Chapter Text
“Julian, you aren’t taking this to Earth.” Elim picked up a garish pink and red woollen jumper from where Julian had put it in the ‘pack’ pile on the bed.
Oh, this game again. Julian didn’t even bother to get up from the floor, where he was kneeling over his travel bag, rolling a jar of Cardassian sweets meant for the O’Brien children safely up in his pyjama top.
“Why not? I thought I could wear it when Miles took me to his cousin’s pub in Dublin. It’s cold there in February.”
“It’s hideous.”
“Well, you won’t be with us so you won’t have to see me in it.”
“Please let me destroy it.”
“I didn’t realise Elim was short for ‘eliminate all of Julian’s favourite clothes’.”
Elim rolled his eyes. It was a human gesture he must have picked up during his time on the station, and he seemed to find it very useful for when Julian made these kinds of jokes.
“Well, now you know, dear. Let me put it in the reclaimer. Or use it to insulate the seed pods. I can make you a new one.”
“I’m leaving tomorrow morning. Are you that fast?”
“You can postpone your trip.”
“Sorry, Elim. This jumper’s got sentimental value.” Julian supposed it was only fair to come clean. “Palis made it.”
Elim gave him the familiar offended look. After all these years, Julian still couldn’t decide if it was genuine or a deliberate excuse to provoke to an argument.
“So your plan was to wear this repulsive...thing made by your ex-fiancée all over your homeworld when your current fiancé, who designed and created fine clothing professionally for years, is entirely capable of making something perfectly charming for you?”
Wait, what? Julian had been trying nestle the snugly-wrapped jar into a boot for greater protection from jostling, but he stopped his efforts and gave Elim his full attention.
“Elim, are you proposing?”
“Yes, dear. I’m proposing to make you a far more flattering jumper for the trip. Maybe something in cream.” The way he’d draped the offensive knitwear over one arm and was regarding Julian’s upper body meant he was already planning the lines and fit of the new one.
“No, that’s not what I meant. Are you proposing marriage?” And wasn’t this the way he would do it? Slyly, ambiguously, and when Julian least expected it? Julian could guess what was coming next. There was little Elim liked more than nudging Julian off his stride by making outrageous statements and then pretending to stand by them wholeheartedly.
“Why would I need to propose it? We’re already getting married.”
There it was. Julian grinned.
“Are we? This is the first I’ve heard of it. I’m glad you told me before the wedding,” he finished sardonically, before the growing look of concern on Elim’s face and the tilt of his head told him that maybe they weren’t playing a game.
“Julian. What do you mean?” Deadly serious.
Well. Fuck. Somehow he’d got himself engaged without knowing it. After intensive xeno-cultural sensitivity training at the academy, eight years on a Bajoran station, a year on Cardassia, and now a live-in Cardassian partner, Julian was more than used to dealing with cultural misunderstandings. He and Elim had small ones every day, and at the hospital they were frequent between the Federation and Cardassian staff. In both cases they were usually worked through and laughed off quickly, no harm done. But this was going to require more delicacy than usual. He sat on the bed next to where Elim was standing.
“Can I ask how long we’ve been engaged?”
“From the beginning, of course.”
“Since Tahna Los?” Julian was incredulous. He couldn’t have misunderstood Cardassian culture that badly, could he? Surely sleeping with a Cardassian once didn’t mean you were now engaged to said Cardassian.
Elim looked at him as if he were a particularly slow child. He sat down next to Julian on the bed.
“No, Julian. We weren’t bound then. You were sleeping with other people. I was sleeping with other people. We’ve been engaged, as you put it, for two months. Since we bound ourselves in exclusivity.”
“Hold on, you were sleeping with other people? You never told me that.”
“You never asked.”
“Who? Anyone I know?” Julian reconsidered. “Actually, never mind. That’s a conversation for another time.” Julian knew Elim well enough to know that it would take hours, if not days, if not weeks, to get to the bottom of this revelation. “What do you mean since we bound ourselves in exclusivity?”
“Two months ago we began a relationship. I hope I’m not mistaken in believing we agreed to be exclusive?”
“Yes, of course. You asked me if I wanted to try an exclusive relationship and I said yes. And I’ve been faithful, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Elim shook his head.
“Of course you have, dear. I’d know if you hadn’t.” He took Julian’s hands and looked into his eyes. “Julian. When I asked you, I didn’t say ‘try’. I was very serious then and I’m just as serious now. I am not trying to have a relationship with you. I am having a relationship with you.”
“Elim, I’m missing something here. We are in a relationship. We are faithful to each other. We love each other. We agree on those three points, I think.”
“Thank goodness.” This was said archly.
“But what’s wrong with saying we’re trying a relationship? Isn’t that what we’re doing?”
“No. It’s not what I’m doing. I’m having a relationship with you. If I had been at all unsure that I wanted you, I wouldn’t have asked.”
The gravity of what he’d agreed to two months ago began to dawn on Julian.
“Elim, are you saying that when you asked me to be in a relationship with you two months ago, you meant…a permanent relationship? An engagement? Starting then and there?”
“Yes, Julian. Didn’t you want the same thing?”
“Well, to be honest, no. I didn’t.”
Stupid, Julian. Cruel.
It was rare for the imperturbable Elim Garak to look genuinely shocked, as opposed to pretend-shocked-in-order-to-rile-Julian-up. Julian realised he’d better clarify, quickly.
“Elim, listen. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant more that, well, I considered something permanent with you the best possible outcome, but I didn’t assume it was the only one. I mean, what if we aren’t compatible?”
“Julian, we are compatible. I made sure of that before I asked you.”
“But I wasn’t so sure. Elim, you’ve read Earth literature! You’re familiar with Earth culture. You know my history, with Palis and Leeta. And Ezri. You know that I’ve been in exclusive relationships that didn’t end in marriage. It’s the way humans do it. We usually need...a trial period before we commit. For life, I mean.”
“And you’ve read Cardassian literature, Julian. You’ve been here for a year. I would have thought our way would be clear to you by now.”
Julian sighed. He was growing to love this planet and its people, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to Cardassian arrogance about their ways being the best and most obvious.
“Well, it wasn’t clear to me this time. I didn’t realise I was agreeing to marriage.”
Elim’s face became expressionless, except for his eyes, which grew cold.
“And how is the trial going for you, Julian? Do you find our life together satisfactory, or would you prefer to remain on Earth? Perhaps you’d like to trial a few other people, and let me know? If that’s what you would prefer please don’t let me stop you.”
“No! Of course not. Is that what you think? I came to Cardassia for you!”
“Then what do you want? If you still need time to decide, I’m not sure I can do that.”
“So you need a yes or no from me right now? The night before I leave the planet? That doesn’t seem fair. For me this is all out of the blue.”
“Julian. Do you want to marry me or not?” There was a steely sharp edge to Elim’s voice.
“Are you asking?”
“I suppose I am. Again.”
Julian clenched his teeth. He really wanted to lash into Elim for pushing him, and more than that for being such a damn arrogant Cardassian. But he knew that Elim’s world had been upended even more than his had by this misunderstanding. Here was a man who’d faced so much rejection and loss for one life - Tain, Mila, Ziyal, exile from and then destruction of his beloved planet. A sentimental man who had been emotionally stifled, taught from infancy that sentiment was a deadly, shameful weakness, and upon finally caving to that supposed weakness and allowing another person to peek through the opacity, now believed that, actually, that person did not feel, had never felt, the same way. And, by the way, was leaving for his home planet in less than a day. How could he expect that such a man’s reaction would be anything but defensive and flinty? He was probably terrified.
So Julian closed his eyes and sighed. Opening them again, he kept his tone to cool irony rather than anger.
“It’s nice that you actually asked, but that’s not how you’re supposed to do it.”
“Oh? And how am I supposed to ask, Julian?” Up went the eye ridges.
“Elim, you know. You’ve read enough. We’ve talked about how humans do relationships. If we’re going to do this, we have to mix some of my traditions with yours.”
Was it possible Elim was unguarded enough in this moment that Julian was actually seeing the penny drop? The level of intensity in his eyes didn’t change, but Julian thought he could discern a glimpse of realisation. Still holding Julian’s hands, he brought them to his chest.
“Julian. Be with me always – take any form – drive me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!”
Oh. But he hadn’t even liked that book. He’d thoroughly trashed it as typical fantastical human nonsense that romanticised depravity, glorified romance, and offered no commentary whatsoever on society.
Julian’s next thoughts were more practical but no less confused. How could he possibly make such an important decision without proper time to think about it? The pros and cons had to be weighed. He had to have time to consider the future implications. And, as much as he didn’t want to torture him, if he insisted on some time to think, Elim would just have to respect that, wouldn’t he?
But.
Hadn’t he just asked Elim to ask him? How much more thinking was necessary? Hadn’t he, with Ezri’s help, already explored his feelings? Wasn’t Elim the reason he’d disrupted his old life to come to this destroyed planet? And now he was on his way to Starfleet Headquarters to request another year. He expected it to be granted, almost certainly, but he realised that he’d imagined leaving Starfleet and coming back as civilian relief on the tiny chance he’d be refused. Much as his work here on Cardassia was important, it wouldn’t be for the planet that he’d make that sacrifice. Being without Elim was something Julian did not want to think about.
They would have to work on communication, though.
“Okay.”
“Thank the ancestors.” Julian realised Elim had been gripping his hands with uncommon force the whole time when he finally freed them to clutch Julian to his chest.
“Wuthering Heights, Elim?” Julian’s voice was muffled due to his face being pressed into his fiancé’s shirt. “That’s a bit dramatic. You only had to say ‘will you marry me’.” Julian flexed his fingers, easing the cramps out, and gingerly hugged Elim back.
“Who knows with you, Julian. Human romance is so sensational. Was it satisfactory, at least?” Julian was glad to hear that the chiding, playful edge had returned Elim’s voice.
“You are a bit of a Heathcliff,” he murmured into the fabric.
“Don’t be insulting. He was a complete boor.”
“It was lovely,” Julian said, freeing himself enough to kiss Elim on the lips. “When’s the wedding?”