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Elim Garak, Cardassian tailor and, now, aid to the Federation, and Julian Bashir, CMO, each technically possess their own quarters. As of late, however, they have fallen into the habit of meeting before bed. Their lunchtime chats have been a casualty of the war - both men are simply too busy - but if Julian is not in surgery and Garak is not at work on a vital piece of code breaking that must be completed in record time, they try to find each other at night. Neither man has ever set out to sleep over, but they are running on so few resources, these days, that it isn’t uncommon for them to pass out side by side on the couch or the floor - even at the table.
Julian’s enhancements are still such that even awakened out of a dead sleep, he knows that it’s 0300. What he’s less certain of is where he is or why he feels like whatever this is. It takes him a minute of lying in the dark to figure out that he feels good.
Has it been that long? He searches his memory for a similar feeling and has to go all the way back to a time before his imprisonment in a Dominion camp.
This seems like madness, but he’s less concerned, right now, with the past, than with whatever it is that has him almost humming. His mind is filled with childhood pleasures like playing with kittens or getting a treat of butterscotch pudding. He feels safe. Warm.
Bashir shifts his body a little, wriggling into an unexpected pocket of heat, and discovers that he’s effectively wearing Elim Garak’s sleeping form like a blanket.
He thinks: This is new.
How in the stars had he ended up under Elim? And, if it felt like this, like the ideal of every blanket he had ever stroked to ensure that the texture would bring him comfort, why hadn’t he done so before?
Julian listens and hears that the Cardassian is breathing slowly, evenly. He fights down a giggle as he thinks: the spy who slept on me. But then he resolves to enjoy this most unexpected of situations… and to see if he can make it happen again!
***
The next time that they fall asleep - mid-argument about Helprin’s Winter’s Tale, which Garak finds entirely too fantastic - it’s on the Cardassian’s settee. And, just as before, Garak’s sleeping form acts as a heat-seeking missile and guides him atop the warmer Terran. This time, however, Garak is the one who wakes. Like any good former operative, he has weapons stashed in the most unlikely places; his left hand fumbles between the cushions and locks on a phaser he has “borrowed” from Odo’s locker of confiscated weapons.
But the room is still. The shadows conceal no threat. The sound that had woken him - a gentle, satisfied noise hummed into his neck - was made by his dear friend Dr. Bashir, who is, somehow, curled as thoroughly about him as a moon-seeker vine about the frame of a Cardassian marriage bed!
Elim can feel each individual place that they touch.
Julian’s toes are moving against his ankle as if against the silken lining of a blanket. One of his legs, tunic pushed up to the hip, is trapped between the Terran’s thighs. One of Julian’s arms is at his side, but the other is over Garak’s neck; the intimacy of it makes him gasp.
I should go. I should stand. There must be something at the shop that requires my attention…
But the warmth. The idea of pulling away from it, like drawing himself up from a hot bath, nearly causes a whimper to claw its way out of his ridged throat.
“G’rak?” a sleepy voice murmurs.
“Yes, my dear?” The endearment slips out; Julian is so close.
“You’re thinking too loud. Go back to sleep.”
“As - as you wish.”
Julian hugs him tight - and he is asleep before Garak finishes speaking.
***
It is late. It is so late that it nearly qualifies as morning, but Julian can’t bear to contemplate another caffeinated beverage - not even with scones. Instead, he waves a hand at his nurses as he leaves the infirmary, too weary for speech. In the shower, he kneels under the water (tonight is not a night for sonics) and lets the warmth loosen his muscles. In his bedroom, robe clinging in still-wet patches to his skin, Julian presses the comm.
“Are you awake?”
Barely an instant passes. “Yes. Is everything alright, doctor?”
Julian smiles in spite of himself. Garak seems to assume that his every communication is monitored, so he becomes very formal. “Well, now I’m a touch concerned that you’re awake at this awful hour. I hope you aren’t working.”
“Just trouble getting to sleep.”
“Me too. I have a solution though. May I come bother you with it?”
“You are never a bother, dear doctor. I will see you momentarily.”
Inside of Garak’s quarters, Julian barely avoids crinkling his nose and scrunching his shoulders. This is what he’s been missing for the hours and days they have been apart - the comfort of being surrounded by Garak-ness - his style and his smell and the possibility of looking at him or hearing him absolutely any time he wants; it’s far more of a pick-me-up than raktajino!
“So, are you up breaking codes or finishing commissions?” Julian asks by way of a greeting.
“Neither. I was trying to read, but I found that my concentration kept wandering.”
“After hours of staring at code, I shouldn’t wonder. You are taking care of yourself, aren’t you?” Because Garak isn’t Starfleet, Julian knows that he can easily duck annual psych evals. Worse, because he is the station’s only Cardassian, there is no one making sure he takes regular meals or breaks. No one, that is, except Julian, and he knows that his own grief over the progress of the war has sometimes made him less of a friend than he might have been.
“Of course, doctor. Having survived this long, I think you must agree that self preservation is one of my better honed skills.”
Julian sighs. “I don’t want you to merely exist, Garak. I want you to be well - as well as one can be during such dark times, I suppose.”
“You did mention a way to secure more rest.”
“Nothing too novel. I’ve just found that I’ve been sleeping so much better next to you. I thought that if you felt the same…”
Garak feigns scandal, his neck flaring against the silk of a maroon dressing gown that Julian would give anything to push off of his shoulders. “My dear doctor, are you inviting a plain, humble tailor into your bed!? A Cardassian exile, at that?”
“I’m trying to get you to invite me into yours, I think. Please? It’s not like we haven’t crashed together before. This will just be a little more… deliberate.” What he means is significant - but he doesn’t want to frighten Garak. He wants this so much . But asking Garak for everything directly is probably the surest way not to get it.
“Aren’t you afraid of station gossip, my dear?”
“Since the gossip would be that you’re so perfectly cuddly that I’ve replaced my teddy bear with you, it’s your reputation that is in danger.”
Garak gives him a threatening look. “You will not be telling anyone that.”
“Fine. Garak, I’m tired. My eyes are tired. My tongue is tired. I don’t care what anyone says as long as I can sleep comfortably for at least five hours.”
“The violet circles under your eyes do suggest that it would be cruel not to take pity on you.”
Yes! He can work with this. “Pity - exactly. Stupid excitable Julian who can’t even unwind on his own. You’re just helping out a friend.”
Garak agrees and Julian puppy-bounds into the nest-like structure that is the Cardassian’s bed. Without bothering to let Garak prepare for bed, Julian tugs him in, too, curling tight into his side. Garak can’t help but laugh.
“You are a vole and I am the burrow, is that it?”
“It’s not that one-sided. You like me because I’m warm.”
“And for a host of other reasons besides.” He yawns and orders the lights down.
Garak is almost asleep, Julian absentmindedly stroking his arm, when the Terran says his name.
“Yes, my dear?”
“Now that I’m allowed to stay - next time, can we kiss until we fall asleep?”
“I do believe that could be arranged.”
Julian slips off to sleep, then, lips still lifted in a smile. Holding him, Garak stares off into the dark, suddenly much too excited to sleep! The exhaustion he will combat with several cups of tea the next morning will be very worth it.
End!