Freefall--Part II

[dark_sinestra]

Julian

Quark's Bar

 

Julian knew that he ought to head to Garak's. His third ale into his bar sitting, he still hadn't made the move. Leeta wasn't anywhere to be seen, either already off shift or perhaps occupied at some private party Quark occasionally hosted in one of the back rooms. Dax saw him and approached, taking a seat on the stool beside him. “So,” she said, leaning in to bump her shoulder against his, “spill.”

 

“Spill what?” he asked, taking a swig of the ale.

 

“Why were you so eager to get rid of me last night?” she asked.

 

He knew he'd have to face that question sooner or later. He tried his best to be casual. “I don't know. I suppose I was just enjoying her company, and I wouldn't have been as able to get to know her with somebody else at the table.”

 

“You were flirting,” she said.

 

“There's nothing wrong with flirting,” he said defensively.

 

“You're right. There's not,” she said entirely too agreeably for him to trust it. Her next words confirmed his suspicion. “At least if your relationship is secure, and you both have an understanding that it's no big deal. What do you think Garak would say if he saw you flirting with a dabo girl?”

 

“Quark seems to think he'd break my neck,” he said glumly.

 

Dax's eyes flashed. He could tell she was still angry about what he had told her. “He had better not even think about it,” she said. “Still, if it made him angry, don't you think that would be reasonable under the circumstances?”

 

“Probably,” he said, polishing off his ale. “As much as I appreciate what you're trying to do, I'd just as soon not talk about it. This is something I need to work out for myself.”

 

“Fine,” she said, signaling Quark and ordering a colorful drink Julian wasn't even sure he could pronounce properly. “Why don't we talk about something else, like Doctor Lense? You must be excited about seeing your old school mate.”

 

“Just thrilled,” he said flatly. “I just recalled that I promised Garak we'd talk about something important tonight. I had best get to it.” As he slid from his barstool, he thought he caught a flash of a knowing smile from her and wondered if driving him back to Garak's hadn't been her intention from the start.

 

He chimed the Cardassian's door three times. He was about to ask the computer for Garak's whereabouts when a very distracted sounding, “Enter,” had the door sliding open to admit him.

 

He felt bad when he saw dinner sitting out, some of the sauce congealed in a very unappetizing way. Garak barely acknowledged him, tapping away at his comm with an intensity he hadn't seen in him since before the raid. Curious but unwilling to interrupt his concentration, instead he cleaned up the cold food and replicated himself some hot. “I'm sorry I'm late,” he said. “I had a late patient.”

 

The tapping stopped, and Garak twisted to eye him reproachfully. “If you're going to lie, it ought to be something I can't easily verify. I already checked with the infirmary over an hour ago.” To Julian's surprise, he turned back to his comm and began the typing again instead of pressing the point.

 

“You're not angry with me for lying?” he asked.

 

“I'm irritated that you didn't even put any effort in it to be creative,” he said airily. “If it matters that little to you, you may as well have told the truth.”

 

“I was at Quark's, having a few drinks,” he said, suddenly not very hungry anymore. “What are you doing?”

 

“Just a little research into the latest fashions on Risa,” the tailor replied. “They do set summer trends for a large portion of the quadrant.”

 

“I don't believe you,” he said, pushing his plate away and standing to approach him.

 

“Mm,” Garak said, hitting a couple of display buttons and shutting the entire screen down. “That's a pity. There was a particularly daring shirt that would suit your frame perfectly.”

 

“I think we should take a break,” he said, surprised at the words coming out of his own mouth.

 

Garak stood and turned to face him. “I thought we already tried that,” he said. “It lasted four days. We had three amazing days after that, and then things got awkward and stayed that way. Admittedly, lunch was pleasurable today, but only for as long as we weren't talking.”

 

Feeling a little light headed, he said, “I mean a break from the relationship entirely.”

 

“For how long?” the tailor asked, his eyes hooding.

 

Julian sighed. It was so hard to talk to him when he shut down like that. “I don't know,” he said honestly. “I just need some time to think about things. You'll be glad to know that the document I filed isn't official without your signature. You're not bound to me in some uncomfortable way.”

 

“I'll be happy to know that, will I?” Garak asked. “Funny, Doctor, I'm not the one proposing a break. You are, so why would I be happy?”

 

“You didn't seem happy with the idea of doing it in the first place; career suicide you called it, if I recall correctly,” he said, folding his arms.

 

“Yet I agreed, to make you happy. So, you don't know how long you want this supposed break. Can you at least tell me to what end? Do I cloud your thinking so terribly that you simply can't do it if we're together?”

 

“Truthfully? Yes, you do. There are times you start talking, and I no longer know up from down or left from right. I know you've been trying to protect me since that night. It's not making things any better. It's making them worse. I don't want some bland, safe yes man to cater to my every whim and desire, agree with my every statement, and back off at my first sign of discomfort. I didn't fall in love with that man. I fell in love with you,” he said.

 

Garak made a soft sound that may have been frustration or something more complicated and closed his eyes briefly. “I don't know what you fell in love with, Julian, but it most surely wasn't me,” he said heavily. “I think we've established that beyond any doubt.”

 

“You expect me to believe that the violence is more real than anything else you've shown me?” he asked, incredulous.

 

“No,” he said. “But there's no pleasing you. I'm too rough or not rough enough. I keep too many secrets, but when I tell you the truth, it's not the truth you want to hear. I'm too accommodating or annoyingly contrary. I've tried my best to find the middle ground, but there is none with you. We're not just speaking different languages. Our very thoughts and emotions travel in completely different channels. We couldn't be less compatible if one of us were Vulcan and the other Andorian.”

 

“You really believe that, that I'm the one never satisfied?” he asked.

 

Garak nodded. “So why don't we be truthful this once? Calling this a 'break' is insulting to my intelligence. You want to leave. After everything I've put you through, I can hardly blame you. Actually, I'm relieved.”

 

“Relieved?” Julian asked, frowning deeply.

 

“Yes, relieved,” the tailor answered. “When I decided to give us another chance, I told myself that come what may, I wouldn't do that to you again. I wouldn't be the one to break it off, no matter how bad it might get. I let myself believe that if I allowed myself to love you, we'd bridge the large divide put between us by our respective cultures. It was naïve of me, which goes to show, I suppose, that one is never too old to be naïve.”

 

“You're such a liar,” he said to him, feeling his throat constrict, “and you're breaking my heart. Stop it. You don't want this. Say you don't want it.”

 

“Why? So you can throw it back in my face and walk out that door anyway? I think not,” he scoffed. “If you want revenge, you'll have to be more subtle than that.”

 

“This isn't about revenge! God, you're doing it again, and I'm walking right into it,” he said, feeling disgusted with himself. He stepped closer to him. “Do you get that I'm telling you I'm about to walk out that door, and when I do, we're done?”

 

“Yes, dear, you made that quite clear,” Garak said, his eyes glittering.

 

“And you expect me to believe that's what you really want?” he asked.

 

Garak drew in a deep breath and let it out. He finished closing the distance between them, and to the doctor's surprise, he wrapped his arms loosely about his waist. “So I beg you to stay,” he said softly, his expression almost as gentle as when he was making love to him, “and I know you will, for a while at least. You never could bear to see me in pain. We'll continue this deteriorating cycle, fuck each other senseless, and sooner or later wake up to realize we hate each other, except when we're fucking, perhaps even then, and we'll lie to ourselves and call it passion.”

 

He wanted to deny it, but the words froze before ever reaching his lips. Those eyes had never looked so blue, or so sad. He couldn't look away if he tried. Lifting his hands, he rested them against the deep chest and felt the slow, steady heartbeat strong beneath the tunic. He couldn't recall his lover ever using such crude language, even in the heat of passion. The tailor was more often than not elegant and refined. He didn't know what to say.

 

“I'd sooner have it end this way, while we still love each other, than when it gets to that point, and I believe that you would, too. Lie to me all you like, my darling, but please don't lie to yourself. That road leads to ruin. This isn't a break. This is the break,” Garak said.

 

“I didn't want this,” Julian said, his breath hitching.

 

Garak tilted his head forward, resting his forehead against the doctor's. His breath came warm against his lips. “I'll be here as much or as little as you need me to be,” he whispered. “I could no more turn my back on you than you could a patient of yours. We're just not compatible lovers. I don't want to lose you altogether. Stop being stubborn, dearest; I'm agreeing with you for once, honestly and openly.”

 

He wrapped both arms around the man and squeezed, burying his face against the cool, scaled neck. How was it possible that both of them could try so hard and fail so spectacularly? He wanted to weep, except that all of it wound itself tightly in a ball in his chest to the point that it physically hurt. He felt lips in his hair, and then a cheek resting against the curve of his skull. Garak held him until he was ready to pull away. “I don't know what I'm going to do,” Julian said miserably.

 

The tailor lifted a hand and cupped his cheek, stroking downward with his thumb. “I have every confidence that you'll figure it out,” he said. “You should go. We're only prolonging the inevitable, and I need some time alone. I wasn't expecting this quite so soon.”

 

“But you were expecting it?” he asked, his nose tickling and his eyes stinging. The threatening tears were getting closer. Garak hesitated and nodded. “Don't you ever get tired of being right?” Julian asked, chuffing a laugh that very nearly turned into a sob. Yes, it was time to go.

 

“More than I can say,” he said, giving him a final squeeze and then pushing lightly against his chest with both palms flat. “Go. We'll see one another. We'll talk. We'll be the friends we should have stayed all along. You'll see.”

 

Julian nodded and turned, actually managing to make it out into the corridor before tears blurred his vision. Garak may have wanted to be alone, but he didn't. He desperately didn't. This time it wasn't Dax's company he wanted. He didn't think he could take being held tenderly and stroked. He needed colder comfort, preferably something in a bottle and someone who wouldn't let him curl into a ball of abject misery and pain. Even though it was getting late, he headed in the direction of Miles' quarters and reached up to scrub at his eyes. The crying could come later.

 

Garak

Private Quarters

 

When the door closed, Garak let himself go. Feeling for the chair behind him, he sank into it and lowered his head into his hands. No matter how much of a brave front he put up for Julian just now, this was the one thing he had hoped wouldn't happen. It felt as though everything that had meaning to him was falling away, leaving him to stand alone, a cold pillar of stone in a raging sandstorm. There was no solid ground, no shelter. His tenuous thread of hope that the Warbird might not have been destroyed could snap at any moment. His past had caught up to him and cost him his present and his future. That old Elim was the worst enemy he had ever had and now too distant to be called back for his strength.

 

Instead of burying himself back in his new research or retreating to the safety of the demands of the shop, he forced himself to sit exactly where he was and feel everything running through him. If he flinched or turned his back on it, it would consume him. That break in his control that Julian had so hoped to see finally arrived, long overdue. He wept until he felt he had nothing left inside and then climbed into his bed fully dressed, so exhausted that when he slept, he didn't dream.

 

Julian

Miles' Private Quarters

 

“Come in,” Miles answered the hail through the comm.

 

Julian stepped into the quarters that had increasingly taken on the appearance of a bachelor pad the longer Keiko and Molly remained on Bajor for Keiko's botany survey. Spare parts littered the top of the dining table and a mate-less sock draped over the back of the sofa. “Where are you?” Julian asked.

 

The engineer emerged from the back, wiping his hands on a greasy looking rag. “I was in the workshop,” he said, the “workshop” in question the bedroom he had shared with Keiko. “Bloody hell,” he exclaimed as he drew closer, “what's wrong wit' you? You look like you just lost your best friend.”

 

“No talking,” Julian said tightly. “Drinking.”

 

Eying him a moment more, Miles nodded and crossed to his sideboard, uncapping a whiskey bottle and pouring into two lowball glasses. Julian sat heavily on the sofa and accepted his glass. Miles sat beside him and set the bottle on the coffee table in easy reach. “So, what're we drinkin' to?” he asked.

 

“Nothing,” the doctor said, starting to raise his glass to his lips.

 

Miles stopped him with a hand to his wrist. “You can't just drink to nothin', Julian,” he said. “'S bad form.”

 

“Then you pick,” he said morosely.

 

“All right,” the Irishman said, looking thoughtful. “I have it. T' whiskey, women, an' darts.” He cocked a side glance at Julian. “Good enough for you?”

 

“Perfect,” he said, not caring one way or the other as long as it meant he got to down the drink. He did so in one gulp and leaned to pour himself another. The strong liquor burned him all the way down and started a small fire in his belly. “I hope you're not going to insist we come up with something for every glass,” he said.

 

Miles grunted. “No, just every bottle.” He grinned and tossed back his drink, letting Julian pour him a second. The two of them made fairly quick work of the first bottle and started on a second before the engineer let his curiosity get the better of him. Slurring a bit, he asked, “So's this about that dabo girl, or th' doctor comin' here on the Lexington?”

 

Julian blinked several times. “Who told you about all of that?” he asked, then held up a hand. “Don't tell me. Dax,” he said, irritated.

 

“You're half right,” Miles said. He decided to forgo his glass since he was having a hard time aligning the bottle neck over the top of it and swigged directly from the source. “Dax told me about th' doctor. Quark told me about th' dabo girl.” He slid off the couch onto the floor, looking more comfortable there. Julian joined him.

 

“Quark!” Julian snatched the bottle from Miles' grasp. “That disgusting little toad! What'd he say?” he demanded.

 

“I don' remember specifically,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Tell you th' truth, I didn' take it all that seriously.”

 

He tried to focus through his drunken fog, setting the bottle aside and almost tipping it over as he pulled his hand away. “Miles,” he said very seriously, leaning closer to the man and fixing him with huge eyes, “this is very important. What...specifically...did Quark say about me and Leeta?” If word got back to Garak, the man would almost certainly assume that Julian broke it off with him in order to pursue a new relationship, and that would destroy any chance they had of remaining friends. When Miles reached for the bottle, he snatched it out of his reach. “You can have this after you remember,” he said tartly.

 

“You don' have to be such a scab,” the engineer said with a scowl. “It was his usual malarkey. He was takin' bets on how fast Garak would find out th' two o' you had been flirtin' and whether he'd kill you for it or not.” He snorted a laugh and reached for the bottle again.

 

Julian crabbed backward out of reach, sloshing a bit onto his uniform and coming to an abrupt halt as his back hit the soft chair behind him. “And you didn't...” A belch came up, interrupting his ire. “Didn't see fit to tell me about this?” he demanded.

 

“O' course not,” the man shrugged and rolled to his knees to crawl forward, intent on the bottle. “Quark does these sorts o' things all the time. It doesn't mean anything.”

 

“I left Garak tonight,” he said. “If he hears that...”

 

Miles stopped advancing and sat back on his heels, whistling low. “Julian,” he said, clearly shocked. “It's not true, is it?”

 

“No!” he said impatiently. “She...we flirted a little, but I had no intention of doing anything. But if this gets back to Garak, how's it going to sound to him?”

 

“I think you know the answer t' that,” he said, leaning forward suddenly to swipe for the bottle, over balancing, and falling onto his face over Julian's legs.

 

“Shit,” the doctor said, more out of concern over Garak than the clumsy entanglement. He helped right him and thrust the bottle into his hand. “I've got...I've got to go. Got to tell him...”

 

“No! Are you a bloody idiot?” Shifting to his side, Miles propped himself on an elbow and leaned his back against the base of the sofa. He swigged with his free hand, some whiskey dribbling down his chin and onto his vibrant blue shirt. “Y' do that, then he's goin' t' believe it for sure!”

 

“I don't understand,” he blinked at him blearily.

 

“Th' worst thing you can do wit' gossip like that is t' give it weight. The harder you deny, the more guilty you look. Trust me. I've been there before. If he comes t' you about it, then you say it's ridiculous, an' you leave it at that.” He rested the bottle against his chest, nodding sagely.

 

“So you're telling me,” Julian said, bending forward to reach for the whiskey, only to have Miles play keep away, “that if this was happening to you, and Keiko were the one in danger of hearing such a rumor, that you'd completely ignore it until she said something to you?”

 

An odd look came into the hazel eyes. “That's exactly what I'm tellin' you,” he said.

 

Frowning and scratching at his chest, he sat back and tried to puzzle out that look. “What?” he finally asked.

 

“What what?” Miles retorted, lifting a brow.

 

He gestured in a circular manner, largely because he couldn't hold his arm steady. “That...look you got when I asked you about Keiko. Has somebody been spreading rumors about you?”

 

“Pff, it's nothin',” he said, shrugging it off and lifting the bottle for another swig.

 

Taking advantage of the opportunity, the doctor leaned forward and snagged the neck. They struggled for a few minutes, grunting and cursing at each other, only to spill the remains over the carpet. “Now look what you did,” Julian said.

 

“What I did? Y' bloody bastard, you're th' one who got all grabby!”

 

“I can't seem to do anything right lately,” he said, his mood turning maudlin. He sat back against the chair base again and drew his knees up in a loose hold, resting his chin on a forearm.

 

Rolling his eyes, the Irishman struggled to his feet and staggered toward his sideboard. “Look, I'm gettin' another bottle, so don't start that. If I've learned anythin' in my life, it's that when it comes to relationships goin' wrong, nothin' is ever entirely one person's fault. You're far from perfect...”

 

“Thanks ever so much,” he interrupted him dryly.

 

“You gotta keep perspective,” he said with a humorous twist of his mouth, staggering back toward Julian and sitting beside him. “Move over,” he said, nudging until they could share the chair base as a resting spot. He placed the bottle with exaggerated care into his hand. “As I was sayin' before I was so rudely interrupted, bein' with you is no bed of roses...”

 

“Miles O'Brien, how would you know that?” he asked crossly. “You've never been with me.”

 

“You keep interruptin' me, I'm going to take that bottle back and kick your skinny arse to the curb,” he said gruffly. “I'm...” he struggled to find the word, then shrugged. “It's easy to tell that just from bein' your friend. You're no picnic on the Shannon, but neither is Garak,” he said, seeming satisfied with himself for making his point.

 

“You wax so poetic when you're drunk,” he said, amused in spite of himself. “You're no cruise down the Thames, yourself.” He uncapped the bottle and took a long drink. His nose and lips were long past the point of numb, and he could no longer really taste the whiskey. His whole body felt too warm, so he reached up and unzipped the top part of his uniform.

 

“I'm not, am I?” Miles asked, his lips twitching as he snatched the bottle back for a swig. “Then why're you here?”

 

He mustered as much dignity as he could in his state and said, “I suppose the Thames is overrated sometimes.”

 

Miles grinned and pawed him over the back of his head, ruffling his hair. “Nicest thing you've ever said to me, I think,” he said, offering the bottle back.

 

“I'd better not,” he said, holding up his hand flat. “As it is, I don't think I'll be able to find my quarters, much less walk there.”

 

“Then stay here,” he said, shrugging. “Y' can sleep in Molly's bed or on th' couch.”

 

Those tears that he had done such a good job of keeping at bay caught him by surprise and slid from the corners of his eyes. “That's too kind of you. I don't deserve such kindness.”

 

“Hey now,” the Irishman shook his head and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in with a rough squeeze. “None o' that. That's th' booze talkin', you hear? Whiskey never said anythin' smart. Why don't we go ahead an' get you settled while you can still move?”

 

“In a bit,” he said, taking more comfort from the warmth of his friend at his side than he cared to admit. It was what he needed, gruff affection that didn't make him feel fragile, only supported. Tentatively, he rested his head on Miles' shoulder, pleased that the man didn't shove him away; instead he just settled a little lower so that he could lean his head back comfortably against the chair seat. Neither of them moved again until morning, an unpleasant awakening of hangovers, sore necks, and in Julian's case, a uniform stained with more than just whiskey since he had never changed from the day before.

 

“God help me,” Miles groaned as he sat up, reaching both hands up to the back of his neck.

 

“I can't do much for your neck, but I can give you a hangover cure,” Julian said, leaning away from him and rubbing at his own neck.

 

“You're answering t' 'God' now?” the engineer asked wryly. “Always said that ego of yours was out of control.”

 

“Very funny,” he snorted. His mouth tasted about like he imagined that lone sock on the couch might. He replicated both of them something for their hangovers, zipped his uniform up, and left in pretty short order, turning down the offer of using the shower. It wouldn't do him much good to shower and then don a dirty uniform. He'd still smell like sex and booze. With that thought, he felt a small eruption of panic. What if someone with a sharp sense of smell saw him leaving Miles' quarters? That was the stuff of the worst sorts of rumors.

 

He couldn't relax until he made it back to his quarters with no one seeming the wiser. The place looked and felt empty. “Better get used to it, Jules,” he said quietly. “It's what you asked for, after all.”