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Somehow, the future seemed a little less bleak. Yes, the gravity of their situation was still so intense that it’d make even a Vulcan tremble. Yes, they were still waging war against the Dominion, yes billions of lives were in jeopardy, yes the fate of the entire Alpha Quadrant could be decided by one wrong move, and yes, everything threatened to topple over like a top running out of momentum. None of that really changed, but in a few short days, Lisa Cusak managed to touch every member of the crew and remind them that, although the casualties may be staggering, their relationships and support for each other don’t have to be among them.
Julian, like everyone else, was one of the people moved by Lisa Cusak. It was like finding a single, green flower in a desert. She renewed a light into his life that had too long ago dimmed. It made the nights a little less lonely and the days a little less tiresome. Julian was still squinting against this new light, struggling to not rashly cover it up again with a cloud of anxiety and self-loathing, but, nevertheless, he was once again enjoying its warmth.
Yet, a nagging feeling in the back of his mind wouldn’t let him rest. It chilled him like a misty dew that refused to yield to the waking dawn. It kept him fidgeting in the Infirmary, forced his mind to reread passages on his PADD, delayed sleep at night, and held the light hostage, threatening to escalate from a thin mist to a heavy rain. It wasn’t until late one night that Julian faced up to the problem. It was when he went to read a familiar Vulcan anthology that he confronted it. He may have rekindled his friendships with the crew, but there was one more relationship that required his attention.
He set down his PADD and went over to his console, opening a transmission.
A minute passed and then another. It was late, of course, he might not answer.
Another minute went by. It began to take so long that Bashir considered abandoning the idea altogether, but just when he made the decision, the screen was filled with the incoming visage of Garak.
The light was so dim that Bashir could hardly make out any details, but he spotted a few stray hairs poking out in odd directions from behind Garak’s ear. He wore a deep cut shirt that was slightly skewed to the side, one Bashir had never seen before. Bashir thought he might have actually caught the man while he was sleeping.
“Doctor,” Garak greeted, voice deep, but laced with the same polite professionalism as usual.
“Hello, Garak,” Bashir said, trying out a tentative smile that was easily deflected by the stony look Garak gave. He dropped it. “I, uh, wanted to ask you something.”
“If you have alterations you want made, then I’m afraid you’ll have to visit during business hours,” Garak said, quickly deflating the conversation. He bent forward to cut off the transmission, but Bashir stopped him.
“Wait! Wait. It’s important.”
Garak didn’t change his expression, but tilted up his chin in interest. “Very well.”
“I wanted to invite you to lunch tomorrow... on the Promenade,” Bashir elaborated when he saw the skeptical look on Garak's face.
Garak still didn’t respond, so Bashir hastily launched back into it. “Like before,” he said. “Of course, it won’t be exactly like before. I wouldn’t expect that. A, uh, lot has happened since then. A lot has happened to us since then. Besides, I don’t have any literature to bring tomorrow-- and you probably don’t either, what with how late notice this is. It’s almost 0300! And with how much is going on we wouldn’t have the time anyway-- I barely have time for lunch myself!”
Bashir took a breath and released it, taking a moment to quell his rambling. “So? What do you say?” he asked tentatively.
Garak regarded him quietly for a long moment. Bashir was almost afraid their transmission was frozen with how silent and still he stood. “Doctor, I’m afraid even in times of crisis, the life of a tailor is a busy one.”
Bashir’s face dropped. “I just thought it might be nice to have something regular to count on again.” He ventured for a joke. “Besides, if your days are really so busy, you should take at least a half hour break every midday." He raised his eyebrows playfully. "Doctor's orders."
It was difficult to see in the dim light, but Julian swore he saw the tip of Garak’s lips quirk up. “There is a lull in business around 1300,” he conceded, and a relieved smile bloomed on Julian’s face.
“Great. I’ll be there at our usual table.”
“Don’t keep me waiting as you were so fond of doing before, my dear Doctor. As you know, I’ve got a busy schedule.” Julian’s smile turned fond at the use of their old, casual term of affection.
“I’ll be there.”