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The universal translators were down.
It happened, now and again – often enough not to cause complete chaos, but not so often that they did not cause some chaos, depending on where you were and what species were involved.
It caused very little chaos at all on a Cardassian station. Cardassians, with very few individual exceptions, never learned to speak anything but Kardassi, but demanded everyone else learn it if they wanted to communicate without translators. Every Bajoran spoke Kardassi; almost no Cardassians spoke Bajar.
The Federation, on the other hand, did not even expect everyone they interacted to speak or understand Federation Standard. It was a crutch, and now the crutch was gone.
Dax’s Klingon was better than her Standard. Major Kira and Odo didn’t speak Standard at all. Commander Sisko had been learning Bajar and was fairly fluent, but he was not at the ‘knows the words for computer parts off the top of his head’ stage.
Help was going to be required.
Quark spoke fourteen different languages – Ferengi liked to have access to the subtleties and connotations of other languages – and was charging for translations: one latinum slip per word. Garak knew Kardassi, Bajar, and Standard, as well as ‘oh, a few words here and there, mostly Romulan although my accent is dreadful’. There were other multilinguals on the station – mostly Vulcans, who collected languages like it was a hobby. All of them – except Quark – had been asked to assist.
This was how Julian ended up with a Cardassian tag-along in his infirmary, reading a book in the corner and occasionally providing translations between Julian and his patients. It was a slow day, despite the chaos, and they’d gone an entire hour without anyone coming through the door.
<<I am growing rather bored,>> Garak said in Kardassi.
Julian, working on his reports and only half-listening, said “Hmm?”
“I said, I am growing rather bored,” Garak repeated in Standard.
“The medical man’s eternal dilemma,” Julian said, throwing him a grin over his shoulder. “A slow day means no one is hurt or sick, but it also means you have nothing to do.”
“Surely there is something useful I can do? Translate old medical files? Disinfect the scalpels?”
“Unscramble the corrupted files of Cardassian anatomy?”
Garak gave him a teasing smile.
“That is well beyond my abilities, I’m afraid.”
“Sure it is," Julian said dryly. He considered for a moment. “How about you help me re-stock the emergency kits?”
“Sounds riveting,” Garak said dryly, but rose from his seat all the same.
Julian led Garak to the supply room and opened up the cabinet that contained the emergency kits: hard plastic cases containing the basics needed for urgent care. Regulations said that they needed to be fully restocked every time they were used, but Julian knew things could be missed. It was tedious work, but much faster if you could have someone hand you what you needed instead of having to stop and get up every time you found something missing. He couldn’t have Garak handling the actual medications, but at least he could get him everything else.
“Hand me an extra hypospray,” Julian asked. Behind him, he heard Garak rifling around on the shelves.
<<When you asked me to help, I didn’t realize I was going to be playing fetch-and-carry,>> Garak muttered.
“Don’t tell me you talk to yourself,” Julian said dryly, turning to take the hypospray from Garak.
“A terrible habit,” Garak sighed. “You should hear me when I’m working on a project. Sometimes I talk to the cloth.”
Like hell, Julian thought, even as he laughed. It was not the kind of habit a spy could allow to indulge in, and certainly not a habit someone as carefully controlled as Garak would have. Garak, he realized with delight, was testing to see if he spoke Kardassi.
Because he did not know that Julian had, in fact, taught himself Kardassi. Which meant if Garak was going to play the game of ‘talking to you when you can’t understand me and then claim innocence’, which was absolutely something Garak would do – well. Julian was going to win that game.
He desperately wanted to hear what Garak would say to him without restraint. Perhaps Garak might even let a secret or two slip.
Julian closed up the emergency kit and set it aside, pulling out the next one. It was missing a few vials for the hypospray, which Julian dug out and slotted into their compartments.
<<At least the view is nice, even if that uniform does you no favors.>>
Julian kept the eye-roll internal. Of course. Garak had been officially banned from commenting on Julian’s outfits. Naturally, that’s the secret whim he would indulge in when he thought Julian couldn’t understand him.
Next container.
“Back up battery for the stabilizer.”
<<If only you’d let me dress you properly. Something that actually shows off those legs of yours. And none of those asymmetrical necklines you have such a passion for.>>
Julian bit back the urge to make a snide comment about shoulders and necks, not wanting to give the game away just yet. He took the battery from Garak, slipped it into the case, and closed it.
<<One of these days, I’ll get you in my shop for measurements,>> Garak said as Julian began to open the next case. <<Naked, for preference.>>
Julian’s hands slipped, dropping the hard plastic lid onto his knuckles.
“Careful, Doctor,” Garak said with amusement. Julian mumbled something and began to dig through the supplies. “Anything I can get you?”
“Shock blanket,” Julian said, using every ounce of strength to keep his voice sounding no more than vaguely distracted. All the hypospray vials were present, but he pretended to examine them all the same.
<<I’d be able to get a proper look at you, then. One must know what one is working with.>>
Garak’s tone was so casual, such a believable absent-minded mutter that, had Julian not known the language, he never could have guessed at the subject matter. His bruised knuckles were throbbing in time with the pounding of his heart. Julian tried to keep his breathing regular, even as his mind flashed a few images of Garak very carefully measuring his inseam.
<<I wonder if you are as soft as you look. What muscles feel like under skin instead of scales. I think I’d enjoy undressing you as much as dressing you.>>
Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it—too late.
<<Not that I wouldn’t immensely enjoy dressing you. In Tholian silk, I think. The very finest weaves are almost transparent, did you know? Extravagantly expensive, but worth it for you. I would wrap you in it – and unwrap you, if you’d let me.>>
Julian’s stomach clenched. A warning heat began to gather between his legs. One more word out of Garak and Julian would…he wasn’t sure what he’d do, but it would definitely be inappropriate for their location.
“Garak,” he said abruptly.
“Yes, Doctor?”
<<Could you pass me another hypospray?>> Julian asked in Kardassi.
Dead silence.
Julian didn’t dare turn around. He could barely even breathe. After a relative eternity, a hypospray was held out over his shoulder. Julian took it and very delicately put it in its proper place.
Mechanically, he closed up the case, set it aside, and reached for the next one. This was missing only vials, so he reached out to the nearby shelf and gathered the ones he needed. Every motion was syrup-slow.
“I wanted to read the books you gave me in the original language,” he said.
Julian heard the faintest clicking sound, like someone swallowing with a very dry throat.
“I didn’t want to tell you until I felt really fluent.” Not entirely true. Really, he’d been waiting until the next time Garak scoffed at him and said he was missing the subtleties to pull out the 'well, actually, in the original Cardassian, that character uses the informal ‘us’, which implies—'
“I probably should have said something sooner,” Julian said. Still no response. He pulled down the next case. Garak said nothing. He appeared to have stopped breathing entirely. The silence was staring to drive Julian mad. He decided to try, somewhat desperately, to lighten the mood.
“Does this mean you don’t actually dislike my clothes, you just want to see me better? In better clothes. In your clothes—in, in clothes you made.”
Julian noticed that the silence felt much…emptier than before. When Julian finally looked back over his shoulder, Garak wasn’t there.
Garak threw himself into his room and slammed the manual lock shut on the door, before leaning against and it and sinking slowly to the floor. Humiliation burned in his chest so powerfully, he didn’t even feel the chill of the station. Julian spoke Kardassi.
Julian spoke Kardassi.
Julian spoke Kardassi and Garak had— Garak had said—
It could have been worse, part of him tried to point out. Julian could have let him keep going. He could have let Garak stand there like a fool and natter on and on about his secret fantasies, weaving the noose and putting it around his own neck.
A noose made of Tholian silk.
Garak covered his face in his hands and let out a long, muffled wail.
At least Garak had chosen a relatively tame fantasy. He could have used the surroundings as inspiration and told him about wanting Julian to tie him to an infirmary bed and give him a physical. Or for him to tie Julian to the bed and play ‘sexy interrogation’. Or ask if humans thought oral sex was as dirty as Cardassians did. Or—
Garak needed to leave. He needed to leave the station right now, forever, and never come back. He’d go outside of Federation space. No, too risky. The Federation was everywhere. There would always be the risk he might bump into Julian being noble and helping out some non-Federation planet.
The Gamma Quadrant, then, where there was no chance he’d ever run into Julian again. But then Garak would still be alive and capable of remembering the moment when Julian had made it clear he’d understood every word – every filthy word – Garak had said to him.
Better idea: Garak would go to Gul Dukat and "confess" to having sex with Dukat’s father before betraying him, and let Dukat tear him to pieces. It would be a slow and painful death but it could not possibly be worse than having to look Julian in the face ever again. Or think about looking Julian in the face. Or think about Julian, at all, ever.
One of these days, I’ll get you in my shop for measurements. Naked, for preference.
And that was when Julian had dropped the emergency supply case. That should have given it away! Julian could be bumbling, when his lanky legs got in his own way, but never when working. Garak could have laughed it off then, ‘a-ha, got you, you do speak Kardassi’, and everything would have been fine! But no! No, he, Garak, trained Obsidian Order operative, master at understanding the subtleties of others, he just kept on going, confident that he was protected by the language barrier and not standing right out in the open where anyone could shoot him. Oh, please, couldn’t somebody shoot him.
Tholian silk.
Garak shot to his feet and headed for his wardrobe, intent on packing, took one look at his handmade clothes, and thought about telling Julian he wanted to take all his clothes off and touch his skin. He lay back down on the floor and curled up in a ball.
All of his plans required leaving his room and going into the station, where Julian was. Julian, who spoke Kardassi, who learned Kardassi so he could read the books Garak gave him and then never told him why hadn’t he said anything, and knew that Garak wanted to…wanted to…
A thin whine escaped from Garak’s throat and he grabbed his hair with both hands.
Overhead, the computer made its comforting but attention-grabbing chime.
‘Attention, station residents. The universal translators are now back online.’
Garak sat upright, clutching the bedspread with both hands.
“Where were you fifteen minutes ago!” he shouted at the ceiling.
There was a faint beep and Garak jumped. It was his padd. With trembling fingers, Garak pulled it out.
1 message from Dr. Julian Bashir.
Garak hurled the padd across the room like it was a bomb.
Julian wanted to talk about. Julian wanted to talk about it.
“Of course he wants to talk about it!” Garak cried to the universe at large. “He always wants to talk about things!”
He fell back onto the floor and dug his hands into the rug like it was the only thing keeping him on the ground.
“I will stay in here,” he said, voice tinged with hysteria, "for the rest of my life. Maybe the Cardassians will retake the station someday, and then I can get Dukat to kill me.”
Maybe Garak would get lucky, and you actually could die of embarrassment.
‘Incoming call from Dr. Julian Bashir.’
“No!” Garak yelped, hands flying up as if the call was a physical projectile to defend himself from.
‘Call declined.’
Garak let out a shaky sigh. He would have about a week, maybe a little longer, before Julian would be willing to use the medical override on his door. That meant he would need to seal the door in such a way that it could not be opened mechanically, broken down, or repaired by that obnoxiously competent Chief O’Brien. Then there was the medical transporter to block—
Why couldn’t Julian just let him die of shame in peace? What could Julian possibly want to say to him? Surely even humans didn’t call people to tell them they never wanted to speak to them again. Perhaps Julian was so disgusted he felt he needed to call Garak a filthy degenerate to his face?
Perhaps, said a very tiny, very weak little voice, he wants to tell you that he would also like you to wrap him in Tholian silk and unwrap him again?
Garak violently stomped the little voice back down into the dark where it belonged.
But it was too late. Now the idea was in his head. Now Garak was imagining Julian coming into the shop after hours, locking the door, shutting the curtains. Crossing the room to the little platform, unzipping his uniform. I believe you wanted to take my measurements? And of course, Garak putting his hands all over Julian would be arousing, and they would need to do something about that so the measurements could be completed, and the fastest way would be for Garak to get down on his knees and—
Now he was humiliated and aroused.
Across the room, his padd beeped. Garak had no doubt it was Julian. What did he want?
A new thought occurred, a reaction worse than derision or disgust, worse even then mockery.
Sympathy.
And it was so much more likely. Julian, grave faced, telling Garak that while it had been inappropriate, Julian wasn’t angry or upset. It was fine. Maybe, after a little time, they could go back being friends as they had before. And Garak would stand there, staring at his feet like a chastised child, mumbling that Julian was very gracious, to be so forgiving.
Someone rang the bell and knocked on the door.
Someone. As if there was more than one person who ever came to Garak’s quarters.
“Garak?”
No response to two messages and a declined call; couldn’t the man take a hint?
Garak found his body was trying to crawl under the bed, and forced himself to stop. This was pathetic. He was a grown man, capable of owning up to his mistakes and indiscretions. Garak rose, brushed himself off, and straightened his shoulders. Head held high, he made his way for the door. He was going to face Julian—
Face Julian, look Julian in the face, look into those eyes that knew, that knew—
Garak was now hiding behind the couch. Stay in here until he died, never speaking to Julian again. A good plan.
“I know you’re in there!”
But you can’t get me, so it doesn’t matter. Julian was far too honorable to abuse the medical override, and he had no excuse at that moment to justify using it.
Garak’s padd beeped right beside him – this was unfortunately where it had landed when he’d thrown it. He snatched it up, fully intended to shove it under the couch cushions where he could no longer hear it, and hesitated. Curiosity was gnawing at him, along with the urge to poke at a wound to see just how badly it would really hurt.
The first message was a trite please don’t run, I really want to talk about this.
The second was I’m coming over.
The third was I would like to schedule a fitting.
Wait.
Wait, hold on.
And then there was another message.
Preferably after hours, so we can have sex in the changing room afterwards.
This was a trap. It had to be a trap. Why Julian would set this trap to lure Garak out of hiding, Garak wasn’t sure, but it was the only logical explanation.
Except for the other logical explanation that Julian, who was always very straightforward and honest, meant every word of it.
The bell rang again.
“I’ll stay out here all night if I have to,” Julian called.
Warily, Garak edged towards the door, torn in half by two very different emotions: the paranoia that had kept him alive all these years, and the desperate hope that his affections might be returned. When he reached the door, Garak pulled himself together – again – and forced on a placid expression. His fingers still trembled when he reached to open the door.
“Good evening, Doctor,” is what he intended to say. He got as far as inhaling before Julian was on him, mouth hot on his, driving him backwards until they tumbled on the couch in a clumsy tangle. With some squirming, Julian managed to situate himself more firmly, Garak pinned against the back of the couch, Julian’s hands on both sides of his face such that Garak could not escape the ravishing attentions of his kisses even if he wanted to.
And Garak very much did not want to. He was perfectly content to cling weakly to Julian and let stars burst behind his eyelids from the sheer passion and the lack of oxygen.
Julian didn’t even let go of him when he broke the kiss, the two of them panting into each other’s open mouths.
“Now that we are on the same page,” Julian gasped, “promise me that if I let go you won’t run.”
“I won’t run,” Garak said, “but don’t let go.”
Julian shifted one hand from Garak’s face to grip his shoulder hard. He leaned in on that side and pressed his mouth to Garak’s ear. His breath was hot against Garak’s skin and sent shivers down his spine.
“Tell me,” Julian said, “about Tholian silk.”