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1.
“If you won’t come to sickbay, you’re going back to your quarters,” Julian huffed, setting down his fork with a clink.
Even if his lunch companion wouldn’t admit it, there was something wrong. He seemed like a first year med student who hadn’t gotten sleep in a week. It was a week since he had turned off the implant in Garak’s head, and only the second time Julian had seen his friend since then. All scans were normal when Garak decided to release himself from sickbay, and they were normal enough again when Julian had snuck a tricorder reading on Garak while he was grabbing their food. Normal, with the exception of raised cortisol and an abnormal heart rate.
“Oh, I’m quite sure that won’t be necessary, dear doctor,” Garak smiled. He wasn’t the most frustrating patient Julian had ever had, but Garak was close up there.
“You haven’t touched your food, you have barely talked since we sat down. We read The Tempest last week – and I know you have to have some thoughts on that! The scheming, the family betrayal; it’s practically Kardassi. But you barely lifted yourself to argue about it!” Julian took a breath to steady himself, continuing in a softer voice. “Look, I stabilized your leukocytes and neutralized the effects of the implant. Physically, you’re fine. But I can’t expect the mental effects to disappear in a week. Have you been getting enough sleep? Eating fine?”
“Please, doctor. Like you said, I’m fine. I just had a busy morning in the shop, and I’m not really feeling hungry today.”
As if to prove his point, Garak took a slow, decisive bite of the ragga bean tofu salad. Julian couldn’t believe the man. A busy morning at the shop? He had no idea how Garak made a living as a spy with these lies.
Julian shook his head, standing up. He grabbed his own plate and Garak’s and put them both in the Replimat’s recycler. Calling back, he said, “We’re going to your quarters.”
Standing up and carefully – almost too carefully – tucking his chair into the small table, Garak put his hands out to Julian in a placating gesture. The tinge of his usual performative annoyance s, “Really, I don’t think this is all necessary. If you wanted to get into my quarters, you could have just said so.”
Julian took one of Garak’s elbows, guiding the tailor out of the Replimat with him. Could have just asked to go to his quarters, really? It took medical overrides the last time he wanted to get into Garak’s quarters, and the older man wasn’t exactly excited to see him there.
“I took an oath to do no harm,” Julian muttered loudly as they walked, “and I think that letting you simmer in this crowded room is doing a little harm.” He knew he was being a little dramatic, but couldn’t bring himself to care.
Garak protested further on the walk to his quarters, but opened the door without any words. His quarters had barely changed since Julian had seen them last week in the midst of Garak’s withdrawals. There were still a couple of worn tunics tossed over a chair and a bottle of kanar open on the table. It was about ten degrees warmer in Garak’s quarters than on the habitat ring hallway. Julian had only been in his quarters once before, when they were in a similar unorganized state, but they still struck him as very uncharacteristically Garak.
Maybe he was taking longer to recover mentally than he let on.
Julian headed towards Garak’s replicator and grabbed a large glass of water. He steered Garak towards the bed, handing him the water.
“Look, I’m not going to make you sleep, or force you to eat food. I only have a few more minutes until my shift starts again, but I could ask Nurse Tagana to cover for me a little longer if you need it,” Julian sat on the edge of the bed. “Plus, I’m not going to pretend it will work. It’s just me now; you don’t have to pretend you’re fine anymore. I read a really interesting paper last week on the long-term effects of–”
“I appreciate the thought doctor. But really, I’m fine. Don’t leave the good nurse waiting on my account, please,” Garak interrupted his rambling.
He did take a few sips of the water, though. Back in his own quarters, in his own bed – hard, heated Kardassi slab as it was – there was something more loose about him. Julian couldn’t pinpoint what. Physicians were only required to take a selection of the mental health courses at the Academy, and he was regretting only taking half of the extra extension classes he could have. There were definitely a few that would come in handy now.
Julian sighed. He knew when he was being told to leave, and knew how this game would play out if he stayed, so, with a long glance back, he headed back to sickbay.
The Cardassian didn’t owe him the truth, Julian told himself. Obviously, he would appreciate honesty from him but knew better than to expect it. He didn’t need to know what was wrong to care about the man. Maybe he would get it some day, though.
2.
The first week of September was the reliably busiest in sickbay.
First, Julian had calls with top Bajoran health officials from centers across the planet for most of the week to determine the best Bajoran flu strains to target in the year’s vaccines for the southern hemisphere. With DS9 serving as the main entry and exit port for the planet, medical records aboard the station were vital to the decision; sick or nonsymptomatic Bajorans could visit anywhere on the planet from DS9. Space travel really fucked with public health measures, but luckily it also came with advancements in medicine. Small victories.
Then, it was the week when the Bajoran medical students started their internship at the station. Nobody did their residency at DS9, but a few schools on Bajor had internship exchange programs. Highly competitive because of the alien medicine experience and small amount of slots, but also highly annoying to coordinate mentorship and orientation for the first week.
And this year, there was also an outbreak of Andorian fever on the station that started when a small transport ship docked last week and quickly spread through the habitation ring. The spread was contained now, but it wasn’t caught fast enough and healed slowly, so sickbay was crowded.
All in all, it was a rough week. Julian had cancelled a lunch date – meeting – with Garak, three after-work holosuite appointments and dart games with Miles, and even sent Nurse Hortak to brief opps on the Andorian fever outbreak instead of him so he could work with the interns for the morning.
But, it was manageable. The first week of September was usually busy, and busy weeks cropped up every so often anyway. You never knew what you were getting with medicine, especially with frontier work, and that was part of the thrill. He worked long hours, took off some time the next week, and made it out the other end. That was how he had always worked. His time at the Academy had basically been one long busy week.
It worked for him, but apparently it didn’t work for other people around him.
“There’s someone here for you,” Tolena, one of the new interns said, knocking on the doorway into Julian’s office.
“Someone?” He closed out the call he had just finished on the computer screen, tapping on the edge of the Padd he had been taking notes on.
“The Cardassian,” she answered, voice quieting as she responded. “He’s carrying a box, and won’t leave.”
“Told him the Andorian fever is highly contagious?” Julian asked, smiling. She nodded. “Even though it doesn’t transmit through air particles?” She nodded again. “And there haven’t been any documented cases in Cardassians?” Another nodd. “You’re learning fast.”
Andorian fever wasn’t named for an origin on Andoria, but instead because of the extreme hypothermia it induced in the patient. It was completely manageable and curable with a few targeted antibiotics and time in a monitored sickbay, but had ravaged the first few colonies who encountered it before a hypo was synthesized. Because of the cold-loving bacteria who caused it, there hadn’t been any cases in Cardassians or other endothermic species.
Julian sighed, putting down the Padd. Tolena was right to try to get a civilian with no reason to be in sickbay out at this time, but it was Garak, what harm could he really do? Well, would he do?
“Tell him to come in here,” he said.
She nodded, although visibly a little confused, and after a few moments Tolena was replaced with Garak in Julian’s doorway.
“Aaah, good afternoon, my dear doctor,” Garak said, voice lilting. He was carrying a white paper box under his arm.
“Good afternoon, Garak. It’s lovely to see you” – it was, the other man was wearing a baby blue square-necked tunic that highlighted his eyes and truly complimented his shoulders – “but I’m really busy today. Can I help you somehow?”
“Well, that’s exactly why I’m here,” Garak answered, perching himself on the countertop. “You’ve been so busy that you missed our last visit so I decided, why not take the replimat to you?”
Before Julian could protest that really, he did have things to do and he was working through lunch for a reason goddammit, Garak set down the box he had been carrying. He opened it to reveal two to-go boxes of miris and flatbread. One of Julian’s favorites for taking food back to the office, since the stew held heat well. He wondered briefly how Garak knew that, but decided it wasn’t worth the line of questioning.
“You see, I was just in the area,” Garak begun, passing a set of utensils to Julian. He took them, too surprised – and, admittedly, hungry – to protest. He continued, “and I thought, ‘well, do I really want to wait another week to hear your thoughts on Atonement for our Own? ’”
He delivered the explanation in one breath, and helped himself to the spare stool in the doctor’s office. There wasn’t room for Julian to point out that Garak’s Clothiers was on the other end of the station and he had no reason to be “in the area,” or that Julian had already texted him to cancel their meeting today, short feelings on Atonement for our Own (very Cardassian, very long) included.
It was the overgracious lie a friend made when they wanted an excuse to invite you over, thin veil of reality optional. A friend, who knew you wouldn’t poke holes in the lie because it was what you wanted.
Julian smiled. He wanted that from Garak, so he didn’t argue, despite the urge to, and started eating.
3.
“Elim? Elim, is that you?”
The cell was cold and empty, spare for Tain’s supine figure almost frozen on a far bed. Julian had followed Garak to Tain’s cell without being told to come. He hadn’t been told to stay behind, and that was enough. He could tell he was needed.
From the bed, Tain asked, “Everything's gone dark. I can't see you. Are you alone?”
“Yes,” Garak said without looking at Julian, but he swore he could sense the other man feel out his presence. “There’s nobody but you and me.”
It was a lie, but Julian had a feeling he was somehow included in the “me” in that sentence.
Tain began to list his outstanding enemies, and Garak assured him that they were gone. “You wouldn't deny an old man his revenge, would you?” Tain’s voice was becoming more strained.
“I'll do as you ask on one condition,” Garak said. Julian couldn’t see his face, but he knew from Garak’s voice that he was speaking more nakedly with Tain than he had ever heard him. It was hard to imagine this was the man who lied about their relationship viciously when Tain was first introduced to the station’s crew. “That you don't ask me this favour as a mentor, or a superior officer, but as a father asking his son.
“You're not my son.”
“Father. Father, you're dying. For once in your life, speak the truth.”
Julian wondered if his own goodbyes with his father would turn out much different.
Right before they had gone to Tain’s cell, Garak told him that sentiment was the greatest weakness of them all. It was in regards to his continued pity and pleasing towards Tain, but Julian couldn’t help but wonder if it also applied towards Garak’s allowance for him to listen in on the conversation. That his relationship with Garak was now molded by emotion, that that could be a weakness for the other man. He saw how Garak treated weaknesses, and he hoped it wasn’t true.
4.
“I’m fine” was the lie that Julian heard most as a doctor. As a first year med student, he had hated it, the nonanswer that didn’t take seriously his ability to help people. But now, he saw the information people were giving him. It took a while to look for it, but when people went from “fine” to something worse was an indication of their feeling and mentality that an objective pain scale wouldn’t give you. Their mouth might be saying that they were “fine,” but their body was saying something else – and the truth in that difference told you a lot about how to treat them, their relationship to other people in the room, how they had been treated at doctor’s offices before. It was a lie, but at this point in his career, it felt more like the truth.
Especially when Garak said it. That man barely spoke without a couple layers of deception in front of his meaning, so hearing him describe himself as “just fine” was like being told his exact thoughts.
“Really, doctor,” Garak said, his cadence a step faster than normal. He was tucking his hair behind his ears repeatedly, even though it was solidly in place. “I’m fine, even though I appreciate the worry. I’ve been in worse situations, and have clearly gotten out of them.”
He sounded more exasperated than anything else, like Julian had asked him for his status multiple times. He hadn’t. This short conversation was enough for Julian to gauge the situation.
“Do you want to try one of the grounding techniques we talked about? I can start fo-”
“No,” Garak cut him off before turning to stand in the other corner of the turbolift.
Okay, maybe he hadn’t gauged the situation perfectly. It was still Garak he was talking about, of course. Deep breaths were probably out too.
They had been on the way back to their respective offices from a morning briefing that Garak had somehow weaseled his way into when the turbolift had suddenly stopped. Julian had called Miles about six times frantically before he really noticed how stressed Garak seemed. He knew in theory that the other man hated small spaces, but had never seen that in practice. And Garak seemed downright sick.
Julian slid to sit down on the ground of the turbolift. “Do you want to join me?”
Garak didn’t answer, but moved to stand next to him.
The doctor flipped through the ideas he had looked up about dealing with this kind of anxiety. He took careful attention to steady his own breathing, showing that he thought it was a safe situation. He probably hadn’t been helping by pacing and calling Miles too many times. “Can you tell me about a place that feels safe?”
Now he sounded like a full-blown therapist. Garak wasn’t going to fall for that. But Julian didn’t have any good guesses to start off the conversation, either. He couldn’t really suggest anything from Garak’s childhood, and his time with the Obsidian Order was vague and not entirely positive either. Maybe his tailoring shop? But, to be fair, he did blow that up too.
After a moment, Garak joined him on the floor. “I liked the ship I shared with Elim on some of our missions. We got to decorate it, and there were perfect temperature controls to grow some of the most beautiful plants.”
It was a painfully obvious lie. They both knew that Elim was Garak, but maybe there was some truth in that difference, and some comfort for Garak in that lie, so Julian ignored it.
“Can you describe it to me? The plants you grew, what they looked like?”
And so Garak did, voice slowly gaining more color. And after a few more minutes, the turbolift suddenly lurched into movement again, pushing the two of them slightly upwards as their bodies were surprised with the change.
“O’Brien to Bashir?” Julian’s combadge pinged. “Got it working again; someone rerouted the internal turbolift subsystem energy through the deflectors to do some repairs and forgot to switch it back. Should be all good now.”
“Thanks,” Julian said, tapping his combadge. He turned to Garak. He didn’t have to ask if he was fine. He could tell his answer from the way the other man’s face loosened slightly. He didn’t seem totally relaxed yet, but… fine.
5.
Julian sat his bowl of Plomeek soup and plate of egg rolls down at a round table in the corner of the replimat. Non-traditional, but he found at the Academy that most fried human food worked well with the creamy, coconutty broth. Garak was already sitting there, for their weekly meeting – this time, to talk about some human stories. Nineteenth century Russian literature, never Julian’s favorite, but he thought they might strike a cord with Cardassian sensibilities.
The doctor barely got the chance to sit down and grab his napkin before Garak reached over, took one spoonful of Julian’s soup. He didn’t say anything about it, just took the bite, and continued.
“So, how was the morning?” Garak asked in his usual chipper tone. The other man was eating some sort of noodle dish – something that didn’t require a spoon. He had gotten one from the replicator just with the purpose of stealing from Julian. That struck Julian as weird.
“Fine, not too busy. And the Brothers Karamazov?
They started to talk and eat, but Julian was still caught up on Garak’s moment earlier. It took Julian a few minutes, but he realized that Garak had taken a bite of his food before he ate the last few times they ate together. When they met last week, and ended up gossiping about the senior staff the whole time; when they shared Quark’s pizza, which Garak was not a fan of. Each time: no comment, just a bite. He didn’t notice it before, but the fact that Garak got a spoon just for the occasion must have stuck out to him enough.
He wasn’t mad about it, he loved to share food if asked, but it just felt weird that this was almost like a ritual. Always before they ate, and no conversation about the food. Strange.
It was only when Julian saw another Cardassian couple – two women, married if the matching vow hair pieces were any indication – eating together on the station that he thought much of Garak’s weird habit. As they sat down at the replimat, and, like praying over a meal, they both took one bite of the other’s meal before starting to eat their own. They were on the station for a few days as a refueling and trading stop on their way deeper into Federation space. Julian took the opportunity to watch them – casually, in a normal way – on his lunch breaks. His findings: they did this food-sharing ritual every meal, and almost never took a bite of each other’s food after that. Weird.
There were barely any accounts on Kardassi culture in the Federation database, especially not filtered through a heavy lens of the war. That didn’t leave many that Julian could reference on his friend’s behaviour, and he had already looked through most of them that he could access. Searching “Cardassian food tasting” pulled up mostly results around Cardassian recipes and food reviews. Slight tweaks to the wording didn't pull up much more. Goddamn secretive Cardassians.
He would have to ask Garak about it.
The next time they ate lunch together, Garak again took one forkful of Julian’s rice before eating his own food. He didn’t say anything, just started rattling on about a weird customer he had today at the shop.
Julian put his fork down. Interrupting Garak, he said, “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
He gestured in front of them. “Every time we eat together for the last few months, you’ve taken a bite of my food before we started, then continue as if nothing happened. What’s up with that?”
“Oh, that? I don’t think it was every time,” Garak explained, holding his hands up in defense. “Just trying to vary my diet, is that so terrible?”
Julian dropped it, turning to the Kardassi play they had been reading. He knew how this conversation would play out, and as much as he loved the flirty arguing, he wasn’t in the mood to get actually frustrated.
He got his answers the next day. The Cardassian couple were heading out of the station that afternoon. Julian saw them walking out from the temporary housing wing while he was heading to sickbay in the morning.
“Hey!” he called out. They didn’t turn around, and he hailed them again, this time in the poorly-accented Kardassi Garak was trying to teach him a few words of.
“Yes, can we help you?” the taller one, in the blue dress said. Despite the UT on the station, she spoke in an accented Federation Standard, likely for the same reason Julian had spoke in Kardassi. Neither woman looked excited to see him.
“I have a question, and I don’t mean to offend, but I was wondering–”
“Just spit it out,” the woman in the blue dress spoke again, voice tired and short.
“Okay,” Julian said. “When you two are eating at the replimat, you each take a bite of the other’s meal before you begin. Is that a Cardassian thing?”
The shorter woman muttered, “so just because we’re one of the few Cardassians on the station, it has to be a Cardassian thing?”
The blue-clad woman turned to her wife for a moment, giving her a meaningful look. Turning back to Julian, she said, “it is. Shows trust between you and the person you’re with. It was an old tradition, before people moved away from food poison – if you taste each other’s food, it’s showing you have faith you’re safe together, and that you’re willing to take a little poison for the other person.”
“Huh.”
“Are you done? We have errands to run and a leave time to make.”
“If,” Julian started, ignoring the woman as he formulated what he wanted to say. “I have a friend, a Cardassian friend, who is tasting my food before a meal, should I taste his too?”
The shorter Cardassian shrugged. “If he hasn’t explained to you what he’s doing, probably not. Let him keep that secret. But, if you want to cause some drama, go ahead. If you were Cardassian, it would be expected to return the gesture.”
+1.
There were many nights in the last few months that Julian had ended up in Jadzia’s more than slightly tipsy well into the morning. He had complained about his feelings for Garak an embarrassing amount – remember, slightly tipsy – and she had listened quietly every time. He hadn’t even dared to label them as truly romantic, only a unique cocktail of frustration, confusion, and a deep… companionship. Not that Jadz didn’t label them as romantic. She had encouraged him to pursue Garak a week before Julian had labelled his feelings as a crush. That it would be a much healthier outlet than his early feelings for her.
The one time Kira had been invited to their hangout, she had initially been so disgusted at the idea of the two together she faked throwing up when the idea was floated. After a few minutes, though, she decided that actually, they would be so annoying together it would be perfect. Maybe it would even keep Julian off the bridge, with someone else to bother.
The one thing the two women could agree on was that Julian had to do this in the right way . The layers of Cardassian courtship, Garak’s loneliness, and, unsaid but implied, Julian’s awkwardness, was a recipe for disaster if he didn’t play his cards right. Or, if not disaster, a series of passionate hookups and the same lunchtime chats they’d had for years. (That, Julian wasn’t entirely opposed to, but Jadzia kept insisting that he deserved someone full-time. He wasn’t sure if this was just so he didn’t keep dumping his love life on her or not.)
So, they devised an easy plan for him to follow. First: a gift, with meaning. Then, the truth. Whatever that meant with them.
It went terribly at first. Julian was great with human health, but plant health? Completely lost on him. He ended up reading two books and calling Keiko at strange hours for help, but eventually, he propagated a pair of lady slippers in a petri dish, speeding up their growth to flower in the Arboretum’s growth chamber. Then, he spent a few nights painting and repainting the pots. He had a grand idea, but couldn’t get it perfect, so he ended up just making them baby blue. Step one, done.
Step two turned out to be not much easier. He kept trying to subtlety get Garak to join him in the station’s Arboretum, but the Cardassian kept turning the invite for a nighttime stroll down for being busy in the shop, or called to a meeting with some foreign envoy. Eventually, Julian gave up and showed up at Garak’s door when he knew the other man came home from his shop. (A little light espionage about his daily routine was basically engaging in his interests anyway.)
“Garak?” Julian called.
To his surprise, he was let in, the doors beeping open at his call. Garak’s quarters were now a picture of Cardassian order, a sharp contrast to the messy appearance the last time he was here. A few hanging ferns were thriving in the warm temperature.
“Doctor, what a lovely surprise,” Garak said. He had already changed into a dangerously low-necked silk top and wide pants. Clearly nighttime attire, but definitely not Cardassian in origin. “I trust there isn’t an emergency this time?”
“Oh, no,” Julian said. Smiling, he added, “not unless you count the fact that I have something important to show you, and you keep being busy when I suggest a walk through the gardens.”
It wasn’t the quickest convincing. He swore Garak got some pleasure from arguing with him. In the end, Julian won the game. They soon found themselves in the Arboretum, Garak’s personal projects curling and framing some carefully laid-out trays of Keiko’s experiments. Julian guided them to the corner near the native Bajoran plants where a rock feature created a nook. He had put the flower pots there, checking on them every day for the last month.
“I grew these for you,” he said, holding them out. “One for your shop, one for your quarters. There were originally three, one for, uh, my office in sickbay too, but that one died and I thought these were more important. Anyway, I know you like orchids, and I always liked the shape of these. Popping up for a few weeks, or just days in the spring, held high like the plant’s all proud of its work. Well, I’m proud of them at least and wanted to give you something, for all the time we spend together, y’know?”
He was rambling. Terribly. A few years ago, this speech would have sounded naively confident and foolhardy, but now he just delivered it with an earnest sprawl.
“They’re wonderful,” Garak said. He took the flowers in hand, turning over the thrice-painted pots, the soft curve of the pink-veined flower.
He opened his mouth to say something else, but Julian panicked before he could say something else – nitpick his work, brush off the importance of it with a snide comment, ask to go to bed? Nothing good.
“Garak, I…” Julian started, trailing off as he fiddled with the cuff of his shirt. Garak just looked at him, waiting, but eyes soft, unsure. “I’m not usually bad at this, but I think I like you and –”
He was broken off with Garak’s sigh, not quite annoyed, but not quite not either. “Oh, please, humans and your rituals. And we’re the ones with layers of lies? Gifts, coffee, half-wants, it’s all much clearer if you follow the state’s playbook. I–”
It was Julian’s turn to break him off. He took a chance and leaned in for a kiss, and was rewarded handsomely.
A warmth bloomed in his chest. Julian pulled his hands to hold Garak’s waist against his own. The older man’s lips were surprisingly soft against his own, and Julian let himself smile against them when a soft noise escaped Garak’s mouth. Why hadn’t they done this years ago?
As the kiss broke, Julian kept his hands cupped around the smooth scales of Garak’s – no, Elim’s – jawline. Their foreheads were pressed together, soft brown skin brushing against curving gray ridges. Julian’s messed hair curled over both of their skin, framing their faces together. He could feel Elim’s skin rise and fall with his breathing, still hesitant.
Neither man wanted to break the moment, delicate as orchids in bloom.
Time seemed to hang there as they looked at each other, locked as a pair. There was a rawness to both of their breaths, warming each other’s cheeks as the seconds ticked by.
After a moment, Julian recognized the feeling: trust, and truth between them. Something always there brought to the surface, as if they were upturning soil to sow a new beginning. They didn’t have to speak to understand the truth blooming now, the love that they both felt and saw. It was better that they didn’t.
In that breath, Julian recognized another truth. He wasn’t sure where this relationship he was exploring with Garak was going to go. Maybe they’d end up hooking up and keeping their lunchtime chats, like Jadzia had said. Maybe they’d become the station’s it couple. Maybe this was a one-time thing, a piece of gossip for Quark to pass on and nothing more. But whatever happened, he knew that they’d bever be a pair to talk through all of their feelings in the raw truth – at least not from both sides. There were always going to be complicated layers of half-truths and guesses in the facts of a moment. Their feelings, though, would always be shared and clear for each other to read.
And he couldn’t be mad at that.