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For the record, Julian Bashir could keep a date longer than a week, despite what anyone else claimed.
Julian looked over his glass at his most recent conquest. He had a reputation for flirting with almost every woman on the station, especially his patients. But Alice Nobel was not a patient, she was a Starfleet engineer, so there. And he planned on keeping the intelligent, plucky young woman around.
“But if you never mistook that preganglionic fiber for a post ganglionic nerve, would you have chosen this post?” She asked with a curious glance. He smiled and held up a finger as he finished swallowing a bite of steak. He made a mental note to visit the gym more often if he would meet more women like her there.
She had shoulder-length blonde hair and fair skin, with striking blue eyes which matched her dress. He vaguely wondered if it was one of Garak’s designs.
“Actually, I would have chosen this position anyway. I knew that on Deep Space Nine, I would have the opportunity to study real frontier medicine. So far, I have not been disappointed.” He spent the rest of dinner recounting tales about his adventures in the great unknown.
***
At some point, Alice had brought up the subject of portraits, which allowed Bashir a chance to bring her back to his quarters. Acceptable on the third date, he thought loudly, in case anyone was reading his mind.
“Actually, a friend of mine was instructing a painting class, and she asked me to be the subject. A few of the students gifted me their paintings, and I have them hanging in my quarters.” He had cast out his line, now he would see if she took the bait.
“I would love to see them,” she said with a sultry smile, and Julian fought down his urge to leap out of his chair and do some sort of victory dance.
Alice inclined her head gracefully and gazed up at him through her lashes, reminding him of someone else. He wasn’t going to screw up this time, not if he could help it— so he steadied his racing pulse as he got up from the table. “I enjoy fine wine, fine art,” Alice said, getting up from the table. “—And, fine men.”
Bashir held his breath as she adjusted his tie. So much for steadying his pulse. He reminded himself: WWJD, as in: What Would James Do? Act smooth, confident. James Bond does not trip over his own tongue.
He couldn’t help but blush as she took his hand. “It’s refreshing to meet someone who appreciates the arts,” he said.
“I agree,” said Alice, and he led her back to his quarters.
***
When they arrived at Julian’s quarters, he punched in his code and bowed her in. He thanked the stars he had remembered to clean it yesterday as she took in the room.
On his shelf, he had two small paintings of himself done by Ziyal. One was a bust of him, with a blue background. She used short, thick brush strokes to paint his face with golds, browns, and reds. The other small painting was him sitting alone at the lunch table with a PADD and tea, painted with various shades of blue in the same Bajoran style.
“I quite like these,” Alice said. “I’d say they convey two different moods, emptiness and fulfillment.”
He had never thought of it that way. If the paintings were abstract, and he had no context, he might have said they portrayed happiness and sadness, if anything.
“What were you doing when your friend painted them?” she asked.
“Well, the one of my face was done over lunch,” he said. Actually, he barely could have called it a lunch, because he hadn’t touched his plate at all that day. Garak had just suggested that George Orwell’s 1984 was the ideal way to run a state. He had shown up almost five minutes late for his next shift because he had been so caught up in their argument.
“The one of me at the table was done a week later during my break. I didn’t know she was drawing me, but I think it makes it much more candid.” He watched as Alice considered the two paintings for a moment.
“What were you missing?” She asked.
“Sorry?” He shook himself from his thoughts.
“I thought this painting represents emptiness, and I think your friend chose those colors for a reason.” He looked back at the painting. He remembered when Ziyal had given it to him.
It was three weeks after Garak had been arrested. Ziyal stopped by the infirmary with a headache, carrying a few paintings under her arms. She had set them down on the counter, and the blue caught his attention. She was coy about it at first, but Julian said he really liked it, and she wanted him to have it. He had caught sight of another blue canvas in the mix, but he already felt like he had been imposing on her privacy.
“I’m not sure,” he answered Alice honestly. He looked downcast in the painting, slumped over his PADD with his head on his chin. He didn’t recall feeling particularly sad that day, however.
“There’s more paintings, by the way. The ones the art class did are over here.” Alice followed him over to the other side of the room, where he had hung the three paintings; one by Ziyal, one by Keiko, and one by Kira. Keiko had suggested they use her garden for the scene, which turned out beautifully.
Alice’s head tilted as she studied the paintings for a moment. To be honest, he had other intentions when they made it to his quarters, but the night was still young.
“Who is that next to you?” She asked after a moment.
“Oh, I take it you haven’t met our resident Cardassian, Garak.” He smiled. What would Garak think of Alice? Would they get along?
He looked back, and Alice was studying him now. “I’ve heard the Bajoran nurses talking about Mister Garak, but I haven’t seen him around.”
Bashir grinned. “Well, he doesn’t exactly have the best reputation among them, and he avoids the infirmary like the plague, but I think you might get along with him if you enjoy Cardassian literature.”
“Do you like Cardassian literature?” She asked.
“Absolutely not. It’s all about duty to the State and the family and sacrifice and it’s amazingly dull!” He laughed and shook his head. “And it’s not like he enjoys Earth literature. He says Cardassian children could predict the endings, and I swear he purposely tries to disagree on the meaning of everything in the book.”
“Mmhm.” She nodded and turned back to the paintings.
“I could complain about him all day, but you probably wouldn’t want to listen to that.” He mentally patted himself on the back for remembering not to go off on a tangent. He pointed at the first painting. “This one was done by Keiko.”
Her painting was done in black ink with thin lines and attention to detail. It was clean and very focused on movement, and perfectly balanced.
The only thing with color were the flowers surrounding them. Blue orchids and red roses intermingled with one another on the sides. Garak was standing on the left, holding a rose. Bashir was on the right, holding an orchid. Garak’s form was leaning into Bashir’s space as he had been explaining the hardy nature of the orchid. Julian was allowing him into his space before he would offer a retort.
“The painting on the far right was done by Kira.” Although he’d never admit it, the painting wasn’t very good. However, he loved it just as much as the others, even if Kira just wanted to get rid of it.
On the left half where Garak stood, everything was painted blue with long, thick brush strokes. The only thing that was red on his side was his tunic. On the side where Bashir stood, everything was red, except his uniform. Even though Bashir was a few centimeters taller, Garak seemed to look down at him. The painting was a little more abstract than the others, but he could still tell they were arguing, wielding the flowers they were holding like swords.
“And the center one is Ziyal’s, right?” She didn’t take her eyes off the painting.
“Yes, I like all of them, but this one is probably my favorite.”
Ziyal had expertly blended Cardassian and Earth impressionist styles. Like Kira’s painting, Garak’s side was blue while Bashir’s side was red. But the colors blended more and more closer to the center, until it was purple. They were both holding one purple flower between them, and their hands were purple too. They were looking at each other just the way they always did.
“I can see why.”Her tone was suddenly sharp. He whipped around to face her. She clenched her jaw, obviously upset with him. “I should have known.”
“What- sorry, I’m not following.” What did he do this time? She had actually wanted to see the paintings, why was she mad at him? He went over their recent interactions but he couldn’t find anything he did wrong.
“I shouldn’t be here,” she made her way to the door, and he frantically followed after her.
“I’m still not following- please,” she turned around to face him. “Tell me what I did wrong,” he babbled stupidly.
“They say a picture is worth a thousand words, doctor, and they have explained everything I need to know.” She sighed in frustration. “Who are you looking at in that painting?” She pointed to the small portrait of his face.
“Uh- Garak?”
“Just what I thought.” She stormed out the door into the hall.
“He wasn’t there in the other one-” He begged from the doorway.
“Exactly my point. Good night, doctor. Tell Mister Garak goodnight for me too.”
“Wait- I still don’t-“ the door slid shut on his face. “....understand....” he said to the cold hunk of metal before him.
Things had been going so well. He had been on his best behavior. Did he say something wrong? Did he talk too much? Things had been going fine until she looked at those paintings.
Somehow, this was Garak’s fault. Garak had ruined his chances with four different dates now. He ran a hand through his hair as he leaned against the door. This time, Garak had managed to ruin his date without even being there!
Fueled by a new fire, he set his jaw and marched out of his quarters.
***
Furiously, Julian pounded on Garak’s door.
“Garak! it’s me, open up,” he yelled, unconcerned about who else heard him.
The door slid open, revealing Garak wearing a smug smile.
“Why, doctor, I thought the tax collectors had finally found me, the way you were knocking on my door.” He saw Garak discreetly hide his phaser in a vase. “Do come in. I wouldn’t want you to wake up the entire level with your shouting.”
“I think I will,” he spat as he stomped into Garak’s quarters.
“Tea?” Garak asked.
“Oh- ah no thank you, I’ve had quite enough today,” he answered politely. “Now, as I was saying-“ he drew in a deep breath. “I don’t know how you did it.”
“Did what, doctor?”
“Somehow, you ran off my date without even being there!”
“Oh? And how could I have possibly managed that?”
“I don’t know, but she just- left!”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Garak said, not looking remotely sorry. “I am still unsure about how this is my fault, doctor. I’ve been here all evening.”
“You- Uhg! You are infuriating!” He threw his arms in the air.
“Forgive me doctor, but you come here in the middle of the night, to tell me that I ruined your date, and you aren’t even sure how, or why?” The Cardassian man cleaned under his fingernails nonchalantly. “Sounds like you are shifting the blame.”
“Oh-ho-ho, I was doing swell, until she saw those paintings of you.”
“Really?” He mock-frowned. “Maybe she’s not a fan of me.”
“She wasn’t upset until she saw Ziyal’s painting.” That actually got Garak’s attention. “She wasn’t upset when I showed her the other two by Ziyal. Well, at least- not until later.”
“What other paintings by Ziyal, doctor?” Garak tilted his head.
“You weren’t even in them! There’s one of my face- that time we were arguing about 1984, and-and another in all blue.”
Garak blinked in surprise. Suddenly, he turned and went over to a drawer, and pulled out two paintings.
“Like these ones, Doctor?”
The first one was a bust of Garak, with the exact same tones as the one of him.
The second one caught his attention. It was all blue, like his own, but Garak was sitting on the holding cell bed, sewing.
During the first couple of weeks, Bashir had refused to visit him in the holding cells. He had been so angry at Garak, he actually took the long way around the Promenade to avoid passing Garak’s shop. It wasn’t until Garak had managed to get himself injured with his seam ripper four weeks later that he talked to Garak again.
Even though Garak had been released, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat guilty all over again, seeing how lonely he looked in Ziyal’s painting.
“I- I didn’t know she made two of you as well,” he said, mesmerized.
“Neither did I.” Garak thought for a moment. “If you don’t mind, I would like to see Ziyal’s other works. Perhaps we can even solve this mystery of your disappearing date in the process.”
***
When they made it back to Bashir’s quarters, he found himself trying to figure out how this had happened. He had gone to Garak’s to yell at him for scaring away his date, and now he was back in his quarters, with Garak.
He watched as Garak went over to his shelf. He set his own bright portrait down next to Julian’s, and picked up the blue one. He watched as Garak’s eyes absorbed the painting, seemingly committing every detail to memory.
“When was this painted?” Garak asked.
“Lunch on a Wednesday. Our usual time, except you were-“
“I was in the holding cell,” Garak finished for him, quietly.
Bashir studied the bright paintings, side by side. Garak’s face was painted with greys and golds and greens and blues, with the same blue background. It suddenly occurred that when she had painted both of their portraits, neither of them had been talking.
Maybe it was because both of them gesticulated wildly when they were the one talking, but when they weren’t they listened carefully to what the other had to say.
They were wearing the same expression in the large one on the opposite wall. In Keiko’s and Kira’s paintings, both of them were talking. But not in Ziyal’s.
Julian flipped over the painting of Garak, and noticed in tiny letters, Ziyal had written “Warm” on the inside of the top frame.
He flipped over his own, where she had written the same.
“What does it say, doctor?”
They traded pictures, and he flipped over the blue ones.
On the bottom frame, she had written: Cold.
“The writing on your pictures say: ‘For Garak’,” Garak said. “Mine said: ‘For Bashir.”
“What? No they don’t,” Julian took back the pictures. “Right here- it says cold, and on the others, it says warm.”
Garak flipped over the painting and put it back in his hands. On the inside of the frame, on the bottom, there were Kardasi characters.
They seemed to realize the same thing at the same time, and they went over to the largest painting. Garak took it off the wall, and they flipped it over. On the sides of the wooden frame, it read: Equilibrium. He stepped over to see that the side he was holding was written in Kardasii again.
“How did she...” Julian trailed off.
“Ziyal is even more intelligent than we gave her credit for,” Garak murmured.
“Her mother must have been a genius, to make up for Dukat.” Garak chuckled at that.
He flipped back over the painting and hung it up again on the wall.
They both admired the painting again, side by side.
“Garak, there’s still one thing I don’t understand.”
“What’s that, my dear doctor?”
“Why she named them cold, and warm. She didn’t use any warm colors in your ‘warm’ painting.”
“I think it’s fascinating that the paintings of me are dedicated to you, and vice versa, even though she gave us the ones of ourselves.” Garak sidestepped his question.
“It’s like she knew this would happen.” Julian turned to Garak.
“That young lady could probably beat Tain at Kotra.”
“What does warm and cold mean, in Cardassian culture?”
“What does it mean to you?” Garak asked.
“Cold is just the absence of heat,” he shrugged. “That’s it.”
“Precisely, my dear doctor.”
The words emptiness and fulfillment echoed in his mind.
“But why did Alice leave?” He asked. “She saw these paintings, then she saw those, and then she asked for the context of these paintings again. She hadn’t even seen yours.”
“I should hope not, or I need more secure quarters.” Garak said. “I don’t think she had to see my paintings at all to understand the meaning.”
“What meaning?” He growled in frustration.
“Do I need to spell it out for you, doctor?” Garak rolled his eyes. “As your Sherlock Holmes once said: ‘You see but you do not observe.’”
“So I have to be Watson?”
“You got to be James Bond.”
He snorted and shook his head. He really had missed bantering with Garak. Garak never got tired of listening to him ramble on about literature or philosophy, and he could listen to Garak all day, even if he was complaining about the imprecision of Federation sewing tools and how they compared to Cardassian tools.
Garak’s steady blue gaze was fixed on him, and in that moment he could have sworn he was being pulled toward him by a gravimetric field.
But before he could get too close, Garak held up a PADD between them.
“If you still don’t understand my dear, this may give you a hint.” Julian snatched the PADD from him.
“Iloja of Prim?” Hewore a pained expression.
“Read it to the end, doctor.” Garak put a hand on his shoulder, and left without another word, but probably not without the last laugh.
***
He spent the entire next day reading the poetry, and dying a slow and painful death. Every off-minute he had, he spent reading.
“Must be a good book,” Nurse Jabara said during one oh his breaks. “You haven’t taken your nose out of it since break started.”
“On the contrary- it’s the worst thing I have ever read,” he complained, setting down the PADD.
“Ah, it must be one of Mister Garak’s then,” she said with an amused tone.
“How ever did you know?” He drawled sarcastically. “It’s Iloja of Prim.”
“Never figured Garak as a romantic,” she muttered to herself, but Julian had caught it.
Romantic?
He had looked up Iloja of Prim last night and learned that he had been exiled to Cardassia. He had assumed the entire thing was just him pining about his homeland, but now he wasn’t as sure.
Shin-Ka-Ti.
You bring life
To dead seas.
Julian recognized the plant species from his medical history class. The Shin-Ka-Ti flower was native only to Vulcan’s Dead Ocean, and its nectar had provided a cure to the Red Plague. It was known as The Flower of Mercy.
The poem told the story of a traveler suffering from the plague, with one foot in the grave, when he finds the flower. Perhaps, the flower was meant to symbolize a lover.
“Edosian Orchids”. “The Night, The Day”. “Where Desert Touches Sky”. Perhaps he hadn’t been reading deep enough.
As the book progressed, the subjects of Iloja’s poetry evolved from the beauty of Cardassia to the landscape of Vulcan.
***
It was nearly three hundred hours by the time he read the last page, as it usually was by the time he finished reading books Garak had recommended to him.
The last poem was titled: “Sacrifice”.
Loyalty lies not in our words, but in our hearts,
And in our actions, lies the truth.
I live for Cardassia, but I love for you.
The very last lines echoed in his mind.
Love.
The color blue, edosian orchids, warmth. They all represented fulfillment and devotion.
There was a note on the last page from Garak, written in Kardasi.
He scrambled to pull out his Kardasii dictionary, which he carried around on his PADD specifically for the day Garak would speak in Kardasii.
The note inscribed:
If you understand, meet me at Cargo Bay Seven.
Yours, Garak.
His heart fluttered. Cargo Bay Seven. Keiko’s Garden. Of course Garak hadn’t bothered to give the time, so he figured he’d go right after work tomorrow.
***
The next day at lunch, Alice came to his office to find him pacing the floor.
“Doctor Bashir,” she said. “I wanted to apologize for my outburst a couple of nights ago. It was clear you did not know what you were doing.”
“You have no need to apologize to me. But how did you know? That Garak is in love with me?”
She looked surprised at first, but her expression drifted into a smile. “I spent half a year on Cardassia in an exchange program, but I didn’t need to know the first thing about Cardassians to see it .” She shook her head. “It was written all over your faces.”
***
That evening, Julian nearly flew to the cargo bay, thanks to the butterflies in his stomach.
He took a deep breath as the cargo bay doors opened and made his way down the path to the large bay windows at the far end. On his way, he stopped to clip off an Edosian orchid. It wouldn’t do good to show up empty handed.
He found Garak standing on a small wooden bridge, gazing into the koi pond.
The sight made him stop in his tracks. It was as if he had the wind knocked out of him.
Garak almost looked sad, standing solemnly on the bridge.
He elected to hide the orchid first. He wanted to do this the Cardassian way. For once, Garak actually hadn’t noticed him first and he took the opportunity to observe.
Julian was glad he had half the mind to wear something nice. He had thrown on a crimson button down with black pants. The outfit was one of Garak’s creations, of course.
Garak was wearing a blue wrapped tunic with a brown belt, white pants, and black boots. Probably Julian’s favorite outfit yet.
He took a deep breath and tried to calm his nerves, which was a futile effort, and stepped out onto the path.
When he reached the bridge, he stopped.
“Garak.”
Garak did not turn to look at him immediately.
“Ah, doctor. I was beginning to wonder if you would ever show up.”
“How could I if you never gave me the time?” He walked over to Garak’s side. “Was it really necessary to make me read the entire book?”
“Of course, doctor. I thought you might need all the help you could get to parse out the meaning.”
“It was the worst thing you have made me read yet.”
Garak turned to face him.
“Come now, doctor. I thought you enjoyed poetry.”
“Not when it is all about duty to the state! The whole thing was absolutely insufferable.”
Garak was quiet for a moment.
“How... disappointing.”
Was Garak actually disappointed? He searched the Cardassian’s face. Maybe Garak thought he actually believed it was all about the state, instead of a lover. Maybe Garak thought he was actually upset with him.
He was just going to have to make his feelings clear.
“Perhaps I have been mistaken, doctor. I assumed you would understand the meaning behind the poems. It appears I have overestimated you.”
Garak was seriously giving him no chances to prove he did in fact, return his feelings without being mistaken for defending himself.
He sighed. Maybe he needed to be more blunt about this.
“Did you really think I thought your book was all about the state?” He drew closer. Garak blinked in surprise.
“Then tell me doctor... what is it about?”
“A lover.”
Garak’s bright blue eyes fixed on his own.
“You believe Iloja of Prim’s book is all about a lover?”
“I never said all, Garak. It can be about more than one thing.” They stared at one another for a moment. Maybe it was just his imagination, but Garak looked... scared. “I already know what you are trying to tell me.”
Garak’s mouth opened slightly. And then he did something Julian never expected: he bowed.
“Well played, doctor. You finally have me in check, as you’d say.”
“The orchids, the color blue, the sun- '' He exhaled shakily. “You love me, don’t you?”
Garak was silent for a moment, and Bashir fretted for a moment that he was wrong. But then Garak answered.
“Yes.”
Julian really had stripped Garak of his defenses, and left with him nothing but his king. He had won. Garak looked less vulnerable when his implant malfunctioned several years ago. There was one more thing for Julian to do.
He turned around and walked away, leaving Garak alone on the bridge.
Once he was out of sight, he retrieved the orchid. Garak was facing the opposite direction, and had begun to leave.
He sprinted after him, stopping at the middle of the bridge.
“Where do you think you’re going, you ridiculous old man?” He called out. “Didn’t you even consider that I could love you too?”
Garak froze, and then he turned around.
“Ever since the day I met you, you have never failed to drive me insane, with your obfuscation and your impossibly dull literature.”
Garak visibly brightened.
“My dear doctor,” he started off pleasantly. “You have the audacity-“ he stepped closer with a growl, “to insult me, insult my literature-“ he was now right in Julian’s space. “Blatantly flaunt your collar like that,” Julian stood his ground, despite the shivers that ran down his spine.
“I suppose I should give you this now, even though you rudely interrupted me,” Julian snarked, holding out the orchid.
“And now you make me feel guilty with a gift when I have nothing to give you in return,” Garak sparred.
“Oh- your endless haranguing will always be enough, Elim,” he matched his intensity.
“Aren’t you full of surprises,” Garak said.
“I can tell that you mean it. I managed to surprise Elim Garak, agent of the Obsidian Order.”
“I never gave you permission to use my first name.” Garak reached out gently, despite the fury in his voice, and wrapped his hand over Bashir’s which was holding the orchid.
“You are absolutely infuriating, Elim.” Bashir said softly.
“Not as infuriating as you, dearest Julian.”
Garak pulled him into a kiss. There were promises on his lips of more, and Julian placed his other hand on Garak’s shoulder
and Garak pulled him in closer.
He finally had to pull away to catch his breath.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” Garak said.
Bashir kissed him again. “Oh, like you’d let me know anything about you.”
“If you did, you might get bored with me.” Garak pressed his forehead to his, and Julian basked in the feeling.
“Bored with you? Never,” he promised, sealing it with a kiss.
He felt Garak smile against his lips. He could get used to this.