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The first thing Julian became aware of when he woke, before even opening his eyes, was the rhythm of his lover’s breathing. Elim was tucked in close to his chest, and with each breath, his ribcage rose and fell beneath Julian’s arm. Beginning on each inhale was the quietest whistle, followed by a soft exhale.
As cognitive capabilities returned to him, Julian smiled. For the first time, Garak had spent the night. Bathing in the memories, he catalogued the feel of smooth scales, now nearly mammal warm, pressed against him.
Outlined in the faint starlight Elim was statuesque, pitch dark hair against stately grey scales. Unable to resist, Julian snuggled closer, inhaling Garak’s scent. He smelled herbal and spicy, almost like a tomato plant. How lucky he was to know this.
Each day with Elim he learned something new, which was part of why he— no, let’s not go there yet. Part of why he enjoyed his company so much. That had always been true, even before their courtship had begun, but now Julian was learning about Elim himself, in ways the bonds of friendship had not permitted. He stored this detail alongside all the others he was now free to collect. Yes, he now knew things like the taste of Garak’s skin, the shade of his favourite pyjamas (black with white piping, he was wearing them now), and the shape of the tiniest scales along his stomach.
Julian’s grin persisted. He would have loved to stay here forever, but he did have to go to the bathroom. Wiggling his way out from under the covers, careful not to wake Elim, he slipped out of bed and padded to the fresher.
“Computer, bathroom lights,” he murmured once he shut the sliding door.
Julian performed his morning ablutions quietly. He was still suffused with warmth from last night, and in the more literal sense as well. He had raised the ambient temperature in his quarters to accommodate for Cardassian comfort.
As Julian brushed his teeth, he formed possible plans for the upcoming day. Both he and Garak had taken it off, part of what they had arranged for last night.
That was another thing Julian had picked up from Elim, a balance between spontaneity and planning. Their courtship was a synergistic fusion of human and Cardassian. In a Cardassian courtship, the complex rituals were written and clear. Julian admired the structure they provided, and the misunderstandings they forestalled, once he understood them, that was. It made it all the sweeter when Elim bent those rules for him, swept away by the spirit of the moment.
One Cardassian ritual Garak had insisted on, though, was their first night together being scheduled ahead of time. It was to be paired with a stimulating dinner debate, of course, and the following day was also to be spent together. Julian had thought it was a little old fashioned, but Garak claimed that the anticipation was part of the experience, and added to the event itself. When the time came, Julian couldn’t disagree.
Privately, he suspected another motive. Though he wouldn’t admit it, Elim was a romantic. He wanted to be wooed. Julian was happy to work with that.
What was more romantic than breakfast in bed? Julian wasn’t much of a chef, but he felt that he could handle something simple before Garak woke up. Elim was fussy about his eggs, so that was a no. Julian didn’t trust himself enough to get it right the first try.
Captain Sisko had once said that pancakes were a good meal to teach to children, something about instilling a love of food, and family bonding time. If a child could make pancakes, surely Julian would have no trouble.
Sneaking back into the main room, Julian grabbed a spare PADD. He searched for pancake recipes as he sat on the couch.
Hmm. This could be a problem. Setting up a cooktop, preparing the batter, and then actually cooking the cakes would be difficult to do without waking Garak. Ah, well. He would have to be quiet and work in low light.
“Computer, increase lights to fifteen percent over two minutes.”
This was a challenge Julian felt up to. Stealth was Garak’s game, but Julian Bashir, Secret Agent, was certainly a player.
At the replicator, he winced with each pleasant beep as his utensils materialized. Thank goodness for poor Cardassian hearing. He hadn’t realized just how much went into this cooking business. What did he need salt for in a sweet breakfast?
Navigating his way back to the couch mostly by feel, Julian set up his workspace on the end table. The carefully balanced containers of ingredients reminded him of a house of cards he had built during a slow day at the infirmary. He longed for the infirmary’s spacious counters now as he balanced a mixing bowl on his knee.
A glance back confirmed that counters or no, there was no place he would rather be right now. Elim had tucked himself away under the blankets, entirely swaddled below his nose. A wave of fondness crashed over Julian. Garak would shudder to think of the undignified descriptors that sprang to Julian’s mind, words like “cute” foremost among them.
Consulting the recipe, Julian sifted flour into his mixing bowl, followed by the baking powder, salt, and sugar. He frowned at the now dusty sieve, having nowhere to put it. Entrenched as he was in cooking equipment, there would be no quick way back to the replicator. With a sigh, he placed the sieve on the couch beside him.
His next challenge was the egg. Cracking it on the edge of the bowl would be too loud. Instead, he pressed his thumbs into the weakest looking side part of the curve, holding it over the bowl. With a crunch, the shell caved in. The vivid yellow yolk and slimy white tumbled out. Julian winced as three pieces of eggshell followed them.
Setting aside the hollow shell, Julian fumbled in the bowl for the naughty bits of calcium carbonate. Milk and melted butter followed the egg, and checking the recipe one last time, Julian confirmed that all the components were present.
He began to whisk, and the chunky mixture smoothed out, eggs, butter, and solids becoming one. Chasing down stubborn lumps, little galaxies followed in his whisk’s wake. The batter was pulled along, twisting the landscape of the bowl into a spiral, perhaps an intermediate Sb class, if he was being technical. Aiming for the sides of the bowl, his pancake galaxy veered towards lenticular. Not entirely sure what the mixture was supposed to look like, Julian deemed it smooth enough.
Carefully rearranging the mess on the end table, Julian made room for his cooking implements. The pan went on the cooktop, and the bowl of what was hopefully batter was wedged in beside it. Julian turned on the cooktop and reached for his PADD. Approximately a quarter cup of batter per pancake, flip when bubbles appear on the surface.
How would he know when there were enough bubbles? Large ones or small ones? How exact of a science was this? Now Julian’s mind wandered further. How much heat did it take to trigger the bubbling process?
Oh. Oh. Now that was an interesting thought. An entire Bolian freighter crew had come into the infirmary last week with bubbly rashes that had been resisting treatment. What if, like the pancakes, the freighters were bubbling due to an input of energy? Of course, radiation was much more likely than heat, given context.
Bringing up a new window on his PADD, Julian began drafting a testing plan. He hadn’t seen a rash exactly like this before and didn’t know what sort of horrible anomalies the freighter may have run into. Logging into the station database, he called up the ship’s flight log. As expected. Not one, but two shortcuts through uncharted nebulae. They could have run into any number of unidentified radiation pockets there.
Tapping the stylus against his teeth, Julian adjusted the concentration of ions on his screening diagram. If it was radiation, he would start with a full salvo of antirad gels, unless it was sigma radiation, in which case a hypospray would be most effective. After the antirad did its work, a chemical exfoliant and a dermal regenerator should help with the tissue necrosis he was observing.
Already planning dosages, Julian began calculating volumes based off of the body masses of the crewmembers. With his genetically enhanced brain, it was a breeze. Of course, it might not be radiation after all, and a couple things could lead to a false positive with standard testing… If this turned out he might even be able to pull a paper out of the whole thing.
Chewing on his lip, Julian wrote in some more notes. Maybe some more leukocyte testing? The treatment growing clearer by the second, Julian’s stylus scribbled faster and faster, weaving the perfect web of medicine until—
“Something is burning,” Garak hissed.
Julian startled, fumbling his PADD onto the floor as he did a double take. Garak was sitting bolt upright in bed, hair mussed. He was right though.
Inhaling, Julian smelled it too, an acrid, unnatural scent that rested on the tongue. He let out a stream of curse words and lunged for the pan on his end table. Grabbing for it, Julian yelped as pain lanced through his hands, immediately and instinctively dropping the pan.
Stupid, stupid! Of course the pan would be hot!
The pan had taken the bowl of batter with it in a clanging collision, and the evidence of Julian’s thoughtlessness was now spread across the floor, soaking into the carpet.
“Ow,” Julian groaned. Garak was already at his side.
“Your dermal regenerator?”
“Top of the cabinet, fresher,” Julian managed through gritted teeth. His hands were already beginning to sting, and hurting more by the second.
“Computer, a bowl of ice water,” he hissed, heading for the replicator. As soon as it materialized he dunked his hands in it. Sweet relief. As he calculated which regenerator settings to use, Garak returned, burn gel and dermal regenerator in hand.
“You keep a well stocked medicine cabinet,” Garak commented, uncapping the tube of gel.
“I am a doctor,” Julian quipped, presenting his hands, already an angry shade of red. He winced as Garak rubbed the cooling gel into his palms, gentle though he was.
“As a doctor, you should know that hot objects are not to be touched,” Garak chided, setting the tube aside.
“You would think,” Julian said with a grimace. “I don’t get around to cooking much. Setting seven alpha,” he added as Garak picked up the dermal regenerator.
“Humans,” Garak tutted. “No respect for traditional skills.”
Julian knew better than to be offended. Garak was distracting him through the last of the pain as he swept over Julian’s palms, reconstituting his epithelial cells.
“Next time, dear, let me do the cooking. I do know my way around a stove.”
“Don’t tell me, you were undercover as a chef on Andoria once” Julian teased with a grin.
“Undercover? Why I have no idea what you mean by that,” Garak returned, eyes glinting.
Julian rolled his eyes. “Of course.”
Hands now more or less healed, he wiped away the burn gel and took stock of his quarters. The pancake batter in the carpet was the worst of it, but bits of eggshell had also gotten mashed into the couch during the chaos. Julian sighed. This would be hell to clean.
“I did a bad job of being romantic. I was trying to make you breakfast, but I got, well, distracted,” Julian admitted.
In return, Garak only laughed, pulling Julian into a hug. Julian smiled against the silk of his pyjamas and maybe melted, just a little.
Perhaps he had ruined the pancakes, but in the grand scheme of things, he hadn’t ruined anything. He kissed Elim then, and vowed to himself that someday he would get this right. With any luck, he would have the rest of his life to try.