Chapter Text
“Doctor, you look positively dreadful.” Garak may have been known to exaggerate on occasion, but at the moment, there was no need. Julian was standing at the entrance to the shop, one hand on the doorframe for support. Beads of perspiration were scattered across his brow, and his skin had a pale, bloodless look to it. Garak moved to meet him at once.
“Thanks Garak, it’s good to see you too,” he responded with what sarcasm he could muster. Impressive really, considering the strain he seemed to be under.
Now that Garak was closer, he could see how bloodshot his eyes were as well. Some strain of cold or flu perhaps? He gently guided Julian over to one of the chairs. “You know, you don’t have to prove your illness to me.” He offered Julian a handkerchief after he sat down. “I was prepared to take you at your word when you said you couldn’t make lunch today.”
“I’m not ill,” Julian said firmly, dabbing at his face and neck.
“Really? If you’re here for business, I hate to disappoint you, but I have nothing in stock that would complement your pallor.”
Julian exhaled and let his head rest against the wall. “I may not be entirely myself right now, but I’m not sick. I’ll be back to normal soon enough. I’m fine. Really.” Passing the handkerchief back to Garak, he reached into a satchel he’d brought with him. As if trying to contradict his assurances of good health, he began scanning himself with a tricorder.
“When you put it like that, I feel thoroughly reassured of your physical condition. However, that still leaves the question of why you’re here.” As he spoke, Julian put the tricorder away and administered a hypo: Dorzopredlone, a medication Garak was unfamiliar with. “You should be back in the infirmary, seeing as you’re quite healthy and fit to work.”
“Look, I can’t tell you what’s going on, but I can’t be in the infirmary right now, and I really shouldn’t be alone right now either. I’m asking you, as a friend, if I could stay here with you in your shop for a few hours.”
Garak softened a bit. “Very well.” As if I would say no. “But I’m afraid I’m not terribly familiar with the human immune system. It would be prudent to tell me at what point I should start to concern myself with your well-being and contact the infirmary.”
“Yes, that would be prudent. You should call for assistance if I lose consciousness,” he said with a weak grin.
“You know, for a doctor, you’re being very nonchalant about your own health.”
“I’ll be monitoring my vitals the rest of the day to make sure everything is as it should be, thank you very much.”
Stubborn man, he thought, but only offered him a smile back. Let him keep his secret. It’s not as if I can’t figure it out on my own.
Julian went on, “Now, I know Captain Sisko asked you to start decoding transmissions intercepted from Cardassia, and I don’t want to interrupt that. I’ll keep to myself and stay out of your hair.”
That won’t do at all, Garak thought. For all I know, he might slip into a coma if he doesn’t stay active. “Actually Doctor…there might be something you could assist me with if you feel well enough. Your hand-eye coordination was one of the myriad of features that were genetically enhanced, was it not?”
Julian’s expression was one of schooled neutrality, “You know it was.”
Still a sore subject, Garak noted. “Then perhaps you could assist me with a commission. Demand for new clothes is understandably down, but I do still get requests from time to time. When I accepted this one, I didn’t realize we would be invading the Chin’toka system, or that I would be taking on this new decoding project when I returned. Do you think you could handle cutting pattern pieces while I continue decoding?”
Julian’s face brightened as much as it could, given the circumstances. “Ah, well that should be no trouble. It can’t be much different from using a scalpel. Where do you want me?” he asked, staggering to his feet, and for a moment Garak thought he might need to catch him, but Julian stayed upright.
Garak waved him over to the workbench where he’d already traced the pattern onto an unrolled bolt of Tholian silk. Seating Julian down at the workbench, he explained, “Now, rather than cutting along the lines, I need you to cut two centimeters outside each line.”
“Seems easy enough.” Julian took the laser cutter and began slicing through the fabric with an unnatural precision.
“Excellent work Doctor. I’ll get to work on the transmissions, if you don’t mind,” Garak said. He grabbed a PADD and took the seat at the workbench closest to the satchel, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever medication the doctor might administer next.
Each of them focused on their work in the quiet of the shop, unbroken but for the hum of the laser cutter. Garak glanced up regularly, checking to make sure Julian didn’t appear to be faring any worse.
“You know,” Julian said, “once I’m done cutting these pieces out, I’d be happy to try my hand at sewing them together.”
“Thank you Doctor, but that won’t be necessary. My customers come to me because they want that personal touch.” He offered Julian a knowing look. “If they wanted clothes made by a machine, they would just go to the replicator,” he said, hoping to elicit a response. Sadly, the only reply he received was an annoyed look.
Whatever is wrong with him, it must be serious, Garak thought, He’s not even bothering to snipe back.”
“How did you manage to get Tholian silk?” Julian asked a moment later. “Trade with the Tholians isn’t frequent at the best of times. With the war on, I wouldn’t think high-end commodities would be making their way to the station.”
Now that’s odd, he thought. If there’s one thing the doctor has never shown an aptitude for, its clothing and textiles. But he let the thought pass. Perhaps his near-perfect memory had picked up trivia regarding Tholian silk’s distinct shimmer or texture.
“Yes, it was exceedingly difficult to get ahold of. But Quark’s network of suppliers has yet to fail me. It’s a good thing too, as the client was quite insistent. Nothing but the finest for her daughter.”
“I suppose it only makes sense. When the world as you know it might get turned upside down at any moment, some people cling all the tighter to their traditions. Still, this is rather extravagant for an Ih’tanu gown.”
Now Garak was downright alarmed. Oh, he wasn’t surprised that Julian could predict what shape the pattern pieces might take when stitched together. But to properly identify it? Since when does Julian Bashir have extensive knowledge of ceremonial garb for Bajoran rites of passage? He thought. This is very peculiar indeed. I need some reassurance of who I’m dealing with here…
“You’re quite right Doctor, You won’t believe what her mother wants to do for the hairpiece, let me show you.”
Garak went to the storeroom and picked up two swatches of gauzy fabric. One was a navy color, a perfect complement to the jewel tone blue of the Tholian silk. The other was an olive green, far too much yellow to match the blue of the dress. To anyone with a halfway decent sense of style, it would be obvious to choose the navy, but Julian was highly deficient in such matters. Whenever Garak had had the opportunity to see him in anything other than a uniform, Julian’s outfits positively screamed at him with their garish contrasting colors.
Poking his head out from the storeroom door, Garak caught sight of Julian hurriedly stowing away another hypospray – this one he recognized as a pain killer.
Presenting the swatches to Julian, he asked, “Now, which of these would you say complements the dress?”
Julian looked at both briefly before picking up the navy one. “This one would go quite nicely.”
This is not Julian Bashir. Garak’s mind immediately began flipping through the possibilities of who he might be dealing with, but his expression betrayed nothing. “Isn’t it? Yet she insists on the green one for the veil, simply because it costs more. One would think that the Tholian silk would be enough, but apparently she feels the need to prove her net worth to the other parents.”
Julian noticed none of Garak’s improvisation. Shaking his head with amusement, he said, “Some people will use whatever excuse they can to show off, I suppose.”
Garak turned back into the storeroom, ostensibly to return to the swatches, but intent on figuring out who was really cutting fabric in his shop. The first and most unnerving prospect was that he was dealing with a changeling. It was an unlikely possibility. A founder’s advantage is blending in seamlessly, he thought, whereas everything about this man stands out as unusual to those who know him. Nevertheless, it was worth ruling out. As soon as he was safely past the doorway, he pulled out the handkerchief he’d lent Julian when he entered the shop. It was still damp with sweat – not the shimmering liquid of a founder separated from its main body.
Moving quickly over to a computer, he called up a scan for life forms in his shop. A moment later, the computer reported two: one Cardassian, one unknown.
The hypo, he thought. He searched for information on Dorzopredlone on the terminal: A glucocorticoid primarily administered as an immunosuppressant for humans in the treatment of allergic reactions, inflammation, or in treatment for transplant rejection.
Oh. That was when it all fell into place. That…would be no small matter. If the doctor is going to such extremes, the situation must be dire indeed. He felt it best to corroborate his theory, and looked up the vessels scheduled to arrive for the rest of the day. There, a Trill transport arriving in approximately three hours. That was all the confirmation he needed.
Stepping back out into the shop, he announced, “I’m feeling a bit hungry, Doctor. Can I get you anything from the replicator while I’m up? Perhaps your preferred vintage of bloodwine?”
Julian looked up from his work. “What are you playing at Garak?” The accusation in his voice didn’t match the hint of alarm in his eyes.
“I suppose that was rather presumptuous of me. Jadzia Dax was the one with a fondness for Klingon cuisine. I really have no idea what Julian Dax would like.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, getting to his feet. “And you know, I’m feeling a lot better, I think I will go back to work.” He grabbed the satchel and quickly moved towards the door – a little too quickly, it seemed. He came to a rather sudden stop and wavered on the spot.
Garak stepped in and gently returned him to his seat at the workbench. “Doctor, I really don’t want to have to call in a medical team.”
“You can’t keep me here, Garak.” His tone was persistent, but thankfully he didn’t try to move.
“No, I can’t. But I can try to persuade you that you should stay. In spite of your protest to the contrary, you did choose to come here. Why was that?”
Julian ignored that question, still seeking some way out. “This is only temporary; no one is supposed to know about it.”
“But I do. This may come as some surprise, Doctor, but I have been known to keep a secret, from time to time.”
A smile briefly flashed across Julian’s face before settling into a more neutral expression as he considered. After a moment he nodded, and said, “Lock the doors.”
Garak did so, and waited as Julian scanned himself with the tricorder once more. Satisfied with the results, he said, “After Jadzia died, we put Dax into stasis according to Trill specifications until a new host could get here. It should have been fine there for a few days, but this morning it began to decline suddenly. I don’t know why, but it’s probably related to the unusual manner in which Jadzia died. It needs a biological host until the initiate arrives. I’m it.”
Garak blinked a few times. “And?”
He looked mildly affronted, as if he couldn’t imagine what else Garak might want to know. “What do you mean by ‘and?’”
“And, who am I speaking to right now?”
“Right. Julian, definitely Julian.”
Garak found this a trifle hard to believe. “There was no blending of personalities?”
“No, it doesn’t work like that with symbionts and humans, apparently. There’s only been one other human-symbiont joining on record and in that instance the symbiont completely overwhelmed the host’s personality. I was banking on my genetic enhancements to give me an edge and allow me to assert myself. Thankfully I got that one right. The two of us are separate entities, though I know what Dax is feeling, and to some extent what it wants, and vice versa.”
An interesting possibility, Garak thought, but he still had his doubts that Julian was entirely in control of himself. “But you must have Dax’s memories. How else could you have suddenly acquired an eye for fashion?”
Julian smirked. “That would be Emony, though Jadzia was no slouch in that department either. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to tap into Dax’s memories regarding style, but that’s what gave me away. Am I really so colorblind most of the time?” He gazed over his shoulder at the mannequins, scrutinizing them as he spoke.
“I’ve known Ferengi with better taste, and they aren’t exactly known for their eyesight.”
“Well, in any case, thank you for letting me hide out here. I thought I would be able to spend the day in the infirmary, taking it easy and catching up on reports. But Jadzia was friends with so many people on this station and had so many plans… Every time someone would come in or pass by that she was close to, Dax would get rather melancholy. I couldn’t keep putting Dax through that. Emotional stress would only further weaken its immune system. After a few hours, I had to get us out of there.”
“I take it that since Jadzia and I weren’t particularly close, Dax doesn’t have the same reaction?” Garak had been saddened to hear of her death, but their friendship had always been a fairly superficial one.
“Right. It’s that, and the fact that you two didn’t have any unfinished business. Dax doesn’t feel any remorse there, so this is okay. Actually better than okay, Dax is rather enjoying life from my perspective.”
“I suppose Dax would. As I understand it, collecting unique memories and new experiences is a pillar of Trill culture. Getting to experience life as a human, even a sick one, must be singular. Dax will be the envy of symbionts everywhere. But tell me Doctor, how do you feel, having all of these memories at your disposal?” Fascinating as Dax’s reaction was, Garak was far more interested in where the two personalities might overlap.
“It’s exhilarating, as long as I don’t dwell on the sad memories. I’ve got eight lifetimes of knowledge at my fingertips, so to speak. From a medical perspective alone, understanding what it feels like to be someone else is invaluable, but all the life experiences? It’s incredible, there’s so much here…” and he was off, babbling about all the different things he’d never done or experienced, yet now understood intimately, unconcerned that Garak couldn’t entirely relate. Whoever this person might be, Garak was sure this was Julian Bashir’s reaction.
Tempting as it was to let him continue indefinitely, Garak cut him off once he found a decent opening. “You know doctor, I’m glad that where I’m concerned, Jadzia had no regrets when she passed, but I’m afraid I have one in regards to her. I heard that a past host of hers once met Iloja of Prim, and I never got to ask her about the experience.”
Julian’s eyes went wide, “Yes! That was Tobin when he was on Vulcan.” He opened his mouth but then shut it, his face taking on a more puzzled look.
“What is it?”
“It’s just that, thanks to an acquaintance of mine, I know firsthand that exiled Cardassians don’t have many choices for resettlement, but I don’t know how the Vulcans put up with Iloja for so long. He was a thoroughly unpleasant man.”
“Then the rumors of his temper are not exaggerated?”
“In Tobin’s experience, no. Iloja frightened him so badly, their confrontation kept him awake at night.”
“What did Tobin do to earn his ire?”
“Nothing intentional. Tobin was a very meek, nervous sort of man. Always agonizing because he felt he was in the way or irritating others. He said ‘sorry’ to Iloja one too many times, and Iloja really let him have it.”
“I suppose Tobin never read any of his poetry then.”
“Definitely not. But later hosts did. Jadzia was quite fond of his work.”
“Tell me, did she prefer his pre- or post-exile poetry?”
“Post-exile.”
“I suspected she might. After he was exiled, he was more straightforward in his criticisms of the First Republic. If you ask me, his work suffered for it, and his later poems lacked the elegance and subtlety they once had.”
“Well, I’m not going to argue on Jadzia’s behalf. They’re her opinions, not mine.”
“And what is your opinion? Surely you have memories of reading these poems that you can tap into.”
“It’s not really that easy. I can’t seem to separate memories of a host doing something from how that host felt at the time. Any opinion of Iloja’s poems I give you right now wouldn’t really be my own.”
“Well that’s easy to solve. I can provide a copy.” He left Julian where he sat, and moved to the terminal. Curious, either he really is mentally separated from the symbiont, or he’s doing an excellent job of pretending.
As he navigated the library searching for the right volume, he went on, “I suppose that Dax is aware of the historical context required to appreciate these poems?”
“Yes, but I’m keen to hear your take as well. Your understanding of it will be different than that of a Trill’s.”
Garak let out a short puff of laughter, “I’m certain it is. Iloja objected to the First Republic’s more imperialist tendencies as they attempted to unify the planet. He hoped that his criticisms of the government were small and scattered enough that his poems wouldn’t attract their attention.” As the computer began to load a selection of Iloja’s poetry onto a PADD, Garak looked up to see Julian slumped over the workbench. “Doctor?” he asked, a note of panic reverberating in the momentary silence.
“I’m alright, I just…it’s painful, being in this state,” he said as he raised his head slowly. “I can’t take any more painkillers for a few hours, or I’ll risk permanently damaging a few organs.”
This really isn’t my area of expertise, Garak thought. His skills extended through the sort of first aid he might need to administer to himself while on assignment, a far cry from cross-species joining or minimizing risk in pain management. Reminding the doctor not to overexert himself was the only advice he felt confident in offering. “Perhaps you should return to the infirmary.”
“No, going back to the infirmary would only make Dax anxious; I just need to wait it out. Why, you’re not worried about me, are you?” he grinned weakly.
“I only wish to avoid any unpleasant questions from security should you pass out,” he replied. A flimsy lie, but he wouldn’t let Julian’s provocation go unanswered. “Doctor, if all is as well as can be expected on a medical level, surely there’s something to be done for your comfort?”
“Unless you have a cot hidden in your back room, I doubt it. I’d love to lie down.”
“I’m afraid not, but what’s that human expression? ‘Necessity is the mother of invention?’ I believe I can improvise, give me a moment.”
Garak went to the back room and selected a bolt of Earth wool batting, ideal for quilts. While the arts community on the station wasn’t exactly thriving, a few residents were trying to revive forgotten Bajoran crafts from before the occupation. With the planet still recovering, it was easier to import Federation materials to practice with.
Back in the shop, he stepped behind the counter – out of sight of any passers-by – and began unrolling the bolt. After about six feet, he layered it back over itself, and so on. When the tail end finally rolled off the bolt, he had several layers of fabric creating a thick cushion. He scrunched up the fabric at the head of the “bed” to create a makeshift pillow, and finished it off by covering it with a cotton linen. All things considered, I’d say it’s not half bad. But then what I’d say hardly matters. “Doctor, come this way.”
Julian circled around the counter. “Well that seems cozy enough, he said. He lowered himself onto the bedding, stretched out, and relaxed.
“Better?”
“Much. In fact…Would it bother you if I take a nap? I don’t know if the pain will subside enough that I could fall asleep, but I’d like to try.”
“By all means, go right ahead. I have plenty of work to keep me occupied.”
“Thank you Garak.”
“Think nothing of it,” he said. He pulled a chair around to one end of the counter along with his PADD for decoding transmissions. He set to work, and sure enough, in five minutes time he heard Julian’s breath become slow and deep.
As Garak settled into a routine with his work, silence settled over the shop, a state that he found quite unfamiliar in Julian’s presence. Conversation was the foundation of their friendship, but Julian clearly needed rest, and Garak wasn’t about to keep him awake with idle chatter at a time like this. And yet, isn’t this just as pleasant? he thought. A quiet reassurance, steady whispers, ebbing and flowing…
At that moment, Julian stirred in his sleep. Ah, not so steady then, he thought as he turned to look at his drowsing friend. Some twinge of pain had most likely brought him to the edge of wakefulness, but those deep breaths resumed shortly.
Reassured that Julian was safely asleep once more, Garak should have returned to his work, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to look away. It had been so long since they had had more than a quick conversation in passing, he had few opportunities to simply look. And what a sight he was. It’s a wonder I didn’t completely unravel the day I laid eyes on him.
He did finally tear himself away. Stolen glances are acceptable, unabashed gawking is not, even if no one is around to see it. He returned to his work and the afternoon passed as Julian slept fitfully. Resisting the temptation to continue staring, Garak ignored any further interruptions in his friend’s sleep. It therefore took Garak by surprise when minutes after one such bout of restlessness, Julian said, “You asked me why I came here.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You asked me why I came here. There’s a little more than what I told you. I was planning to apologize to you at lunch today, before I had to cancel.”
“Whatever were you planning on apologizing for?”
Julian leaned forward, propping himself up on his elbows. “I never wanted to put so much distance between us, but spending time with you became too risky for me. You’re so perceptive; it would have only been a matter of time before you figured out that my capabilities were beyond that of a normal human.”
“You did what you had to do to protect yourself. I hardly hold that against you.”
“Yes, but there wasn’t much of a reason for me to keep that distance once everyone knew about my genetic enhancements. That’s what I’m sorry for.”
There it was. The invisible, ever-present tension that had been hanging in the air between them finally called out, made visible. Garak had never been willing to bring up his displeasure with the way they were growing apart, at least, not in any serious way. He feared that it would break the spell and end their friendship entirely. It was a risk he was unwilling to take.
“I…hate how much keeping that secret affected my life,” Julian continued. “It cast a shadow over everything I said or did. I didn’t want to face that for a long time, so I kept you away. It’s no excuse, but I’m sorry.”
“Does that mean you wish to resume our weekly lunches?”
“Well, yes, but I was wondering if you might be interested in dinner instead?”
This was all, simply, too good to be true. “I’m not sure that I can accept such an offer.” This wasn’t the sort of conversation one had at a distance, and Garak moved in to sit next to Julian.
“I’ve waited too long, haven’t I? Ah well,” Julian said with practiced nonchalance. “It’s not the first time, probably won’t be the last.”
“Oh, it’s not your tardiness I object to, Doctor, though your procrastination is impressive. It’s merely that I don’t think I can accept an invitation that you extend when you’re not entirely yourself.” Garak had been prepared to accept that Julian might have been operating on his own, but this was wholly unexpected. The only conclusion was that he was being influenced in some way by the symbiont.
“I already told you, there was no blending of personalities. I’m separate from Dax. I’m not confused about who I am or who they were.”
“And yet, you were able to match colors properly and tell me about Iloja of Prim.”
“Tapping into another person’s memories isn’t the same as becoming that person.”
“Nevertheless, the presence of Dax’s memories could be affecting your decisions. A choice that looks good to you right now might not seem wise once the symbiont is removed.”
“Did you forget the part where I said I planned to tell you this at lunch today? A plan I made long before Dax needed assistance?”
“I believe you said you planned to apologize at lunch, not invite me on a date.”
Julian rolled his eyes. “Okay, let’s say, for the sake of argument, I am being influenced by Dax in some way. I wake up on the biobed hours from and think ‘This is a huge mistake, I did and said things I didn’t mean.’ Would you hold any of that against me?”
“Doctor, the question isn’t whether I would hold your actions against you, but whether you would hold mine against me.”
“No, I wouldn’t, because I know that whoever or whatever I am at this moment, I want this. And if I change my mind later, then so be it, but I won’t regret anything I chose to do right now. A host cannot be held responsible for a former host’s actions. I argued that in court for Jadzia. This might be an unusual situation, but I think I deserve that same right once Dax is gone. So, again, the real question is whether you can accept it in the unlikely event that I change my mind when this is all over.”
He shouldn’t dare to hope. Everything in his experience was telling him that any desire on the part of the doctor’s was fleeting, that he should not trust that this would all work out, and that truly, he had nothing to look forward to but a continued life of solitude in a few short hours.
But a small, traitorous voice at the back of his head urged, what do you have to lose?
He locked eyes with Julian. “I suppose, if you’re willing to risk it, then so am I.”
And there was that smile, the one he’d seen far too little of these past two years. Really if he was going to go this far, why not go just a hair further? He leaned in and placed a short kiss on those smiling lips, and Julian responded in kind. Julian sat up properly, and threw his lanky arms around Garak and pulled him in for a tight hug. Garak returned the embrace, content to savor the contact indefinitely.
It wasn’t nearly long enough. Shortly, Julian’s communicator chirped, “Bandee to Bashir, your patient has arrived.”
Bashir responded, “Thank you, I’ll be along shortly. Please begin prepping for surgery.”
Garak offered a hand to help Julian get to his feet. “Would you like me to walk you to the infirmary?”
“I would, actually, but I didn’t fare so well after my walk here. I think I’ll play it safe and transport directly to the infirmary.” He smoothed out his uniform as best he could, though it did little to disguise the fact that he’d been sleeping on the floor. “The transfer of the symbiont should only take a couple hours. Can I come see you when it’s all over? I need to show you that it really is me who wants this.”
“I would be delighted.”
“Excellent. If there are any complications and it gets too late, we can meet up tomorrow.”
My dear doctor, if the news is good, an intrusion on my sleep would be welcome.”
Julian breathed a short sigh, clearly reluctant to leave. “Well, I’ll see you soon then.” He took Garak’s hand and squeezed it affectionately.
“Goodbye Doctor,” whoever you are.
Julian released his hand and tapped his com badge. “Bashir to Infirmary, medical transport. One to beam out.” With a final grin, he dematerialized.
Garak spent the next several hours in practiced tedium. Tidying up his shop, closing up for the day, dining alone in his quarters. After all, he thought, there’s nothing to look forward to. All will go back to normal tomorrow.
He refused to acknowledge how much concentration it was taking to focus in on these aphorisms.
Such as it was, he was genuinely startled when the door chimed. “Enter,” he called, and moved to meet Julian there.
When the doors parted, he immediately began to analyze what he saw to prepare himself for what was to come. Julian certainly seemed in better health: steady on his feet, no longer perspiring. Still a touch pale, and an expected look of exhaustion about him, but much improved from this afternoon. His expression, however, was what would truly tell Garak what to anticipate. There didn’t seem to be any embarrassment or awkwardness which is what he had been anticipating. There was, however, a sadness about his eyes. Ah well, he thought, that settles it. We will clear the air and all will be back as it should be.
Garak fixed a smile and offered, “Why don’t you sit down, Doctor, you must still be tired.”
“Yes, I certainly am, thank you.”
“You do seem to be recovering well. I take it the transfer was successful?”
“Hmm? Yes!” he said distractedly. “Yes, the joining was successful. Remid Dax is doing well; nothing that rest and relaxation can’t fix.”
They both retired to the couch, and the silence lingered for a time. Let’s not drag this out, Garak thought. “We can pretend the whole thing never happened, if that’s easiest.”
A look of confusion crossed Julian’s face. “No, why would we?”
“Please, Doctor, reading people has been a necessary aspect of my occupation for decades now. You’re clearly distraught about what happened today.”
“No, well, okay…” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll try to explain this as best I can. I meant every word I said to you earlier, and I’m not taking any of it back. I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you the past two years. If you’ll have me, I’d very much like to take you out to dinner. But…”
Garak didn’t dare to breathe.
“What’s happened to me is all uncharted territory, psychologically speaking. Dr. Crusher’s reports on the other human-symbiont joining focused on keeping both of them alive. She didn’t leave any notes on emotional recovery after the separation.
“The memories I have from Dax are still there, but they’re fading. I believe they’ll disappear completely, sooner or later, but I don’t know how long that will take. I feel as though I’m losing close friends and my own mind at the same time. I need to take some time off, from everything. I’m going to make some log entries, record the important things I’ll want to remember. Maybe it will help me grieve for them as well.”
How horrid, Garak thought, but verbally he offered, “Well, that does explain it. You have my sincere condolences.”
“I’m sorry to do this to you.” Fingers made clumsy by the day’s ordeal came to the side of Garak’s head and ran through his hair before Julian let his hand drop inelegantly. “This wasn’t at all how I wanted things to go. But I can promise you a date once I get my head sorted out.”
Once more, an insistent part of Garak’s mind pleaded its case: What do you have to lose?
“I’ve waited for years. What’s a little while longer?”
“I promise, I’ll make it worth the wait, he said. Leaning in, he placed a kiss on Garak’s cheek. He could see the exhaustion plain on Julian’s face as he pulled back, in spite of his joyful expression.
“My dear doctor, as much as I enjoy your company, I would never forgive myself if I contributed to your already stressful day. Why not get some rest?”
Julian nodded, “Yes, that does sound good right about now.” He stepped over to the door. “You know Garak, Dax wanted to thank you. No other hosts had ever kissed a Cardassian before, not even Jadzia or Curzon.”
“Who am I to deny Dax a unique experience?” he offered, with no small amount of sarcasm. “Ah, that reminds me,” he said, and retrieved a PADD. “It might have been a reread for Dax, but I do hope you’ll give Iloja a try when you’re feeling up to it.”
Julian grinned. “With any luck, I’ll have it read for our date,” he said, taking the PADD from him. “Thank you. For everything. I’ll see you around.”
Garak inclined his head. “Until then, Doctor.”
Julian cast him one more appreciative glance, and left.
Alone once more, Garak found himself with a rather curious feeling. Perhaps Julian’s sense of loss was contagious, because he found himself missing the late Jadzia Dax.
The two of them had never breached that barrier that would have enabled them to refer to each other as anything other than colleagues, at best. For his part, she had very much earned his respect. He hadn’t realized it at first, but he came to understand that she held very few of the preconceptions that her Federation colleagues did. She’d befriended many others who weren’t exactly popular within the Federation. Any reluctance she had in associating with him probably had less to do with any personal dislike of Cardassians and more to do with being a senior officer who needed to earn the trust of the Bajoran populace.
They came to know each other better as they worked together to retake the station, but still never quite connected, perhaps only because neither of them made the effort to do so. Ah well, he thought, Jadzia apparently had no regrets where I was concerned, and I have none in regards to her.
And yet, here he was, feeling her absence rather acutely. It wasn’t sadness exactly, and it certainly wasn’t grief. Nevertheless, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a loose end that needed tying up. He decided to do something to mark her passing, some gesture that would put the sense of loss to rest.
Cardassian practices after death wouldn’t suffice in this matter. There were customs related to filing the many necessary records for the deceased, along with a chant for the dead performed at the funeral. The most meaningful tradition was interring the remains on Prime, joining the deceased with the planet itself in a most intimate fashion. Jadzia Dax had been given the standard Starfleet “burial” via torpedo tube, a method he personally disliked, but it did feel appropriate for someone so self-confident and independent. He had no idea what traditions Trill had for themselves, but they valued memories so highly, he was sure it elevated that aspect of their culture.
He thought of a compromise that he hoped they could both appreciate. He would write out the traditional Cardassian death chant for her rather than recite it aloud, and he would use paper and ink rather than a PADD. Then, he would burn the paper it was written on, and mix the ashes with the native soil in one of his orchid pots.
He set to work, replicating the paper and pen, and jotting down the words. He was exceedingly grateful that his own people’s chant was significantly shorter than the Bajoran equivalent. He completed the chant in short order, and folded the paper, setting it aside.
But he didn’t really feel finished. He realized that there was another loss he wanted to mark, and that was the loss of Julian Dax. Though Julian and the symbiont were both still alive, the joined being they had been was no longer. So he wrote out a second chant, marking his brief, but delightful afternoon with Julian Dax, and added that paper to the pile.
No matter how much Julian had insisted that they were mentally separated, Garak couldn’t believe they were absolutely distinct. As Dax’s memories faded, Julian would surely realize the mistake he was making, and retract his kind invitation.
Well, he thought, as he replicated a candle and fireproof bowl, then I may as well have written out a chant for myself, because he will surely be the death of me.