Chapter Text
”How long are you here?”
“Only a few hours, we have arrangements to…meet some new friends,”
“I missed you, you know,”
“I thought your head was too thoroughly turned by dear Ezri Dax for that,”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t miss you! I was worried about you!”
“I understand, replace me with the next pretty young thing…”
“God you are such a pest. Did you come here to fuck me or argue?”
“My dear, at this point I would have expected you to know those can be the same thing,”
***
Julian stood in the ruins of Lakarian City, watching the federation transport disappear into the dusty air.
The nine staff with him, a group of well meaning but shockingly naive ensigns, looked to him for direction. They all had some level of medical experience but only two of them were actually from the medical track. This was going to be an interesting mission.
“Alright, the map I have puts the central district of the city about a kilometer ahead. Hopefully we can find some of the survivors there and get a better idea of where we are needed. Wear your dust masks and keep an eye out. Anyone who survived this has been through hell and might not be happy to see a bunch of Federaji tromping around,” Julian readjusted his pack and looked back at his people for recognition.
“Federaji?” Asked an impossibly young looking human, “What does that mean?”
“That is what we are called in some quarters, get used to it. We are here to help, but on their terms. We absolutely do not want to come off as some sort of invasion force,”
“We’d be a pretty pathetic invasion force,” cracked one of the security officers.
“Nonetheless,” Julian let the word hang in the air as he began walking towards the thicker batch of ruins his map marked as the old district of Lakarian City.
Those first weeks were hard. Starfleet had no intention of leaving anyone behind on the surface after the final battle. Apparently Dr. Beverly Crusher had thrown an entire fit to Admiral Ross at the notion that Starfleet would just leave in the face of such mass devastation. In the end there was a call for volunteers to join purely medical teams under the command of Dr. Crusher in Cardassia City.
Julian had volunteered right away. DS9 was fine without him, this was where he was most needed.
He just hoped Ezri understood. She had taken the Defiant back to DS9. They made half hearted promises to keep in touch, but at the moment Julian didn’t know where he was going to shower, much less get out a subspace message.
***
The weeks turned to months and Julian’s scrappy team of idealistic ensigns learned how to triage everything from the results of a collapsed building to a political yelling match outside their tents. Julian was proud of what they accomplished but was even more amazed with what the survivors of Lakarian City accomplished.
“I heard they had an election in Cardassia City. Imagine! People lining up to put their thumbs to one man or another. I never thought I would see the day!”
Goka Doll was a woman of dignified years, as she put it, and the effective Grandmother to Everyone in Lakarian City. She didn’t trust the Federation but she wasn’t about to let her fellow survivors turn down help freely given. She and Julian had come to a sort of comfortable understanding.
“I’ve heard there will be one here too, to select a council for here and to send a representative to Cardassia City,” Julian responded as he sorted water purification kits for distribution. It had been a quiet morning, which was just as well, the pace had really started to wear on him.
“Your Federaji influence no doubt,” Goka vollied back with a twinkle in her eye.
“Nothing of the sort. I would never presume to understand Cardassian politics and you all keep me too busy for political machinations anyway,”
"You do look tired. Are you taking care of yourself?" Goka asked a bit too casually for it to be spontaneous.
"Of course I'm tired. I've had to get everything set to run without me while I go to Cardassia City," all the mission leads we're meeting to decide next steps alongside the Ghemor government. It didn't represent the whole Union yet but with the bulk of the population in the capitol city it was the closest thing to a government Cardassia had at the moment,
"A dead man is of no use to The State," Goka was full of uplifting aphorisms.
Julian just rolled his eyes and continued his work. He had been struggling over the past weeks. He was tired no matter how much sleep he got and had been queasy on and off. He figured a bumpy cot and field rations would do that to a man.
He sat down with a sigh. Goka wasn't the first person to notice that he wasn't at his best, just the most direct. He really ought to give himself a scan and put an end to the well meaning onslaught.
He reached over for the tricorter and set it to self diagnosis. He stared at the screen in shock.
How could he possibly be pregnant?
His mind raced through his last weeks on Deep Space Nine. It had been a chaotic time but there wasn't an opportunity for that sort of thing?
Except…
"Shit" Julian muttered to himself.
He must have missed a dose of birth control, not surprising given his intense schedule. And Garak had come back that one night.
He hadn't spoken to Garak since coming to Lakarian City. The communications array was down across the Union but particularly so there. Until the last fortnight, he'd sent messages to Dr. Crusher via passing supply shipments like some sort of country doctor from the Ancient American West.
This trip to the capitol was his first time leaving Lakarian since the end of the war. He had plenty to do there without tracking down his on again, off again paramour.
He didn't know what he was going to do about this situation, but he did know he wouldn't make that choice without Garak. He deserved to know.
***
The next morning, Julian boarded a skimmer overpacked with the sorts of doctors who decided to stay in a war zone rather than go home. It was a jolly group.
“Do you think Dr. Crusher will care if our uniform is in compliance? I never got around to repairing my jacket,” mused a Kelpien folded into the seat behind Julian named Dr. Lanu.
“I have a mending kit in my bag, go ahead and fish it out,” offered Dr. Finkelbaum as he carefully flew through the rocky route with the very grumpy looking Dr. Ishryb navigating. Julian couldn’t imagine the climate was particularly conducive to Andorians, suited as they were to far colder temperatures.
The transport had the same feeling as a weekend holiday from the Academy.
“They certainly did a number on Lakarian, didn’t they? No wonder they sent you here, Bashir. How many survivors were there?” Finkelbaum was a talkative man which Julian generally enjoyed.
“Maybe a few thousand? Before the Dominion it was a city of two million,” Bashir thought it was a miracle there were any survivors at all. They had found several unexploded dominion weapons that would have caused even longer term devastation.
“That is horrifying,” Lanu said quietly. Lanu was one of the few leads who had signed on to the project without an ounce of bravado. Bashir had an immense amount of respect for her.
“Oy, what happened to my music?” Finkelbaum interrupted.
“I turned it off,” Ishryb grumbled.
“Bullshit. The pilot picks the music! Put it back on!”
Ishryb sighed dramatically before the skimmer filled with a raucous cacophony of clarinet and brass playing at full tilt.
“This music is terrible,” Ishryb announced defiantly.
“Don’t insult my people that way, Ishryb. Klezmer is a noble tradition born from forced military service and a lot of joy in the face of adversity. Bashir, you’re a Yid, right? Back me up here!”
“No,” Julian said with a smirk, “I am Jewish, but I am Mizrahi. My family was in Iraq until the Farhud,”
“What’s the difference?” Lanu asked curiously.
“My people know how to season our food,” Bashir said, earning a noise of frustration from Finkelbaum and a laugh from Ishryb.