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The aim of the holoprogram was simple. The Orion syndicate was causing trouble and it was up to him, Garak, and Odo to find out why. Garak and Julian would find the information, Odo would work security. Then, they'd rendezvous afterwards in their Risan headquarters.
He hadn’t counted on this. He grabbed Garak and they both turned to look at the woman. Her skirt grazed the dimples of her thigh, occasionally revealing a slither of black.
‘It’s not there,’ Julian’s tone was assured, but his eyes tracked the movements of the dancer's hips. Each sway matched the flickering lights. Red became blue, blue faded into red. Synthanol buzzed in his temples and Garak's hand was hot on his arm.
‘My dear doctor,’ Garak smiled. His eyes narrowed in the condescending way he reserved for Julian. ‘I assure you it is.’
The lights flared with each beat. The bass hummed low and the scent of sweat was heady in the air. Garak turned, his arm raising with the music. ‘There,’ he said, guiding Julian’s eyes.
‘Oh.’
Silver flashed between tanned thighs. Narrow fingers reached down from a tight cluster of bodies. The isolinear rod glinted as the music swelled. Julian thought of his academy days, of T’uam, of dancing bodies and tilted heads. When his hands could trace muscle and find it wanting. He glanced at Garak, exhilarated.
Garak’s eyes followed the rod; Julian’s followed Garak. There was colour on his cheeks, and his chest expanded with each breath. He was poised, watchful. Julian stepped closer. His chest twisted and the music boomed.
Above them, goo traced across the ceiling. Odo was in place. There was a flash of brown as Julian’s fingers dipped. They grasped the edge of the rod, pulling it from a leather pouch nestled at the apex of the woman’s thigh.
She looked at him with unyielding grey eyes, all traces of intoxication gone. ‘You’re not an Orion,’ she stepped forward. ‘They’ll kill me, you know.’
‘Doctor,’ Garak warned, tugging at his arm. ‘We should leave.’
The woman just stood there, looking at him. There was no sadness in her eyes, no worry. Her gaze was empty, the thousand yard stare of a veteran soldier.
Behind her, an Orion man blundered through the crowd. The goo on the ceiling gathered together, before falling like mist to the floor.
‘Doctor,’ the tug became insistent.
The mist took form. Shapes of human origin that swirled and coalesced until they became Odo. The Orion would die, the woman would die, and Garak’s hand burned into him like a brand.
‘Doctor!’
‘Computer,’ Julian shook his arm free, ‘arch.’ He walked out with the boom of the bass in his ears and the taste of blood in his throat.
The next morning, Julian lay awake in his room, air heavy with the scent of blood and Garak. He came with a small gasp and a spreading sense of disgust. He was on his bed, the sheets were a tangled mess and the room was no better. Kukalaka looked at him from the shelf, his button eyes displaying neither compassion nor judgement.
The neon red clock showed 5:15. He groaned and rolled over. He’d have to face them soon: Garak and Odo. He had begged them into the holosuite in the first place, then he’d run off without a word. Odo wouldn’t care, the whims of the ‘solids’ were something he was used to, but Garak… Well, it didn’t matter. Garak could go seek out Ziyal’s or Odo’s company.
That thought comforted him throughout his sonic shower, then until he was about halfway through brushing his teeth. Garak had been short with him recently, so Julian had invited him to the holosuites, even inviting Odo to lessen the awkwardness. Why was it his fault if things between them were strained? When he was with O’Brien they had nothing but fun. Logic dictates then that Garak was the problem, not him. And if Garak preferred the company of Ziyal and Odo! Well, Julian had O’Brien.
He said as much to O’Brien after work. Miles scoffed, focusing on the dartboard. ‘Cardies,’ he said. ‘Who knows what they’re thinking. Here—step back! What kind of handicap is five paces? Ten will do.’
Julian stepped back, ‘it’s just,’ he threw a perfect 150. ‘I’d honestly rather not see him for a while.’
Miles turned to him with a half smile. ‘Look, if you don’t want to see him, then don’t. We’ve more to be worrying about at the moment anyway.’
‘But—’
‘I didn’t come here to talk about bloody Garak all night! Now, do you want another drink? I don’t know where he got it from, but Quark’s managed to get in some good scotch. 2270 vintage, proper stuff.’
Julian sighed. ‘Sure. I think I could do with some of the ‘proper stuff’ right now.’
Miles was right, it was a good scotch. Julian contemplated the flavours as he swirled it around the glass. There was a strong oaky taste, with a hint of orange. He downed the rest and signaled to Quark for a refill.
‘—It was the third time in two weeks that they’d broken—’
He scanned the bar. Morn was sitting on his reserved stool, chattering away to an Andorian girl.
‘—But, what with the potential war, Sisko asked me to prioritise—’
Leeta was standing by the Dabo table. She looked beautiful in her work outfit. Sometimes he thought he missed her.
‘—And… Are you listening?’
Julian turned to find Miles looking at him, unimpressed. ‘Yes, sorry Chief,’ he said. ‘I’m a little tired, long day. I should probably be heading off actually. Get an early night.’
‘Julian,’ Miles paused.
‘Hmm?’
‘Never mind. Go get some rest.’
The promenade teemed with people. Most rushed through, their heads heavy with the threat of war, but, in the uridium-plated recesses, the vendors still hawked, the children still laughed, and lovers still met in secluded corridors. Julian walked through it all.
‘Ah!’
The cadence sounded familiar.
‘My dear! While I appreciate your overt enthusiasm, I rather believe that deals of this scale should be conducted in sobriety. Of course, it will give us both the time to access the necessary documents! Shall we say 13:00 tomorrow?’
Garak was standing with his back to Julian. He couldn’t make out who he was talking to, so he slipped behind a pillar and looked around.
‘Of course,’ came the reply. The man was well built, his face concealed by a yellow hood. ‘13:00 hours, I’ll see you then.’ He gave a nod, before disappearing into the throng of people.
Julian watched as Garak began to walk away. His legs moved without permission and he found himself following. Garak was wearing a new tunic today, orange and burgundy stripes that wove together like armour. It suited him.
They walked until they reached a corner, Julian always at least four paces behind. Here, Garak paused, turning his head. Under the harsh lights of the station, the ridges on his eyes cast shadows down his face.
Julian's breath caught. He used all his augmented control to will his heart to settle, sure that he had been discovered.
‘Infirmary to Dr. Bashir,’ his combadge chirped. He swore as he ducked away to reply. When he looked back, Garak was gone.
The next few days were a mess of bar fights and scheduled surgeries. As he tore open the wrapper of yet another ration bar, Julian sighed. Coloured lights blinked on the display screens and the hum of medical equipment whirred in the background. He leaned back into a chair and wiped his brow. However, just as he was starting to relax, a notification flashed on his PADD.
Doctor, would you care to join me for lunch today? Unless, of course, you happen to be otherwise indisposed. - Garak
Naturally, Julian would be hard pressed to find even a moment's peace. He tapped out a quick reply and stood up with a groan. While he could have refused to go, avoiding the problem that was Garak was only bound to make it worse.
On his way to the replimat, he thought of excuses in case he needed to make an early exit. Not that it mattered, Garak had always been able to see through him. He’d fix him in place with those blue eyes and make him squirm in his guilt.
‘Doctor,’ Garak’s voice interrupted his musings. He was sitting at their table, a bowl of sem’hal stew in front of him, untouched.
‘Garak,’ he acknowledged.
There was a moment of silence, before Garak smiled. ‘Well doctor, please don’t deprive yourself of food on my account.’
‘Right,’ Julian said. The silence resumed, ‘I’ll just…’ He gestured towards the replicators.
Garak was looking at him with an inscrutable expression. ‘By all means,’ he said. ‘If you once again intend to leave ahead of schedule, then simply sit.’ Julian coughed and went to order. When he returned with his plomeek soup, Garak had already begun eating.
The way Cardassians ate was not unlike the aristocracy of Earth’s 19th century. Each spoonful was a measured affair, delicately raised to the mouth and sipped with restraint. Julian watched for any trace of contentment on Garak’s face, but the man was a mask.
‘You still savour your food then?’
‘What you humans call savoring, others may call enjoying. Besides,’ Garak wiped his mouth, ‘has it really been so long since we last had lunch together, that you’ve forgotten? Or perhaps, those human sensibilities of yours cause you to rehash old arguments, in order to avoid the new?’
Julian put down his spoon. ‘I wasn’t aware we had a new argument,’ he countered.
‘Quite frankly, doctor,’ said Garak. ‘I assumed you wouldn’t be.’ He paused for a second, before continuing, ‘tell me, my dear, have you found time to read An Ode to Tomes Minet?’
‘I have, actually. I’m afraid I found it quite derivative. Must all Cardassian novels preach duty to the state?’
Garak sighed, the picture of long-suffering patience. ‘No, doctor. At its essence, Tomes Minet is a story of morality. Yes, Minet chooses the state above all else, but before that, he had to overcome his desire for revenge, and for love.’
‘Love, Garak?’ Julian laughed, ‘for Plemny Olsin? He felt love, I suppose, in that childhood sense — but after all he put him through? No, he just wanted revenge.’
Garak only smiled.
‘I’ll admit, they do seem rather… close, even in that literary Cardassian way, but love? The man stole his fiance, his future! Minet’s life’s purpose was to get revenge!’
The notes of an aria drifted over from the Klingon restaurant. Julian shivered. He had the sense that he’d fallen into a trap — a man walking over his grave, Palis would call it.
‘Revenge, attraction,’ Garak said. There was a placid smile on his lips, but his eyes were locked onto Julian's. ‘In some cases, there’s little difference between such strong emotions. Take our Minet for example. His emotions, though rarely clear, are filtered through his observance of Olsin, do you not agree, doctor? What then, one may ask, is Olsin to make of these observations?’
Shades of purple shimmered as Julian lifted a spoonful of soup. ‘You tell me,’ he deflected, ‘you’re the expert.’
‘On love?’ Garak seemed amused.
‘On observation.’
‘Very good doctor!’ The praise seemed sincere. ‘It seems my lessons did pay off.’
Julian scoffed, suddenly annoyed. ‘Not well enough, apparently,’ he said.
‘Oh?’
‘Look, Garak.’ He could feel his face heating. Embarrassment boiled in his chest, and he was tired. ‘Thank you for lunch, but I’ve had a busy week. So, if it’s alright by you, I’ll be getting back to work now.’ With that, he got up and deposited his plomeek soup into the replicator.
‘Doctor.’
Julian strode through a sea of faces. No doubt that once he returned to the infirmary, he’d see some of them again. Bajorans, Klingons, Ferengi, they all made their way there eventually. Even Garak, whom he’d had to drag on several…
‘Doctor!’
‘What?’ Julian snapped, pulling him into a corridor. ‘Listen, I’m really not in the mood right now, Garak, so I hope this is important.’
‘Why,’ the man in question made a show of dusting off his lapels. ‘I was simply trying to return your PADD to you, my dear doctor. But, certainly, to such an important man as yourself, leaving such an inconsequential thing behind is only natural.’
‘Garak…’
‘Doctor, I understand completely.’ With a deferential flourish, Garak handed the PADD to Julian. ‘Oh, and please, doctor, the next time you wish to entertain yourself with one of your insipid holoprograms, do remember that some of us work for a living. The federation may provide for you, but for the rest of us, well, our time off is better spent in more worthwhile pursuits. I hope you understand?’
‘Garak.’
‘Yes?’ Garak’s face was blank. However, within the absence of emotion, Julian had learned to read his other tells. His breath were slightly increased at six per minute and his jugular betrayed a heart rate of at least 50 bpm.
His own heart was beating fast, his breaths coming in short. He needed to leave. He was tired. He couldn’t think.
Julian leaned in. The first touch of their lips was nothing more than a glance. Smooth scales that rubbed against chapped skin, as eager as they were explorative. They locked together. It felt like a balm, a heat that melted through his chest and down to the base of his spine.
His back met the wall and his left leg lifted to cup the muscle of Garak’s thigh. However, where he expected to feel warmth, he found coolness instead. Invigorated, he swiped his tongue across scaled lips. Garak met him eagerly.
As their kiss deepened, Julian's awareness narrowed. All he could feel was the contact between them and the breath that mounted in his chest. Soon, Garak took his bottom lip between his teeth. The sensation stung, but it was soon smoothed by the swipe of a reptilian tongue.
He could hear a low moan, it could have been him. He pressed forward, pushing his body fully against Garak’s.
‘Julian,’ his name, whispered against his ear.
‘Elim,’ he gasped, opening his eyes.
He shoved Garak away. They stared at each other. Garak’s expression was impenetrable.
Julian adjusted his jumpsuit.
‘Garak,’ he said. ‘Thanks for the PADD.’