Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

". . . And then at this point in a Cardassian enjoinment ceremony, the parties involved pledge their undying devotion to Cardassia. We thought you'd prefer to pledge an oath of allegiance to the Federation instead," Commander Sisko said with a lift of his eyebrows.

"I would, yes," Julian agreed without hesitation. After hearing about Cardassia from Garak for the last two years, he was of the opinion that, while it was a fascinating place from an intellectual standpoint, he wasn't interested in having strong ties to it.

Well . . . stronger ties than the ones he was about to have.

Almost a month ago by Earth's calendar, he'd agreed to marry Garak (or enjoin with him, as the Cardassians called it) for political reasons: specifically, to be a symbol of the peace between the Federation and Cardassia after the Cardassian government had been caught supplying weapons to its colonists in the Demilitarised Zone. It had been a tidy solution to what could have been a big problem: not many people got on that well with Garak, who had been volunteered by his government for the task. Certainly nobody else got on with him well enough to want to marry him.

But, honestly, it wasn't much of a sacrifice for Julian. After all, he did want to get to know Garak better, and being married to him would make that hard to avoid. He just wished he could skip right to the marriage bit and avoid all the political nonsense along the way. Unfortunately for him, from the sounds of what Commander Sisko had been saying about the wedding-enjoinment proceedings for the past half-hour, that was one wish that wasn't going to be granted.

"After that, all that will be left for you is to kiss Mr. Garak and sign the register," the Commander at last concluded.

Julian blinked several times. "Sir? I'm going to have to kiss Garak?"

"I'm afraid so. Central Command was extremely firm on that point."

At first, he frowned—that made no sense whatsoever—but then: "It's probably more of Gul Dukat trying to make things awkward for Garak—and me, I suppose. He hasn't forgiven us for that business with Rugal."

"I don't doubt it. Dukat strikes me as a man with a long memory."

"Well, if his idea of revenge is making me kiss a friend, I'd say I can live with it."

"He's also making you marry your friend in the first place," Commander Sisko pointed out.

"Even so. Given his reputation, I think Garak and I got off lucky." He tried a smile.

He got a sympathetic sigh in response. "Both governments want to have the wedding as soon as possible, preferably within the next month. I suppose they want to strike while the iron is hot."

At that, Julian's posture snapped straight. "I'm sure they would, Commander, but Garak is still recovering from major brain surgery. I won't be bringing any further complications into his life until he's back on his feet."

"Of course, Doctor. I'll let Starfleet Command know they're going to have a bit of a wait on their hands." He smiled. "They can deal with the Federation Council and Central Command."

"Thank you, sir."

Since they had finished going over the entire wedding-enjoinment ceremony, he had been expecting to be dismissed. He was therefore rather taken off-guard when Commander Sisko said, "One more thing, Doctor."

"Sir?"

By now, the Commander's smile was long gone. "A number of disturbing rumours have surfaced over the past week about our Mr. Garak. In light of this, if you're no longer comfortable going ahead with the marriage, I'm certain a replacement could be found. There's no need for you to feel trapped in this ridiculous situation."

He should have been anticipating this, but he hadn't. Once it was said, however, well—it wasn't all that surprising.

"Thank you, sir. I appreciate your concern, but I've already given it a great deal of thought."

And he had, during those hours and hours Garak had been sleeping and Julian had begun to wonder if he would ever wake up, while the man had sobbed and shouted at him, when Garak had taken his hand for the first and what he had plainly thought to be the final time. All the while, Julian had been aware that he was nursing not only his friend but his fiancé, and that he was about to bind himself to a man who had once been a torturer.

He took in and let out a breath. "And I considered breaking the engagement. But the fact of the matter is, I can't make someone else do this. At the very least, I know Garak, and I know that, whatever he might have done, it's in the past. He's a different man now, I'm sure of it. But . . . a stranger might not be."

Commander Sisko was silent for a moment, during which it was hard to avoid squirming. He seemed to be measuring Julian—and then he sat back in his chair.

"All right. If that's what you really want."

"It is, sir."

"But." He gave him a hard look. "I want you to know that if you ever change your mind, at any time—right up until the cue to say "I do"—you can. Don't worry about the consequences. I'll take care of them. Is that clear?"

"Perfectly, sir." It was much easier to smile this time. "Thank you."

The Commander seemed to relax. "You're welcome. Just don't forget."

"I won't."

"Good. You're dismissed."

Instead of returning directly to the infirmary, Julian made a detour to Garak's shop. Yesterday, Garak had finally worn him down enough to get permission to return to work—but only for half days, and only if it didn't tire him too much. He knew Garak was chafing at the bedrest he'd insisted upon and was liable to sneak around behind his back, which was the only reason he'd given in. Otherwise, it would have been another five days at least before he would have even considered letting up.

"Ah, Julian," Garak greeted him as he stepped into the shop. (Julian had insisted on the change in address—being called "Doctor" by his fiancé was only completely silly.) "To what do I owe the honour of your visit?"

Julian met that angelic smile with an exasperated look. "Don't give me that, Garak—Elim," he corrected himself when Garak raised a finger. "You know why I'm here."

Fortunately, Garak wasn't in the mood to feign further ignorance. "So I do, and I'm pleased to report that, aside from a need to sit down more frequently than I'm accustomed to, I've been experiencing no ill effects."

No ill effects that you're willing to admit, Julian mentally amended. One simply didn't shrug off a dependency as severe as Garak's, and even if there had been a great many advances in recent years in the treatment of addictions, Garak was still in for a long and difficult recovery.

Aloud he said, "I'm pleased to hear it." He seated himself on the edge of Garak's sewing table so Garak didn't feel the need to stand up. "I've just got back from meeting with Commander Sisko about, uh . . . our wedding."

"And what did the Commander say?"

"He explained how it's going to run—I'll forward you the plans later. It's up to us to set the date, though. I was thinking sometime next month."

"To give me time to recover?" Garak asked with a lift of his chin.

"To give everyone time to prepare," he answered firmly. "It sounds as though it's going to be a very large affair."

"I can't say I'm surprised. We Cardassians do enjoy a good spectacle."

"As do we Humans. It couldn't fail to be large-scale, unfortunately."

Garak gave him a sideways look. "Having second thoughts, Julian?"

"No, of course not. It's just—it's beginning to seem like rather a lot of attention."

"That's never bothered you before."

Julian frowned at him. "I don't mind it when the attention is about a paper I've written or a cure I've discovered, but—this is different. It's not about what I've done. All I am is a symbol."

"If it's any consolation, I'm no more pleased than you are about being the focus of so many eyes. Obscurity suited me quite nicely." He sighed. "Still, when Cardassia calls, its citizens must answer—even if the call is of an unusual nature."

When he mustn't have looked comforted, Garak added, "Cheer up, my dear Julian: in a matter of weeks, we'll be all but forgotten. The wedding is the important thing. Once it's over, all that most people will remember is that somewhere, a Federation citizen is married to a Cardassian to show what good friends our governments are . . . if they remember anything at all."

He let out a breath. "I hope you're right."

"So do I."

"I can't say that's very reassuring. . . ." He shook his head. "At any rate, I need to be back at the infirmary. I'll see you for lunch, provided you're up to it."

"I wouldn't miss it."

Garak nodded, he nodded back, and off he went.

After some discussion, he and Garak agreed upon Stardate 47940.4 for the wedding. While neither government was pleased at needing to wait nearly an entire month for the ceremony to take place, as it turned out, it was very much for the best. None of the Federation participants in the ceremony were familiar with Cardassian wedding traditions, and the reverse was true. The wedding rehearsals—and there were many of them—were filled with confusion, frustration, and a great deal of bickering.

(One of the Cardassian delegation, a Legate Etan, seem to to take particular exception to Jadzia—or so Julian had thought until both women arrived late to one morning rehearsal, looking very . . . relaxed. He had trouble making eye contact with either of them after that.)

The rehearsals were also filled with a great many details to keep track of. While none of the Cardassians involved seemed to have trouble remembering the various requirements and taboos (which had quadrupled with the addition of Cardassian customs), the other species present weren't so lucky. He could only be grateful for once for his genetically enhanced brain—remembering everything was simple for him. He made certain, however, to make mistakes the way an ordinary Human would, and counted himself lucky that he was afforded the luxury of choosing ones that were neither embarrassing nor diplomatically disastrous.

About the only thing they didn't rehearse was the kiss. Each time, whoever was standing in for the admiral that Starfleet was sending would say something along the lines of "And here's where you'll kiss to confirm the marriage. . . ." —or in Jadzia's case, "Here's where you'll pucker up, Julian. . . ." —and the rehearsal would continue on from there.

Sometimes Julian would catch Garak's eye; sometimes he would maintain his focus on the "admiral" of the day. And while Garak might have looked calm and even amused when Julian glanced his way, Julian couldn't say he felt the same. It wasn't as though he were shy or minded public displays of affection, but kissing his best friend on the station in front of representatives of two governments was going to be . . . odd. There was no getting around it.

Well, the only way out was through. He was simply going to have to put up with any strangeness. He'd get the whole thing over with, and with any luck, Garak would be right and they'd both be well and truly forgotten about in a fortnight. All he needed to do was last until then.

"Julian, how do I look?" Garak murmured to him.

"You look fine."

"You didn't even look at me!"

He sighed. The two of them, along with Commander Sisko, were waiting at Docking Bay 1 for the admiral sent to represent the Federation. At the moment, fashion wasn't what he really wanted to be thinking about.

Still, to satisfy his friend, he flicked his gaze up and down. "You really do look fine—you always look fine."

He wasn't simply flattering Garak, either. With the exception of his period of withdrawal from the wire, he'd never seen Garak less than perfectly presented. In their first year of acquaintance, he'd actually begun to wonder if it were possible for Garak to be untidy. He now knew better, of course, but he still felt very safe in assuming that Garak would be impeccably dressed at any moment.

. . . Any public moment. But soon he would be seeing Garak in his private moments and that might be another story. It was a strange thought.

"Thank you, my dear Julian." Garak sounded pacified. "That's most kind of you."

"It's nothing." He shook his head but kept his eyes on the docking bay door.

There was a pause that was soon filled by Garak. "Might I compliment you—both of you—on how well turned out you are today? The cut of Starfleet's dress uniforms is much more flattering than that of its everyday wear."

"I'm glad you approve," the Commander said with plain irony; Julian only offered a brief "Thank you."

Before Garak could say anything else, the docking bay door rolled open and two Starfleet security officers stepped through, followed by a trim white Human woman probably in her forties. She snapped a look at the three of them with the kind of expression that suggested her subordinates didn't get too many free rides.

Commander Sisko stepped forward, hand outstretched. "Admiral Nechayev. On behalf of myself, Dr. Bashir, and Mr. Garak, welcome to Deep Space Nine."

"Thank you, Commander. I feel as though I've only just left after that business with the Maquis."

She turned to Julian and shook his hand with a strong, dry grip. "As the representative of Starfleet and the Federation, I extend our thanks to you for taking on this job. You're going above and beyond the call of duty, and I'm going to ensure that's reflected on your permanent record."

Julian attempted a reassuring smile; he got the impression from the way it sat strangely on his lips that he may have missed his target. "Thank you, Admiral. That's very kind of you, but it's not nearly as much of a sacrifice as you're making it sound. Or—or any sacrifice," he amended when he caught movement from Garak out of the corner of his eye. "Elim and I have been friends almost since I arrived on the station. This is simply a little closer than I anticipated us getting."

"I see."

The Admiral turned her attention to Garak, who bowed, then shook her hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Admiral. Might I offer my sincere gratitude for the role you'll be playing in the enjoinment of myself and Dr. Bashir?"

"You're quite welcome. It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Garak," she said crisply before turning back to Commander Sisko.

"Allow me to show you to your quarters," he offered. "I hope you'll be able to join us in the wardroom for a small pre-wedding celebration at nineteen hundred hours. I can introduce you to the other participants in the ceremony then."

"I look forward to meeting them." One more sharp glance at him and Garak. "Good day, gentlemen."

With that, she and the Commander departed, followed by the security guards.

Once the group was out of earshot, Garak commented, "I believe we're in for an interesting evening, my dear Julian. Admiral Nechayev is something of a legend on Cardassia—as soon as I heard that she was the one to be officiating, it became clear that Starfleet is rather concerned about you. You'll forgive me for saying so, but in general, Starfleet officers have a reputation for softness on Cardassia. Few, however, will deny that the Admiral is very much an exception to that rule. Bringing her into the situation sends a very strong message."

"I don't see why everyone is so worried about me," Julian grumbled as they began the walk back to the promenade. "What do they think you're going to do? Murder me in my sleep?"

Garak gave him a bright smile. "My dear Julian, you're entering the world of Cardassian politics. There's no greater cause for concern than that."

Julian didn't see the Admiral again until the pre-wedding celebration. Her arrival to the wardroom was at precisely nineteen hundred hours and served as a well-needed distraction from Jadzia. His so-called friend had, at that moment, finally succeeded in catching his eye to wink at him, making him blush terrifically.

(Jadzia had organised his bachelor party the night before. It had been held at Quark's, had involved every single person on the station he'd spoken to for longer than five minutes, large quantities of food, and even larger quantities of alcohol. He remembered attempting to chat up Sarda the dabo spinner at one point and had thought he had been rather charming, but given her trouble keeping a straight face when he dropped by Quark's earlier today . . . apparently he had missed his mark.)

"Admiral, welcome," he said (too fast, damn it) as he stepped up to her. "Can I get you anything? A drink, perhaps?"

"A drink would suit me just fine," she answered.

He gestured for Quark and got an eyeroll in response, but at least the man looked as though he'd be coming their way at some point.

"Nervous, Doctor?"

He startled, then faced the Admiral in time to see her smile turn wry.

"I suppose you wouldn't believe me if I said I wasn't."

"I wouldn't, no."

He watched her survey the room until she found Garak, who seemed to be having a fine time in conversation with Jadzia. They were probably exchanging embarrassing stories about him.

"At least your intended seems to be decent enough, unlike most of the Cardassians I've had to deal with. Is he?"

Abruptly, she was staring him right in the eye again. It was more than a bit disconcerting.

"What, Garak? Of course. He's, well—don't tell him I said this, but he's . . . he's brilliant, in every sense of the word."

And that was all he was going to say. He wasn't about to mention anything about Garak's past to Admiral Nechayev of all people, no matter how not-entirely-settled his thoughts were on the matter.

"I see." A pause. "I don't see, however, anyone here who looks as though they could be your parents. Are they present? I'd like to be introduced."

Julian straightened, pulling up and back. "They aren't. Sorry."

"Admiral Nechayev," Quark oiled, appearing at last. "What can I get for you?"

"A Cardassian sunrise." She glanced at Julian. "It seems appropriate, given the occasion."

He tried a fast smile. "It does, doesn't it? Make that two, Quark."

"All right, two Cardassian sunrises. If you'll give me a minute, I'll be right back." He wove his way toward the drinks table.

The Admiral turned back to him, but before she could speak, a much friendlier voice cut in.

"Ah, there you are, my dear."

Garak glided up to them with a smile, and—

Julian jerked when he felt Garak's hand settle at the small of his back. It was by far the most intimate touch he'd ever received from him. What was he doing?

"And Admiral Nechayev," he went on. "How good to see you again."

She inclined her head. "I'm pleased to see you as well, Mr. Garak—I had been hoping for the chance to speak with you. I was just asking Dr. Bashir about being introduced to his parents, but it seems they weren't able to attend. Would your parents be present?"

"I'm afraid not. My father passed away a number of years ago and my mother is, like Julian's parents, also unable to attend."

Julian boggled at Garak. That was more information dropped casually into a sentence than Julian had been able to pry from him in the first two months of their friendship. What was Garak up to? Could he press him and find out even more?

He tried searching for an angle, but his mind kept returning to the hand on his back, which crowded his thoughts as surely as if it were pressed against bare skin.

His heart thudded.

". . . enjoinment ceremony? From what I understand of Cardassian society, this is every bit as momentuous of an event as marriages are for Humans—possibly more so."

"You're correct, of course, Admiral." Garak smiled and spread his free hand. "But my mother's work is of the utmost importance and she simply couldn't get away."

"A shame." The Admiral looked them over one last time, then said, "I should speak with the Cardassian delegation. If you'll excuse me."

She departed. Julian waited until she was out of range, then said, "Thank you, Elim."

"It was my pleasure." Finally, he let his hand drop (the absence was a jolt). "You looked as though you were in need of rescue."

He tried a smile and was no more successful than he'd been with the Admiral. "I was, a bit." And now it was time to change the subject. "I didn't know your mother was still living. What kind of work does she do that's so important, exactly?"

Garak gave him one of his sideways looks. "What do you think?"

There were, of course, many jobs that would make leaving Cardassia for an extended period of time difficult or impossible, but the only one that was coming to mind was. . . .

"She's not a. . . ."

Garak blinked at him. "A what, Julian?"

"A—"

"A Cardassian sunrise for you, Doctor, and one for—where'd the Admiral go?" Quark asked, abruptly frowning.

The interruption was disorienting enough that it took Julian a second to put together a proper answer. "What? Oh. She went to speak with the Cardassian delegation."

Quark waved his hand to take in the gathering, which was at least one third Cardassian. "Could you be a little more specific?"

"Sorry, Quark. I wasn't paying attention."

Quark rolled his eyes again. "Fine. Make the bartender get his exercise. It's not like I'm going to be on my feet half the night."

Julian picked his glass off the tray. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Quark answered ungraciously. "What about you, Garak—can I get you anything? A glass of kanar?"

"Nothing for me, thank you," Garak said brightly, which was probably intended to contrast with Quark's less-than-cheery demeanour.

"Suit yourself."

"To answer your question," Garak said once Quark had left, "no, my mother isn't a Cardassian sunrise, although she is lovely."

Julian fought the urge to splash him with his drink. "I was going to ask if she's a spy, not a Cardassian sunrise."

"Oh." Garak opened his eyes wide. "Then you really should have been clearer. I must say, I found myself quite confused."

"No you didn't," Julian muttered, then glanced about and further lowered his voice. "So . . . is she?"

Garak chuckled. "My dear Julian, what an imagination you have! Always seeing spies in the most unlikely places. Should I await an accusation leveled at Commander Sisko next?"

"I doubt it."

Irritated, he took a sip of his drink—which was really very good, actually. Doing so gave him enough time to realise that if Garak's mother actually was a spy, Garak wouldn't share that information in a roomful of high-ranking Cardassian officials. There was still no need for him to be that condescending, though.

He lowered his glass and went on, "Still, you never can be too certain. I think I'll go speak with the Commander and make a few subtle inquiries."

"I'd be interested to hear what you learn."

He gave Garak a polite smile. "I'm sure you would."

He left, then, but as he found Commander Sisko and struck up a conversation, he couldn't resist glancing back at Garak. He wasn't surprised to see him smiling—the man barely stopped—but that . . . was a smile he'd never seen before. It was pensive, but whatever thoughts he was having obviously weren't unpleasant. The expression warmed him, somehow—and then when Garak caught his eye and nodded, he flushed, warming further still. His embarrassment only worsened when the Commander had to draw his attention back to the conversation, and after that, he focused very hard on forgetting about Garak.

Chapter Text

Whoever had come up with the tradition of not seeing your partner before the wedding, Julian decided, had been a sadist. There was no other explanation.

Right now, as the anthem of the Cardassian Union was playing at the commencement of the ceremony, he could really have done with a few witty remarks or even teasing from Garak. His nerves were a wreck; he couldn't remember the last time he'd been so wound up. He hadn't been this jittery conducting brain surgery on Garak last month, for god's sake! He'd almost knocked over a flower vase when the music had started playing, and that would have been exactly the sort of incident he'd been constantly warned to avoid.

If only he weren't stuffed into the florist's!

It had been discovered very early on that everyone's first choice, the wardroom, was too small to comfortably hold the ceremony. Garak had absolutely refused to be enjoined at Quark's and nothing could sway him. That left the replimat—an appropriate choice, actually.

There was only one problem with the location, and it was that, in order to stay hidden before it was his cue to emerge, he had to wait inside the florist's shop. Lucky Garak had been assigned interstellar travel—there was a lot less to run into and no chance of spilling water on himself and having to go through the entire ceremony with a great splotch down his front.

Thank god he'd caught that vase in time. Not only would he have humiliated himself, he'd have put Garak in a snit, and if that wasn't starting off his marriage on the wrong foot he didn't know what was. He was wearing his dress uniform for the ceremony, but weeks ago, Garak had made Julian agree to hand it over to be tailored. Garak wouldn't ever forgive him if he didn't show off his work to its advantage today of all days.

Not that Garak's work needed any help. Once Garak had given the uniform back, Julian had almost hired him to tailor his entire wardrobe on the spot. He'd never looked better. That knowledge was a bolster—a small bolster, but a present one—against the knowledge of what he was about to undergo.

. . . How long was the Cardassian anthem, anyway? The urge to steal a glance outside was ferocious, but he forced himself to resist. As he fidgeted, he hummed along with the hymn under his breath and tried to figure out what to do with his hands.

Finally, after what seemed to be an outrageously long time, the song came to a close. There was a pause. And then the anthem of the Federation began.

His mouth was too parched for him to swallow. He pulled himself up straight, took in a deep breath, and began the slow, dignified step he'd rehearsed more times than anyone sober ever really needed to practice walking in a straight line.

As soon as he left the florist's, his relief at being out of that cramped space evaporated. It was true that inside it, there were vases to be broken and water to be spilled, but on the promenade were representatives of two governments, nearly all of Starfleet and Bajoran Security, every single non-Bajoran civilian, and all offduty Starfleet personnel. Apparently, his wedding was the most interesting event to happen in weeks.

He knew he was supposed to keep his eyes straight ahead, but he couldn't stop himself from scanning for familiar faces. If only he were giving a lecture! All of this would be laughably easy if he were speaking about Bendii Syndrome or the pathology of Orkett's Disease.

After a moment, he caught Commander Sisko's eye. His commanding officer (and best man) was wearing a sympathetic expression; apparently he wasn't covering his nerves as well as he'd thought. Damn it, he had to do better—he didn't want to make any of these Cardassian officials think he was regretting his decision. He'd got the sense that none of them liked Garak very much for whatever reason, and he'd be damned if he was going to give them a chance to look down on his friend!

The thought stiffened his resolve and his spine, and it allowed him to complete the remainder of his march to Admiral Nechayev with the dignity expected of him.

When he stopped next to Garak, he made sure to "accidentally" give him a little bump with his shoulder, then glanced over to catch his smile. It was a surprisingly warm one (did Garak think he needed reassuring, too?), and also . . . surprisingly attractive. He could see now why Garak had insisted on having input on every step of the design process for his own outfit: he certainly knew how to dress to his advantage. While the dark colors and strict lines of Cardassian formal wear weren't his thing, on Garak, they looked—well, good.

He turned his attention forward again to find Admiral Nechayev regarding him with one eyebrow raised. He couldn't quite stop himself from ducking his head, but immediately after, he pulled back into position.

The Admiral waited a beat, then spoke. "Peoples of the Cardassian Union, of the United Federation of Planets, and of all interstellar bodies present with us today. We have come together to bear witness to the enjoining of Julian Bashir and Elim Garak in marriage, a physical symbol of the enjoinment of these two governments in peace and friendship. . . ."

The ceremony was long—somehow even longer than the rehearsals—and full of speeches from just about every single participant. He had been assuming the Cardassians involved would go on the most, but some of the Federation members gave them real competition.

He and Garak were expected to make a speech as well, about their reasons for marrying-enjoining with each other. For his part, he kept his as short as he could get away with. That way, there was far less chance of him tripping over his tongue, or leaving out a crucial bit, or otherwise spoiling things. Fortunately, he managed to get through it even with some dignity. Garak seemed to approve, judging from the unusually warm look bestowed upon him at the end.

And then, at last, at such long last, the ceremony was over. He and Garak were facing each other, hands held in the air between them and fingers woven together. When Julian met Garak's eyes, their sharp blue was almost too brilliant in contrast with the dark clothes he wore. It was a fascinating sight—so fascinating that he nearly missed Admiral Nechayev saying, "By the power invested in me by the United Federation of Planets and temporarily granted to me by the Central Command of the Cardassian Union, I hereby pronounce you enjoined and married. You may seal this union with a kiss."

And here it was: the unrehearsed moment he at last needed to face. It might have been from his own culture, but as far as he was concerned, this was going to be the most alien part of all.

Time to stop hesitating. He looked directly at Garak (then had to stifle a giggle when Garak actually batted his eyelashes at him), gave his hand a squeeze, and leaned in.

The moment their lips touched, his eyes snapped open, because there had been a spark, there had been a real spark, and—he couldn't pull back, it hadn't been long enough yet. He closed his eyes and pressed in again. He was unaware of his hands tightening on Garak's, didn't realise his body had swayed forward of its own accord until he felt Garak break the kiss and step back, and only then did he hear the applause and cheers from the attendees. He had to remind himself to let go of one of Garak's hands and, accompanied by a blend of the anthems of the Federation and the Union, together they went to sign the register.

As he pressed his thumb against the padd, there was room for only one thought in his mind:

What on Earth had just happened?

It wasn't that he couldn't stop thinking about the kiss at the reception afterwards—there were dozens of important people offering their congratulations and holoimages to pose for. (At least he didn't have to swear any vows of loyalty, by dint of Garak having no family present.) But in every spare moment, from one handshake to the next, in the time it took to bow, back his mind would go to that kiss and the puzzle he suddenly needed to pull apart.

It only grew worse, not better, when it came time to cut the wedding cake. His heart was already pounding as he took up the knife; Garak's hand settling over his did not slow its beat. How a hand that cool could make him this warm was beyond him.

He was able to calm himself as he and Garak took their seats side by side at the table of honour (in Quark's—Garak had lost that battle). He was even able to bring his breathing back to normal as still more speeches ensued.

When it came the Commander's turn, that was enough to make him forget about Garak entirely. He had no idea Commander Sisko thought so highly of him, let alone that he'd be willing to say as much in front of so many people. It was . . . it was extremely touching.

But then, his period of distraction came to an end. As the Commander sat down, there was the sound of ringing glass.

He searched the room, his eyes darting from table to table as most non-Human species traded confused looks. Who was it—who had . . . ?

Jadzia. Of course. She'd spent so much time around Humans over the course of her lifetimes that it made sense she'd pick up even one of the more obscure customs—particularly that one. And now others were joining in, grinning Humans beating away against their glasses with forks and those who wanted in on the joke tapping with somewhat less certainty, and there really was no escape now, was there?

"What is it, Julian?" Garak leaned in to murmur beneath the chiming that now filled Quark's. "You look quite stricken. Would that have anything to do with the sudden noise?"

He gave in to the inevitable. "Yes, it's, um, a cue for us to kiss."

"Is it, now?" Garak rose as he did. "Then we shouldn't ignore such a . . . musical request."

Garak smiled around the room—Julian tried—and then he took Julian by the shoulders (a few Cardassians made startled sounds).

He knew Garak was playing to the audience. If either of them acted as though they were embarrassed or shy, they'd only get more demands to kiss. It was a sound strategy.

And those facts vanished from his mind as soon as Garak's lips met his for the second time that day.

The last kiss had been a formality to seal an agreement. This one wasn't. It was hard, aggressive, and Julian did his best to match it as heat flashed through him His hand came up to Garak's shoulder to steady himself half without his awareness; when Garak's hand cupped his neck, he squeezed. Garak gasped against his mouth and instantly broke the kiss.

Julian stared at him as once again applause and cheers rang around them. Garak's eyes were just slightly widened and his breathing was shallow and fast.

He sat down harder than he'd meant to and winced. Chuckling replaced cheering, but right now, he didn't care. He tried to slip a gaze to Garak, to meet his eye, but Garak was focused on Legate Etan, who was rising to make the next speech.

Then again, he didn't really need any further confirmation, did he? He had all the evidence necessary to prove his hypothesis: that it wasn't only him who had been affected by their kisses. But acting on what he had learned would have to wait. It would be hours before he could speak with Garak alone, before they could decide just what they wanted to do. Somehow, he was going to have to last.

At the very least, Garak's plan had paid off. There was only one other occasion when the air filled with the sound of cutlery against glass, this time thanks to one of the younger members of the Cardassian delegation. Now that he was prepared for what would happen, Julian was actually able to relax a bit and even enjoy the kiss, and it seemed Garak did the same. Apparently, that took the fun out of the game for the spectators, since there were no further requests. As much as it was a relief, it was also somewhat disappointing.

Once the speeches were finally over (was this honestly what Cardassians thought was romantic?), it was time for the post-meal dance. He'd stayed out of the planning—he had enough to do preparing for his own part in the wedding and doing his actual job as CMO without getting involved in someone else's work—but apparently, someone or several someones had worked very hard to pull off this portion of the ceremony. They had compared Cardassian and Human dances, compiled and posted a list of what was compatible, and had instructed the musicians to play selections that could more or less serve as a background for both. It had clearly been a Herculean effort, and he made a mental note to find and thank whoever had been responsible.

But before that was the matter of getting through the first dance.

He and Garak had of course rehearsed together many times over the past month; Cardassian dance styles had only some steps in common with the Human dances he knew. It had been perhaps the most pleasant part of the endless preparations. At the time, he'd thought that had been due to getting to spend time in close contact with a good friend. Suddenly, however, he wasn't so sure that had been the only reason.

As he and Garak took their place in the centre of the designated dance floor, he made certain to fold his fingers around Garak's, not through. Through was for unions: all right for weddings, less so in other contexts. He wouldn't soon be forgetting the startled look on Garak's face at their first rehearsal, that much was certain.

Once they were ready, the musicians began the introduction to "Of All the Worlds." Very lightly, he gave Garak's hand a squeeze. Garak's smile flicked from pleasant to warm, and just as lightly, he squeezed back. Julian had time for only a steadying breath before the musical cue came for them to take the first step together.

After that, he was concentrating much too hard on not trodding on Garak's toes to pay attention to much else. But from time to time, he was able to focus properly on Garak, and always it was to discover that Garak watching him.

It wasn't unusual, really. Dance partners were supposed to pay attention to each other. But he simply couldn't work out what Garak was thinking. Of course, that wasn't unusual either—he almost never could tell what his friend had on his mind. This time, though, was different. He didn't get the sense that Garak found something funny (or him funny, for that matter). His expression was much . . . quieter, he supposed. But what it meant was beyond him.

When the first dance came to a close, still hand in hand, he and Garak turned and bowed to their assembled guests. After that, they were free to part ways, and so with another bow, to each other this time, off they went.

Over the course of the evening, Julian managed to get a dance with all of the senior staff—with the exception of Odo, which was fine with him. He wasn't sure anything could induce Odo to dance and if the Constable actually tried, it would probably be the most awkward affair imaginable. A bit like dancing with Major Kira, really. She was coordinated, at least, though she was clearly concentrating hard. She also didn't seem happy to be the only Bajoran in a room full of Cardassians. At the end of their dance, he decided against asking her again.

When he snatched a dance with Jadzia (a difficult feat, given her popularity), he led with an accusatory, "You had fun making Garak and me kiss, didn't you?"

"Of course." She raised her eyebrows. "And you had fun kissing him, didn't you?"

There wasn't a chance he was answering that. "Wh—I have no idea what would give you that impression."

"Mmhmm. Let's just say it felt like a pretty safe bet. Are you planning on kissing him again?"

"I. . . ." Lying to Jadzia was impossible. "I'm—not sure."

"I would. He looked like a pretty good kisser." She winked.

His blush was instant. "I . . . I couldn't say. "

Jadzia's laughter made him wonder if it were possible to spontaneously break one's own ankle as a means of escape. The infirmary would be a haven.

"Go ahead and take advantage of it, as long as he's up for it, too. He is your husband."

"Jadzia, I can't just. . . ."

When it was clear he'd given up speaking, she answered, "If you say so. But if you ask me, I think Garak would be happy to give you as many kisses as you could handle. And maybe some other things besides."

"Jadzia!" He had to stop this before it got even more out of hand than it already was! "Let's, uh—you've had a lot of dance partners tonight, haven't you?"

Fortunately for him, not only did Jadzia accept his frankly pathetic attempt at a subject change, but their dance together came to an end shortly after that. Once he found himself another dance partner—an older Cardassian woman, and now he was really glad he knew about no interlacing fingers—he used the opportunity to get his blushing back under control. It took longer than he'd hoped, to the point where his partner asked, amazed, if he was actually feeling warm in "this frozen wasteland of a station." That hadn't been much of a help with his embarrassment.

A few dances later, he had shoved Jadzia's comments far enough aside to find Garak and suggest another dance with him. Garak agreed, and soon they had found a place near the edge of the dance floor. (The centre had been fine for the first dance, but he would prefer not to be on display for the entire evening.) They assumed a fairly standard couple position and waited for the music to begin.

Within the first six notes, Garak got the strangest look on his face.

"What is it?" Julian asked, first looking at him, then at the other Cardassians, who all had similar expressions. A few of them were even giggling.

"I think—yes, it is." Now Garak's shoulders were shaking and his head bowed slightly. "It's 'Sweet Sweetmelon,' a children's game song."

". . . You're joking."

"Of course I'm not. You know very well, my dear, that I'm always completely serious." Garak raised his head to smile widely at him.

Julian didn't bother to contradict such an obvious lie. Instead, he consulted the screen that had been installed above the dance floor to provide information about which dances were compatible with the music being played at any given time. He read the current suggestion—and then it was his turn to fight against laughter.

"What is it, Julian?" Garak asked.

"We're supposed to dance a double waltz. To a children's song!"

He couldn't help himself any longer: laughter sprung from him, and he grabbed Garak's arm for support.

Laughter shook Garak's voice, too, as he attempted to say with his usual detachment, "How compatible our two species are! Our music and dance blend seamlessly."

"They must have been desperate at this point," he said and, before anyone could crash into them, took the lead and started moving.

It was hands down the most surreal dancing experience of his life. He and Garak could barely look at each other without breaking down, but at the very least, they made a game effort of it.

That is, until Julian overheard Garak murmuring under his breath, "Sweet sweetmelon, sweet sweetmelon, Ikuvik's three sweet sweetmelons."

And that was it. The laughter he'd been mostly keeping bottled up exploded as he came to a dead halt mid-dance. All he could do was lean against Garak and giggle, listening to and feeling Garak's laughter in return. Every bit of stress and nerves of the past month came free and it felt wonderful.

He had just enough attention left to watch other couples around them give up the battle. A few more fought the good fight and tried to finish the dance, but when he heard a few squawks from the musicians' instruments that he was positive weren't part of the music, it was plain all was lost.

After that, finally, the guests began to relax. The atmosphere lost its formality and the noise level rose as the conversation (and the drinks) flowed much more naturally. And, amazingly enough, Julian—and just possibly Garak—started to have a good time.

It was considerably later than he'd expected when he and Garak left the reception. As they walked along the mostly empty corridors of the habitat ring, Julian's state of relaxation ebbed away and he was left sending little sideways glances at Garak. At the very least, they were going back to his quarters instead of somewhere completely new (given he was an officer, his quarters were the same size as a double room anyway), but . . . yesterday, a second bed had been delivered to his bedroom. He'd had to spend the night trying not to stare at the space where his brand new husband was going to be in a very short period of time. And now, he was realising, that short period of time had got a great deal shorter.

"Here we are," he said needlessly as they stopped outside his door; he unlocked it. "I suppose I'll need to give you the passcode before I go on duty tomorrow."

"What makes you think I don't already have it?"

He stopped after barely few steps and turned to find an expression of perfect innocence on Garak's face. In spite of his once again jumpy stomach, he smiled.

"I'll give it to you anyway, for the look of thing." He continued inside. Garak followed, and the door slid shut behind them. "I'm going to get changed and go to bed—unless there's, um, anything you'd rather . . . ?"

He let the sentence trail off, rather than add "be doing." The contents of a typical wedding night were pushing themselves forward in his mind, and now that he had kissed Garak and found it not an odd obligation to get through, those thoughts were difficult to ignore.

"No, there isn't," Garak replied, thankfully not commenting on his near innuendo. "I may read before bed, but feel free to go to sleep whenever you like."

"All right. I'll just go—get ready now."

He'd hoped retreating into his bedroom would give him some time to think and to become a little less tongue-tied. But—it wasn't his bedroom anymore. The closet was filled with Garak's clothes and on his dresser lay a brush with long black hair caught in its bristles. And, of course, the so-called elephant in the room was Garak's bed.

Julian took his time dressing, trying not to be conscious of Garak next door as the now much warmer air of his quarters wrapped around his skin. It was, of course, an impossible task. But at the same time, it was that impossibility that finally allowed him to make up his mind.

"Elim," he said as he stepped back into the main living area.

Garak looked up from where he was sitting on the couch with a padd he must have just replicated. "Yes, Julian?"

Julian crossed the room and sat down next to Garak. Now he was devoutly wishing he'd not changed—it was difficult to feel in control of a situation when you were the only one in pyjamas.

"I was thinking about earlier today, when we, ah . . . when we kissed," he began. Why was this so hard? He never got this tongue-tied with women—at least not since Palis, and that was years ago!

Garak shut off his padd and set it aside. Julian couldn't say whether having his full attention was better or far worse.

"Yes?"

. . . He was just going to say it. There was no other way this was coming out in the open, and he didn't want to spend months guessing and second-guessing.

"You . . . liked it, didn't you?"

Nothing about Garak's expression changed. He kept watching him with that same mild, sharp expression. "I didn't dislike it. You aren't an unpleasant person to kiss, Julian, if that's the source of your concern."

It wasn't, of course, and he couldn't say he was terribly fond of Garak's wording—but that was a distraction. He had to press on.

"Well, I did. Like it, I mean."

There: a widening of Garak's eyes. It was slight, but he caught it, and that let him finish his sentence all in a go.

"And I was thinking I'd rather like to do more of it."

Garak sat back in his seat for only a very few moments. Then he leaned forward again with purpose, making Julian's breath catch.

"I believe I would be amenable to that," he replied, his voice low, and how had he not realised this sooner?

Rather than waste time wondering, he leaned forward as well. This time, without an audience, he could really take his time to focus on Garak, the oddly smooth texture of his lips, the faint scent of his shampoo or hair oil or whatever it was (he'd learn soon), and what it was like to bring his hand to Garak's cheek and feel his ear ridges beneath his fingers.

When he felt cloth beneath his hands instead, he broke the kiss. It was a familiar pattern his hands were following, but one that needed to be preceded by a long discussion with a clear head. That wasn't going to be happening tonight.

He gave himself just enough time to press the sight of Garak's still-closed eyes and their short black lashes into his memory before he rose from the couch.

He cleared his throat. "I'm going to—sleep. Good night, Elim."

Garak opened his eyes and looked up at him. Were it not for his intense gaze, he might have believed Garak had been unaffected.

"Good night, Julian. Sleep well."

"I'll certainly try," he said. The honesty twitched a smile from Garak.

He returned to his—their bedroom, got under the covers, and turned out the lights. He spent a while lying on his side, facing the empty bed, before rolling onto his back and closing his eyes.

He'd thought last month, when he'd agreed to marry Garak, that all in all, his life would remain largely the same. That it would be like being back at the academy with a roommate. Now, he very much doubted the situation would be similar at all.

Things had changed. While that was an intimidating idea, he thought . . . it was for the better.

He let out a long breath and settled more comfortably beneath his blankets. It was time to sleep, so that tomorrow, he could meet those changes head on.