the two continued the meal preparation.
Garak took a seat, looking rather formal and stiff while he waited for Julian. The doctor brought him his glass and sat beside him. “So,” he said just a little too brightly, “when you invited us, I didn't realize you meant that you would actually be cooking.”
“Dad loves to cook,” Jake said. “He's really good at it, too.”
“Thank you, son,” Sisko said, beaming. “It's a weakness of mine, a real home cooked meal.” He turned his attention to Garak. “Tell me, Mister Garak, have you ever had Cajun food?”
“I haven't,” the Cardassian answered between sips of wine. “Judging from the smell, I believe I should be sorry to have to say that. I'm looking forward to trying it. Now, is that a reference to some sort of regional cuisine, or a specific style of cooking?”
The doctor felt a small thrill. He hadn't known what to expect from Garak in this sort of situation, as he had never had the chance to see him in a purely social context with his co-workers. So far he seemed to be maybe not exactly enjoying himself but on his best behavior. He knew that he was scoring at least a few points with the Commander by showing an interest in something that obviously interested him.
“A little bit of both, actually,” Sisko answered. He quickly warmed to the subject, all too happily indulging Garak's curiosity. Julian was content to listen. He didn't want to interrupt the moment, so he sipped his wine and tried some of the cheese ball on the low table in front of him on a cracker.
The door chimed, and Jake moved to answer it. “Hi, Major Kira,” he said. “Come on in.”
The doctor stiffened slightly, glancing out of the corners of his eyes at Garak. The Bajoran woman followed Jake inside and visibly paused when she spotted the tailor seated beside the doctor. Perhaps he should have given her advance warning that Garak would be there, but he had been afraid that if he did, she might not come at all. The look she shot Julian could have bored a hole in the station hull. “I'm glad to see I'm not late,” she managed, bee lining for the wine.
“Not at all, Major,” Sisko said. “Will Odo still be joining us?”
“The last I spoke to him he said he intended to,” she replied. She turned with a full glass and eyed each seat, settling on the one furthest away from the Cardassian. She perched on the edge. “He probably got tied up in Security at the last minute.”
“I was under the impression that things were rather quiet of late,” Garak said mildly.
She glanced sharply at him, again cut a look at Julian, and said, “I really wouldn't know. Things come up.”
“That they do,” Julian cut in. “Just this morning, I wound up with three cases of Bolian rhino virus in the infirmary, even though the last Bolian left the station several days ago. Incubation periods, you know.”
“Fascinating,” Garak said in a way that made him want to elbow him. Had they not been in polite company, he would've. “The Commander was just explaining Cajun cuisine to me, Major,” he said pleasantly. “It has quite the intriguing history, a people forced to leave their ancestral home, settling anew, and being forced to move again. They trek across an entire continent, settle in a region most consider uninhabitable due to all manner of dangerous wildlife, and turn it into food. I do hope I got that right?” he asked, glancing at Sisko.
The Commander looked highly amused. “You did, Mister Garak; I believe in the most succinct way I have ever heard you speak.”
“Brevity is the soul of wit,” he quipped.
“That would explain a lot,” Kira said a bit flatly.
“As you see,” the tailor gestured to the Major with a broad smile.
“What is this wine?” Julian cut in desperately. “It's really very good.” At the rate those two were going, he could tell he'd be drinking a lot of it that night.
“Oh, it's just a nice table brand of Pinot Grigio,” Sisko answered. “I'll make sure you leave with a label if you really like it. I order it on a fairly regular basis. I can always include an order for you with mine.”
“I'd like that,” Julian said. He didn't like the way Garak and Kira were eying one another at all, but he wasn't sure what he could do about it without making things worse. Kira's attitude was to be expected, he supposed. It was Garak's that worried him. He knew that look. It meant trouble, mischief, and provocation. It meant that if Garak wasn't careful, he might get himself slapped. “Here,” he said, standing and plucking Garak's mostly empty glass from his hand. “Let me get you a refill.” He used the moment he had his back to the Major to glare daggers at his lover and mouth, Behave!
“Thank you, my dear,” Garak said. The doctor couldn't tell if he intended to follow his order or not. Nothing had changed in his demeanor. “May I pass you anything, Major?” he asked, waiting until Julian was too far away to intervene. “You're seated quite the distance from the food.”
“No,” she said sharply, adding with some difficulty, “thank you. I'm fine.”
“Don't eat too much,” Jake said gamely. “You'll want to save room for the main course.”
“I wouldn't dream of spoiling my appetite,” Garak assured him.
Kira's mood improved visibly with the arrival of Odo. The changeling took an interest in the food preparation, heading over to watch Sisko and Jake up close. With Kira's attention now on the trio, Julian leaned close to Garak and murmured, “I don't know if it's that you can't help yourself or you won't, but please at least try not to provoke her and make things awkward.”
“My dear Doctor, I have no idea what you're talking about,” he said innocently, sipping his wine.
They turned their attention toward Odo, who was getting an impromptu lesson in souffle making. Everything seemed as though it would work out well after all, until Julian discovered that part of the meal included sauteed beets. “Beets?” he asked without enthusiasm. He should have known better, for the conversation went exactly as it did any time one expressed a dislike for a particular type of food. He was quickly informed that he simply hadn't had them prepared properly.
Dax's arrival gave Garak an opening. He murmured close to the doctor's ear, “Don't be difficult about the food. It's quite rude!”
He couldn't tell if he was serious or just taking the opportunity to goad him. Knowing Garak, the chance of either was around fifty/fifty. The pre-dinner banter continued until Dax discovered Jake's keyboard on the table and began playing around with it. At first, it didn't sound like much, but suddenly, she played a very lyrical refrain.
“That was lovely,” Julian said, surprised since she had expressed her belief that she had a complete lack of musical ability.
“Quiet!” she snapped, trying again unsuccessfully.
Taken aback, he blinked in surprise and stilled. No one said anything for a few uncomfortable moments. When she couldn't reproduce the piece again, she finally gave up, but he could tell she didn't want to. Jake broke the awkwardness with the welcome announcement that dinner was ready.
The food was every bit as delicious as the smells had promised. He did not like the beets, but he ate a few anyway, as much to satisfy Garak as Commander Sisko. He didn't have the heart to tell the man that to him, they just tasted like dirt, sweet dirt, but still dirt. Dax seemed a bit subdued and preoccupied for the rest of dinner, not at all like her. He determined that he would ask her later if something was wrong or if he had offended her in some way. He hoped that her attitude wasn't because of Garak's presence there. It didn't seem too likely. She was as friendly to the tailor as she was to any of them that night.
He was grateful that whatever mercurial mood had seized his lover early in the evening eased with the enjoyment of the meal. Garak made no further effort to provoke Major Kira in any way, and he contributed pleasantly to the dinner conversation without dominating it or becoming overbearing. It was as close to a normal social outing as Julian could have hoped for. They chose to leave at the same time as Dax, earlier than Major Kira and Odo so that they wouldn't be those people, the sort who were first arrivals and the last to depart and always so taxing to a host.
As they strolled back toward Julian's quarters, the closer of the two, they walked arm in arm. “I want to thank you,” Julian said, “for letting me have a pleasant evening out with you and coming along. I know you didn't want to.”
“I'm glad that I did,” Garak replied lightly. “It was most informative.”
Julian arched a brow. “Do you really expect me to believe you found the history of the Acadians and Cajun cuisine that intriguing?”
Garak sighed. “Every time I think you're making real progress, you say something like that and dash my hopes to pieces. It's very cruel of you, you know.”
He rolled his eyes and stopped before his door to key his entry code. Garak gestured for him to precede him inside. He did so, turning toward Garak once the door closed. “I can't imagine what else you may have learned. No one said anything earth shatteringly interesting, and aside from Dax's somewhat odd behavior, nothing of any real note happened.”
The Cardassian's lips quirked into the smile that Julian found his most maddening. It managed to imply that Garak knew something he didn't, felt that he ought to know it, and found it amusing and disappointing that he didn't all at once; not to mention it was mocking. He knew from over three years of association that nothing he said or did would pry the information out of the man once he got that smile. “Be that way, then,” he said in exasperation, heading to his bedroom to change out of his uniform.
He returned to find Garak gazing out the star port. For a few minutes, he stood quietly in his bedroom doorway and simply watched. At times the man held such profound stillness, usually in moments when he wasn't aware anyone was looking. It was hard to catch him like that. When Julian did, he felt as though he bore witness to a gulf of sadness and isolation that he was helpless to combat. No matter what he touched in Garak, he knew on an instinctive level that he never touched that. He doubted that there was a person alive who could, and he wondered if it would disappear were Garak able to return to his beloved Cardassia or if it was an indelible part of his character, forged long before his exile.
To his surprise, he found that while he lost himself in thought, he had become the observed. “Such a look,” Garak said softly.
“I could say the same thing,” he replied, his false cheer ringing flat in his ears. He closed the distance between them and stood behind the man, slipping his arms about his waist and resting his chin on one of his shoulders. “What are you looking at out there?”
“I'm not,” the tailor said cryptically. He covered Julian's hands with both of his and didn't elaborate.
“Something...in here, then?” the doctor asked hesitantly, twisting his neck to press a kiss to Garak's temple so that he'd know what he meant.
Garak turned in his arms and smiled an odd smile. “You are learning after all,” he said. “Aren't you going to ask me what it is?”
Julian nuzzled him nose to nose. “No,” he said. “You'll tell me when you're ready, or you won't. I'm not going to ask.”
The Cardassian's smile deepened, his blue eyes shining. “Oh, my dear, we truly have made some progress. Now, let's go get sweaty so we have an excuse for pillow talk.”
He laughed, startled right out of his contemplative mood. As they headed for the bedroom, he wondered if that hadn't been exactly Garak's intention. Some of his manipulations were so much more subtle than others that it was always safest just to assume intent.
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Date: 2009-12-17 06:47 am (UTC)I'm sorry you're having stress and frustration on the job. Holidays are stressful times in general. Having drama at work doesn't help at all. I'm glad to be able to provide a little relief. That just makes my day! Thanks!