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Garak opens his eyes to the infirmary, again. Twice in as many days, and isn’t that just pathetic?
The bio bed beeps softly, monitoring his heart rate and blood pressure and whatever else remains to indicate he’s alive, still. That the embarrassment isn’t quite enough to kill him yet, and neither is the guilt. He lies still for a few moments, blinking the bleariness out of his eyes, before he sees a familiar figure approach him.
“Oh good,” Julian says, in a voice too soft to be his doctor tone, offering a small smile. “You’re awake.”
Garak hums in response, letting his eyes slip closed again. He’s at war with himself; part of him feels an immense comfort in Julian’s presence. Part of him shies away from that sort of vulnerability. Part of him is worried that Julian will want to talk about what happened.
He hears the scrape of a chair being pulled closer. Julian sits down; wraps a hand around his forearm. “Elim. I’m worried about you.”
Ah. So at least part of him was right.
“Doctor…”
“No, I know. I know you don’t want to talk about it. But you’ve collapsed twice in as many days. Elim, you tried to jump out of an airlock—“
Garak raises a hand. “Stop. I remember it well enough.” He opens his eyes, embarrassment racing through him. Breaking down in an airlock, trying to force the door opened, banging his fist against the window until someone overrode the lock. Breaking down in Julian’s arms. Breaking down in Ezri’s — by Cardassia, he barely even knows her.
Julian looks back at him, so gently it hurts. “You’ve nothing to be ashamed of.”
And Garak laughs at that. “Really, doctor. ’ Nothing to be ashamed of,’ do you have any idea—“
Julian cuts him off; firmly, blank-faced, says “yes, I do actually.”
And suddenly Garak remembers. Julian after a long day, wincing and flinching away from the cries at the dabo wheel, trying to finish his drink and hold a conversation until he can’t bear it any longer and runs off to his quarters, hands over his ears or wrapped tight around his chest. Julian choking down rations during their time in the Dominion camp, trying to disguise the way the dishes made him gag; trying to hide the full-body shudders; trying to hide the way he rocked in his seat.
Julian, not too long ago, slamming his fist into the wall of his quarters, the table, himself, when Garak had come to check on him after hearing about Jadzia. The way he’d shouted, and cried, and then curled up and hid himself while he apologised for being childish.
How foolish, Elim. Of course he understands.
Garak reaches for Julian’s hand and enfolds it in his own. He squeezes. The human squeezes back.
“Forgive me.”
Julian shakes his head. “I’ve got a better idea. Let me help you, instead.”
Garak sighs. He brings Julian’s hand up to his lips and places a kiss on it. “If you must.”
Julian smiles, then, and Garak knows that he trusts this man. He doesn’t know if he should; still thinks it’s safer to keep himself - and his weaknesses - hidden. But when Julian Bashir looks at him like that, well. He’s always been weak against sentiment.