Work Text:
Julian was tired of fatigue.
In the first few days, he’d done nothing but sleep and drink high-density nutrient shakes, the days all blurring together. He remembered Garak holding him and fending off all visitors with glares and obfuscation, but little else.
Then the reality of the situation had set in.
Julian Bashir was legally dead. His quarters had new inhabitants, his possessions were halfway back to Earth, his Federation citizenship was void, and his Starfleet commission had ended in a dishonourable discharge for treason.
Also, his friends and colleagues hadn’t noticed that he’d been replaced by a Changeling imposter. Not even Garak.
And his body was betraying him at every turn.
Since he was fifteen years old, since he’d learned about the family skeleton in the closet, Julian had been forced to limit his abilities. Never running too fast, hitting too hard, or thinking too deeply.
Except now he could barely stand up.
“I am going for a walk,” Julian said, for the third time, staring down the Cardassian tailor who stood between him and the door.
“I’m coming with you,” Garak repeated, his voice too level, too calm.
“I don't need a babysitter, Elim.”
Despite the argument, despite his frustration, he still felt a little thrill at having the privilege to call Elim Garak by his intimate name. If only it hadn’t come at the price of being able to walk by himself.
Something shifted in Garak’s expression, and he abruptly stepped aside. “Then, by all means, my dear doctor - do carry on.”
Julian winced. He was back to “dear doctor”. But he had got what he wanted, hadn’t he?
He walked past Garak and opened the door, peering out into the corridor. It was mid-shift, when very few people were about. The ideal time to stretch his legs.
About ten paces down the corridor, he realised his mistake. He hadn't actually intended to win the argument, not really. He wanted to kick against something tangible, and Garak was right there for the kicking. Garak would prevent him leaving, Julian would be resentful, and they would continue the argument another day.
But Garak had relented, and now Julian was out in the corridor by himself, with no destination in mind and all the strength of a newborn foal.
He had been played.
Well, never let it be said that Julian Bashir gave up without a fight. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself further down the corridor, fuelled by dogged determination and genetically-enhanced arteries.
He had just sighted the turbolift doors when he stumbled into the wall, his blood pressure evading his conscious control.
The floor came up to meet him, just as all the lights went out.
Elim will be insufferable about this, he thought, and then thought no more.
# # #
Julian returned to awareness slowly accompanied by the now-familiar feeling of an IV port in his arm and the dull throbbing headache that was the hallmark of lectrazine treatment.
“Good evening, Doctor,” Jabara said, pleasantly - and with only a hint of reproach. “Back with us?”
Julian licked at his dry lips, before a straw was obligingly placed between them.
“Yes, just about,” he said, roughly. “Where is…?”
The absence of Garak felt odd after his near-constant attention. It made him feel uneasy, off balance.
Jabara carefully suppressed a smile. “I’m afraid Mr Garak has been banned from the infirmary tonight, due to his, ah, critique of Doctor Girani’s treatment plan.”
Julian surmised that Garak had been rude and condescending, but it must've been quite the insult for Girani to remove him entirely.
“When can I go home?” Julian asked, plaintively.
“The poly-nutrient substance has almost run through, but Girani was contemplating another dose of lectrazine.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Julian said, hastily. “It was little more than a vasovagal attack.”
Jabara gave him a sceptical look, but said nothing further. He waited impatiently for the IV treatment to finish, before discharging himself from the infirmary.
“I will attend promptly for my appointment tomorrow,” he said, by way of reassurance, before making his slow awkward way to the infirmary doors.
Outside on the Promenade, Garak was pacing like a caged animal, in silent company with Odo.
At Julian’s appearance, he surged forward, but hesitated before him, hands hovering over Julian’s arms as if unsure whether he was allowed to touch.
“Go on, then,” Julian said, tiredly. “Let’s hear it.”
Garak made a pained hissing sound, before enveloping Julian within his embrace.
“Home,” he said, with a possessive snarl Julian had never heard before.
“I want to walk,” Julian said, even though that was actually the last thing he wanted.
Garak jerked his head in a nod, before securing his arm around Julian’s waist and pressing their forearms and hands together to take most of Julian’s weight.
“Take care, doctor,” Odo said, with a grave nod, before continuing his patrol. Julian wondered how long he had waited there, assessing that Garak was the biggest threat or liability on the Promenade. Or just keeping company with a friend.
By the time they reached the turbolift, Garak was practically dragging him, and Julian felt half-asleep on his feet.
“I’m fine,” he mumbled, which Garak did not dignify with a response.
When they finally arrived home, Julian found himself steered straight to their bedroom, divested of his clothing, and shoved under the pile of blankets that made up their nest.
He found he couldn't even keep his eyes open long enough to argue or apologise, the touch of Garak’s fingers through his hair soothing him to sleep.
They would talk in the morning.
They would talk.
They would.
# # #
When Julian woke in the morning, he was alone in their quarters.
He slowly sat up and reached for the PADD on the bedside table. It held a simple list for the day, detailing his meal plan and the time of his appointment with Girani. No personal message at all.
With a sinking feeling, Julian made his way to the refresher, stumbled through his morning routine, and dressed in a new tunic and trousers from Garak. One of several he'd made to replace Julian’s lost clothing, transitional garments for this period of his recovery.
As he headed for the replicator, it activated automatically, releasing his favourite breakfast of scones with moba jam and Tarkeelean tea, with a nutrient shake.
He didn’t feel hungry, but he ate it anyway.
Finally, he caved. “Computer, locate Elim Garak.”
“Elim Garak is in Garak’s Clothiers.”
Julian checked the time. He had slept through most of the morning. Of course Garak would need to attend to the shop. He suddenly felt guilty that he hadn’t considered Garak’s livelihood at all. While Julian was unemployed, stateless, and invalided, their only income was Garak’s work - and he hadn’t even asked about it.
This couldn’t continue. While Captain Sisko had submitted the documents to void his death certificate, that would only trigger an investigation into his disappearance - and the actions of the Changeling. He would not only have to prove his identity but that he hadn’t actually committed treason. It was exhausting just thinking about it.
But how long could he live on Garak’s generosity? Rushing into a relationship when he was weak and touch-starved had probably been a mistake, even though it was Garak, his dear friend and a man he had fantasised about since they first met.
Which was not the same as suddenly living together, on one income, while trying and failing to recover from imprisonment.
Julian hadn’t even felt well enough to enact any of those half-baked fantasies, subsiding on chaste kisses and brief presses of their foreheads in the Cardassian fashion. The gentle entwining of their hands, in a way that could not possibly be the prelude to anything more passionate. A careful dance between longing and teasing.
If he couldn't pay his way or show Garak his appreciation, he could at least make Garak’s life easier by taking care of their quarters. (Even though he was a terrible housekeeper and only managed to maintain his former quarters by virtue of spending hardly any time in them.) But he barely had the energy to programme the replicator, his sharp and brilliant mind feeling sluggish and overtaxed.
Did Garak even want him there? He knew Julian didn’t have any other options, apart from imposing on one of his other friends. Captain Sisko had generously reinstated his replicator credits, but if the citizenship or Starfleet rulings went against him, he would find himself indebted.
The only thing within his control was the recovery of his health - and he couldn't even manage that.
He was doing everything right, but it still wasn’t enough. He needed to be better now.
Which is when he thought of Rotho Tuhe.
When any of his patients mentioned Rotho, Julian would masterfully control his expression and enquire exactly how much the Bajoran healer was charging. The amount was always extortionate, the process mysterious, the results far from guaranteed.
Julian had labelled him a charlatan and tried to ignore his presence on the station.
But people kept going back to him, didn’t they? Swearing by his massage techniques, traditional herbalism, and experimental therapies. It couldn’t all be hocum, could it?
He still had a few strips of latinum to his name, from when he’d spotted Jadzia for tongo. She had spontaneously decided to repay the months-old debt, a gesture of kindness that attempted to preserve his shrivelled dignity.
Before he could overthink it, Julian commed Rotho’s professional line to request a consultation. There was no harm in hearing the man out, after all.
# # #
Julian's appointment with Girani was disappointing to say the least. He wasn't gaining weight, muscle, or strength as fast as predicted, much to both of their dissatisfaction.
“You’re pushing yourself too hard,” Girani chided. “Too much exertion–”
“I have barely left my quarters!” Julian snapped, then immediately regretted it, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. I'm just…frustrated.”
“I’ll increase all your supplements,” Girani said, sending the updated plan to his PADD. “Make sure you're eating all your desserts and snacks.”
“Yes, Doctor,” Julian said, meekly, earning him a snort from Girani.
“And don’t scare Garak again. I could do without a frantic, hissing Cardassian in my infirmary.”
Julian snorted softly. “He’s all bluster.”
Girani shot him a look. “Not where you’re concerned.”
As he left the infirmary, Julian’s communicator chirped.
“Rotho to Bashir.”
“Bashir here. Go ahead, Rotho.”
“Doctor Bashir, I would be delighted for you to join me this evening. Drop by any time.
Rotho out.”
“Tell me that wasn't Rotho Tuhe.”
Julian turned sharply, his head spinning with the motion, meeting Kira’s disapproving look.
“It’s just a consultation,” he argued, weakly.
“Does Garak know you’re visiting that death trap?”
Rotho kept his offices on a small Bajoran vessel permanently docked on Deep Space Nine. Julian had heard the Chief grumbling about it more than once, wondering aloud if it wouldn’t be cheaper to just replace the rustbucket entirely.
“I’ll give him a full report,” Julian said, a touch evasively, and Kira’s eyes narrowed.
“Julian, this is a terrible idea. Rotho is–”
“I am well aware of Rotho’s limitations,” he bit out, harsher than he intended. “But I have very few options, and if there is even a slim chance of something to help me, I have to take it.”
Kira’s mouth settled into an unhappy line. “Let me walk you to the Docking Ring.”
Julian nodded in acquiescence, and Kira took his arm without comment. They walked in silence, Kira only letting go of him as they arrived at the airlock to Rotho’s ship.
“Don't do anything I wouldn’t do,” she warned, before retreating down the corridor.
Julian steeled himself and announced his presence, the door sliding open smoothly with a welcoming chime.
The interior was much as he expected, somewhere between a Bajoran temple and a therapist’s consulting room. Rotho was dressed rather like a vedek, with an ostentatious earring, and Julian's heart sank. This was clearly a mistake.
“Welcome, Julian,” Rotho said warmly, as if they were old friends. “Please - make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something to drink, perhaps?”
Julian chose a stiff-backed chair with strong arms, something he could lever himself out of if he needed to leave in a hurry.
“No, thank you,” he said. He didn't want any distractions, keeping his senses alert for Rotho.
“I’ll pour us both some water,” Rotho said, filling two mirrored glasses on the low table between them, before setting down the elegant jug.
Julian kept his silence, waiting for Rotho to make the first move. But the man was clearly in no hurry, settling on a low cushion and sipping his water.
“Can you help me or not?” Julian suddenly snapped.
“Oh, I certainly can. But I will require you to trust me, Julian. I am happy to explain to you the reasons for my therapeutic choices - you are a medical man and a scientist, after all - but this will not work if you cannot set aside your scepticism.”
Julian released his breath. He had come in here with an attitude, which wasn't fair to Rotho. He had wanted to hear him out - the least he could do was give him a fair hearing.
“You’re right, of course,” Julian said, taking up the water glass as a concession. “I want to hear your opinion, honestly.”
“Firstly, I am not a nutritionist or physician - and Semna is a good friend of mine, so I will certainly not be contradicting any of her advice on those matters.”
Julian tried not to show his surprise. He didn’t know Girani and Rotho were acquainted - he cringed internally at how he had been less than complimentary about the man in the past.
“Secondly, I don’t think my usual massage programmes or herbal infusions will be able to provide what you need at present - perhaps further into your recovery. But I do believe I have something that will bring benefits relatively quickly.”
Julian nodded, intrigued despite himself. “Do go on.”
“Are you familiar with zero-G rehabilitation?”
Julian felt a faint hope stirring. “Not as such, but I think I get the gist.”
Rotho nodded. “I thought you would grasp it immediately. We can start right away, if you like.”
Julian’s stomach dropped. He should've commed Garak before embarking on this endeavour. At the very least, he should've told him that he would be late home.
“I just need to…make a quick call,” he said, pushing himself up out of the chair. “Check in with–”
“Oh, that won’t be necessary, my dear.”
Julian turned to find Garak in the doorway, smiling enigmatically. The head rush from standing suddenly and twisting in surprise threatened to topple him, but then Garak’s hand was under his elbow, his body pressed into his side.
“I’m sorry,” Julian mumbled quietly, miserably.
“Let’s not keep Mr Rotho waiting,” Garak said, brightly - too brightly, his eyes flashing like daggers.
Julian met his gaze, trying to search for some sign of true emotion in Garak’s expression. His face must’ve betrayed his anxiety, because Garak gently squeezed his waist.
“Later, dearest,” he said, softly. “We will talk all you want later.”
Julian nodded, relieved that they would at least be proceeding with this session. To come so far, to taste that hope and be denied… He wasn’t sure he was strong enough for more disappointment.
For better or worse, he was committed.
“We’re ready,” Julian said, glancing over at Rotho.
“The treatment is usually conducted privately,” Rotho said, clearly attempting to regain control of the situation.
“Not this time,” Garak said, with that same false brightness.
“Very well then,” Rotho said, rising from his own chair and leading them through a door into the vessel’s cargo bay.
The interior of the bay was spacious enough, even filled with improvised gym equipment - cables braided into ropes, cargo containers placed as obstacles, pipes welded together into some kind of climbing frame.
Rotho gestured to a pair of EV suits arranged in a nearby cabinet.
“Let’s start with these. I can then regulate the air density and your oxygen levels in complete safety.”
Garak pounced on the suits, inspecting every inch of them, before dressing Julian in the suit slowly and methodically.
“I assure you that my equipment is serviced regularly,” Rotho said, mildly, but Garak ignored him. Julian shot him an apologetic look.
Once Julian was dressed, Garak gave his suit a cursory inspection before donning it like he did so every day. Julian guessed he shouldn't be surprised at Garak’s skills by now, but he still admired the deft use of his hands, the intensity of his attention. Imagining the way that singular focus might feel turned upon him, without the inconvenience of a medical emergency to spoil it.
When they were both safely enclosed within their EV suits, Rotho proffered a pair of tethers, which Garak secured himself, triple checking the locks.
Rotho retreated from the cargo bay, the doors sealing behind him.
“Garak–”
“Later, my dear,” Garak said, tightly. Julian wasn’t sure if it was because of his instinctual need for privacy or the closeness of the EV faceplate.
“Are you ready, Julian?” Rotho’s voice carried clearly into his ear.
“Ready when you are,” Julian replied, even though he felt far from ready.
The cargo bay doors opened.
Julian barely had time to register his surprise before his body was dragged backwards at speed, jerking to a sudden stop at the end of the tether.
He saw Garak’s body stop with the same violence - before the cable snapped.
Julian desperately grasped for Garak’s arm, missed, and completed 127 scenario calculations in the next micron.
Without further thought, he unclipped his tether and kicked off, colliding with Garak as they both flew through the cargo bay doors on a wave of atmosphere.
They hurtled through space, Rotho’s vessel and Deep Space Nine retreating from them at an astounding speed.
Julian triggered the emergency transponder on his suit, but the beacon failed to activate. The one thing Garak had been unable to test in the cargo bay. The suit’s battery readout was in the red zone. It was a choice between long distance communication and life support.
“Fuck,” Julian said, with feeling.
“What…what were you thinking?” Garak gasped, breathless with rage.
Julian had no time to answer that now. “Hold onto me.”
At least Garak obeyed, as Julian removed the frayed end of the tether cable and locked their two personal tether points together. They had to press close now, but could no longer drift apart by accident.
Garak snatched at the frayed cable before Julian could toss it away. “What is your preferred explanation, Doctor - malice or incompetence?”
Julian shivered. “What would Rotho have to gain?”
“The loss of your opprobrium, for one.”
“But surely everyone would be highly suspicious!”
“A tragic accident. By the time they find us, our air tanks will be quite expended - after all, no point in overfilling them for a little swim about the cargo bay.
Julian checked his oxygen tank readout - 14%. That was about three hours of air, without too much exertion.
“How much do you have?” he asked Garak, carefully not giving his own number.
Garak hesitated. “Just above 9%.”
Garak was obviously lying to him, so it must be a good deal lower. He probably didn’t even have two hours of air.
“I’ll top you up,” he said, reaching for the hose.
Garak batted his hand away. “You will do no such thing. I am perfectly oxygenated, thank you. Besides, Cardassians have a higher tolerance for hypoxia.”
Julian’s eyes narrowed. “Trying to bluff your doctor with pseudoscience, Mr Garak?”
“As much as I adore arguing with you, Doctor, I think it would be a better use of our limited oxygen to remain still and quiet.”
Julian sighed, but acquiesced, the logic of Garak’s words hitting home. Even if the last thing he wanted was to be reminded of the lonely vast silence of space, with only his own thoughts reverberating inside his skull.
What exactly were the odds of them being rescued? If Garak was correct and Rotho had deliberately engineered this “accident”, he wouldn’t be in a hurry to report it. Even if someone had noticed the small expulsion of air from his vessel’s cargo bay, they probably would’ve assumed the flying object emerging from it was a loose cargo container.
If the station scanners were looking for them, they could detect their biosignatures and transport them to safety. However, given the critical levels of power in his suit, Julian would need to turn off the life support to send any communication, effectively draining the battery. This was an Occupation-era Bajoran EV suit, not a Federation model - it might not even have a backup system to preserve life in the event of oxygen depletion.
The odds of both of them returning to Deep Space Nine were vanishingly small, relying on happenstance and coincidence (3.27% and diminishing). But if Julian could send out a distress call, at the expense of his own life support, the probability of the crew retrieving Garak before his oxygen depleted were much better - he estimated 73-81%, depending on who was currently in Ops.
He wasn’t sure if his genetic enhancements would make him more resilient to surviving hypoxia in space, but the freezing temperatures might reduce the damage, like plunging into icy water.
Julian was aware he was hypothesising without data, but this was the first time in a long time that his mind felt like it truly belonged to him. He’d always known that his brain responded well to adrenaline, but this was quite the response.
A pity that he was only learning this now.
“Julian.” Garak’s voice was faint, but it held a note of warning. “That look upon your face does not fill me with confidence.”
“I was thinking about Nerys,” he lied. “She was the one who told you where I was, wasn’t she?”
Garak huffed. “Your little communication to Rotho Tuhe revealed your plans. The Major’s intervention only confirmed the timescale.”
Julian should probably care more that Garak had him under constant surveillance, but he found the idea strangely comforting. “At least that means Nerys knows where we are…where we were.”
“Unfortunately, the Major was on her way to eat dinner with the O’Briens in their quarters, so I do not think any aid will be forthcoming from that quarter.”
Julian’s heart sank. With Kira and Miles both off duty, that dealt a significant blow to Garak’s odds of rescue. Still, 73% was nothing to sniff at - certainly not as terrible as their current joint survival of 2.14%.
Which was when his brain caught up with the fact that Garak was gasping.
“You infernal lying lizard!” he shouted, yanking out his oxygen hose and connecting it to Garak’s suit before he could twist away.
The oxygen readout from Garak’s suit appeared - 2% and falling. He had a leak in his suit. Another fact the infuriating man had failed to mention.
“Julian…don’t…”
“I love you,” Julian blurted. “I know you won’t forgive me for this, but it’s the best chance we have.”
Julian shunted the majority of his oxygen into Garak’s suit, overriding the limit warning, and recorded his message on one last gulp of air.
“This is Doctor Julian Bashir - Garak and I were ejected from Rotho Tuhe’s vessel and are floating with limited oxygen. Power for this communication only.”
He diverted the power at the last possible second, hearing the chime of a sending message as his vision filled with sparkles.
“Julian! Don't you dare–”
The pained look in Garak’s eyes was the last thing he saw, as the stars disappeared into a deep black hole.
“-give up now! Julian…please…”
A gasp. A sob. The whole universe shaking around him.
“You’re right - I don’t forgive you. Saying something like that and then…then…”
Choking on tears. Shudder after shudder, uncontained.
“For love, of all things. Like that callow youth Romeo. What about your duty, Doctor?”
Another hitch of breath.
“You asked me to live for you. What of your duty to live? To me.”
# # #
Julian woke in the infirmary with an IV port and a headache. It was starting to become a habit.
Then he recalled how he wasn’t meant to wake up at all.
He prised open his eyes, sat bolt upright, felt all the blood drain from his head, and collapsed sideways into the solid shoulder of a well-formed Cardassian.
Ah.
Julian opened his mouth to babble out an apology, but the words stuck in his dry throat, a weak cough emerging instead.
“You will not speak,” Garak hissed. “Not a word, Julian.”
Garak’s arms were wrapped tight around his shoulders. He looked greyer than usual, his eyes red-rimmed and his whole body taut with defiance in the face of exhaustion.
Julian had done this. Once again, he had worried Garak.
Doctor Girani and Nurse Jabara entered together. As Jabara held out water for him to sip, Girani checked over his readouts from the biobed.
“It’s a miracle you’re still alive,” she said, bluntly.
Julian winced. This was not how he wanted to test the resilience of his enhanced brain.
“I don’t know how you survived the hypoxia. You went far too long without oxygen.”
7 minutes 39 seconds, precisely. Hopefully, Girani wouldn’t want to publish a paper.
“The cold?” he rasped out, trying for deflection.
Girani shrugged. “Prophets only know. I would say this has set back your recovery, but we're in uncertain territory here. I’m recommending daily check-ups for the next week. I was going to keep you in the infirmary overnight, but as Garak helpfully pointed out, the remote monitoring bracelet will work just as well in this case.”
Garak was willing to have him back in his quarters. He might not be able to forgive Julian, but at least he wasn’t done with him.
“I’ve advised Constable Odo that you won't be fit to give a statement tonight. We can see how you feel tomorrow.”
Julian nodded, before submitting to the neurological exam and cognitive battery that confirmed his brain was still in fine working order. He noted that his mental arithmetic was a touch slower than usual, but still faster than the average Human, so Girani was left with no concerns.
Garak, however, continued to hover like an agitated hornet. Julian recalled Girani’s admonition not to scare Garak again, a task at which he had failed spectacularly.
A small, surly part of him wanted to rage that this was unfair. He had saved Garak’s life! His risk-taking was the only reason they were back on the station at all. And Garak had lied too!
Somehow, none of that made him feel any better.
“I can release you for tonight,” Girani said, finally. “Come back first thing tomorrow for your check-up, and we can review your overnight oxygen saturations.”
Julian stood shakily, his body feeling wrung out and his thoughts buzzing round his head like a beehive. Garak came to his side, holding him upright as the medical transport moved them to his quarters.
Once there, Garak unceremoniously dumped him on the sofa, before he started pacing the room like a caged animal. Julian watched him silently, awaiting his judgement.
“Well then, which is it?”
“Excuse me?” Julian said, bewildered.
“I have come to the conclusion that you are either an unwitting accomplice in this deception or you knew from the start. A species that can pass for Human for years, but with a high level of environmental resistance - the only option is Vulcan. Or, more likely, Romulan.”
“But you’ve seen me bleed!” Julian objected. “You took and analysed my blood yourself.”
Garak hesitated, then shook his head. “These things can be falsified. We’ve seen that with the Founders. My one consolation is that you did not immediately turn to liquid when you fell unconscious.”
Julian staggered to his feet, watching as Garak instinctively took a step towards him. He crossed the distance, lifting Garak’s palm to place it over the left side of his chest.
“My heart is here,” he said, as levelly as he could. “Right here, Garak.”
“These things–”
“Can be falsified, I know.”
Julian sighed. He did not want to do this now, like this, but he couldn't keep it from him any longer. He couldn’t be the cause of Garak’s doubt.
“When I was six years old, my parents took me to Adigeon Prime.”
“The infamous home of illicit plastic surgeries and reconstructions.”
“And genetic resequencing. Including accelerated critical neural pathway formation.”
Garak said nothing, his face a frozen mask, so Julian babbled on.
“My parents didn’t have the son they wanted, you see. Jules was always too much, not enough. I think he knew it, even then. It's a terrible thing to realise your own parents despise you.”
Garak flinched, the motion carrying through his hand to Julian's chest, to the heart of him.
“So they killed that sweet little boy and replaced him with…me. Maybe there is some Vulcan in my DNA, or Klingon or Cardassian. It doesn’t matter, in the end - I’m a freak. And my very existence is illegal in the Federation.”
“Julian–”
“Then I compounded the crime of my existence by enlisting in Starfleet - as a doctor, no less. Not one but two vocations specifically forbidden to augments. Perhaps I should’ve turned myself in and lived out my life in an institution instead. I still might.”
“That's enough!”
Garak’s fingers were clutching at Julian's shirt now, his other hand braced against Julian's upper arm.
“You will not speak about my sicus in that way. I will not allow it.”
“See-shus?” Julian asked, the UT failing to translate the Kardasi word.
It seemed the safest question, after all. Rather than “why are you still here?” and “why aren’t you disappointed in me, like everyone else?”.
Garak’s ridges suddenly flushed a deep blue colour. “That is, ah, well. Perhaps a discussion for another time. The point is, Julian, that I would never allow a…partner of mine to be called a ‘freak’ or consigned to an institution. The very idea is absurd - and a slight upon my reputation and my skill, which I am sure you did not intend, my dear.”
Julian smiled wanly. “Your skill as a tailor?”
Garak’s expression softened, his smile indulgent. “Just so, my dear. How are you to advertise my wares if you are hidden from public view? Besides, what a waste of your talents to prevent you from pursuing your calling.”
The smile faded. “But they are not my talents, Elim.”
“Nonsense, my dear. It would certainly have been an easier life for you if you had chosen some ignominious existence as a tailor or a gardener. But no, you applied to be a practitioner of frontier medicine with Starfleet.”
Julian flushed. “There really are no secrets on this station, are there?”
“Well, I am impressed that you kept this from me for so long, my dear. Perhaps one could make a spy of you yet.”
“You’re not…?” Disgusted, afraid, angry.
“You are the same man you were yesterday. The same idiot man who thought he would deplete his own oxygen supply to send a distress call to save my life. I might not approve of the act, but the sentiment, well…”
Garak laughed, an unhappy sound. “I was taught from a young age that sentiment was the greatest weakness of all.”
Julian had watched Enabran Tain gasp out his last breath and suddenly had the urge to watch it all over again. “He lied to you, Elim.”
“And yet what, if not sentiment, led to your poor attempt to throw away your life for mine? Yet you would not be the man I…I fell in love with if you had done anything else. It is infuriating!”
Love.
Julian’s knees chose that moment to give out, which was surely the result of physical exertion and not an excess of sentiment. Regardless of the cause, it did have the pleasing effect of causing Garak to sweep him up into his arms and into their bedroom.
“One day,” Julian said, groggily, “this will be for more fun reasons.”
“Promises, promises, my dear,” Garak said, tightly. “First, you must stop putting yourself in mortal danger.”
Lying on their bed, staring up at the ceiling, Julian’s brain suddenly sparked along a different line. “I’m sorry. About Rotho. I should’ve talked to you first.”
“Ah, Rotho,” Garak said, darkly. “Let us see what the Constable has to say before we make any further plans in that direction.”
Julian sighed. “Leave it to Odo. Please.”
“As I said - we shall see.”
Deciding he did not want that particular fight tonight, Julian pulled Garak down towards the bed. “Come here. I want to kiss you.”
“You cannot even stand up.”
“Is it not your duty to kiss me, Elim Garak? As my sicus?”
Julian tried not to sound smug. If Garak thought he would sneak that past him because he was emotionally overwrought, he was sorely mistaken.
“I suppose your memory is flawless like the rest of you?” Garak said, fondly exasperated.
“Perhaps I should learn Kardasi,” Julian said, thoughtfully. “After all, you speak…how many languages?”
“I’ve lost count,” Garak said, blandly, removing Julian’s shoes before throwing the blankets over him.
“Come to bed,” Julian said, catching Garak’s wrist before he could retreat. “I don’t want to sleep alone.”
The best deceits were true, after all.
Garak relented, shedding his own shoes and outer layers before climbing into bed beside Julian. Who immediately rolled to drape himself over his chest like a Human blanket.
“Gotcha,” he murmured.
“My dear, I don’t believe you will ever be rid of me.”