Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Q did not believe in “holidays” as such.

“Holidays” were for lesser beings who needed to mark the passage of time and lend meaning and color to their drab, gnat-fly lives. For an immortal, omnipotent being, time was of little concern, and he had all the meaning and color he wanted, thank you very much. Even if he hadn’t, existential crises were for those who had to worry about, well, existence.

What he did care about was how absurdly easy holidays made it to fuck with humanoids. All that alcohol. All that sugar. All those heightened emotional states, with some of the little buggers cloyingly cheerful and others irritatingly mopey. All those expectations, which provided so many opportunities for manipulation. One could, if one was so inclined, cause quite a lot of chaos during holidays by barely lifting a finger. It wasn’t much of a challenge, to be sure, but low-hanging fruit was still sweet, and Q was, perhaps, just a touch bored. Jean-Luc wasn’t speaking to him –– an overreaction to some slight meddling in his private life –– so he was going to have to find a way to entertain himself.

Which was how he found himself watching the staff holiday party on Deep Space Nine.

It was Christmas Eve on Earth. Seventy light years away, on Deep Space Nine, someone had put up a holovid of a crackling fire and dragged in a small piano, on which a junior officer was playing Christmas carols. A table laid with food and a punchbowl took up a third of the space. Q smiled and raised the alcohol content of the punch by about ten percent –– not enough to put anyone in the infirmary, but definitely enough to increase the odds of... shenanigans. Then he took a turn around the room.

So much emotion simmered below the surface, as always whenever two or more humanoids gathered. Love, anger, devotion, betrayal... humanoids were so volatile, all it ever took was a single spark to set them off. Q considered where to begin.

The joined Trill was a woman after his own heart, but she was unfortunately attached at the hip with that humorless Klingon he’d met on the Enterprise. No accounting for taste. The changeling head of security was obviously besotted with the Bajoran first officer, who had no idea; there was potential there. And of course, there was also Sisko, who had even less patience for Q than Jean-Luc did on his worst days, but that didn’t mean Q couldn’t have a bit of fun with him –– or perhaps with his son and his Ferengi friend, who were off in a corner scheming about something. That would almost be too easy.

And then there was the doctor. A more earnestly dull human Q did not think he’d ever encountered, but the intervening years seemed to have made him slightly more interesting. A recent stint in a Dominion prison and the unexpected reveal of his genetic status put him decisively into the “irritatingly mopey” camp tonight. But beneath that, concealed from everyone and possibly even himself, was a bright stripe of unrequited (so he thought) love for the station’s Cardassian tailor (who was, in truth, about as much of a tailor as Q was a squid).

Well. That was certainly intriguing. Q hadn’t thought Julian Bashir had it in him.

Bashir was leaning against the wall, nursing his third cup of the reinforced punch, and looking very glum indeed. The Trill, Dax, kept trying to draw him into conversation, but Bashir wasn’t having any of it. Q was not at all surprised when he excused himself to Dax and the chief engineer before slipping out the door. As soon as the door closed behind him, Bashir let out a great sigh, shoulders slumping and head hanging down. He started trudging down the hallway, undoubtedly heading home to continue moping in the privacy of his quarters.

Q rolled his eyes. He should have gone to bother Jean-Luc after all. He still could, in fact. It was nearly Christmas morning at that silly little vineyard of his. Q could show up like his own personal Santa Claus.

At the turbolift, Bashir hesitated.

He didn’t actually want to go home at all, Q realized. He wanted to see the tailor. But he was worried that the tailor wouldn’t want to see him. They had been avoiding each other, it seemed, and making themselves miserable (as all humanoids were wont to do).

“Go see him,” Q hissed at him. “Stop being such a wet blanket, Doctor, and go see him.”

Bashir shook his head, as though trying to clear his ears of water. The turbolift arrived and he stepped in. Up, and he would go home; down, and he would go see his tailor.

“Habitat level 3,” Bashir said, and the turbolift moved creakily downward.

***

Julian blinked in confusion when the turbolift came to a stop on level 3 of the habitat ring. He’d left the party with every intention of going home and going to bed, but the impulse to go and see Garak had come over him. That wasn’t so strange, but usually he suppressed it.

It was probably the three glasses of punch he’d drunk at the party, in an attempt to put himself into a more festive mood. It had tasted a bit more alcoholic this year than last; maybe Sisko had thought they’d need some extra cheer. All it had done for Julian was make him even sadder. And, apparently, undermined his impulse control enough that he now found himself on Garak’s floor.

It was late –– too late to show up on a friend’s doorstep unannounced. But Julian had been craving Garak’s presence for days now. Garak had either declined or simply ignored all of Julian’s invitations to lunch since they’d returned from the camp –– and Julian was fairly certain it was because he regretted telling Julian the truth about his paternity. Or maybe he was angry at Julian for not having told Garak his own secret in exchange, or simply embarrassed on a professional level not to have sussed it out. Or it was some combination of all three.

It almost didn’t matter. Julian hadn’t seen him except in passing for weeks, not even during the debacle with Dr. Zimmerman, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t hurt by it. It was certainly not the only thing contributing to his recent bout of depression (which never seemed to get quite serious enough that Julian felt the obligation to do anything about it), but it wasn’t helping.

He swallowed hard and rang the chime.

It took Garak a while to answer — long enough for Julian to become acutely aware of how late it was. When Garak finally opened the door, he was wearing a robe, albeit a very fancy one. Or at least, one made from very thick fabric, with brocade and gold thread shot through —

“Doctor?”

Julian realized he’d been staring at Garak’s robe. “Oh God, sorry. I was just at Sisko’s Christmas party. The punch was… punchier than last year. But that’s — that’s not why I’m here.”

“Isn’t it?” Garak sighed wearily.

“No, I just…” I miss you, Julian wanted to say but couldn’t. “I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

It was exactly the wrong thing to say. Garak, who had started to eye Julian with a little more curiosity, closed himself off immediately. Something in his eyes simply shuttered. Julian, horrified, watched it happen.

“Ah, well then, let me assure you, Doctor, I am quite well. I do not require your services.” Garak hit the button to close the door.

Julian stuck his hand in the door to prevent it from closing. “Wait, Garak! Please, that’s not — I’m here as a friend, not a doctor!”

“Is that what we are, Doctor? Friends?”

Julian recoiled slightly. “I… I thought we were. You don’t…?”

Garak sighed. “We should not be having this conversation in the hallway after 2600 hours.”

“If you had your way, we’d never have it at all! Garak, please — I’ve obviously upset you. I didn’t mean to, and I’m sorry that I don’t know what I did. Please, just tell me what I did.”

His voice cracked embarrassingly. Garak regarded him with what was obviously pity for what felt like at least a minute, but was probably only a few seconds.

“Nothing, Julian,” he said softly. “You did nothing.”

“But —”

“Go home, Doctor. Hydrate and take a hangover prevention hypo. We can both forget this ever happened.”

“But I don’t want to forget,” Julian protested.

“Well, I do. Now, please,” Garak glanced at Julian’s hand, “do me the courtesy of allowing me to close my door.”

Julian jerked his hand back as though burned. The door shut in his face. He was left frozen in place, staring at the door. What had he done? What had he done?

Julian had thought, foolishly, that he could handle being rejected by Garak, or maybe he’d just assumed, even more foolishly, that Garak wouldn’t do that to him. To be rejected with such cold dismissiveness... he was not sure that the metaphor of “heartbreak” had ever made so much sense to him. His chest physically ached with it.

He made it back to his quarters, somehow, and thankfully without running into anyone. The moment his door shut behind him, he sank down onto the sofa and put his face in his hands. His shoulders shook with barely suppressed emotion. He didn’t understand... anything. And Garak refused to tell him. Garak had decided to cut Julian out of his life, and he wouldn’t even tell him why. Julian had no way of knowing how he’d managed to wreck one of the most important friendships of his adult life, much less how –– or if –– he might go about repairing it.

It wasn’t the lowest Julian had ever felt, but it was close. After all the events of the last three months –– after the camp and his parents' ill-fated visit and his father’s imprisonment –– it was simply too much. Julian went to the replicator and ordered 750 milliliters of Saurian brandy. The replicator’s brandy was terrible, but seeing as Julian intended to drink to the point of numbness, it didn’t really matter.

***

Q conjured a desk for the sole purpose of banging his head against it repeatedly.

Honestly. These gussied-up monkeys who fell out of the trees and managed to bumble their way to the stars never failed to amaze him with their ineptitude. It was a wonder that humanoids managed to continue propagating themselves at all, with all the romantic conundrums they created for themselves out of thin air. Here were two men, both highly intelligent by the standards of their species, who somehow could not see what was right in front of them.

They were each drinking now. Bashir wanted to drink until he stopped feeling anything, but it seemed he’d gotten stuck at the “sad and weepy” stage of things. Q grimaced. Humans had a tendency to leak when they were upset. It was so unpleasantly damp. Cardassians, fortunately, were less prone to such displays. Garak was simply drinking subpar kanar heavily but steadily, with a distinct air of resignation about him.

Q sighed. He should really leave things alone and find something else with which to entertain himself. So what if these two continued on their course of making each other –– and themselves –– miserable? So what if they eventually died lonely deaths, light years from each other without ever having known the warmth of the other’s touch? What did that matter to him? Most humanoid lives were nasty and brutish. All of them were short.

But... there was another path here, another possible future. Its odds of coming to pass were dropping steadily, but Q could encourage it. It wouldn’t be easy, though. Free will was so tediously important to humanoids. Q could suggest. Q could hint. Q could jump up and down with an enormous sign. But Q could not compel.

Well, technically he could, but Jean-Luc would find out somehow and be very cross with him, and Q was rather hoping to get back into his good graces at some point. So Q could, but would not compel these two idiots. He would simply... demonstrate. And, it being Christmas, he had a simply brilliant idea for how to do just that.

***

Julian had fully expected to wake with a horrible hangover. He’d almost welcomed it, knowing that physical discomfort had the tendency to overwhelm emotional upset, even if just temporarily.

But when he blinked his eyes open, he discovered that he felt... fine. It was almost disappointing.

It took him a moment or two longer, befuddled as he was, to realize that he wasn’t in his quarters. The ceiling above him was made of wood, and whatever was beneath him bore no resemblance to the Cardassian bed he’d been sleeping on for five years. It was far too soft. When he held still and listened, he could hear someone else breathing, and the crackling of... was that a fire?

Julian sat up quickly. There was a fire –– in a stone fireplace, the likes of which certainly did not exist on DS9. It took up most of one wall. The other three walls appeared to be made of wood, like the ceiling. He was lying on a rug in front of the fire.

He stood up slowly. He was wearing red and white striped pajamas that he had no recollection of ever replicating. He didn’t remember changing into any pajamas the night before, but then again, he had been quite drunk.

He paced around the room. There was a single window, frosted over with cold. It didn’t open.

“If you are looking for an exit,” a familiar voice said from behind him, “you’re going to be disappointed.”

Julian turned to face Garak. He was also dressed for bed, though he at least had gotten to keep his fancy brocade robe. “Then where did you come from?”

Garak gestured behind himself. “The refresher.”

“I see.” Julian frowned. “Computer, end program.” There was no response. “Computer, create archway.” Still nothing. “Computer ––”

“I don’t believe we’re in a holosuite, doctor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, that’s the only logical explanation,” Julian replied, more sharply than he’d intended. He hadn’t thought he’d have to see Garak again so soon. “Someone must have transported us out of our beds and into one of the holosuites.”

“Not quite, but thanks for playing,” a new and vaguely familiar voice said.

Julian’s head jerked around. “Q?” he said incredulously.

“The one and only. So nice to see you again, doctor. And Mr. Garak –– oh, I’m sorry, it’s plain and simple Garak, isn’t it? It’s so nice to make your acquaintance. I am ‘plain and simple’ Q.”

Garak looked unimpressed. “You are one of the Q Continuum.”

“Ah! Our reputation precedes us, how nice. Yes, I am indeed a member of that august body. Though I am, today, acting of my own accord.”

Julian had read enough about others’ interactions with Q to know what that meant. “They wouldn’t be thrilled with whatever it is you’re doing to us, would they?”

“My esteemed colleagues lack… imagination,” Q conceded.

“You mean they have better things to do than torment mortals?”

Garak turned to glare at Julian, clearly trying to express stop provoking the omnipotent being with his eyes. Which was not bad advice, generally speaking, but Julian had just abruptly found the end of his rope. He’d wanted to drink himself into a stupor and wake up the next morning with a hangover severe enough to distract him from how miserable his life had become for a few hours. He hadn’t wanted… this.

Q, to Julian’s disquiet, merely smiled at him. “Ah but the two of you have already devised a torment for yourselves far better than any I ever could. I am, in fact, here to end your suffering.”

“Ominous,” Garak observed.

“Not at all! Has anyone ever told you you’re too suspicious? We are simply going to go on a journey, revisit some moments in your pasts, perhaps a few in the present, and even —”

“Oh my God,” Julian groaned.

“What?” Garak asked, turning to him.

“He’s — he’s — Christmas Carol-ing us!”

“He’s what?”

“A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens, is the book almost single-handedly responsible for the modern celebration of Christmas.”

“Dickens is the fellow who was paid by the word and loved to ruin perfectly serviceable opening lines by talking for far too long?”

Julian almost laughed. They had read A Tale of Two Cities early on in their acquaintance. Garak’s rant about the first paragraph had been epic. “That’s the one. It’s a story about a greedy capitalist miser named Scrooge who is taught the importance of generosity and kindness by three spirits who visit him on Christmas Eve.”

“How… charming.”

Julian snorted. “Oh you’d hate it. Though it is at the very least shorter than most of his other books. It’s been adapted countless times, maybe I’ll show you one of the films.”

“Excuse me,” Q broke in. “All powerful being over here. I must say, I resent the implication that I’m being derivative.”

“And I resent being dragged out of bed to — where are we, anyway?” Julian asked. “Is this even a real place?”

“Oh, quite real, though not on your plane of existence. I thought the two of you might like a break from that dreary space station of yours. Ah, I almost forgot!” Q snapped his fingers and was suddenly dressed in flowing white robes.

“Wait a moment, Q,” Garak said. “I must ask — what lesson are you trying to teach us? I cannot imagine you need to instruct Doctor Bashir on the importance of generosity and kindness.”

Julian turned to look at Garak with some surprise. It was by far the nicest thing Garak had said about him in months. Though of course it had to be wrapped up in a package of self-deprecation.

“I can’t just tell you the lesson,” Q said, sounding scandalized. “That would defeat the entire purpose! No, no, no, the two of you have to figure it out for yourselves! Now, no more stalling. Just because time has no meaning here, that doesn’t mean we should waste any more of it.”

“But —” Julian started to protest.

He never got to finish his sentence. He was simply all of the sudden somewhere else.

It was a small house at the edge of a large garden — an estate, judging by the much grander house at the far end of it. The light was dim and diffuse, and the wind blew hot. Beside him, Julian heard Garak draw in a sharp breath.

“Recognize this?” Q asked Garak, far too innocently.

“You know that I do.”

“But the good doctor doesn’t.” Q paused. When Garak said nothing, he merely shrugged and kept talking. “This is Enabran Tain’s estate.”

Julian glanced at Garak. “You grew up here?”

Garak sighed. “I did. In this house, with my mother and my uncle.” His voice faltered slightly as an older Cardassian man came into view, carrying what appeared to be gardening tools over one shoulder.

“Can he see us?” Julian asked, when the man didn’t acknowledge them.

“No,” Q said. “We are but shadows here.”

The man put the gardening tools in a small shed and wiped his hands on a rag before turning toward the garden. “Elim!” he called. “Come in for supper!”

A child ran up the path. Even expecting it, it still came as something of a shock to see Garak’s features on such a small, guileless face. “What are we having, Uncle Tolan?”

“Zabu stew,” Tolan said. “With real zabu, not replicated.”

Little Elim’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Is Mila going to be home?”

“No,” Tolan said, and glanced up toward the main house. He looked grim for a moment, before glancing back at Elim. “No, Mila is busy tonight. But we will have our stew, and after dinner, I would like you to help me with something.”

“Okay,” Elim agreed easily. He chattered to Tolan as they went into the small house, where the stew simmered on the stove. Elim was a cheerful, clever child, talking to Tolan about his studies and the plants in the garden over dinner. Julian stayed quiet, entranced by seeing this version of his friend, so uncomplicatedly happy.

After a few minutes, Julian tore his eyes away from Elim to look at Garak. It was only then that he realized Garak was staring at Tolan as though... well, as though he’d seen a ghost –– not a frightening one, but one of a very dear loved one, long gone from this world.

“Garak,” he murmured, reaching out. Garak shook his head and avoided his hand.

“What did you want me to help you with?” Elim asked, as they finished washing the dishes by hand in their small sink –– no reclamator here, Julian noted.

“Well, you see, my dear Elim, tonight is a special night,” Tolan said, and produced from a cupboard a small candle. “Tonight is the solstice, the shortest night of the year. Our ancestors, the Hebitians, believed that we should light candles on this night, to hold back the darkness and provide light to travelers. Can you light the candle for me?”

“Sure,” Elim said, and struck the match under Tolan’s watchful eye. He lit the candle, then blew out the match.

Tolan looked at the candle, flickering on the table, and drew a deep breath. He began to speak words in a language Julian had never heard before and which the UT declined to translate. It reminded Julian of the time he had visited his father’s cousins, who had brought him along to their local mosque for Friday prayers. He had deliberately turned off his UT, so that the classical Arabic could wash over him. He wasn’t religious and had not expected it to feel powerful –– but it had. This, too, felt like that. The hair on the back of Julian’s arms prickled faintly.

When Tolan stopped speaking, Elim craned his neck to look up at him. “What were you saying?”

“That was ancient Hebitian, the language of our ancestors. I said, ‘May your candle light your path and the paths of others. May you all walk together in warmth and fellowship. May you live all your days in the light.’” Tolan looked down at Elim, and for a moment Julian thought he saw a shimmer of tears in his eyes. “That is my wish for you, my dear Elim. That you live all your days in the light.”

Before Elim could respond, the front door opened. A Cardassian woman, sturdily built, came in. “What are you two up to?” she asked, sounding tired but cheerful –– until she caught sight of the candle. Her expression darkened.

“Nothing,” Tolan replied, and leaned over to blow the candle out. “Isn’t Tain entertaining tonight? I thought he’d have you up at the house until after midnight.”

“He received an urgent call and had to return to Kardassi’or,” the woman –– Mila, Julian decided she must be –– said shortly. “Elim, have you had your bath yet?”

“No, Mila, we just finished eating.”

“Go run your bath. I’ll be in shortly.”

“But ––”

“Elim.”

Elim sighed but obeyed, casting a look over his shoulder as he left the room. Mila waited until he had disappeared into the refresher and shut the door before rounding on Tolan, frowning fiercely. “Tolan. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that Elim can use as much light in his life as I can give him.”

“And what if he says something to someone?” Mila hissed. “It is forbidden, Tolan.”

“There are more practitioners of the Oralian Way than you realize.”

“But they are not Enabran Tain’s gardener,” Mila snapped. “If he finds out ––”

“He won’t.”

“He will arrest you, Tolan. You will disappear to one of the colonies, and neither Elim nor I will ever see you again. You have put us all at terrible risk. Have you forgotten that all we have comes from him?”

“I assure you, I have not,” Tolan said. “I think, dear Mila, it is you who have forgotten. Do you not remember what our parents taught us?”

“Our parents taught us discretion, a lesson that you would do well to revisit,” Mila said sharply. “I am going to see to Elim’s bath and ensure he knows he is not to speak of this to anyone. When I come back, I want that,” she glared at the candle on the table, “gone.”

She turned and walked away. Tolan sank down into a chair with a sigh, and the scene froze into a sort of living still life –– Tolan at the table, the half-melted candle in front of him. Julian glanced over at Garak and saw that he was almost as still.

Q paced slowly around the table. “What happened to your uncle, Garak?”

“You know what happened to him. Possibly better than I do.”

“But I want to hear it from you. What happened to him?”

“He died,” Garak said. “I wasn’t there. It was after I had gone away to school. Mila told me he had been in an accident. She never gave me any details.”

“And you never asked.”

“No.” Garak inhaled sharply. Julian reached over and gripped Garak’s upper arm lightly, before he could stop himself. This time, Garak did not shake him off. “What did happen to him? Did Tain have him killed?”

“No,” Q said. “Mila discovered that Tain was planning to have him arrested for seditious behavior. She warned him, and he took his own life.”

Julian felt Garak go rigid. “I see.”

“Garak,” Julian murmured, “I’m so sorry.”

“It was a long time ago,” Garak replied.

“That doesn’t always make it hurt less.”

Garak, for once, didn’t scoff or roll his eyes or say anything about trite Federation sentimentality. Instead he went quiet, staring at his uncle, frozen in time like a fly in amber.

“When I heard,” he finally said, very slowly, “I think I had been waiting for that call for a long time. I was an observant child, and an intelligent one. I knew some things. I suspected others. And one of the things I knew... was that Tolan loved me more than Mila did. Mila knew I wasn’t hers, not really. She knew I would be taken from her, and she protected herself. Tolan didn’t. And I think... I am almost certain... that Tain planned to have him killed before I entered the Order, to remove him as a possible point of weakness.”

“My God,” Julian said. Garak said nothing, and Julian turned to glare at Q. “Is this necessary? Dredging up all of this?”

“Now, now, we’ve only just begun,” Q said. “I’ll admit this one was a bit grim, but Cardassia isn’t exactly known for its happily-ever-afters, is it? No, for those we have to go to Earth –– prosperous Earth, safe Earth, boring Earth. So, let us do that.”

Q snapped his fingers, and just like that, Cardassia was gone.

And Julian knew precisely where they were.

***

The young man sitting at a desk was recognizably an even younger version of the Julian Garak had first met in the Replimat on DS9. Long and lanky, with unruly black hair that fell into his eyes, and a jittery tension about him. The surroundings were clearly a student’s room: a bed, a desk, a computer console, and a stack of PADDs. The walls were bare, though a familiar creature sat alone on one shelf: Kukalaka, on whom Garak had done occasional repairs, keeping a watchful eye on his young charge.

Julian, who still held Garak by the arm, tightened his grip. “This was my room my first year at the academy. God, look at me.”

“How old were you?” Garak asked.

“Twenty-two. Once I finished university and was admitted to Starfleet Medical, I swore I’d never set foot in my parents’ house again. So when winter break rolled around my first year, I stayed at the academy while most of the other cadets who were from Earth went home.”

The door chimed. “Enter!” the younger Julian called without glancing up.

It was an Andorian woman. She wore a white, gauzy outfit that, Garak had to admit, complemented her blue skin tone beautifully. “Bashir! Put the books down. We’re going for a drink.”

Julian finally looked up. “No, thanks, Thytia.”

She sighed. “What are you even reading? We’re between semesters.”

“I’m getting a head start on xenobiology. I’m taking an overload, so I want to try and get ahead on one or two of my courses.”

“But it’s Christmas Eve. Isn’t that a big deal for you humans?”

“For some of us,” Julian replied, returning his gaze to his textbook. “Not for me. Thanks for the invitation, Thytia. Have fun.”

Thytia threw her hands up and left. Julian waited until she had gone, then got up and went over to the window, where he stood looking down. Garak could just hear voices drifting up from below –– the Andorian and her friends, most likely, leaving for their night out. Young Julian gazed down at them with an expression of longing so naked it was almost embarrassing.

“Always an outcast, aren’t you?” Q said, watching impassively. “You were an outcast before your genetic resequencing, and you were an outcast afterward.”

“I didn’t know how not to be,” Julian said. He finally released Garak’s arm and went to stand at the window with his younger self. “And I was terrified of being discovered. I could have done almost anything, you know, without risk of actual prosecution. The Federation wouldn’t have punished me for what was done to me as a child. I had no choice. But it was my choice to apply for Starfleet Medical School, knowing damn well that it was illegal. I had been thinking about medicine for years; it was my backup if my tennis career didn’t pan out. But I didn’t really think about Starfleet until I found out what my parents had done. After that, it became my goal to get as far away from them as possible.”

Younger Julian turned away from the window and sat at his desk again, bending over his PADDs with a sigh. He had barely returned to his studies when his computer chimed, indicating an incoming subspace call. He looked at the code and refused it. It chimed again. He refused it once more, and this time he blocked the number.

It was clear that his concentration was broken. After only a minute or two of attempting to read, he huffed in frustration and got up. He pulled a tennis racket, a zippered shirt with a hood, and a pair of shoes out of his closet.

“Oh God,” Julian whispered. “I’d somehow forgotten...” He covered his eyes. “Q, has anyone told you you’re an asshole?”

“Many people, some of them multiple times,” Q replied cheerfully. And then, as Julian finished tying his shoes and stood up, “Ugh, humanoids spend so much time just waiting for things to be over. And your lives are so short to begin with! Let’s speed this along.”

He snapped his fingers, and they were no longer in the dorm room. They were in a gymnasium, watching Julian’s younger self play tennis against a holographic opponent. The space was otherwise empty, and Garak could tell that he was using the opportunity to really exercise his abilities. He was playing angry, though –– or with some other negative emotion that Garak had not yet discerned –– and he was unsurprised when Julian took a too-hard swing, knocked the holographic ball wide and out of bounds, and nearly fell over when he overbalanced.

The slow clapping sound startled all of them except, presumably, Q. The source of it was a woman, leaning against the doorway to the gymnasium. She was very tall and thin, dressed for exercise herself in tights, a wispy skirt, and a tank top. “Impressive,” she said, her voice faintly but distinctly accented in a way that Garak didn't recognize.

Garak could see that young Julian had gone rigid with fear, but he forced a smile. “Not really. Um. Are you a cadet?”

She laughed. “Not in the slightest. My older brother is a flight instructor. We’re visiting him for the holiday, and he gave me his code for the gym. I’m guessing that you are Starfleet?”

“Medical school, yes.”

“Smart and athletic.” She smiled. “Would you mind if I rehearsed? I’ll wear headphones for the music.”

“No, of course not, be my guest.”

She padded over to a mirrored wall, holding a pair of oddly shaped shoes in her hand. She sat down to put them on; Julian watched her, before visibly forcing himself back to his tennis game against his patiently waiting holographic opponent. But Garak was not at all surprised to notice that while he seemed much less angry, he was undeniably distracted, looking over at the woman in between games, watching surreptitiously –– or so he thought –– while she stretched and moved through a series of well-practiced warm-up exercises.

Then she began to dance. On her toes, using the strange shoes she had carried in with her.

Garak was unfamiliar with the style, but that hardly mattered, nor did it matter that he could not hear the music. He could appreciate the beauty in the long lines her body formed and the strength in the height of her jumps. But it was not only technical ability. Even dancing to music that no one else could hear, she was... luminous.

The rhythmic noises of Julian’s tennis game ceased. Garak glanced over and saw that he was simply standing and staring at her. “Gobsmacked” was the word that came to mind.

She came to a stop in front of the mirror. Julian began clapping, and she pulled her headphones out of her ears, seeming embarrassed. “That was marvelous,” Julian said, approaching her. “Which ballet is it?”

“Swan Lake,” she said. “We open in Paris in January.”

“Is that where you’re from?”

“It is where I grew up.”

“I grew up in London.”

“Yes, I can tell.” She stuck her hand out. “Palis Delon.”

He grasped it. “Julian Bashir. Would you like to get a cup of coffee? Or a drink?”

“I don’t drink caffeine or alcohol.”

“Oh,” Julian said, visibly deflated.

“I do drink tea.”

Julian brightened. “So do I! But... oh, it’s Christmas Eve. Nothing is going to be open.” He hesitated. “I do have tea in my room. It’s not far from here. The dormitories for Starfleet Medical are just down the block.”

“I see.” She regarded him closely. “All right. I will have tea with you in your room, Julian Bashir.” He smiled widely, until she held up a single finger. “After I finish my rehearsal.”

His smile turned a bit sheepish. “Yes, of course. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

“I will.” She put the headphones back in her ears and turned back to the mirror. Julian backed off, giving her space to dance, but didn’t look away. She glanced up and caught his eye in the mirror.

The scene froze then. Q circled Palis and young Julian slowly. “Such a beautiful woman, your Palis,” he remarked to the older Julian.

Julian seemed as much unable to tear his gaze away from her as his younger self. “She wasn’t mine. She was very much her own, even when we were together. But yes, she was beautiful. Is beautiful, I’m sure. And talented. And kind. She came from a very close family. They welcomed me in.”

“And yet, you left her.”

Julian swallowed. “I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t really think –– it wasn’t until we were engaged, and she began talking about children that I realized I could never give her what she wanted from me.”

“You never told her?” Garak asked.

“Of course not,” Julian said, looking at him in astonishment. “I would think you of all people would understand that, Garak. I never told anyone.”

“On Cardassia, family are those who hold our deepest secrets,” Garak said. “Was she not your family, doctor?”

Julian shook his head. “I guess she wasn’t, in the end.” His gaze shifted to Garak and suddenly sharpened. “Wait... if that’s what family means on Cardassia, then what does deliberately revealing a secret mean?”

Garak swore internally. “That the secret holder has been recklessly sentimental,” he replied, more harshly than he’d intended. Julian flinched.

Q, meanwhile, laughed. “Right, Garak. Of course. Pull the other one, as they say. But never mind that now –– I think we’d better see this through to the end. There was another Christmas for you and Palis, wasn’t there, doctor?”

Julian winced. “Q, please ––”

“Q, please,” Q echoed mockingly, and snapped his fingers.

The air was bitterly cold. Flakes of snow drifted through it, and the sky overhead was a monotonous slate gray. Garak presumed they were on Earth, but did not immediately recognize the city. A broad river, meandering under a series of bridges, reflected back the light of the street lamps. Somewhere, not very far away, bells rang out.

A pedestrian walkway lined the river’s banks, and it was there that Palis and Julian sat on a bench, with nearly a meter of space between them. Neither of them was looking at the other.

“So that’s it, then?” Palis said. “You’ve chosen Starfleet, and because I won’t follow you to that godforsaken space station, we’re through.”

Julian sighed. It sounded weary. “I would never have asked you to ––”

“No, you didn’t, did you? You didn’t give me the chance to say yes.”

“Palis,” Julian said, finally looking at her, “would you have said yes?”

“Of course not! But you’re my partner, Julian, or I thought you were. You don’t just decide something like that! I thought we were building a life together.”

“You knew I was in Starfleet Medical School when we met,” Julian said, an edge of anger entering his voice.

“Yes, because they’re the best! Damn it, Julian, you could have such a wonderful career at my father’s hospital. You’re a brilliant surgeon, and those are still needed here on Earth.”

“Not as badly as they’re needed elsewhere. Palis,” he added, turning to face her squarely, “listen to me. Please believe me when I say that I care about you. I know that we could have a good life together — but I’m not ready for it, and I’d never ask you to wait. I’m sorry. I’m really, truly sorry.”

“Fuck you and your sorry’s,” she snapped, getting to her feet. “Five years, Julian. Five years to the day. I can’t believe I wasted so much time on you.”

Julian swallowed hard. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I don’t think of any of it as a waste. I hope you find someone who can make you happy.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I would say the same, Julian, but I’m not convinced that person exists. I don’t think you’re the sort of person who will ever be satisfied. There’s something in you that is just always going to want more.”

She walked away without a backwards glance. If she had looked back, she would have seen the stricken expression on Julian’s face.

The scene froze. “It made you wonder, didn’t it?” Q asked. He came to stand behind the bench, looking down at young Julian. His feet didn’t disturb the snow. “She all but called you ambitious. Grasping. Hungry. And it made you wonder if those things were true.”

Julian swallowed. “Yes.”

“And you still wonder.”

Julian’s voice was both faint and rough. “Yes.”

Garak stared at him in astonishment. “Doctor, you can’t possibly think that.”

Julian shook his head, mouth tightening. “You don’t know what it’s like. We’re taught about the Eugenics Wars in school. We’re told that the ban on genetic augmentation is necessary to protect the Federation from ambitious, unstable, dangerous augments. I know that genetics aren’t destiny — but they are significant, and mental illnesses often manifest in young adulthood. I was afraid, all through my twenties, that that might be me. I was so afraid, and there was no one I could talk to about it.”

“That sounds terribly lonely,” Garak said quietly.

“It was.” Julian glanced at him. “Almost as lonely as knowing that I couldn’t show affection for anyone without my father having them arrested or killed.”

Garak said nothing, unable to bring himself to either confirm or deny it. After a moment, Julian looked at Q. “What happened to Palis? Is she happy?”

“Happiness has always seemed to me to be the most quixotic of humanoid emotions. Here today, gone tomorrow. No one really knows what will make them happy, and that which sparks it at one time, at another, no longer does. And yet so many of you spend so much of your lives chasing it.”

“Not all of us,” Garak couldn’t resist saying.

“No,” Q said dryly, “I don’t believe anyone will ever accuse Cardassians of chasing happiness.”

Julian snorted. “Fine. Is she content, then?”

“Would it assuage your conscience if I said yes?”

“I suppose so. A bit.”

“Then I hope you are pleased to hear that she is as content as any of you bags of meat and water manage to be in your tiny, fleeting lives. She is now married. Her first child was born last year, and a second one is expected in early summer.”

Julian smiled. “Thank you.”

“Ugh,” Q said. “Don’t thank me, I don’t care for it at all. Clearly it’s time for us to go.” He snapped his fingers, and suddenly Garak and Julian were back where they started, in the doorless room with the stone fireplace, with Q nowhere to be seen.

“Is that it?” Garak asked, frowning.

Julian sat down cross legged in front of the fire. “I doubt it. In the book, Scrooge is visited by three spirits, from the past, the present, and the future. I assume the present will be next.”

“Hmm.” Garak joined him in front of the fire, mostly because it was warm. Well, that, and Julian’s presence had always drawn him like a moth to flame. There was a long silence, broken only by crackling. He cleared his throat. “I didn’t know you were ever… betrothed.”

“I don’t talk about it much.” Julian stared deeply into the fire, as though it might reveal its secrets. “I didn’t know you had an uncle.”

“I, too, don’t speak of it much.”

“I guess neither of us is very good at talking about the things that matter.”

Garak hummed in agreement. “Keeping secrets, when you have done it your entire life, is a hard habit to break.”

Julian sighed. “So I am discovering. I was never prepared to have mine found out and simply… accepted. I don’t trust it, I guess. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. And it might, once the war is over. They need me now, but once they don’t…” He shrugged. “Might be a moot point, anyway. I might not even make it to the end of the war.”

He sounded disturbingly indifferent about his own survival. “Well, I for one, hope very much that you do,” Garak replied, firmly and honestly. “And should the Federation decide to prosecute you at that point, you have a number of non-Federation friends who I am quite certain would readily provide you with aid and succor. Including myself, if I’m in a position to do so.”

Julian looked at him in surprise. “I… hadn’t thought of that. Thank you, Garak.”

Garak looked away, discomfited by Julian’s sincere gratitude. The two of them were quiet for a few moments, and then Garak cheated his throat. “How long do you think Q is going to let us stew here?”

“No idea.” Julian looked up at the ceiling. “But I’m sure he’s watching.”

***

The doctor was, of course, quite right. Q was watching.

Astonishing, really, that two seemingly intelligent creatures (on the scale of what lower beings could manage, of course) continued being this obtuse. For a moment, Q considered just putting them straight back where they had been, maybe even wiping their memories of this encounter.

But, well, in for a penny and all that. Plus, he thought that Jean-Luc might find this all rather amusing, if Q could manage to bring about a happy ending of some kind, despite these two seeming determined to wallow in their misery as long as possible. Once he was finished here, Q thought, he could pop in on Jean-Luc and entertain him with this tale.

Onward, then, to the present. Which would require, Q decided, a costume change.