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“My father abandoned me here.”
Once, not so long ago, Garak would have attributed Ziyal’s words to her Cardassian heritage. He would have twisted them to fit his own devotion to the state, to the cultural emphasis on devotion to family. Now, he saw them as testament to her character, her fortitude. He knew that devotion to family was not strictly a trait of Cardassians. Another distasteful change wrought by his exile and his time among so many alien cultures.
“This,” he paused, stitching his words together with deliberate care, “may not be of much comfort, but that is,” another pause, evaluating which knot was best to tie the threads, “one more thing that you and I have in common.”
Ziyal’s eyes widened imperceptibly, growing wet with tears as the words sank in. She set her hand upon the table between them, palm up. “At least,” she offered, “we have each other.”
Garak set his hand upon hers, giving the inside of her wrist a fond caress with the pad of his thumb. “Indeed.” He swallowed back the words, for now.
It reminded him of that game the doctor proposed, back at the internment camp. A trifle, really, a pathetic attempt to distract him from the claustrophobia that threatened all their safety.
“My dear Doctor,” he sighed with mild exasperation, “this hardly seems the time for–”
Even in the fading light of the lamp, the look in Bashir’s warm, brown eyes made Garak stop. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, mentally counting down the minutes until he would force Garak to give into his detestable weakness and take a break.
“What?” Garak asked, miffed. “What’s that look for?”
“One little game, I think you’ll enjoy it.”
“Oh? And what is this game you propose we can play under these,” Garak gestured with a hand at the tight space they occupied, “circumstances?”
“It’s called ‘two truths and a lie’, though I rather suspect you’ll somehow flip the ratios.”
“You believe that I am incapable of telling two truths?”
“In a single conversation? Yes.”
Garak tried to fight back a smile, but he heard it spill over anyways in his indignant, “hmph!”
In the end they’d never been able to play Doctor Bashir’s silly game. Guards had come and they’d been forced to wall Garak up in the dark for so long he had another damnable panic attack. It had completely left his mind until now, here, back on Deep Space Nine and far removed from the circumstances.
Two truths and one lie?
Whatever would he elect to divulge? And what would Doctor Bashir elect to divulge with him? It was an enticing question.
Adrift.
That was the word that best described him now.
Julian sat back from the desk and leaned into the chair with a sigh. He was bone-tired, more exhausted than he’d been in ages. The Changeling had made perfect records. It had even continued a number of his research papers, though he wouldn’t rest until he’d reviewed it all in detail. The medical staff had all offered apologies for not realizing, but how could they have? Even Miles had said the Changeling had been easier to get along with. He’d meant it as a joke, of course, but Dax once said the best comedy always stemmed from a kernel of truth.
So then, had the real Julian Bashir always been hard to get along with? It stood to reason.
It was far past the time when he should have left the infirmary for the day. He’d been avoiding his quarters, but his mind and body were clamoring for sleep. His best bet now was to gamble on being too exhausted to worry.
Julian cut through the promenade on the way to his living quarters. He’d always liked taking this route; enjoyed the hustle and bustle, sneaking a glance in to see who he could spot in the replimat or Quark’s, maybe getting a snack from one of the Bajoran vendors selling street food, or catching a glimpse of a certain tailor, hard at work. But now the walk took on a new element. It was a soothing balm on his nerves, a reminder that he was here, he was really here, safe among allies and friends and…
Through the entrance to Quark’s, he caught sight of Garak and Ziyal at a second-floor table that overlooked the bar. They appeared to be sharing a quiet moment, Garak was just in the process of placing his hand over hers.
Ah. Yes. He’d mentioned making a promise to come back to her. Julian recalled the dull ache he’d felt. It made itself known again now. But he was being silly. He should be happy that Garak had finally found companionship. He and Ziyal got along so well, too.
Sisko to Doctor Bashir. Come in, Doctor.
Julian dragged himself upright. It had taken forever to finally fall asleep, in fits and starts, and now, of course, when he finally had dropped off there was a chime. He reached for his com badge. “This is Bashir.”
Are you all right? Sisko’s stern voice responded. We were supposed to convene for a debriefing half an hour ago.
“Terribly sorry, sir.” Julian threw off his bedcovers and made a sad attempt at finger-combing his hair in place as he got to his feet. “I’m on my way.”
Julian left the meeting feeling decidedly despondent. Not only had he been late, but the last item on the itinerary had revealed whole new depths for his mood to sink down into. He was so preoccupied that Dax dropping her hand down on his shoulder for a comforting pat made him startle.
“Why don’t you start with Worf?” she proposed with a smile. “One of his exes was a counsellor, he’ll understand.”
“Deanna is not my…” Worf shot Dax a reproachful look, “ex. She is a good friend and a comrade.” He shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. “She was a great help with Alexander in the time he spent with me on the Enterprise, and we have overcome many great battles together. I have great respect for her.”
“I… see,” Julian said, for lack of anything better. He didn’t see in the slightest. “So, you’re amenable to Starfleet Medical’s request?”
“Absolutely not.”
Of course.
Dax saw him off with an eyeroll and promised, “I’ll try to talk some sense into him.”
With Martok it went over even worse. Lots of yelling and posturing and Julian barely made his escape intact. Klingons didn’t exactly believe in the old saying ‘don’t kill the messenger’.
And Julian had still saved the most difficult for last.
“Ah, Doctor,” Garak welcomed him with practiced geniality, “to what do I owe the pleasure?” He crossed the floor of his shop to brush imaginary dust off Julian’s shoulder. This close, Garak could see dark circles under Julian’s eyes. He cast a critical eye over Julian’s uniform, which provided a welcome distraction. The new one was definitely a step up from the old one he– the real Julian– had still been wearing at the internment camp, but… well, baby steps, he supposed.
“If you’re here about lunch, I must apologize,” Garak told him, “a considerable amount of work has piled up in my, ah, absence.”
“No, no, I understand,” Julian murmured. “I wasn’t– Well, it would be nice, but, yes, of course. I also…” He appeared to catch himself, adjusting his posture, going from tired to professional in an instant. “I had a meeting earlier, with Captain Sisko and the other officers, a follow-up really, regarding what happened with the internment camp and…” he trailed off again.
Garak ran through a mental list of what Doctor Bashir could be so hesitant to discuss. Had he been forced to give away the truth about Tain? Had he betrayed Garak’s secret? Or could it be something else? Was Garak suspected of being a Changeling? Had any of them been replaced by Changelings? How likely was it that they were all in a simulation and only believed they were safely back on Deep Space Nine?
Stranger things had happened.
Julian took another deep breath before forcing himself to finish his sentence, “and Starfleet Medical has strongly recommended that we all undergo counselling.”
“Counselling?” Garak echoed.
“Yes, it was a stressful situation and there could be lasting mental and physiological effects,” Julian explained patiently, “it’s standard procedure for–”
Garak raised a hand to cut him off there. “I am well aware of the effects of imprisonment on the mind, Doctor, thank you.”
There were any number of biting remarks Julian could say here. Garak may have been aware, but he’d more often than not been on the side of the imprisoners in the past, he didn’t know what imprisonment was like without being high as a kite on the Wire’s effects, his exile on DS9 didn’t count as imprisonment, not strictly by definition… but all those things were too cruel to bring up now. There was a difference between arguing for the sake of arguing and actually going in to hurt the other person, after all.
Thankfully, Garak went on to add, “If you believe it to be helpful, then by all means. But why come all this way to share this information? As I am not a part of Starfleet, their decision should have nothing to do with me.”
“Yes, but, given your recent contributions and in the spirit of cooperation–”
“Oh, I see how it is,” Garak lifted his chin, “this is a Starfleet ploy to get inside my head.”
“You can’t be suspicious every time someone tries to do something good for you,” Julian admonished him.
“On the contrary, personal experience has taught me that no good deed comes without some sort of ulterior motive,” Garak countered.
“Even from me?”
“Well, that depends,” Garak was already speaking before Julian quite recovered from the surprise he felt at his own words, “is there… something you want from me, Doctor?”
When Julian was a younger man, less experienced in dealing with Garak and his games, that question might have flustered him. If he were completely honest with himself now, it still did to a certain extent, a subtle little flutter that made his heart skip a beat. Outwardly, he just sighed in fond exasperation, “What I want, is for you to get the care you need. You’ve been through so much, experienced so much loss, including a man who, for better or worse, was your family.”
“Your concern is touching, my dear, but nevertheless, I must refuse Starfleet’s generous offer.” Garak turned away and began refolding some items to keep his hands busy. That should have been the end of the conversation, an out for Julian to give up and make his exit. But then, Garak found himself asking, “And, what of you?”
“Hm?” Julian was equally caught off guard. “Me?”
Garak almost turned, but kept folding. “I assume by ‘we all’ that the same offer was extended to you?”
“Ah, yes, yes, of course.” Julian took a deep breath. “But rather than worry about me, I ask that you reconsider. Please.”
“Doctor?” Garak stopped him just before the automatic doors to the tailor’s shop slid open. “I may not be able to join you for lunch, but might I inquire as to your dinner plans for this evening?”
“You want to have dinner?”
“I find a good meal at the end of the day also does wonders when one is… tired.”
Julian smiled, and some of the warmth crept back into his eyes. “Yes, you make a good point.”
They agreed to meet when Julian’s shift ended.
Truth be told, Julian didn’t quite see Garak’s aim with the dinner invitation.
Well, he thought to himself with a rueful grin, in that respect it was nice to have some normalcy.
He showed up at the promised time, finding Garak at a table deep in a second-floor corner of Quark’s. Garak indicated the mug already waiting on the table next to his own glass of kanar. “I took the liberty of ordering your usual.”
Julian sat across from him and peered into the mug. The familiar aroma of Tarkalean tea wafted out of it. “Thank you.” He took a sip. “I suppose you also took the liberty of ordering food for us?”
“Should I have?”
“I can’t say I would have minded.”
Garak sat back and practically beamed at him. “Well, then. It’s good that I did just that.” He raised his hand to signal Quark.
“Am I being wined and dined, Garak?” Julian teased.
“If you prefer wine, I’m sure Quark can provide,” Garak responded, with a lingering look that made Julian suspect he had misunderstood the old saying purposely.
Their food arrived along with a decanter of Bajoran spring wine and two glasses. Julian eyed the wine and glasses. He didn’t recall hearing Garak add it to their order. Once again, he was more than a few steps ahead.
While they ate, Julian could feel the tightly wound ball of stress in his chest begin to ease just a little. Not a lot, but enough to revisit an earlier topic from the day.
“You don’t have counsellors on Cardassia?” Julian asked absently, watching as Garak refilled his wine glass. He answered his own question with, “I don’t suppose you do.”
“Perhaps Cardassians are bearing of stronger character than you give us credit,” Garak deflected the question with ease.
But Julian hadn’t read all those Cardassian novels Garak recommended for nothing. “I think admitting such a ‘weakness’ would be akin to career suicide.”
“It would make excellent blackmail material,” Garak raised his glass, “if one were so inclined, of course.”
“Of course.” Julian’s gaze on him softened. “But you needn’t worry about that here.”
“Be that as it may,” Garak allowed, “I assure you there’s no need.”
“No need?” Julian repeated, incredulous.
“You are hardly in any position to criticize me for that decision,” Garak stepped in when Julian couldn’t think of what to say next. “You have also elected to turn down Starfleet Medical’s offer.”
“I never said that.”
“And yet you do not deny it.”
Julian dropped his gaze down to his food. “I merely haven’t decided yet.”
“Surely an upstanding doctor such as yourself should practice what you preach, as it were?”
“You could say I am still determining whether it is strictly medically necessary for myself,” Julian volleyed back.
“Ah, in that case, I shall defer to your expertise.” Garak sipped his wine. “But, if I may offer my layman’s observation, you were imprisoned for much longer than I was.”
“That’s true…” Julian admitted. “But my experience does not detract from what you went through in order to aid in our escape.”
Garak hummed thoughtfully at that. “Which reminds me, Doctor…”
“Yes?”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about the game you proposed during one of our… times working on said escape plan.” Garak noted that Julian was not following immediately and reminded him, “The children’s game you suggested to ‘distract’ me.” The fact that Julian didn’t pick up on it immediately was testament to how tired he was. Garak was well aware of how good the doctor’s memory really was. “I believe you said that I would be incapable of telling two truths as the rules dictated.”
Recognition flickered across Julian’s face. “Two truths and a lie, yes.” He smiled. “I still believe you would flip the ratios.”
“Two lies and a truth?”
“Two lies and a half-truth might be more the ticket, knowing you.”
“You wound me,” Garak put a hand to his chest.
“And yet you look so proud.”
Garak chuckled at that. “But about this game of yours…?”
“You actually want to play?”
“It sounds rather intriguing,” Garak admitted, “an entertaining diversion.” He smiled wider, meaningfully. “I’m keen to see how the game would develop. What… truths either of us would divulge to the other.”
“If we were to divulge any at all.” Even as he said it, that was a strong ‘if’ if Julian had ever heard one. “Alright, did you want to play now?”
“Now, Doctor?” Garak looked this way and that before leaning in conspiratorially. “Is Quark’s really the proper place to be baring our truths to each other?”
It was just like Garak to propose something only to then try to immediately weasel out of it. “Then, where do you propose we go instead?”
Garak sat back with a look Julian couldn’t quite interpret, even with his years of experience. He folded his hands fastidiously at the edge of the table and inclined his head. “Where indeed? Have you any suggestions?”
Your place or mine? seemed the appropriate question here, and Julian was just deep enough into the spring wine to chance it.
But alas, the chance was going to elude him. His com badge chirped, followed by Nurse Jabara’s voice, “Doctor Bashir? I’m sorry to bother you, but a group of Klingons just came in…”
Julian tapped his badge with a grimace. “Say no more, I’m on my way.” He sighed with an edge of melodrama. “No rest for the wicked, I suppose.”
Garak rose to his feet along with him. “My dear, I do hope that wasn’t your best attempt at a lie?”
“I’m sorry?”
“There’s nothing wicked about you, I assure you.”
Julian gave him a look that was nothing short of demure. “You might be surprised.” He nodded in parting.
“Doctor?” Garak stopped him before he reached the spiral staircase down. “I hope that we might continue our conversation soon?”
Julian paused. “You mean our game?”
Was there ever a difference?
After a sneaky sobering hypospray followed by the adrenaline spike that came from dealing with argumentative Klingons, Julian was beside himself with nervous energy by the time he arrived outside Garak’s quarters. Garak hadn't explicitly said to meet here but Julian felt safe in having picked up the subtext.
Garak greeted him gladly. “I trust everything went well?”
“As can be expected.”
“I don't see any fresh wounds at the very least,” Garak observed.
“My uniform has a high collar,” Julian pointed out. He was pretty sure he'd find a bruise or two to take care of later.
Garak tutted in distaste.
Julian took his offer of a seat and picked up the padd left on the table. “What were you reading?”
“The topic of lies reminded me of one of your silly Shakespeare stories.”
“Othello,” Julian recognized from the text on screen. “You were offended when I compared you to Iago.”
“Was I?” Garak said lightly. He set a glass in front of Julian and poured wine for him. “I seem to recall he did have one line that, ah,” he rotated his wrist while he searched for the words, settling on, “left an impression on me,” as he sat next to Julian and raised his glass of kanar.
Julian tapped glasses with him. “And what line might that have been?”
“Men should be what they seem,” quoted Garak with a glint in his eye.
Julian smirked. “That was one of Iago’s more blatant lies.”
“And yet, you’ll find, one of his easiest to believe.”
“I suppose,” Julian mulled over this, “if you want to believe a lie strongly enough…” He smiled to himself with a small chuckle.
“Something funny?” Garak asked.
“No.” Julian drank more of the sweet-tasting wine. “It just occurred to me that, if we really do play this game, it might not be so different from any of our other conversations.”
Garak’s gaze upon him was keen. “Oh? Are you insinuating that you want to believe my ‘lies’?”
Julian averted his eyes. “I’ve heard so many that I like to think I might someday see the truths hidden behind them.”
“Are we playing the game now, Doctor?”
“You tell me.”
“But you haven’t explained the rules to me,” Garak protested.
“They’re really quite self-explanatory.” Julian made small gestures with his wine glass to illustrate. “You make three statements, two are true, and one is a lie.”
“And the other person chooses which one they wish to believe?” Garak confirmed.
Leave it to Garak to find a way to creatively misinterpret even the simplest of games. “No, the point is to correctly identify the lie.”
“Ah, so you want easily identified lies.”
“No, that wouldn’t make for a very fun game, now would it?”
“An excellent point, my dear.” Garak’s approving smile made Julian feel even warmer than the wine was making him. “And, must the lies be about ourselves?”
“Usually, yes. Many people find the game allows them to… get to know each other better.”
“You mean to tell me,” Garak sat straighter with practiced indignation, “that when you proposed this game it was not only to distract me from my discomfort at the time but also an attempt to surreptitiously extract information from me?”
“No, no, that’s not–”
“Why, Doctor,” Garak interrupted him, “you certainly have come a long way.”
“I was not,” Julian put added emphasis on the word, “using your moment of ‘weakness’ to get information out of you. I really was only trying to help.”
“A naturally inherent talent, perhaps,” Garak put his talent for creative interpretation to further work. “One that should be developed so you can use it better in the future.”
“Right…” Julian rolled his eyes. “Shall we?”
“Perhaps you should go first,” Garak offered. “To demonstrate how it’s played for me.”
Did he mean that or was he stalling?
“All right.” Julian sipped his wine while he considered what to say. He raised one finger, “I wanted to be a professional tennis player for a time when I was younger,” two fingers, “I have a slightly higher tolerance for non-synthetic alcohol than… other humans,” three fingers, “and I don’t actually like Tarkalean tea, it just reminds me of a different drink from my days at the academy that I often drank while I studied.”
Garak’s grin widened, somehow both condescending and pleased at the same time. “You’ve told me that tennis story before.”
Damn.
“And the third one is clearly the lie.”
“How can you be sure?”
“You felt the need to explain it to me in greater detail than the other two,” Garak explained with ease, “therefore it required extra work to make it ‘believable’.”
“Ah.”
“Am I correct?”
“I’ll be sure to refrain from over-explaining in the future.” Julian shifted where he sat, so as to more directly face Garak next to him. “Okay then, your turn.”
“Let’s see…” Garak took his time considering his options.
Julian had to fight the urge to lean in closer. He was so curious. What would Garak come up with?
“That spring wine I gave you is actually synthetic, I was reminded during our imprisonment of just how much more garish your old uniform was compared to the new one, and I do wish you would allow me to dress you in some Cardassian fashions…” Garak fired off in rapid succession, making sure to add, “out of curiosity.”
Julian frowned at him. “Surely not the military uniforms.”
“No, my dear. Actual fashions,” Garak assured him. “Unless you believe that’s the lie.”
“No,” Julian told him. He lifted his glass. “This wine is most certainly not synthetic.”
“Are you sure?”
“I can taste it.” Julian drained the glass. “And I am aware of the effect it’s having on me.”
Garak leaned forward to refill Julian’s glass. “But you just told me about your higher than average tolerance.”
“And you just over-explained the dig at my uniform in an attempt to fool me into thinking that was the lie,” Julian keenly pointed out. He reached for the bottle of kanar on the table next to the wine to refill Garak’s glass. “Why Cardassian fashions?”
“As I said,” Garak’s eyes roved across Julian’s uniform, “call it a professional curiosity.”
“Uh-huh. Are we still playing the game?”
“I believe it’s your turn right now.”
“So it is.”
They went back and forth a few more times. Julian rather suspected Garak was making his own game of coming up with easily identified lies and truths that gave away exactly nothing. Julian would be irked if he had expected anything else.
And anyway, he enjoyed watching Garak spin tales for him. The expressive way he moved with a sort of muted grandeur, the raised eye ridges and wicked flashes in his blue eyes. Combined with the wine and the late hour, Julian was starting to feel more relaxed than he’d been in months.
“Doctor?” Garak tilted his head. “This has been a charming game, but if you’re too tired to continue…?”
Oh, right. It was his turn. “No, no. I was just thinking.” Julian struggled for ideas. He was tired, but he didn’t want the game to end yet, either. “I envy the captain’s ability to cook, as there are certain foods from my homeworld that just can’t be replicated right, I dropped out of an elective course for learning Klingon at the academy, and…” Damn, dropping out of the course had been a lie, now he needed another truth… Julian searched for something, anything, coming up with, “and, I wouldn’t mind if you did dress me in some Cardassian fashions.”
“Really?” Garak’s eyes lit up. He looked Julian over. “Why didn’t you say so? That can be arranged.”
“I wouldn’t trust anyone but you.”
“With clothing at least, you are in good hands.”
“With clothing,” Julian repeated with a smile.
“At least.”
“Your turn, now.” Julian realized his glass was empty and set it aside.
Garak launched into his next round with ease. “I often say you’d be surprised what one hears while mending hemlines, but I was surprised to find how true it actually is.”
“Wait,” Julian stopped him there. “Is the supposed truth here that you were surprised or that you actually hear things while mending clothes?”
“Hear the other two things I have to say and decide for yourself,” Garak teased him.
“Alright,” Julian agreed, “but the other two better be good.”
“Good, Doctor?”
Julian held his gaze for a beat. “I think we’ve played long enough now to up the stakes a little, don’t you?”
Garak held on for a beat longer. “Well then…” He inclined his head closer while he thought. “Shall I get us some more drinks while I think?”
Julian placed a hand on his knee. “No need. I know how quick your mind is. The drinks can wait.”
Garak felt a pleasing shiver down his spine. “I do so enjoy these moments when you… surprise me with your cleverness, my dear.” He maintained eye contact while he raised three fingers to illustrate they were continuing with the game, “Over the years there are many professions I have assumed, but there is one that I have not shared with you yet.”
“Oh?” Julian’s hand stayed on Garak’s knee. “What’s that?”
“Proprietor of a tea shop.”
“I suppose working in a tea shop would also make one privy to overhearing many…” Julian squinted at him carefully, “conversations?”
“Indeed it would.”
Julian sat back. “I think I’ll take that other drink now.”
“You haven’t answered which was the lie,” Garak reminded him.
“Well, let me think.” Julian made a show of considering his options. “Two are about how you so conveniently come into information, the other is a flirtation aimed at me, which could it be?” The look Garak let slip, most likely entirely on purpose, at Julian’s use of the word ‘flirtation’ was another one that he didn’t hate. “It wasn’t a tea shop, was it?”
“It was a bar.” Garak slid to his feet and approached the cabinet next to the replicator. “Not like Quark’s, mind you, much more upscale. People are much more likely to talk with kanar on their lips than Tarlalean tea.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I’m sure you’ve learned more truths about me than even I realize just over Tarkalean tea.” Even as he said that, he watched Garak pour him a glass of kanar. At some point Julian had finished the bottle of spring wine and begun to share the syrupy sweet Cardassian alcohol with his companion.
“Comparatively, my dear,” Garak allowed generously.
Julian’s warm eyes studied his face. “You think I’m clever?”
“I believe that has been apparent for quite some time now.” Garak matched his warmth. “But enough truths from me. Now, I expect you to up the stakes as well?”
“I don’t know if you actually upped them, come to think of it.”
“Perhaps I can still be convinced?”
Julian dropped his gaze to his glass. He traced his thumb up the side and over, just under the rim. “Alright,” he murmured. Without putting too much thought into it, he went with the first thing that came to mind, “I don’t much want to see the Starfleet counsellor either…”
“Oh?” Not the truth that Garak was expecting Julian to share, but he would listen all the same.
Julian wet his lips. “Because…” he went on, “because I am perfectly fine and don’t need a counsellor, because I am afraid of counsellors like any other doctor, and… because…” he made to take a drink while he considered the third thing to add.
Garak stopped him with a hand over the mouth of his glass. “Say no more Doctor, I’ve already identified the lie.”
Julian gazed up at him. “Because it’s the same one you tell yourself?”
“Well, it’s as you said,” Garak carefully extracted the glass from Julian’s hand to set aside, “if you want to believe a lie strongly enough…”
Julian sat up straight. “How many of your own lies do you want to believe?”
“Why did you take on a profession you claim to fear?”
“Why…” Julian leaned closer, “do you want to dress me in Cardassian clothes?”
Garak’s hand came up to gently cup Julian’s jaw. “Why would you allow me to?”
“Maybe I trust your good taste in clothing?” Julian teased.
Garak’s smile turned predatory. “Maybe I just want an excuse to get you out of that uniform.”
Julian shivered. Of all the times to be direct. “I’ll admit, some variety in my wardrobe might be nice.”
“I know just the right colours for you.”
Julian traced Garak’s neckline. “Though, all the hidden fastenings and whatnot seem rather complicated.”
Garak mimicked the same path across Julian’s collarbone, “I assure you, it would be worth the effort.”
“Oh dear…” Bashir said in a hush.
“What is it?”
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’ve said three things and none of them lies.” Julian’s fingertips curled into Garak’s collar, the backs of them brushing against his smooth scales.
“I suppose then,” Garak said in a low murmur, “the game is forfeit.”
“Suppose so.” Julian pressed his lips together. “Whatever are we to do now?”
“What indeed?” Garak gave the invitation, and Julian took it.
Julian kissed him, closing the barely perceptible distance still between them. The hand on Julian’s cheek slid up into his hair and Garak pulled him in closer, deepening the kiss. Julian held on tight to his collar, tugging it toward himself. He crawled right into Garak’s lap, chasing the sweet taste of kanar on his mouth.
“My dear,” Garak sighed. He drew Julian’s head to the side to press his lips to his cheek, to the junction where his jaw met below his ear, and then Julian felt the scrape of his teeth against his neck, right above where the high collar of his uniform shirt ended.
Ah. Julian dropped his head back. Mystery solved. “Is that why you hate the uniform so much?”
“What kind of tailor would I be,” Garak continued to nibble at his neck, “if I didn’t have a good eye for aesthetics?”
“Of course, how silly of me.” Julian combed his fingers through Garak’s hair.
Maybe it was the wine and the kanar, maybe it was the stress and the lack of sleep, maybe it was the game, the silly little game forcing them to share and tease and prod each other up until this point. If they didn’t already have a long, long history of playing already, Julian might wonder if this were some sort of trauma response, a coping mechanism for what they went through, but then again he was no counsellor and they’d already established wanting to believe the lie that they had no need for one.
“I thought of you often, you know,” Julian whispered one more truth between them. He ran his hands down Garak’s neck ridges and over his shoulders.
“I understand,” Garak’s touch wandered Julian’s chest to nudge the simple fastener on the outer layer of his uniform down just-so, “if we consider my exile here a form of imprisonment, then I too, think of you often.”
Julian pulled back to study his face. “Do you still consider this station a prison for you?”
“No, my dear,” Garak told him the half-truth Julian had been expecting from the start. “I don’t.”
Julian stared at him a long moment, eyes warm with compassion, fondness, and more that Garak was not entirely open to identifying yet. “Liar.”