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“Cinderella and Prince Charming lived happily ever after. The end.” Julian allowed a brief pause to respect the end of the story. “Now, who wants a bedtime snack?”
“I do!” chimed the children, scrambling to the table.
“Can we have bananas with peanut butter?” asked Niken. He’d been a bit sullen all day, but snacks rarely failed to cheered him.
“Certainly. Aila?”
“I want raisins on mine.”
Garak didn’t understand how both of his children liked this revolting combination. He assumed it was their human sides, as Julian reported loving the same snack when he was a child (and did not have any difficulty consuming it now, for that matter). Humans had very strange ideas about food sometimes. At least Aila shared Garak’s appreciation for rokassa juice.
Their daughter was presently enamored with human fairy tales. Niken, who like to think that being three years older made him much wiser than his sister, couldn’t resist saying, “That was a dumb story.”
Aila predictably retorted, “Was not!”
Privately, Garak agreed with his son. Cinderella was not as bad as other fairy tales (he would not have Beauty and the Beast read, as he refused to allow his children to think that falling in love with one’s captor was acceptable), but eminently inane. Quite aside from supernatural intervention, of which Garak disapproved on principle, Prince Charming was appallingly idiotic. Someone would need to assassinate him if the kingdom had any hope of survival. Though that was not an appropriate thought to share with the children, it would be interesting to tell Julian later.
“It was a great story,” Aila went on. “I want to hear another one!”
“Once you’re in bed,” agreed Julian.
She paused snacking to pout. “It’s not fair. Niken doesn’t have to go to bed yet.”
“He had to go to bed at the same time when he was your age,” said Garak. One-half of an hour seemed like a long time to the young.
“Niken, it’s hurtful when you call something your sister likes ‘dumb,’” Julian said gently. “How would you feel if someone called your paleontology holoprogram dumb?”
Niken was indignant for a moment before he realized Julian’s point and deflated. “I’d think they were mean,” he admitted.
“Exactly. You can say you don’t like something, but please be kind. I believe you owe your sister an apology.”
“Sorry, Aila.”
“Okay,” she announced with her best magnanimous air. She wasn’t one to let slights worry her for long. It had to be Julian’s influence, because this was decidedly not a Cardassian trait. Julian was not wrong when he said no one could hold a grudge like Cardassians. “But don’t be mean again.”
Garak moved the conversation along, as was usually best in these situations. “Now, tell us something you learned today.”
This was a Cardassian tradition of which Julian entirely approved: each evening, children were expected to share with their parents a piece of knowledge they had gained that day. It could be anything. What mattered was that the children appreciated how each day presented an opportunity to grow and learn.
Their elder child spoke first. “I learned a new word: manufacture. It means to make.”
“Very good, Niken,” said Julian. “Can you use it in a sentence for us?”
He considered briefly. “Starfleet manufactures new ships when theirs get too old.”
“Well done,” said Garak. He made a habit of ensuring his children knew he was pleased with their efforts.
Aila wasted no time in informing them, “Hysi is teaching me a ledrazh.”
“Remember what we said about swallowing your food before speaking, dear.” Garak took charge of the children’s table manners, to generally good results, but Aila inherited Julian’s tendency to get so excited about what she had to say that she forgot herself, and hadn’t yet learned to curtail the habit when her mouth was full. “What is a ledrazh?”
She paused to finish the bite she’d been chewing. “An Andorian dance. But I don’t want to show you until I’ve learned the whole thing.”
“Many skills take more than a day to learn,” he said.
“We look forward to seeing it when you’re ready,” added Julian.
“You just learned something too, Yadik.” Aila was clearly pleased with herself for being his instructor.
Julian leaned over to wipe peanut butter off the table before it smeared all over her sleeve. “Just because we’re adults doesn’t mean we’ve stopped learning. And I know you’re dragging out your snack to delay bedtime. If you’re done, it’s time to brush your teeth.”
Aila took a bigger bite.
A few minutes later, Julian was making sure she brushed her teeth and Niken was basking in the additional half-hour he was permitted to stay up. This seemed a good opportunity to Garak.
“Niken, what did you dislike about the story?”
“It was dumb.” And evidently it did not merit looking up from his toy starships. Garak intended to insist the toys be counted and put away before bed, as they were very unpleasant to step on first thing in the morning.
“Yes, so you’ve said. I believe you’re old enough to make a stronger case than that.” As soon as he uttered the phrase ‘old enough,’ Garak had his son’s complete attention. There was nothing Niken liked more than being deemed of age for something new. “Spirited disagreement can be enjoyable, but you must have something more specific to say. Tell me what about the story you did not like.”
“Prince Charming was du – I mean, if he wanted to marry Cinderella, shouldn’t he know what she looked like?”
“I agree.”
“You do?” Niken’s eyes widened in delight at this news.
“Certainly.” Garak leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper. “I don’t care for the tale either.”
“Because it’s human?”
“Not at all. There are plenty of human stories I enjoy.” Well. ‘Plenty’ was an overstatement, but some such stories did exist, and moreover, he and Julian had agreed that there would be no disparaging either side of their children’s heritage. “This happens not to be one of them. We are of the same mind, Niken. I simply want you to develop new skills at expressing your opinions. Is there any other part of the story you found strange?”
“Nobody can turn mice into horses.”
“This is true.”
“Dad says that’s not the point.”
“So I’ve heard.” Julian was a strong advocate for the suspension of disbelief. To his delight, Aila had embraced the philosophy wholeheartedly.
Speaking of the pair, they emerged from the bathroom. “Say goodnight, and I’ll read your bedtime story,” said Julian.
Aila never simply said goodnight. She preferred to add a hug. “Goodnight, Niken.”
“Goodnight.”
Then it was Garak’s turn. He lifted her onto his lap, whereupon she threw her arms around his neck. He was a fortunate man indeed, to have such a family as this. Even now, years after Niken’s birth and marrying Julian, Garak was sometimes struck with wonder that this was his life. It was not on Cardassia, no, and that would always ache, but this – now that he had them, he would not trade his family even for Cardassia. Without the three of them he would be incomplete. Half a man, at most.
“Goodnight, Yadik.”
“Sleep well, daughter.”
After a final squeeze, Aila scrambled off his lap and rather reluctantly went to her bedroom, trying to convince Julian that two short bedtime stories were the same as one long. That might have been a compelling argument if bedtime stories varied in length by more than a few pages.
“But Daddy…”
“One bedtime story, Aila.”
Garak turned his attention back to his son. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes, we were discussing Cinderella.”
“Why?” asked Niken.
“Why what?”
“Why does it matter if I say the story is dumb or explain why it’s dumb?”
“It makes every difference. You cannot have a real conversation without giving your reasons for not liking the story, and you will find many people who disagree with you in your life. You must be able to discuss your opinions and support them.”
“Like you and Dad do?”
“Exactly.”
“Then why does Dad come home and complain that Admiral Blackstock is an idiot?”
He’d have to speak to Julian about saying that in range of the children, even if it was true. “Admiral Blackstock is his commanding officer’s commanding officer, which means Dad is not allowed to freely express his disagreements. It’s different. I, for example, am under no such restrictions.”
“That’s why I’m not going to join Starfleet. I don’t want people to tell me what I have to do. Otherwise, what’s the point of being a grownup?”
There were many points, but Garak doubted Niken would appreciate them at his age. “I’m afraid some of that will happen whatever you choose for your life. Nevertheless, one does get told what to do more in Starfleet.” At least, that was how it worked in the Federation.
“Can Dad tell Admiral Blackstock that Prince Charming was an idiot?”
“I doubt the subject has come up.”
“You know what else? Mice can’t make clothes.”
“No. They can’t. But suppose there is a planet where similar animals can.”
Niken remained unconvinced. “This is a story from Earth.”
“Yes, of course. However, do you see what we have done? If you say Cinderella is a dumb story, and the other person says it is not, the conversation is over. If, on the other hand, you state what does not make sense, and the other person offers an explanation, then you can enjoy yourselves talking about the story for some time.”
“So we don’t get bored.”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t like to be bored.”
“I know.”
“Yadik?”
“Yes?”
“What human stories do you like?”
“Mostly adult books,” Garak said, and that much was true. Julian had found some ‘suitably fatalistic Russian literature’ which he did not enjoy but Garak did, more or less. Garak did not care for a single fairy tale, but in the realm of children’s fables, there was one of which he particularly approved. “I do, however, appreciate the story of the tortoise and the hare. Do you remember that one?”
Niken nodded. He inherited a genetic predisposition to good memory from both his fathers, and Garak had introduced him to Cardassian memory exercises as soon as appropriate. “Everyone thought the tortoise was silly, but he worked hard and proved them all wrong.”
“That’s what your dad says. I think the moral is that you should never underestimate your opponent.”
“What’s underestimate?”
“To estimate is to take the information available and use it to make a guess.”
“And underestimating is a bad guess?”
“A guess which is too low. The hare thought it would win easily. It underestimated how hard the tortoise was willing to work, and how far it could go if the hare slept long enough.”
“And then it lost.”
“On the hare’s part, that was entirely avoidable.”
Niken nodded. “That must’ve been embarrassing.”
Why stop anthropomorphizing now? “I’m sure it was.”
His son played with the toys for a minute, which included launching starships across the room with his latest acquisition, designed just for that purpose (to Garak’s vexation). After sending two starships some meters away, he asked, “Do you and Dad argue about books because you’re bored?”
“Not because we have nothing else to do. We enjoy a good debate.”
“George Bauer says that’s weird.”
“‘Weird’ is just a word people use for something they don’t understand,” said Garak. “Cardassians enjoy debates. It is less common among humans, yes, but not unheard of.”
“George is jealous of you,” said Julian, coming to join Garak on the couch. He’d held firm at one bedtime story if he was back now.
“Why?”
“Because his parents got divorced and they don’t like to spend time together. He’s looking for reasons to say that other people have weird parents to make himself feel better.”
“You probably shouldn’t tell him that,” cautioned Garak. “It will just make him angry.”
“That’s sad,” Niken said.
Julian nodded. “Yes. It is very sad for him. He shouldn’t try to make other people feel badly, but I’m afraid you will run into that often in life. George may not even know he’s doing it. The best thing you can do is ignore him when he says something unkind about Yadik and I.”
“So when you argue, it doesn’t mean you’re going to get divorced?”
How had Garak missed this? Perhaps because Cardassian children so rarely had to deal with divorce. Or, possibly, because even his powers of anticipation were no match for childrearing.
“We are not,” Julian said firmly. “Yadik and I love each other very much, and we like to challenge each other. That’s why we argue about books. It doesn’t mean anything except that we’re having a good time, so you don’t need to worry.”
Niken was suspiciously teary. “I didn’t want to say anything in front of Aila.”
“You are a very loving big brother. Come here.” Niken wasted no time in clambering up between them on the couch, where Julian hugged him before continuing, “It’s alright, k’chn.”
Somewhere along the line, Julian had adopted the Cardassi endearment as his preferred one for the children. The fact that Garak adored hearing his husband use the word might have had something to do with his adoption thereof.
Garak thought he had better offer his own reassurances. “There’s no need to worry. I’m grateful every day to be married to your dad.”
As it turned out, sharing his personal truths had gotten easier with practice. Within reason.
Niken sniffled and hugged him.
“Is there anything else you need to ask us?” Julian inquired when Niken appeared to have calmed down.
“Can we get a puppy?”
Julian did a tolerable job of hiding his amusement. “I’ll give you credit for trying, but we are not getting a puppy.”
This was not the first time the subject had come up. Niken wanted a puppy, Aila wished for a domesticated Betazoid marsupial currently en vogue among her peers, and the only pet Julian and Garak were inclined to get right now was a fish. Garak was willing to reconsider when both children could be trusted to attend to their own oral hygiene without direct supervision, though he would require a great deal of convincing.
“There’s time to play a game before bed, if you’d like,” Julian offered. Strictly speaking, there was not, but staying up fifteen or twenty minutes late was not likely to hurt Niken, and he was still recovering from his deep concern.
“Can we play kadis-kot?”
“Yes,” said Garak. “Why don’t you get the board?”
They did get the boy to bed eventually, and in high spirits at that. Neither of their children were as yet prone to extended moodiness. Julian expected that to change when they were preteens, which was not common on Cardassia and thus puzzled Garak. Perhaps they’d be fortunate and the children’s Cardassian heritage would prevail in this aspect.
Outside Niken’s room, Julian gently pushed Garak against the wall and leaned in for anshwar. The simple pleasure of pressing foreheads together still delighted Garak every time.
“I’m grateful too, Elim.”
As the saying went, family was all.