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It was good, Garak believed, for the senses to be tested. Without regular use, they could atrophy, leaving one vulnerable to all manner of manipulation and subterfuge. Even confined as he was aboard Deep Space Nine, he had many puzzles at his disposal to practice with: the ever-vigilant eyes of Odo, the endless stream of alien visitors passing through the station, Julian. It was likewise good for the senses to experience a periodic reset, an overload of information far beyond their capacity to process, as a reminder of one’s limits within the machinery of life.
This is to say that the situation Garak found himself in presently—seated on his sofa, muscles rigid, his hands clenched together as his pulse threatened to crest one hundred and twenty-five beats per minute—was not entirely unexpected nor unintentional. He had hours ago decided that he had no urgent need for his mental faculties and surrendered himself to the journey that awaited him. Yes, it was true that he hadn’t intended to take this high of a dose today, but if it wasn’t today, then it would have been another one like it, and he hated idling.
He became aware of his miscalculation shortly after removing the hypospray from his arm, and by the time he had accepted the consequences of his actions, his heart had begun to pound with alarming speed, and his head filled with sludge. Garak wasn’t particularly interested in—nor capable of, presently—thinking, but a sagging feeling of dread followed him wherever he directed his mind.
It was annoying at first, nothing more than a background irritation, until the drumming of his pulse became such that he could no longer ignore it. The sensation of the walls of his mind closing around him occupied his entire field of vision, and the only way to prevent the claustrophobic nausea from consuming him was to sit perfectly still. Every action his body took—each breath, each spurt of blood in his veins, each gurgle of digestion—demanded his attention.
It brought him no pleasure to admit this, but he wished Julian were here with him on the sofa. In a perfect world, Julian would have no access to Garak’s mind except for the things Garak wanted him to know without ever having to endure the humiliation of explaining. The technology to induce such a reality was, unfortunately, still highly illegal in the Federation, and while Garak had little respect for such laws, he understood that it was in his best interests currently to avoid such an obvious and flagrant breach of legality.
Garak also understood that he needed to eat something. That had been his plan originally—dose up and gradually ascend to his cruising altitude while he cooked. By the time the hypospray’s contents kicked in, he would be taking the final bites of his meal. He was beholden to no one; it didn’t matter if his dishes sat in the sink overnight while he soared through the heavens. Unfortunately, that was not the reality he found himself in now. To decide on something to eat, prepare it, and consume it now seemed as likely as Garak’s triumphant return to Cardassia.
Even a sip of water would be better than nothing, but when Garak stood to fetch a glass from the replicator, his body reacted as if the artificial gravity had malfunctioned. He stumbled as the room swayed before he returned to his perch on the edge of the sofa, defeated.
Julian’s presence would be most convenient right now. He could bring Garak a sleeve of crackers and a mug of warm water with lemon—both human obsessions that Julian had successfully enamored Garak with. He could sit beside Garak and remind him that this was temporary, that his flight would eventually end and his heart rate would return to its standard forty-eight beats per minute. (This number was lower than Garak would have preferred, but aboard a frigid space station, his access to conditions more suited for Cardassian physiology was limited.)
Convenience aside, two aspects of this fantasy disgusted him. Firstly: Garak knew when he was lying to himself; he didn’t particularly care about snacks or other niceties. He was terrified, and he wanted Julian here because Julian made him feel less terrified. The acknowledgment of this first lie informed his second conviction: under no circumstances could Julian ever be allowed to know Garak had found himself in this situation at all.
Garak had no need of medical attention; he was in no danger of dying. This made it worse, almost. There was no drug Julian could administer to make this stop. Garak simply wanted company to ride it out, but the idea of explaining to Julian what had happened terrified him more than the palpitations in his throat. He knew exactly how he looked: a fool, an amateur.
Yes, there had been the time Chief O’Brien and Julian had gotten carried away at Quark’s after a particularly thrilling tennis match, and when Julian’s slurred call had woken Garak up in the middle of the night, he had worked hard to contain the swell of happiness that in his lowest, most vulnerable moment, Julian had reached for him. While he helped Julian stagger back to his quarters and Julian’s hands kept clumsily sliding down Garak’s torso, Garak had bitten his lower lip until it bled to keep from gasping with pleasure. When they finally made it to Julian’s quarters and Julian promptly threw up all over himself, Garak had helped him to the shower and done his laundry. He’d sat with Julian while he slept, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest. All night, Garak basked in the warm glow of the feeling of having been chosen by Julian. Garak was in love.
The feeling hadn’t faded when Julian woke up, either. If anything, Garak’s love for him had simply grown stronger. They didn’t talk of that night often, but when they did, it was always Julian who brought it up. He said how grateful he was to Garak for helping him. Garak typically deflected this compliment with a civil, if curt: You would have done the same for me.
Julian had never explicitly told Garak to call him if he were ever in trouble, for which Garak was thankful, but he had also never definitively denied Garak’s previous platitude either. This ambiguity troubled Garak, leaving him with too many variables to understand how such a scene was likely to unfold. In his current state, now was not the time to be gathering information; as always, if Garak were capable of meeting his own needs, he would. That wasn’t just a preference but a way of life. Garak had long believed that his training in the Obsidian Order should have included more medical knowledge, but right now what struck him as the more relevant consideration was that as part of his considerable medical education, someone should have taught Julian the art of subtlety. The man certainly had many talents, but neither tact nor nuance was among them. Julian had never been a rule-breaker, and it showed. His imagination was vivid enough, indicative of someone who had been lonely and isolated as a child, but he was too earnest, too sincere in his belief that things could be fixed. Garak didn’t want to be fixed. He wanted a glass of water, and he wanted to abuse prescription medication in peace.
Garak had already received several lectures relating to his health from Julian. First there had been the one about Garak’s sodium intake—a conversation stemming from Julian’s obsessive cataloging of everything that Garak ordered for lunch over the course of six months. Garak, never one to be told what to do, simply informed Julian that Cardassian bodies were different than human ones. This had been a tactical comment, and it paid off: Julian immediately suggested they make time to compare the ways in which their bodies were similar or not. Garak still laughed privately about that one.
There was also the insinuation from Julian that Garak needed to exercise more, which was less of a traditional lecture. For several weeks, Garak opened his mailbox and discovered holosuite programs gifted to him by Julian, all of which turned out to involve extreme levels of physical exertion.
Garak had no illusions that what he was doing wasn’t healthy. He understood the risks perfectly, and he chose to partake because it was better than not partaking. What was happening now was simply an occupational hazard. Briefly he considered pretending to be so incapacitated that he could not understand verbal language, but he decided that Julian’s doting fear would be too overbearing and leave him with an irritating sensation of guilt for having lied.
Garak never felt guilty about lying!
Prefacing telling Julian that he needed help with saying that he didn’t want a lecture was surely the quickest way to get a lecture out of Julian. He already knew everything that Julian would tell him. Garak needed to quit. Garak needed to think about his body. Garak needed to care about something other than whatever it was he was looking for in the substance. Garak knew all of this, and he did not care.
He hated lying to Julian, even though Julian was full of his own lies.
Garak’s greatest, most elaborate lie, though, was the one he was currently telling himself. Buried deep in a place he rarely allowed himself to look, he knew he could find what he really wanted: for Julian to come to his quarters and to wordlessly join him on the sofa, sitting beside Garak and allowing him to lay his head in Julian’s lap. He imagined Julian’s fingers laced through his hair, a calm feeling of warmth without burning, closeness without suffocating. Garak didn’t need a lecture, or an admonishment, or an I told you so: he needed grace. Julian had taught him this—neither the word nor the concept of charity existed on Cardassia.
“Computer?” Garak asked. He couldn’t hear the chime over the rushing in his ears. “Computer? Computer, are you there?”
The power flickered, the entire room shuddering as the lights blinked off and back on again.
“Computer, where is Doctor Bashir?” Garak said.
“System error: please contact an administrator,” the computer called out, its electronic voice crackly with static.
“Doctor Bashir,” Garak said, louder this time.
“System error: please contact an administrator,” the computer said again.
“Julian!” Garak yelled, and he pressed his hands over his ears to avoid hearing the computer whine in response. “Where are you, Julian?”
The door chimed, and Garak ignored it until it chimed again repeatedly, like someone was standing outside holding their finger on the button. Garak held himself perfectly still, imagining he was a creature in one of the Earth-based nature documentaries Julian was always watching. If he was still, the predator would pass him by. The door chimed again.
“Garak, are you in there?” came Julian’s voice from the hallway.
Garak didn’t move.
“It’s me,” Julian said. “I just wanted to see if everything was okay.”
“A moment,” Garak yelled back, cursing himself. The only thing more humiliating than explaining his current predicament to Julian was leaving Julian to form his own unflattering—and inevitably wrong—conclusions.
“Computer, open the doors,” Garak said. “If you’re even working,” he mumbled, an afterthought.
The doors slid aside, and there stood Julian, his face, which always displayed exactly what he was feeling, creased in concern.
“Doctor!” Garak said as jovially as he could manage. He wished he’d dimmed the lights further; he was certain his eyes would tell Julian everything the moment he got close enough. “What brings you here?”
“There’s a solar storm outside right now,” Julian said. “Electronics all over the station aren’t working. I kept getting calls from you, but they cut off before I could respond. It sounded like you were saying my name, and then you cut out.”
“Ah,” Garak said.
“You were trying to call me, right?” Julian said.
“In a sense, yes, I suppose I was,” Garak said, feeling betrayed by the computer and suspicious that Julian knew more than he was letting on, as if their mental link had in fact been established without his knowledge or consent.
“Well, now you can just tell me in person,” Julian said brightly. “Can I come in?” He stepped into Garak’s quarters without waiting for an answer, and the doors shut behind him. Garak wished they had stayed open, if anything to give him an escape.
“I’m just feeling a bit faint,” Garak said. “Nothing too out of the ordinary, nothing to worry about, but I was hoping you could bring me a glass of water, and maybe also a cracker, or two crackers, or even three, or—” Garak’s train of thought ended, his knowledge of his own thoughts disappearing as his mind emptied. “Crackers.”
“That’s not good,” Julian said. He reached for his tricorder and Garak, sensing its threat to the narrative he was trying to control, stood and lunged, trying to knock the device from Julian’s hands.
“No,” he said, and that was all he had time to say, because as soon as he stood, the floor under him seemed to undulate, and he tripped and stumbled forward. When he opened his eyes, he was flat on his back with Julian hovering anxiously over him, that damned tricorder beeping loudly in his ear because Julian’s dull human senses couldn’t hear it otherwise.
“Hold still,” Julian said. He was biting his lip in concentration, something Garak usually loved unless that concentration had turned into scrutiny of him. Still, Garak wanted to reach up and stroke his face. “These numbers can’t be right.”
“They’re most certainly wrong,” Garak said. “Your Starfleet technology wasn’t made with Cardassians in mind. Now, about that glass of water—”
“Garak, what’s going on?” Julian said. He finally turned off the tricorder, but now he was doing something worse: looking directly at Garak.
“I already told you,” Garak said. “I just feel a little faint. It’s probably because of that storm.”
Julian sat back on his heels. Time dilated, and Garak saw every possible outcome to this situation occurring simultaneously.
Julian, I’m so glad you’re here. Why don’t we lie down on the sofa? It’s so good to see you. Why did I call you? Oh, it’s just because I missed you so much. Yes, everything is fine. More than fine. It’s even better now that you’re here. Come here. I love you.
Garak knew better than to insult Julian’s intelligence like this.
or:
Julian, I’ve been so bad, yes, it’s true. I’m a terrible person and I deserve everything bad that has ever happened to me. I just can’t help myself. Kick me in the stomach so I know you’re listening to me. You deserve so much better than me. It’s better if you go. I love you.
Garak would never say this on account of how irritatingly defiant Julian would become.
or:
Julian, I promise I’ll behave. I promise I can do better. I promise I’ll get better. I don’t like this at all and I wish it wasn’t happening. I just don’t know what else to do. Please don’t leave me. Nothing scares me more than never seeing you again.
This was the closest Garak would ever come to telling the truth.
What Garak really said was:
Julian, I—
Whatever it was he wanted to say, the words to carry it did not exist, not in Cardassian or English or any of the millions of other languages spoken, sung, signed, and thought across the galaxy. Even silence couldn’t say it.
“Garak, what have you done?” Julian said.
“I didn’t mean to,” Garak said. “I didn’t mean it like this.”
Julian stood up, and Garak looked down at his hands. They shook, his fingers insisting on movement no matter how hard he tried to hold them still. All his self-control had left him, and now Julian was leaving him too. That was fine, Garak supposed. Understandable, certainly, and probably even reasonable. Nothing other than exactly what he deserved, because why would Julian want to spend time with someone who couldn’t even stand spending time with himself? Presently Garak found himself grateful that Cardassian biology lacked tear ducts. His ancestors had no need for tears, and he shouldn’t either.
The first time he’d seen Julian cry, he’d assumed something was wrong, not because he understood the emotional connotation but because Julian kept apologizing, alternating between wiping his dripping nose on his sleeve and choking out words Garak couldn’t understand. The universal translator didn’t come with an explanation for this. Garak was scared to touch him, but he understood enough to know that what was happening was important, and he gingerly placed a hand on Julian’s elbow, offering no reassurances.
Eventually, Julian calmed down enough to speak. He explained that he’d just received a message. Back on Earth, his father, someone Garak understood Julian to not be close with, someone who was maybe more of an adversary than a support, had just died, and Julian was very upset. When Garak pointed this out, asking about the discrepancy in their relationship, Julian’s eyes welled up again, and he didn’t speak for the rest of the evening. It was so easy—too easy—to hurt people you cared about. Garak had apologized profusely, but he understood that he’d created a rift between the two of them that was never going to close. Years later, when Garak’s own father lay dying, it was Julian who sat in gentle silence. The dampness at the corners of his eyes said everything, and Garak was grateful. They never talked about it.
And now they had spoken all the words they’d ever say to each other. Garak only wished he could remember what they’d been.
“Garak,” Julian said, and Garak blinked himself awake. He was still on the floor. Julian crouched beside him, holding out a glass of water. His hand shook too, and when Garak accepted this offering and drank, a trickle of water spilled down his chin and soaked the fabric of his shirt.
“I’m sorry,” Garak whispered as he drained half of the glass. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He looked at Julian, surprised. “You’re still here.”
“I can leave if you want,” Julian said, and Garak felt the muscles in Julian’s legs tense as he prepared to stand.
“No,” Garak said, loud enough to startle them both. “I mean, you can go if you want. If you’re busy. I know you have places to be.”
“It’s my day off,” Julian said.
“You probably have plans,” Garak said.
“Yeah,” Julian said. “But—”
They looked at one another. Garak squeezed his eyes shut. He wished he knew Julian’s thoughts so he’d never have to wait to hear him speak.
“But—” Julian said again.
“I want you to stay,” Garak said. “Please.”
“I can stay,” Julian said. He extended a hand, motioning to help Garak to his feet, but Garak was afraid to touch him, as if Julian might absorb all of Garak’s thoughts if they connected. “How are you feeling?”
“Are you asking as my friend or as my doctor?” Garak said.
“What’s the difference to you?” Julian said.
“Everything,” Garak said.
“I’m asking because I care,” Julian said. “That’s all.”
“Oh, you care, do you?” Garak said. He sat up and took another sip of water. The moisture felt good on his throat. He could feel the world regaining some of its sharpness. He still wasn’t sure Julian wanted to be here.
“I do,” Julian said.
“Everyone cares when it’s easy for them,” Garak said. “But everyone has their limits.”
“Maybe,” Julian said.
“What’s your limit, doctor?” Garak said.
“I don’t know,” Julian said.
“I think you do,” Garak said.
“I’m not going to fight with you about it, Garak,” Julian said.
“Are you scared to tell me? You’re close, aren’t you?” Garak said. “One more snide comment from me, and you’ll be on your way. Do no harm! As if!”
Julian didn’t say anything. He stood up again and wandered out of Garak’s view and toward the kitchen. Julian was gone but Garak could hear rustling in the cupboards. He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but Julian returned carrying a small tray: another glass of water, a piece of toast, and the hypospray Garak had discarded earlier.
Garak squirmed intolerably. The harder he pushed Julian away, the more placidly Julian sat still. Julian knew things that Garak couldn’t begin to comprehend. His skin itched with guilt. But this was a fair price to pay; Julian was providing him with things he couldn’t provide himself currently. Never bite the hand that feeds—his own father had taught him that.
Julian set the tray down and joined Garak on the floor again. He handed him the plate of toast and motioned for Garak to eat. He watched Garak chew so intently that it made Garak feel self-conscious, like he was somehow chewing in a way that was strange or incorrect, but Julian had remembered how Garak liked his toast—nearly burnt, saturated in butter. Garak had never had butter before he met Julian, and now, he couldn’t imagine his life without either of them.
“You could’ve just asked me to come over, you know,” Julian said. He picked up the hypospray and spun it in his hand, then frowned. “This isn’t even configured correctly.”
“I’m hardly using it in a manner its manufacturers intended,” Garak said. “And I did ask.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Julian said.
Garak stuffed the last of the toast into his mouth.
“Well then, doctor, since you’re so smart, why don’t you tell me what you mean?” he said. Garak wanted to wrap his hands around his own throat and beg himself to stop talking. “If you could be so kind as to share your intended meaning—is what I meant to say,” he added when he saw Julian’s jaw tense. “Because I don’t.”
“Garak,” Julian said. He reached for Garak’s hand, still greasy with butter and crumbs of bread, and pulled it into his lap. “Look at me.”
Garak did as he was told, fighting the screaming that came from every nerve ending in his body telling him to look away, to run, to change his name and his profession and to never see Julian again. It would be difficult, trapped here on the station, but Garak was used to hiding. With a little preparation, he could do just fine. But instead of running, he looked into Julian’s eyes, expecting anger or, worse, pity, and saw only the light of patience reflecting back at him. Garak rubbed his eyes. The patience didn’t disappear. Julian nodded.
“You don’t have to do this,” Julian said.
“This?” Garak said.
Julian lifted the hypospray and held it close to Garak’s face.
“This,” he said. “Whatever this is, whatever you’re doing with it. If you want me to come over, you can just say so. You don’t have to…hurt yourself…to make me care.”
“This,” Garak said, making a sweeping gesture with his hand and refusing to look at the hypospray. “Was very much not how I imagined this evening going,” he said. “I called you because it went so wrong.”
Julian slid closer to Garak, close enough that they were touching now, and wrapped his arms around him. Garak had never done this before, letting his muscles slacken as he leaned against Julian’s chest and closed his eyes. He was tired of clinging with terror to his disorganized understanding of what was happening around him. If he could’ve cried, he would have, imagining that it felt awfully cathartic to gush snot and tears from one’s nose and mouth, to shudder violently against someone who was showing you that they really cared, but he had to settle for the Cardassian equivalent, a low, guttural gurgle, which no doubt surprised Julian as much as Julian’s tears had surprised Garak. Julian hid his surprise well and stroked the back of Garak’s head, whispering in Garak’s ear while Garak felt the first semblance of peace since the morning.
“I’ll never do anything like that again,” Garak said once he could talk again.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Julian said. The moment before he smiled seemed much longer than it actually was, and the fear his comment instilled in Garak lingered long after Julian’s smile faded. “But I know you only ever say what you mean.”
Garak’s memory of the rest of the evening was hazy and not something he much wanted to revisit or dwell on, but he felt Julian by his side as he drifted off to sleep and decided that yes, he liked this. In the morning, he would tell Julian.