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"Doctor… I'm afraid I won't be able to have lunch with you today."
Julian is looking into Garak’s face, hands gripping the Cardassian’s arms, hard. Too hard. The grip should be hurting Garak. But it’s not, because the life is leaving his eyes as he slumps against the bulkhead.
Something isn’t right. Julian’s mind is going far too fast and far too slow. Where is he? What is going on? Hands grip his own arms as Sisko tears him away from Garak’s body, gently, but forcefully. Out loud Julian says nothing, but in his mind he is screaming, screaming. We can’t leave him! He’s not dead, he can’t be dead! It’s another trick, a ruse, a lie. If I just keep looking in his face, he will open his eyes. Garak. Garak. GARAK!
With a shout, Julian jerks awake, catching himself at the last moment before he tumbles out of his bunk. Luckily Miles is on duty, isn’t in their shared room on the Defiant. How would Julian respond if the Chief asked him why he was waking up crying out the tailor’s name? How do you answer a question when you yourself are asking the exact same thing. It was only a simulation, it wasn’t real (not real, not real, not real). So why does Julian watch Garak die, again and again?
Maybe he just needs to see the man. Face to face, in the flesh. Needs to talk to him, touch him, look into his eyes and see the life burning within them. The Defiant’s return trip to DS9 is taking an eternity. If he couldn’t hear the pulse of the warp drive he would swear they were going at impulse. With a sigh, he pulls on his uniform. If his sleep is to be marred by this continual torture, he might as well inventory the ship’s so-called sick bay and write a list of the supplies he’ll need to properly stock the space.
After what seems like weeks, but is really only hours, the Defiant finally, finally docks at DS9. It would be too much to ask that Garak would be waiting at the airlock to greet them, wouldn’t it? No, Garak isn’t there outside the airlock (not the same one Julian saw him die outside of but close, so close). Instead there is a Starfleet security officer telling them they all need to go debrief at once (no, you can’t have a shower first Doctor, straight to the ward room if you please). Then the debriefing, telling Starfleet everything he’s already put in his log. The questions, questions, questions, going over every detail to excruciating length, Julian’s leg bouncing gradually at first but then quicker, quicker until, as he recounts Garak’s clever ploy to distract and kill the Jem'Hadar, only to be a victim of their disruptors himself, he notices the table shaking. He keeps his voice steady though, Garak would be proud of him for that at least. As the debriefing finally, blessedly ends, Julian is presented with a PADD to sign. A promise, to maintain the utmost secrecy and confidentiality of what they have endured. “We cannot risk word getting out about how much the Dominion knows, how much they can manipulate us” explains the Starfleet security officer (what was his name again?). Julian nods. “Of course.” He reaches for the PADD, vaguely skims it and presses his thumb to the screen. “Thank you Doctor. Dismissed.”
Julian exits the room, passing Commander Sisko on his way in. Sisko lays a strong hand on Julian’s shoulder. “Go get some rest Doctor” he says. “That’s an order.” Julian nods, wanders away. He feels strange, disconnected from his body. Only one thought occupies his mind. Garak.
Sisko told him to get some rest. But there is no chance that he will get rest without at least seeing the Cardassian. Julian takes the long way to the Habitat Ring so he can cross the Promenade. As he gets closer to Garak’s shop, his steps slow. He knows Garak is there. Knows he is fine. That rational knowledge in his mind though is contending hard with his fears and memories. Right now, in his mind, Garak is like Schrodinger’s cat–dead and alive at the same time. He just needs…ah!
As he draws closer to the shop, Julian can spot Garak through the window. He is rearranging a dress on one of the mannequins. Julian pauses for a moment, watching the shimmery fabric slide over the tailor’s hands, watches the movement of his fingers as he adjusts the neckline just so. Julian feels that Garak has never been more beautiful to him than in this moment. Well, he has seen him. Verified his status as “alive.” Now, time to go back to his quarters before his madness is revealed and Garak spots him lurk–too late. The tailor has turned, recognition glinting in his eyes (eyes which are not dead and lifeless like the last time he saw them). He is smiling as if at a private joke, beckoning Julian to come in as he calls out “my dear Doctor, welcome back from the Gamma Quadrant. I take it your mission was a success, then?”
“Garak. I–we–it’s classified?” Julian feels proud that he is able to get any words out, because as he enters the shop Garak rests a hand for the most infinitesimal moment on the small of his back, and he needs to summon all his strength not to fling himself onto the other man. Or cry. Or both.
“But of course, Doctor” Garak acquiesces with an inclination of his head. “Far be it from me to attempt to gain any…classified information.”
Julian fights the urge to laugh because he knows it will come out sounding strained and too much for the comment. He settles for what he hopes is an amused chuckle. “Perish the thought.”
Garak looks at him in that particular way he has that reminds Julian of his past (and perhaps present) career as a spy. That way that will remove all secrets, all attempts at dissimulation. No matter how many times he looks at Julian this way, it never fails to make him feel scraped, raw, as though he is under the scrutiny of a medical scanner and everything, everything inside of him is laid bare. Normally it is disconcerting. Sometimes, if he is being honest with himself, thrilling. Right now, when he would very much rather the other man not have any idea of what is going through his mind, it is positively disturbing. Julian can’t hold his gaze. He looks away, even though he knows that will just give Garak more information.
Garak doesn’t press though. Doesn’t ask him any more questions, or try to ferret out any information. Is he taking mercy on Julian? Can he tell that the doctor, for whatever reason, is only holding on by the thinnest of threads? Whatever it is, Julian feels simultaneously relieved and disappointed when the tailor changes the subject. “So Doctor, now that you have safely returned, may I assume that we are on for lunch on Thursday? I’ve been reading some more of those Shakespeare plays and I think you will find my analysis most diverting.”
It takes Julian a moment to catch up to the conversation. “Ah…yes! Yes, Thursday. Yes, that was why I stopped by, just to check our lunch schedule.”
“How very thoughtful” Garak replies, smiling that inscrutable smile of his.
“Well…” says Julian. “That’s all I really needed, I should probably go get some sleep…”
“Of course, Doctor” replies Garak. “You do look…tired.”
Julian forces a smile. Nods his goodbye. Can't help himself as he passes the other man but to press his hand to Garak’s upper arm, the same spot where he had gripped it as his friend died in his arms. But this time he can feel the subtle movement of muscle under his hand, tightening at his touch rather than slackening in death. With that, he leaves the shop and makes his way to his quarters. He doesn’t linger, doesn’t turn back. Doesn’t see the thoughtful expression on Garak’s face as he stares after him.
Later that evening after a long sonic shower and a choked down dinner, Julian still can’t rest. He’s seen Garak. He knows he is alive. Why does his skin continue to crawl, why do his screams still feel lodged in his throat? He needs to get a grip. Needs to sleep. Needs to–the door to his quarters chimes.
“Come-come in?” he calls out, expecting that it might be Miles, or maybe Dax come to check in on him. He was certainly not acting quite as cool as he had tried to during their return to the Alpha Quadrant. He does not imagine, does not allow himself even a moment of imagining, that the person revealed when the door slides open will be none other than the man who has been haunting him.
“Garak?” Julian manages. “What are you doing here? Come in” as he moves towards the other man and ushers him into his quarters. “What can I do for you, are you all right?” Is he having another problem with the implant? Is he sick?
“Yes Doctor, do not fear, I am perfectly well” replies Garak. “In fact I am here because, following our conversation in my shop I surmised that, perhaps, you are not entirely well?”
Garak was worried about him? “Oh, yes, quite all right Garak, that’s very…kind of you to worry” says Julian, hoping his voice sounds heartier to the other man than it does to his own ears. “You really didn’t need to go to the trouble of coming by here, with a bit of sleep I’m sure I will be fit as a fiddle.” Fit as a fiddle? Dear Lord what am I saying?
Garak looks at him again, pondering, as though weighing exactly what he should say next, what he should reveal. “Certainly Doctor, as you say. I merely was reflecting on some of my own…journeys, if you will. There were times when, upon my return, I derived some…comfort in ascertaining the well-being of those I had left behind. Particularly, if I may be so frank, if I had had cause to fear for their safety during my absence?”
He knew. How could he know? This was Garak. Of course he knew. “Did you read my logs?” he asks, voice decidedly not cracking whatsoever.
Garak looks aghast. “Certainly not! I read Commander Sisko’s.”
Julian looks down. Sisko would have reported everything that happened, but who knows if he reported the look on Julian’s face as he was all but dragged from Garak’s body? “Is this something you do often?” he asks, trying desperately to change the subject. “Read the commander’s logs, that is.”
Garak smiles. “Only when I find it…necessary.” he replies. “Fear not though my dear doctor, your logs remain untouched.”
Julian should probably find it more disturbing than he does to learn that Garak reads Sisko’s logs. He makes a mental note to suggest to the commander that he encrypt them. Though for all he knows Garak could decrypt them in five seconds anyway. And honestly, he would rather have Garak alive and sneaking than…the alternative.
“So, you know then” he says. “You…died.” He can barely get the word out, can’t look at Garak when he says it.
“A simulation of me appeared to die, yes” replied Garak. “But Doctor” at this he stepped closer and gripped Julian’s arm with his own strong, cool hand. “I am here and very much alive.”
Was Julian breathing? He hadn’t been so close to the other man since he was treating him. He slowly, carefully, giving Garak plenty of time to back away, lifts his hand and rests it on the other man’s chest. Feels his heart beating. Strong. Steady. Does the rate pick up, ever so slightly as he shifts his weight closer? Garak is still holding his arm, but more gently now, and he raises his other hand to mirror the movement, holding gently, but firmly to both of Julian’s upper arms. He gently strokes his thumbs back and forth, soothing. Julian shuts his eyes and exhales a long breath, one that he feels he had been holding since waking up in that underground chamber. He doesn't know if it is him who sways in, or if it is Garak, or if they meet in the middle, but Garak’s forehead is resting against his own, pressing into his skin as the other man, too, exhales a long breath, mixing with Julian’s in the heartbeat of space between them.
They stand like this for an age, or perhaps only a moment. Julian doesn’t know how long, but he knows when they finally separate, he feels a deeper sense of peace than he has known for some time. He stares at Garak, unsure what to say, not willing to shatter the magic of the moment. Garak looks similarly…stunned. He takes a breath. Smooths the front of his tunic. “Doctor, I…” he begins, and then his face softens. “Thank you.” he says simply.
“What?” Julian is confused. Why is Garak thanking him? “Thank you, Garak” he replies. “Truly.”
Garak smiles a smile that Julian has never seen before from that man. A smile that is tender…soft. “I will let you get some rest, Doctor. Lunch tomorrow?”
Their lunch had been scheduled for Thursday. “Yes…tomorrow” replies Julian, returning the tailor’s smile, shyly. Something is happening, something delicate and he is afraid to move too quickly, to shatter this bubble encircling the two of them. They will talk tomorrow.
For now, when Garak raises his right hand, palm facing Julian, Julian simply rests his palm against the other man’s, feeling the smooth coolness of his skin. He stares into Garak’s eyes. “I’m glad you’re well, Garak.” he says softly.
“As, my dear, am I” replies Garak. “Sleep well, Doctor” and with a gentle squeeze to his hand, Garak exits Julian’s quarters. Now it is for Julian to stare after him. He doesn’t feel the frightened, crawling feeling anymore though. Now he feels…hope.