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Five days after he sent his letter to Deep Space Nine, Garak received a reply.
His first thought was that Julian must’ve stayed up all night reading it to have replied so quickly.
His second thought was pure panic.
My dear Elim,
Thank you for sharing your memories with me - I am privileged to be your first reader. I would love to come to Cardassia now that I am sure of my welcome. Just say the word and I will catch the next transport.
Yours, Julian
# # #
“You are being absurd,” Kelas told him over dinner, which did nothing to improve Garak’s mood.
He had replied to Julian to say it was not yet a good time, but that he looked forward to his visit. This, at least, would buy him some time to work out what to do.
“Please enlighten me, Kelas - in what way am I being absurd?”
“He is clearly fond of you. He wants to see you. Just let him come to Cardassia.”
Garak gestured to himself, to the shed around him. “What exactly do I have to offer in the way of hospitality, Kelas? I can barely clothe, feed, and house myself. The man is a Lieutenant Commander in Starfleet, the Chief Medical Officer of a strategically-placed outpost, a war hero.”
“He’s your friend.”
Garak hesitated, which was as good as a confession. “He was, once upon a time. Nothing more.”
Kelas damned him with his silence, letting Garak stew like the tea at the bottom of the pot.
# # #
Garak set himself goals that were to be achieved before Julian came to Cardassia.
For example, he could not host Julian in a garden shed. He would have to further extend the building or move to more comfortable accommodation.
He would need a job that had a defined title and the associated status. Not the unofficial work he was currently doing for the Ghemor administration, nor tending to a memorial garden.
He would always be of lower birth and status than Julian, but a vast gulf between them was simply unacceptable.
With an esteemed job, he could also improve his finances, his clothes, and his ability to acquire black market food. Julian would see the best of Cardassia while he was here.
Of course, he would have to give up his work with the Reform Project and the maintenance of the garden. He wasn't sure he was ready for that yet. Perhaps when the question of Federation aid was settled, and the stream of visitors to the garden had slowed.
In a few months or a year…
Well, Julian would’ve probably moved on to a new interest, and Garak could put the entire absurd question to rest.
# # #
After two months of vague excuses, Julian stopped writing.
“This is what you wanted,” Kelas needled him. “You said he would lose interest.”
When had he said that? Probably at the bottom of a bottle of kanar.
“Julian has many admirable qualities, but steadfastness has never been one of them. I am sure he has found something else to occupy his thoughts.”
This was, of course, not entirely true. Julian had many sustained interests - literary discourse over lunch, for example.
Kelas said nothing, a faintly amused expression on his face.
Garak threw a teaspoon at him.
# # #
On an unofficial visit to Lakarian City, Garak was unofficially scoping out a site for a memorial garden when a sinkhole opened under him.
He was lucky that the nearby work crew removed him immediately, or he would've added an undignified panic attack to the broken leg and concussion he was nursing.
He lay perfectly still on the hospital bed, eyes closed against the harsh lights, already imagining the lecture he would get from Kelas about taking more care with his person.
“Well, it’s a clean break, but I think we should put in a rod or two anyway - because you certainly won’t rest for the six weeks required.”
Garak’s eyes flew open and he was halfway to sitting, before a firm hand landed on his shoulder and pressed him back down to the bed with augmented strength.
Julian Bashir was standing by his bedside.
“What are you doing here?” Garak blurted, with none of his usual composure.
“I might ask you the same question,” Julian says, eyes crinkling as he smiled. “I work here.”
Garak blamed the concussion for the fact his brain was processing everything with agonising slowness. “You work here. On Cardassia.”
“For about four months now. I grew tired of waiting for an invitation.”
Kelas was right - he had been absurd. Julian had been on his home planet for the past four months, and Garak had deprived himself of his company because of pride.
(And fear. Definitely fear, but that was much harder to admit.)
“Elim, how many fingers am I holding up?” Julian said, his tone worried now. “The scan didn’t show any damage, but–”
Garak reached up and grabbed hold of Julian’s fingers, entwining them with his.
“Come home with me,” he said, with that same reckless impulsivity. “Please, Julian.”
Julian squeezed his fingers. “If I do, will you promise to rest your leg? I would rather not operate, but I know you.”
I know you. What a devastating assessment.
“Anything,” he said, slightly desperately. He had already wasted so much time.
“I will hold you to that,” Julian said.
# # #
Garak slept during the medical transport, only waking when the skimmer came to a stop and the accompanying orderlies conveyed the stretcher to his bed.
He watched as Julian entered his small dwelling, noting the frown on his forehead as he surveyed the space.
“Do you sleep with the door open?” he asked, with concern.
Of course. Julian wasn’t judging the space - he was merely concerned for Garak’s wellbeing. Why had he ever thought Julian would care about what the place looked like? Julian had never possessed a coherent sense of aesthetics, after all.
Once Julian had settled Garak into bed and dismissed the transport, he set about making a pot of red leaf tea, finding the items with the ease of familiarity. With Garak’s habits, if not with the room itself.
“I see the wounded warrior has returned.”
Julian turned and smiled at Kelas, who was hovering in the doorway.
“Doctor Parmak! A pleasure to finally meet you in person.”
In person. Garak started to smell a conspiracy.
“Kelas, please. I feel like I know you already.”
Julian laughed, self-deprecatingly. “I’m afraid Elim is a somewhat unreliable narrator.”
“You don’t say,” Kelas said, dryly, drawing a warm laugh from Julian.
“You knew he was here!” Garak said, accusingly.
“Kelas is my reporting officer,” Julian confessed. “He was the one who suggested I stay in Lakarian City until, well…”
“You had come to your senses,” Kelas finished for him, looking pointedly at Garak.
“I have to thank you for arranging the transfer so quickly - I expected I would need to take leave.”
“It was no trouble. I was able to reallocate from the new doctors arriving this week - we have not left anywhere understaffed.”
“Transfer,” Garak echoed. Perhaps he’d hit his head harder than he thought.
“To Cardassia City,” Julian said, coming closer and gently pressing a hand to Garak’s forehead. “We can talk about it in the morning.”
His warm Human hand was surprisingly soothing, and Garak allowed himself to be soothed.
He closed his eyes, listening to Kelas and Julian conversing quietly, surrounded by the scent of red leaf tea, and knew that he was home.