Archive of Our Own ^beta

Selected few had the ability to resist the allure of Quark's. The flashing lights, easy chatter and triumphant cries of the dabo table operators always lured in the visitors, and right on their heels the regulars. It felt alive. Vibrant and exciting in a way that didn't exist in most Federation controlled space.

Too alive, at times.

The usually calm promenade of Deep Space Nine rumbled as dozens of sweat soaked bodies moved as one heaving beast. Their combined huffs, murmurs and shuffles bounced off the walls into the tremors of an approaching army. Among them was Julian. Suffocating. Caught between a large, roughly furred alien, and a pair of Vulcans, he too, inched his way forward, eyes on the familiar neon lights. Laughter echoed in the distance. A very great distance, insurmountable even.

Then; between the bodies, a sudden gap, a sliver of light. Quite narrow. Impossible, for some. Unthinkable, for many.

Arms stretched, reaching for that light, Julian lept.

His head rammed into a shoulder. The victim, an Andorian, yowled.

"My fault!" Hand on his throbbing forehead, Julian ducked away, shouting over his shoulder. "Please proceed to the infirmary, nurse Jabara will–"

He collided into a wall. A warm, leather covered wall. Julian stared at the firm chest, the meticulously crafted pecks, dazed. Enveloped in its musky scent, some primal instinct guided him to press his palm over the well shaped muscle. He'd seen the man before, having drinks with Jadzia.

Julian smiled up at him. A warrior, judging from the armour.

"Well, hello there–"

The Klingon flashed a grin, and just as quickly, snarled. A blink and he had Julian by the neck, a feeling not entirely unpleasant, and flung him off and away, back into the crowd. More pained groans rang in the air as Julian pummeled through, mouth forming out apologies at an insufficient rate.

Then he was through. Battered and bruised, Julian stumbled into the bar, bent over, gasping for air. A single, beer scented thought ran through his head.

All of this was Jadzia’s fault.

After a few mighty gulps, Julian straightened up, ruffling his sweat drenched hair. A lost cause by now. All the effort he'd put into arranging it into an attractive, yet tasteful, swoop. As per instruction by his all knowing and endlessly fashionable Trill friend. Apparently, his personal style was in danger of being 'corrupted' by Miles' practical sensibilities. An intervention had been necessary.

"What happened to all your volume," she had muttered and combed strands into her liking with gentle fingers. "And don't think I didn't see you and Miles in matching khakis the other day." Her eyes had sparkled despite the stern voice, a not too bad impression of Captain Sisko. "I'm very disappointed in you, young man."

"Why do you care?" He'd said. ”Or have you fallen madly in love with me after all?" He'd given her his best sultry look then, fluttered his lashes for a good measure.

She'd laughed heartily. He sulked till the end of the grooming session, concluded by a fond pat on the cheek.

And now to find her and Miles.

Julian narrowed his eyes, scanning the dark. Every seat was taken. Barely balanced drinks, held high in foam soaked hands, littered the view, a cackling, giggling forest of bodies squeezed tight into each other. Above their heads, a familiar set of speckled fingers flashed in and out of sight. Beckoning. Julian wiped his damp hand on his trousers, rolled his shoulders and set sail toward the bar, elbows and pardons at the ready.

"There he is!" Jadzia roared. Her cheeks glowed pink, strands of hair stuck to them, the heel of her boot on a barstool. She swung her leg off it in a mighty arch.

A chorus of hungry gasps broke out.

Before any of them had a chance, Julian scrambled to grab a hold of the godsend apparatus, and fell on it not unlike a newborn fawn. Mournful whimpers retreated. Off to his left, a young engineer had not given up. They eyed the chair. Then him. Took a step forward.

Jadzia's eyes hardened. Sharklike, she smiled. Mouth seeming somehow too full of teeth. She stared at the engineer from under her equally sharp brows until they slunk back, knuckles white around their glass.

Julian looked at Jadzia, suppressing a shiver. She continued to be impressive in every possible way.

"Thanks–" The clear clink of a frothing pint interrupted the rest. It sizzled, loud and sharp like a winded bagpipe. A sour, yeasty odour shot into the air, the creamy foam swelling precariously high.

"It's on the house!" Quark cackled. He clapped his hands once, clasped into prayer, misty eyes roaming the crowd.

"Look at them… All drinking and eating like it's a Klingon wedding. Hahaa!"

The tower of foam bent down, down, down, onto the table. There it swelled until the tiny bubbles spread ahead. Toward Julian, who leaned across the counter, awkwardly twisting his hips to avoid impact.

"I don't think this is safe." He frowned at the still growing number of customers. The volume of their joint voices felt thunderous. "There shouldn't be this many people in this space at once."

Quark served another three cadets, eyes a gleam.

Ignored and a little put off by it, Julian sat back down. A dollop of foam glooped off the edge in one, obscene splat. It frothed on the carpet. The fibers twisted and curled inward like a dead spider.

Among the list of the night's grievances was the clear absence of one grumpy engineer. Julian swiveled in a meerkat sort of way, and stretched himself as high as his tall figure allowed without removing his arse off the precious seat.

"Where's Miles?"

Jadzia flopped her hand in the direction of the stairs. Her underarms were stained dark, a spot of foam on her nose, at the very tip.

"He went to the bathroom, I think. Probably halfway there by now."

Or halfway home, if he had any sense. Julian sank back into a slouch.

The noise. The sharp odour of alcohol and sweat. Jadzia, already too conked out to even pay him any mind. All of it swirled into a throbbing headache, hammering at his temples. Originally he'd planned for a cozy night in. He'd acquired the classic debut work of Shelley Parker-Chan on his PADD weeks ago, more than ready to dive into their take on the historical Ming dynasty. His literary intentions, however, were foiled by one medical emergency after the other, week after week. Tonight could've been the night. But no heaven could stop the force of Lieutenant Dax, begging for him to join her and Miles to try out the new drink Quark had advertised with the unprecedented promise of one free pint per customer.

It did, in retrospect, sound a bit too good to be the whole truth.

Minutes passed in his noisy, stale pit of self pity. He should leave, and he was about to tell Jadzia this, inhaling deeply just so he'd have the air to be loud enough.

"Jad– hm."

Something smelled... Interesting. Not at all like sweat or beer, but familiar. Pleasant.

Careful to not get his nose in the foam, Julian gave his well ignored drink a long, slow sniff. Smoked tar and… a citrus? Warmth pooled into his chest. A familiar mix, one that brought to mind steady shoulders clad in heavy brocade of emerald green or blood red. A sigh left his lips. They'd not met for weeks now. He'd been busy. In the infirmary. Very busy.

Struggling to swallow with his suddenly dry throat, Julian coughed into the scented bubbles, knuckles white around the tacky glass. Maybe he should dare a taste.

"And uh… Garak?" Julian lifted the glass to his lips. "You haven't seen him around, by any chance?"

"In the holosuites." Quark’s voice slithered down to an unpleasant insinuation. "with Ziyal. They had the privilege to dust off the Cardassian sauna program."

The first swig of the beer he took right before the word "sauna" burst into his lungs.

"Whoa there, Doctor! There shouldn't be anything wrong with the merchandise, I swear my supplier is a well respected — "

"Sauna?" Julian croaked, water in his eyes. "With Ziyal?"

"Sounds nice." Jadzia swayed, cheeks squished against her hands. "It's been well over a century since I was in a Cardassian sauna."

"Nearly as long since anyone's used mine." Quark crumbled. "Too hot for most species since you lot arrived."

"Jesus fucking Christ!"

Miles fell. Red faced and rumpled, right into the evergrowing river of beer. His arm skidded on the wet surface, punched Julian's glass. It spun. Round and round, gurgling out foam. Morn, at his usual seat, scrambled to flee. At his heels, a much slower group of humans. They screamed at Quark who screeched back, snapping an already soaked rag around in vain, droplets raining down. Through the chaos, Jadzia cradled her glass as if it were a baby bird, brows so furrowed they might as well have been one long line of confusion.

Miles grunted.

"I hate cadets." His lips peeled off the counter with an audible snap. "Disrespectful little shits."

Thighs soaked through with tar and something like tangerines, Julian stood, the word sauna a neon sign blazing through his brain.

"I'm sorry,” he said. “I just remembered I have some paperwork to finish."

No one heard him, he was certain. Even the wailing screech of the stool was drowned out by the noise. With nothing left to say he turned, no goal in mind beyond leaving quickly and far. Yet he stalled, faced with the reality of people, pushing against the walls and each other, his aching head pulsing in tandem. Neverending sweat trickled down his neck.

There was a bottle. Freshly opened, right where his pint had been. Off to the left, Quark still mopped up the mess, humming a tune as he did, the distraught cadets happily nursing fresh towers of beer. Jadzia smiled wide and dazed, nose deep in the foam, like a hummingbird. The engineer from before clung to the freed stool as if it were a life raft, breath heaving while they glugged a full pint down their girthy jaws.

Julian poked Chief O’Brien in the ribs.

“Hurrgh…”

“Miles?”

“Whatchawant.”

“Hand me that bottle, will you?”

Once outside, his breathing eased. The corridors were hauntingly empty, the air pleasantly cool against his day old clothes. He did not slow down until some distance away, planting himself on an empty window seat. He sat, threw his head back and drowned his mouth with stolen beer.

Garak and Ziyal. On a date.

A sauna.

It was awful. Undrinkable swill, so syrupy, yet tangy and bitter, with a hint of something spoiled.

He glugged away, half choking on the last swallow.

"Hey."

Coughing, Julian squinted up, into a blur of pale skin and the wrong shape of blue eyes.

"Jadzia." He managed grumpily. He hid the bottle behind his back and rasped through his sore throat. "What can I do for you?"

She quirked a brow, entirely too elegant a movement for someone supposedly drunk.

"Too much for one, don't you think?"

Bugger. Grudgingly defeated, he handed over the bottle. While she took a sip, Julian slumped over his knees, an ache behind his eyes, stomach churning. Her twitching grimace almost made up for it.

"Urhg." She said, then burped.

"Couldn't agree more."

"This is one of the worst things I've ever tasted."

"What's the worst?"

"Torias nearly hooked up with a man who wouldn't bathe more than once a month."

Beer that had already gone down slid back up to his throat. A ripe gurgle escaped before Julian could shove a fist to cover his mouth, utterly appalled while Jadzia drank on, unfazed.

"Why— Actually, no. Don't tell me."

Her shrug implied it was his loss. She handed back the bottle, knowing eyes on him as he drank the bile back down where it belonged.

"So… Garak and Ziyal."

"Apparently."

"Guessing you didn't know."

"Nope." He sniffed, shrugged. "But good for him."

"And Ziyal."

Another way for the beer was up his nose. It stung as he chortled into the bottle.

"Sure," He coughed, then held the bottle high in a mock toast, bellowing, "Good for Ziyal. And frankly, good luck!"

He drank while Jadzia's all knowing judgment burned in the corner of his vision.

"It's okay to be jealous." She said with infuriating calm.

"Jealous? I'm not jealous! If he wants to get himself shot in the back for dating Dukat's daughter, that's his prerogative."

"Oh, Garak! I thought you were upset about Ziyal."

"Why would I be upset about — " Her grin revealed the three centuries she had on him, easy in its amusement. She tilted her head, a growing softness in her old eyes.

"Have you told him?"

Julian dangled the bottle by its neck. Stared at it swinging between his knees. It was so light already. A feeling not replicated in his head. Or heart.

"Told him what, exactly?" He said quietly. "I’d like it if you bent me over a table sometime?" He snatched the beer back up and took another sip, muttering into the bottle. “If only it was that simple. And plain.”

“Sounds very simple to me,” She reached for the drink again, disgust deepening between sips. “Unless you don’t want it to be simple.”

“He’s a complicated man. And complicated isn't what I'm looking for at the moment.“ He wrung his unoccupied hands together. Dug his thumb into the meat of the palm.

“I mean, Ziyal seems wonderful! A bit young.” His nail dented hands shot up into surrender. “But that’s none of my business. They’re adults and all that, capable of their own, rational thoughts. Garak quite a lot more than her, but you know…” He scoffed with a final sharp wave of his hand. “None of my business!”

A heavy silence fell. Julian's hands trembled and he exhaled slowly, too aware of the frail sound it made.

“Do you remember," said Jadzia. "that night you were drunk? More than now, I mean. When Garak offered to help you home?"

His throat closed up at the hazy memory. An embarrassing night in every way, starting with him losing to everyone in Tongo, then getting hammered because Jadzia kept going and well, Julian Subatoi Bashir was no lesser to her. He didn’t remember much else after making it to his quarters. Only the lightness of being carried, the silky hair at the nape where his hands had clutched to keep from falling.

"I remember.” He glared at her through a fond smile. “And he didn’t offer, you threw me at him."

She ignored the important detail, her little laugh too much like a grandmother charmed by silly youth.

"He had a face like he'd won a prize." Her smile gained a tired edge. "Honestly, it was a bit insufferable. There he was, clutching this drunken idiot, happy as a puppy."

"He's more of a cat, I think." He rubbed his forehead, the ache there creeping back in with some force. It didn’t help dislodge the tar nor the something citrusy.

"Anyway." He exhaled, weary to his bones. "It’s too late now."

Jadzia’s warm hand squeezed his shoulder, her voice too kind and pitying.

"You can still tell him."

"Can I? If he's happy and Ziyal's happy, then wouldn't it just be cruel?" He shook his head. "No. I can admit defeat. Plenty of those under my belt. Just… keep calm and carry on, as they say."

Jadzia didn’t look convinced. Still she shrugged, her smile crooked and resigned.

"It's your call."

Julian swallowed down a lump. A call he'd missed by years.

He’d thought that Garak would wait for him. To be ready. To be sure. To decide whether it would be a kinder, more mature decision to ignore all the cells in his body that preened whenever Garak looked at him, bright eyes pleased with a retort or conclusion. Or if he should follow all the other organs. Leave the pesky little brain behind.

Jealousy was shameful. Even when earned. And he had not earned the exclusivity of Garak’s affection. He’d rejected the possibility by avoiding the subject altogether, drinking up the flirtation and attention, never offering a taste deep enough in return.

This was all his own, damn fault.

"Oh..." Jadzia tipped the empty bottle over, forlorn. "I might go back for another one. The taste is awful, but the smell?" She breathed in deep. “It’s both raktajino and jasmin? Maybe a bit of blood wine…”

Julian turned to look at his usually perceptive friend, wondering about Trill noses. Deciding to let it be for now, since the more pressing matter was getting more of the beer.

"I'll come along." All he needed was more of the hideous, undrinkable, Garak scented beer to choke on. His body ached for it, his mouth like cotton without it —

He frowned. Then looked at Jadzia, sporting a similar look of realization.

They gasped in unison.

"Quark!"

***

It took a couple of days and a lot of time in the infirmary to sort out Quark's scheme. The Captain was furious, and gave Quark such a stern quirk of his brow that Julian couldn't help but to feel a little bit sorry for their overly ambitious entrepreneur. Who could deny the genius of a drink with the ability to discern and create the scents which made the drinker feel their most relaxed? If only the taste could have compared. Unfortunately the mysterious suppliers were long gone, and with them the utterly fascinating recipe. The one winner in all of it was Odo, who'd not stopped beaming since he'd escorted Quark to a holding cell.

That was the only time he'd seen Garak. In the cells with Odo, animated in his manners of comforting an offended Quark. He’d given Julian only a brief nod of a hello over him handing Odo the toxicity report. Julian had barely managed a nod back. He worried Garak had noticed something amiss.

Only one person knew of his self inflicted, idiotic torment. He was impressed and grateful Jadzia had managed not to spread rumours around the station, or the whole galaxy for that matter. On top of that, she kept inviting him to the holosuites, and other obviously singles packed events, no doubt wanting to cheer him up. Normally that's exactly what he did. Break up. Be rejected. Move on to the next. He declined each offer. Why, he couldn't really say. Perhaps he was getting too old and dull.

Such were his musings in the replimat. A solemn supper alone, in the same table he'd sat when a sharp eyed Cardassian had first introduced himself.

"Doctor Bashir!"

His neglected soup sloshed as Jake Sisko, all a grin, folded his awkward teenage limbs into the chair opposite. A contradiction to his youth was a dark purple suit. Tasteful and well fitted, yet not compromised on the specific style of the wearer. Jake’s preference for busy patterns remained, hidden in the fabric, revealed as the light hit it at an angle. Julian got a good look of the different tones and textures of purple while Jake wiggled in his seat, leg furiously bouncing.

"Hello, Jake." Julian smiled and waved his spoon at the getup. "You're looking dapper."

With a near sleazy smirk Jake pulled into a laid-back pose, hands at his lapels.

"Yeah!" He said, far too gleeful to pull off the attempt at a deeper timber. Julian had to duck his head down to hide a laugh. Not quite like father, but charmingly close.

"Garak made it for me. For a date."

And there went his amusement. Tongue pressed in between his teeth, Julian managed to feign a casual hum, the ache in his chest.

"In the holosuites?"

"Yup. Sort of a ball thing."

"Sounds fun." He dragged the spoon through the soup. Made a slightly wonky soup heart. "And who is the lucky one?"

"Ziyal."

The spoon went through the curve, reducing the heart to a vague blob of a thing. Jake babbled on, none the wiser.

"She's really cool, you know? I'd wanted to ask her, but she actually beat me to it." He laughed nervously.

"The next morning Garak came to see me and more or less ordered me to order a suit from him. He was scary." He shuddered, then waved his hands frantically, eyes wide. "No offense! I'm sure he's great. Usually."

Julian had no time to respond, for a second later Jake scrambled up, staring with an open mouth.

A few slow, clacking steps and a susurrus of fabric preceded the elegant entry of Tora Ziyal. Carefully, as if afraid to even touch her obviously brand new dress she lifted up the long, lavender skirt and clacked right up to Jake in modest heels. Whatever she had intended to say never came, however, for she noticed Julian.

"Doctor Bashir!" Eyes large and bright, she gasped, hands coming together. The skirt spilled from her hands in a rustle of silk. "Hello!"

"Hi."

She looked lovely. The lavender tone suited her well, charmingly matching one of the many in Jake's suit. Her hair was done up in a style resembling classic Greece. He'd never really looked at her that closely, out of a simple lack of interest in the child. She was Kira's ward after all, and giving the wrong impression would certainly be a death sentence. He hardly spent time with Miles' children either, so really, what could anyone expect. But she was beautiful. A vibrant, intelligent look in her eyes, a smile that bordered on girlish. A graceful posture. An obvious air of kindness.

Ziyal, after a quick glance to Jake, squared her shoulders and shot out her hand.

"We haven't been properly introduced, I know, but I've heard so much about you! It's an honour."
Her outstretched hand hovered before his face. On that face she would plainly see the bags under his eyes, the shave he'd neglected to do this morning. His uniform after a full workday, wrinkled and too large. On the table the cold, congealed soup he'd been slurping. Alone.

Hand frozen midair, Ziyal waited silently, a growing trepidation in her youthful eyes. She'd painted her nails as well. A metallic sort of gold. Lovely.

With all his might, Julian smiled, took her delicate hand and gave it a firm shake.

"It's lovely to meet you, Ziyal."

Ziyal lit up and looked at Jake once more, his thumbs up confirming she'd proceeded correctly. To make amends, Julian bent his head in the brash version of a graceful bow that Cardassians awarded each other. Ziyal failed to contain a smile, too open to be entirely polite, though her nod was as elegant as one would expect.

"We should get going." Jake offered his arm, which Ziyal took with a determined nod.

"Yes! I'm so curious! Haven't been to a dance before." She bounced on her feet, breathy as she laughed, clutched to Jake's arm. Jake's smile grew bright and wide, chest puffing up under the lilac vest.

"See you later, Doctor!"

He could only blink as the two of them hurried away, heels clapping a sound of careless youth against the floor.

The soup grew colder. Garak closed his shop at 17:00, but occasionally stayed for a good while to tidy up and work on commissions, since there was better space to do so. Julian checked the time.18:42.

He ran, mindlessly, through the station. The few people he passed looked curiously, worried perhaps of the calamity that had the Chief Medical Officer running.

Dark windows greeted him. Garak had gone home then. Of course he had, at this hour. He could, of course, pop into his quarters at eight in the evening and offer condolences for a relationship he wasn't supposed to know about.

Wide doe eyes of a supposedly grown, logical man stared at him from the black glass. Childish. Still, after everything he’d learned, from Jadzia, Miles, the Captain. And Garak.

"Doctor?"

Julian spun around. Limbs suddenly numb and his heart thudding, he opened and closed his mouth, trying to think. Failing.

"Gharakh." He slurred. "Hhhi."

Garak, shoulders set in an impeccable posture, not a hair out of place, squinted at him, eyes trailing from his shop to Julian.

"Doctor," he said, a polite suspicion in the unmistakable voice, "are you quite well?"

The red shirt. With the squiggly shoulder bits. Julian swallowed. He loved that shirt. It made him want to roam his hands over the chest underneath, bite along the thick ridges on his neck —

"Doctor."

Julian dragged his gaze off the chewable piece of anatomy, faced instead with two terribly blue eyes, in them a look most puzzled.

"Garak."

"If you wish to make an order, I'd advise you to visit during business hours," said Garak, wagging a finger, "Friendship allows certain privileges, but I won't be taken advantage of."

Take advantage of me, thought Julian. Or a bite.

"I'm not ordering anything. Just wanted to see you."

Garak's expression changed to a lovely little smile, his eyes blinking slowly once, twice.

"That is an entirely different matter then." He extended an arm. Blinked his blue, blue eyes a third time. "Perhaps you'd join me for late tea? I might have received a box of delavian chocolates that would go rather well with the Tarkalean kind."

"I'd like that."

"Give me a moment. I left a tool behind… Old age does take its toll!" Garak brushed past him to unlock the shop. Julian skulked in after, hesitating a moment before the threshold.

It was always odd to be in the shop outside business hours. With none of the lights, the space seemed vast and unpredictable, the clothes heavy on the dolls, lifelike even in their stillness. Their silent judgment evident on the smooth, blank faces. In defiance, Julian reached to rub a heavily embroidered sleeve. He thought the coiling rows of small leaves resembled hearts.

Unbothered by the dark, Garak had beelined to his desk, and lit up the small lamp over it. Back bent as he opened the first drawer. While he rummaged, Julian sat on one corner of it and latched fingers around the smooth edge. The wood warmed fast under his palms.

The mannequins stared. In the distance, Julian could feel feet, not yet running, but getting ready for any mouth that might provide the opportunity.

"Garak?" He asked, voice carefully casual.

"Yes, my dear?"

Dear.

"About... Ziyal."

Surprise flashed over Garaks face, turned up to briefly stare at him in thought.

"Now that I did not expect, I must say. What about her?"

"I saw her not an hour ago. With Jake."

"Ah, yes!" Garak beamed, a small device now in his hand. Several sharp needles jutted out of one end. They glistened under Garak's careful inspection of the frankly torturous looking contraption.

"I'm rather proud of the pieces I made. Hopefully they'll behave enough not to damage them. I'd quite like a picture for my catalogue. Though a certain level of rumpled could encourage sales, it's not exactly an image suited for my respectable little shop. I can only hope the young man understood my concern. He doesn't seem overly familiar with the care one must take with the finest this quadrant has to offer."

Poor Jake. No wonder he'd been frazzled, seeing that particular glint in Garak's eyes. It matched the needles.

"I wouldn't worry. Jake's a very thoughtful person."

With a 'we'll see' sort of hum from Garak, the needled thing vanished back into a drawer. The precise, elegant movement of Garak's hands, picking up and putting down an item after another, drew the eye. Utterly carefree, as far as Julian could tell. But this was Garak. Could the man himself even tell anymore what went on inside his conniving brain? A painful pang of possibility hit him. Maybe Garak had misunderstood Jake's intent. Or worse, Ziyal's.

Due to his low bent, a thick strand of hair fell to Garak's eyes. That too, was quickly swept back in its place, behind the left ear. Julian's own ears burned, a flutter in his chest.

"You're not–" he spoke softly, searching Garak's perfectly content face for signs of… something. " –upset?"

"Upset?" Now he was frowning, tools forgotten, head curiously tilted at Julian. "When everything turned out so perfectly? For once, I might add."

His eyes were so very blue.

"It's just that I —" Julian could feel the oncoming feet, aiming for his mouth. So he snapped the thing shut. Leaned casually, nonchalantly, against the desk, each word easy and completely lacking in tension. "I heard that. You. And Ziyal. Were… in a sauna. Together."

"That is true. How unsettling, and not at all surprising, for Quark to spread the information. I just might leave a pin or two in his jacket the next time he needs another one made."

He did not even bat one, sneaky blue eye. Anger sizzled up at the sight.

Maybe there was the smallest, slightest of chances that he, Julian Subatoi Bashir, was jealous. Had been jealous. For a minute. A day at best. After all, an attractive, smart and young Cardassian woman had swept in and snatched his simple and plain Garak. Of course he'd been upset.

He felt far worse now.

For weeks he'd toiled over the pain of it. The ache. The torture, the shattering, soul breaking soreness in his heart. His only solace the thought of Garak, finally happy. And he was. Happy as a duckling. A single, completely free duckling who took only-just-about-not-a-teenager into a sauna instead of someone barely over thirty, a perfectly attractive age, a thing that Cardassians supposedly wouldn't even care too much about–

Julian swallowed down his tight throat, teeth clenched. Garak cried out, triumphant.

"Aha! This should work nicely."

Julian's vision flashed with red.

"And Jake?" He said through his clamped jaw.

Again Garak's head tilted, a curtain of hair falling down his shoulder. His eyes narrowed. "When I asked about your health earlier I wasn't entirely serious, but most of your sentences have been completely nonsensical. Perhaps a detour to the infirmary before the chocolate?"

An infuriating, beautiful lizard.

"Why is Jake going out with Ziyal, in a suit you made him, after only a week since you were with her?" He'd stood up without realising.

Garak stood calm and still, voice rising only a little.

"You think I'll let the first date that poor girl has ever had appear in a shirt made out of a cruiser seat?" Garak barked a cackle. "Rest assured I'm keeping a keen eye on the boy. And his wardrobe."

First date?

"Wait. I don't —" Feet. Galloping. "But the sauna."

"Yes, that seems upsetting to you."

"It is upsetting!"

"Why?"

Fueled by weeks of suppressed, silly feelings for a man this callous, Julian spluttered, arms flailing.

"Because it's upsetting that you casually have a —" he spat out the words, "a fling with Ziyal, then gleefully send her off with someone else — "

The carefully chosen tool clattered to the floor.

"A FLING." Garak clutched his chest. "What has put such a vulgar thought in your head?"

"Being naked and sweaty around midnight — "

"Naked."

Garak fell against his desk, mouth agape as he clung on for dear life.

"I don't know what delightful sort of debauchery happens when humans find themselves in a sauna with company," He breathed out, fingers splayed wider over his collar. "but I promise, to Cardassians it's an entirely platonic affair that involves clothing."

"Oh.”

Oh.

Feet. Mouth. And never in a good way.

"Well. Garak. I'll be going now. Good night."

There was a whirr of sound. A tender sort of clang. Julian stared at the shut doors, a dread like ice quickening his breath.

"Garak." He said. "Open the door."

"Oh dear. It seems the button has jammed."

Refusing to look back at the smug smirk he could hear in Garak's voice, Julian simply closed his eyes. Breathed in deep before opening them again, more calm and very determined.

"Have it your way then." He tapped the chip on his chest.

"Bashir medical emergency beam up —

Fingers, the very ones that Julian had admired not five minutes ago, snuck to his chest. Spiderlike. By his ear a breath, so close that Julian held his.

Like a fly off a web, Garak snatched off his comm badge.

Awakened from the momentary trance, Julian tore away, hand on his tingling ear.

"Garak!"

On the spot Julian had stood not a second ago, Garak inspected his prize. Unimpressed.

"Such a clunky little thing…"

"Garak." Julian repeated. "Give it back. Now."

"Or what?"

"I'll report this to Odo."

"I see." Garak rubbed the badge with his thumb, lips pursed in a mockery of though. "And how will you do that?"

"Computer," Julian said. "Call security to Garak's Clothier's."

Nothing happened. Garak made a tutting sound.

"Now where has your sense of fun gone, doctor? You really are becoming quite a serious man. Much like Odo. And need I mention those beige monstrosities you and Chief O'Brien sauntered around the other week."

Either the thought of khakis or Miles made Garak's expression sour. For a brief moment he looked lost in his distaste. Pinched between the scissors of his fingers, like a cigarette, was the badge.

Julian rushed at it. He was so close; his fingertips grazed the scales of Garak's palm, the touch so light and quick it ought not feel like anything.

"Oh-ho!" Garak swayed back a step. "Very good, Doctor! You almost had it."

The badge twirled prettily in Garak's fingers. With clear intent, Garak took his hand up to his neck. It hovered there a second, and then the precise grip loosened. And so it went, the symbol of his service and loyalty, down the intricate, Cardassian neckline.

"Oh, how clumsy of me."

He couldn't breathe. His hand felt not his own, the skin numb with warmth, needle prints of electricity tapping from fingertip to palm.

"I'm not in the mood for games, Garak." He made a fist of the hand, reeling from a mere thought of touch, and swallowed, voice a low rasp. "Stop this, or it's not just Odo you will answer to, but the captain as well." He knew how little Sisko liked Garak. He suspected the feeling wasn't exactly mutual, but unlike Odo, the Captain was no friend to his insufferable tailor.

Unruffled by the theat, Garak hummed, then turned to look at him sharply.

"I would like you to speak whatever is truly on your mind, doctor. Polite or not. It is what our relationship is based on is it not? An enthusiastic exchange of thoughts over mediocre meals."

"I suppose."

"Then why such sudden reticence?"

"There's no reticence. I'm just a little embarrassed and wish to leave before making it worse. It's the British way." Each breath felt so heavy. With that full weariness he exhaled, and spoke forcefully, "So if you could stop messing around and hand back my — "

"Misunderstandings between cultures and people are commonplace, Doctor." Garak took a step closer. "Rest assured I won't hold it against you."

"No, you'll just hold me hostage."

"A hyperbolic view of the situation, surely."

"I’ve truly had quite enough of the dramatics, Garak," He jabbed his open palm between their chests. Beckoned. “Hand it over.”

"I’m reluctant to do so, my dear doctor. You see, it’s so rare nowadays to find an opportunity to speak with you plainly. I believe the last time was the night you failed to keep up with Lieutenant Dax’s exciting lifestyle.”

Julian grit his teeth.

“I never thanked you. For helping me to my quarters.” he said. “Thank you. I'm sure I was… a hassle.”

“Not at all. Besides, you have done me far greater favours, Doctor.”

“So what do you want?”

“What I want,” said Garak, “Is to know whether your… dwindling interest in my company is a misguided effort to save my feelings — Garak jutted his chin, the defiance of the gesture lessened by the vulnerability of the words. “Due to me taking your intoxicated words too much to heart.”

He knew it.

He'd said something that night. Something pathetic and revealing and true. Panic unlike any he'd felt since his teen years fell like mist upon his body. He couldn't think. Couldn't breathe, lungs cinched with each thin, shaky inhale.

Beat by beat, Garak's eyes dimmed.

An old, near forgotten habit took over. His eyes glazed. Julian opened his mouth. Allowed the thoughtless words out, his voice cold and dead between the warmth of their bodies.

"I don't remember saying anything important."

It was as if a thick curtain drew around Garak. Smothered him, out of Julian's sight and reach.

“I see." Head held high, eyes cast down Garak began to pull away, voice clipped. "Thank you for making it clear.”

Danger averted. Julian Subatoi Bashir, victorious once more, watching a man he desired above all else slunk away in humiliation of his doing. Good. This was good. Free to work, free to live and love to a perfectly amicable degree. He'd be safe. Amsha and Richard would be safe and Garak–

Looked fragile. Shoulders drawn forward, face obscured by a black veil of hair. Quiet. In a way Julian had never known him to be. Like a statue made of old stone, silhouetted against a cathedral roof. Mournful in its eternal stillness.

"I'm sorry.” Blood roared in his ears. "I really don't remember. But what I actually meant was… I just don't know if we'd be good for each other."

Not better.

"Doctor," Garak strained, breathing hard through his nose, "there's no need to prolong this–"

"Garak." He rasped out feebly, voice not quite caught up with the desperation rising once more.

"Please, Garak. Just. Give me a moment."

Still turned away, Garak said nothing. A terror took a hold of Julian. That he'd never hear him speak easily again, without guard, with joy in his company alone. So he lunged for the smooth, scaled hand. Held it painfully as Garak's faint inhale fluttered into his heart.

“Sometimes," he said, "I feel very out of pace with other people. Miles. Jadzia, Kira… Everyone I’ve ever met. I don’t mind. It’s the way it is. Or so I thought.” he swallowed, daring a shy glance into Garak's eyes. Brighter now, and keen. “With you it's… not at all like that.”

“Forgive me." Garak stared at their joined hands with a look of wonder. "I don't understand. All of that is… bad?"

"No." He was in it now. And so he said with a sad, small voice, "But I am."

"Hm," said Garak, obviously unconvinced.

"I'm serious,“ His shoulders slumped. “Garak…“

Garak's hands closed over Julian's.

"Now why would you think such a thing?" He said softly, cradling Julian's hand.

"I knew,” he swallowed. "I knew you liked me. It's why I– I've behaved so strangely tonight."

There was rubbing now. A thumb, making firm circles on the palm.

"I liked the attention." Voice slurring, Julian felt his eyes flutter as the thumb dug deeper. "The fact it was me you were giving attention to. But I didn't do anything. Thought I wouldn't need to. Assumed that you would be happy to wait for as long as I saw fit."

Garak's answer was a thoughtful hum. Pleased, even. Julian frowned at it, at the steady hands massaging his. It was nice. Undeserved and therefore wrong. He needed to put a stop to it. Make Garak see.

Garak moved on to massage each finger. The noise Julian made wasn't at all loud, a small squeak of sigh, yet it felt indecent.

"I was rude to Ziyal because I thought you were interested in her romantically."

"I've not been too pleased about you gallivanting with Chief O'Brien."

"Miles?" Julian startled, affronted. "Garak, he's married."

"Well, excuse my lack of trust in human morals," He gave a meaningful, somewhat appraising stare, a bit of claw in the squeezing of Julian's hand. "Tora Ziyal is young enough to be my daughter."

"I'm young!"

"Not that young."

A devastating blow.

"You're not being serious."

"On the contrary," The grip on his hand took on an insistent pressure. "I'm taking this very seriously."

"You're not. And honestly you shouldn't! God–" Before he'd lose all sense, Julian tore his hand from the loving grip, pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

"You're not understanding."

"I've admitted as much. I'm keen to understand, should you wish to explain."

"I have to leave." He needed to stay focused. No one could be trusted to know. No one. "I'm not making any sense."

"My dear," said Garak, unfamiliar alarm in his voice. "wherever your mind has gone, I assure you, there's no danger here."

I'm the danger, Julian thought bitterly. As you would be to me.

"I'd trust you with my life." Said Julian and meant it. "I care about what you think. Especially of me. The way you look at me. Listen to me. If you ever stopped…" he laughed. "And trust me, you would. Inevitably you'd see how I really am and–

He had to stop for a breath. Gather himself.

"Garak. What I'm trying to say is, that the image you have of me, as someone who is… good." His stomach churned with shame of even insinuating it. "I know it might seem to you like I am, since I've been more friendly and personable to you than most, but believe me, if you were to dig deeper–"

God, his head ached. He never should've stepped over the threshold. Julian felt the mannequins. They were definitely looking at him now, with increasing pity. If only he could join them. Standing around. Still and quiet, instead of flailing and loud. Who wouldn't prefer him that way.

Hands, cool, dry and evidently inescapable, caressed his own.

"Shame is something I've come to understand quite well." Garak said quietly. ”In fact it has guided me through much of my life. So let me impart this lesson; it is the path of endless, solitary misery.”

A shadow of long learned acceptance hovered Garak's crooked smile.

“Mind you, I’d be your companion regardless. It’s such a cold little station for an old, lonely man. If all I can be is a dirty, shameful secret of renowned Starfleet officer— “

“I'm not ashamed."

"So you say. Yet what you've described to me is pride. I believe it is your desire to maintain your pride which compels you to break my heart."
Garak spoke with a tender certainty, a strange admiration in his downturned eyes. "before I might break yours."

“No. “ said Julian, horrified. He shook his head furiously, desperate to quell the terrible misunderstanding. "No, Garak, that's not at all–"

Pain and heat pulsed under the teeth, sunk where neck and shoulder met. Julian choked out a gasp, cold lips tracing a trail of hot breath to his ear, to whisper, like a lick of fire.

"Such a terrible liar.”

Blood rushed through his limbs. Shivers raked his scalp, tingling pleasantly down his spine, a wave that swept away tension. Weightless, held steady by surprisingly strong arms.

He forced his heavy lids open. Exhaled.

“Better than you think.”

Garak pulled him closer still.

“How ominous! What other unpalatable desires are hiding in this lovely head of yours, besides your monstrous love for me.”

“That's it then?“ Julian murmured, to himself or to Garak, he wasn't sure. "Let's have an affair? Nothing more to discuss?"

“I believe I already alluded to my feelings on the matter. It has not occurred to me yet to feel very bad about them, but I may come up with something, if it would reassure you."

"No need." He said weakly.

"Well then."

Nothing more was said for some time. Julian remained tucked into Garak, arms awkwardly caught between their chests, palms splayed just above a barely perceivable heartbeat. A pleasant scraping sound followed Garak's hands as they pet his clothed back. They were warm, his hands.

He felt Garak breathe. They were breathing, together, as a strange two-headed thing. Julian had closed his eyes, lulled by the tight hold, the pleasant, leather scent of tar that every inhale dragged into his lungs. Garak raked his short claws down Julian's nape, speaking nothing in soothing, rumbling whispers.

"A bit anticlimactic." Julian murmured after a while.

Garak let out an uncaring sigh, too busy tucking his face into Julian's neck to be concerned.

"Was there more you wanted to say?"

"Not really." He sighed as well and let his face fall against the side of Garak's head. Hair tickled his nose, a few strands moving with his mumbling breaths.

"There is something I want to tell you." He said quietly. "Something no one knows." Besides Amsha and Richard. He tensed at the thought of them. What would they say, knowing how close to ruin Julian had brought their family. In his mind their figures, their faces. The outrage on Richard’s. Mournful martyrdom on Amsha's.

”You're afraid I could use this information against you."

Julian grimaced. Then nodded. He really was an open book most of the time.

"I'll admit intrigue," Garak's hand stilled, warm and strong as it cupped Julian's neck. "But you should know that the thought of you being harmed is– unpleasant, to me."

Pleasure rose in him at the admission. He'd wondered, often, whether Garak would care if he were hurt. He'd also thought the answer to be yes, they were friendly enough indeed. And Garak had more kindness than people assumed. How he'd fantasized about it; being thought dead, miraculously returning, alive! Triumphant! And the joyous crowd would part, letting through a harrowed tailor who would embrace him, hold him tight as he did now. Saying the very things he had been saying.

If things could be so simple.

With a deep exhale, Julian lifted his heavy head off Garak, smiling sadly, knowingly.

"What if the information was enough to buy you a ticket back to Cardassia?"

There it was. His great anxiety. Beneath the all consuming attraction he had for one Elim Garak. That the worth Julian had for him was nothing compared to his home, the longing he held for a future return. One that would inevitably lead to leaving Julian behind. The crime there, the resentment he felt at the truth.

Garak pulled back enough to scowl at him with exasperation.

"Doctor," He implored, chest heaving. "If you intend to keep your vulnerabilities from reaching unsavory hands, you really ought to not sell them so eagerly."

Julian stared. Then smiled, all the way to a grin and a small breath of a laugh.

"I'm sorry." He said, too fond to be as teasing as intended. "It was very thoughtless of me."

Since Garak seemed determined to lighten the mood, Julian allowed any lingering anxieties to melt away. They'd be back, as always.

"You know," he began, looking at Garak from under his lashes, fluttering them just for a few good blinks. "if you wanted to feel special, I could let you know that I've never spoken about it to anyone. Not even the existence of the 'it'."

"This is getting quite unbearable," Garak squeezed his waist, something very much in his hands. "Take this is my final warning to contain yourself, Doctor. At least to a degree that would prevent us from putting each other in compromising positions."

"I think I'd like a compromising position."

"I'll take that to mean we've passed the unfortunate self loathing." Garak's sigh was deep and forlorn, beneath it the rumbling like a purr. "I understand your reasoning, but really, Doctor. You are a rather uninspired target for affection. I'm almost embarrassed! Never knew I had such conventional taste.”

“That’s… Not a compliment.”

“It isn’t? On Cardassia you’d attract quite the gaggle of suitors. Chief Medical Officer, well versed in debate.”

With his claw, Garak dragged a torturously light path from ear to shoulder, voice a low thrum, “A neck like yours is considered the very height of elegance and beauty.”

“Is that so.” Julian let his head fall to the side, offering a taste of the not yet bitten. Garak's breath hitched, just barely, as his eyes had their eager fill.

"It borders on ostentatious, frankly." He spoke quietly. "To have such beauty and an exquisite mind on top of it. Vulgar."

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

Garak descended, gentler than before, more a nip than a bite. Then another, followed with a lick, taking the ache away. Heat poured down low to Julian's stomach. Pulsing and beating blood through limbs, feverish breath in his chest. His eyes rolled up. Fluttered and did not shut. He'd never noticed the ornate ceiling. Or how his heart might be strong enough to pound through his ribcage.

"I like your eyes." He murmured. Garak, now leaving long, wet kisses on his ear, jawline, and collarbone, hummed. It occurred to him then, that he too had hands. Heavy and trembling, he trailed his right hand up Garak's spine, into the thicket of black, feathery hair. Laced his finger at the nape. Tugged.

Garak's head bent without resistance, his pale throats in full display. There his attention stayed, snapped in place by the all seeing blue.

Amusement danced in the thin cat-like pupils. Garak's smile grew fond and oddly knowing.

"I am aware."

"You're supposed to swoon, you know."

"Because you've confessed to liking my eyes?"

"Mm. And hands. And your voice."

"What don't you like, I wonder?"

Julian rubbed the hard scales at the base of Garak's skull till he felt that rumbling again. He leaned in, lips touching the shell of Garak's ear.

"Locked doors."

“Computer, unlock the main entrance.”

The doors complied without delay. Julian glanced out into the promenade, dark and empty. He let go of Garak, crossed his arms while arching a brow at the smug, reptilian smile.

“So you can do as you're told.”

“Why, Doctor. I'm more than happy to be helpful, whenever I can.”

"That's a first." Julian lifted his chin, hoping to showcase more neck. It had to be severely bruised by now, if not bleeding. “How helpful, exactly?”

“Very, I should think. Considering the circumstances.”

"Really." Julian opened his palm near eye level. "Badge."

Garak bowed his head, still smiling.

"Of course." He said with indulgence, proceeding to make a show of patting himself down. "Now where did it get to–”

Julian watched those hands he'd long admired, traveling the paths he'd long wished to travel.

"Allow me?" He said. Garak, seeming startled by the request, stopped, and slowly nodded. Julian lowered his hands on Garak's waist, smirking at the small noise it caused Garak to make. The fabric, red and gold, felt thick and rough. It would be warm to wear.

He traced the pattern up to the chest. When passing a familiar shaped lump, he flicked Garak a look of disapproval.

"Ah." Said Garak. The beat of his pulse thrummed beneath Julian's hand as he swallowed, the dry click a loud sound. "Your exploration is successful, Doctor. I congratulate you."

"I'm not done."

Julian moved on from the chest. Higher, to the shoulders. Light as a feather, he caressed the left row of scales with the tip of his finger.

Garak drew in a sharp breath.

Lower, behind the neck, to the hair there. It had grown longer over the years. He followed the ends, over the hard planes of Garak's back, down to the middle–

Aha.

The fastenings ripped apart with a single tug.

"Oh for..!" Spluttering, Garak shoved Julian off. "And who will mend that I wonder!"

"Mm." The tunic now loose, the badge simply clattered to the floor. Julian swept it up and slapped it back to his chest, rather pleased with himself.

"I could ask you the same. Quite the bruise you left on my neck." A guess, as he could not see, obviously. But the throbbing certainly implied.

Garak scowled.

"Oh, please, that little thing? It'll be but a moment with a thermal regenerator." He drew his shoulders back into a regal posture, tunic clutched to his chest.

"Your ignorance of the time and labour that goes into sewing, however, continues to offend me." His eyes widened to a menacing stare. "Clearly one bruise isn't enough."

"Where did you have in mind?" Julian asked, smiling. "For the next one?"

He felt drunk. A little bit insane, and in love to a point of unprecedented confidence. It made him slide close enough to slip his fingers into the waistband of Garak's trousers, while his other hand guided Garak's touch.

"Maybe here?" He said, and pushed Garak's palm flat over his lower back, then a little lower, a move he thought quite suave.

"Certainly a starrrrrt–" The noise, much like a purr through a harmonica, keened out of Garak. Lips pressed together to keep from laughing, Julian retrieved his hand back from the depths of Garak's trousers. His fingers left a wet trail across the soft scales on the stomach.

"Shall we start then," Julian asked, "my dear Mr. Garak?"

As if nothing unusual had occurred, Garak cleared his throat and nodded gracefully, accepting the most noble quest.

"I am, of course, at your disposal."

"Oh, good." With a certain bounce in his step, Julian retreated an inch, relishing the confused pout on Garak's face. "Just give me a moment."

"To do what?"

"We're going to my quarters." Where a shower and well tested lube was available. "And I won't abuse the emergency medical code to beam us into my room."

Garak's eyes lit up in interest. Julian snatched his chin, pinched it, and glared, fondly, into his twinkling eyes. "I will not, so we'll walk, and I need to calm down before leaving."

"Hmm." said Garak, arms once more snaking around Julian's waist.

"Not helping."

"I can tell."

Julian huffed a laugh, rolling his eyes for a show, then happily flung his arms around Garak's neck. The pale blue of Garak's eyes sparkled like snow in sunlight, or stars in the blackest night. His heart thudded. Carefully, Julian leaned in, eyes falling shut with a slow breath as the weight of his head became too much to bare on his own. Despite the notable difference between their foreheads, they fit comfortably enough together. Every breath filled Julian's lungs, and he couldn't help smiling.

Tar and oranges.

"I'm ready to go." He murmured. Garak cleared his throat again.

"Well. Let us leave then. The matter was quite urgent, yes?"

“Oh, it’s very pressing indeed.”

They pulled apart. Except for their hands. Garak held his gently as he guided them toward the exit.

It was then that Julian noticed the state of Garak's back. Which was very naked. Intricate scales very visible and beautifully framed in the vee of the open tunic, clinging for dear life on Garak's well defined shoulders.

"Oh." Said Julian, fixated on the left shoulder blade. It moved as Garak turned to give him a look, the scales rippling. "Uh. Garak."

"Yes, my love?"

Hm. Love.

"Your shirt."

"Ah."

"I imagine you'd have a spare here, somewhere?"

"And allow you to destroy the truly precious garments next?" Garak scoffed through his nose.

"Keep your hands off my things and there won't be a problem."

"I'd rather thought you wished my hands all over your things."

Endlessly charming and impossible. Carefully, Julian unzipped his uniform jacket and offered it.

"Will this fit?"

Garak eyed the jacket, holding it in a small grip as if just touching it might destroy his professional reputation.

"Well enough. Since it's already too big for you."

"Noted. I'll be sure to come around business hours tomorrow."

Garak acknowledged the innuendo with a soundless huff, appraising eyes already focused on the jacket. He made no attempt to wear it properly, draping it over his shoulders instead. He pulled it close. Twirled to see behind. Made a sound of light disapproval, despite the quite successfully concealed sartorial carnage.

"I suppose this will do. Certainly better than defiling more of my hard work."

"Wait."

He cradled Garak's head. Angled it just so.

Julian had loved before. He was certain of it. Whether or not he had been loved back with the all consuming hunger he'd secretly yearned for, he could not say.

Being devoured by one strange, horrendous man made him fear the answer.

Then again.

Did it matter? The befores he couldn't quite understand. Who couldn't quite understand him, no matter how desperately he tried to reveal everything worth revealing, how much they had tried to see.

Garak held him in an iron grip. Claws kneaded at his waist, his hips. His tongue, split like a snake's, licked the seam of Julian's lips, into his mouth, in and out, each breath stolen.

He broke off with a gasp.

"Bashir emergency override." Clutching his own jacket tight around Garak, Julian closed his eyes, held tightly in turn.

"Two to transport. My personal quarters."