Work Text:
“Medical to Bashir.”
A low, unhappy groan filled the warm dark of the bedroom.
“Medical to Bashir.”
The rustle of blankets as a body turned over; the blind slap of a searching hand across the bedside table; the beep of a comm badge. A garbled mumble that might have meant “Bashir here, go ahead.” Bandee’s voice came over the speaker.
“Sorry to wake you so early, sir, but we have a Repitaloid with an impacted gizzard. I know it’s a minor procedure, but none of us are certified in intra-scale surgeries.”
Julian rubbed at his eyes and pushed himself up onto his elbow. Behind him, Garak shoved his head under the pillow, blocking out the noise. Julian looked at the clock and winced: it was barely 0500.
“Understood. What’s his status?”
“He’s in a lot of pain but he’s not in danger yet.”
“Alright. Give him a mild muscle relaxant and an anesthetic. Prep him for surgery, I’ll be there in twenty.”
“Yessir. Bandee, out.”
Julian hauled himself out of bed and stumbled for the bathroom, grumbling about bloody Starfleet and its bloody insistence on making intra-scale surgeries a bloody specialized certification instead of basic bloody training.
For a while, there was only the basic sounds of morning ablutions, but after a few minutes, Julian shuffled back out and jabbed at the replicator, grumbling about minor galactic population percentages and effective use of training resources his arse.
“Julian,” Garak said. “Only one of us needs to be awake at this horrific hour.”
“Yes,” Julian said. “Me. And I’m not happy about it.”
Garak rather performatively stretched out and snuggled into his pillow.
“And I have every sympathy for you, my dear, but that does not require me to share in your misfortune.”
Julian slugged down half his raktajino, gripped the corner of the bedsheets, and in one swift motion wrenched the sheets and blankets entirely off the bed. Garak let out a yelp of distress at the sudden blast of cold air. Julian ducked the pillow hurled at his head and scooted out of their shared quarters before Garak could get his hands on anything sharper.
It was a minor procedure, and one Bandee absolutely could have done on her own, but it wasn’t worth the reprimand she’d get from Starfleet for performing the operation without proper certifications. The whole thing took barely more than half an hour, which made being dragged out of bed so early in the morning even worse.
It was doubtful he’d be able to get back to sleep, but at least he could crawl into his nice warm bed and enjoy a bit of a cuddle before he had to actually start his day. He began to divest himself of his uniform as soon as the door closed, leaving a trail of clothing behind him (a habit which drove Garak up the wall) until he was only in his undershirt and boxers. The moment he stepped into the bedroom, though, he stopped and sighed.
“Really?”
Garak had wrapped himself entirely in the bedclothes – not tightly, but very deliberately arranged so that the ends were underneath his body, providing no way in, thus leaving Julian quite literally out in the cold. He had also settled himself in the very center of the bed at a slight angle, leaving two sections of mattress that were just a little too small to be comfortable.
“Come on, Garak, I’m tired.”
“I can’t hear you. I am asleep.”
Julian lay down on the sliver of mattress where he could face Garak, who did not open his eyes.
“I’m sorry for pulling the sheets off of you.”
No response.
“Those won’t be nearly as warm without me in them, you know. I’m the endotherm here.”
There was a brief inhale of breath, with which Julian knew Garak was about to say something along the lines of ‘then you don’t need a blanket to keep you warm, do you’, which would of course leave him open to ‘I thought you were asleep and couldn’t hear me’.
But no. Garak caught himself in time, and remained silent.
Julian leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek. Garak hunched his shoulders, which pushed up the sheets and blocked all access.
“You realize this leaves me no choice.”
He could feel the shift in Garak’s attention, and one eyelid opened just a fraction.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to rely on drastic measures…” Julian leaned in, making sure Garak could see his face. “Darling.”
Garak’s eyes snapped open.
“Don’t you dare.”
“Don’t dare what, honeybunch?”
Garak’s jaw went tight, his teeth grinding together.
“That is not going to work,” he hissed.
It had been a very surprising discovery. Julian had, one day when Garak was in a particularly foul mood, sarcastically called him ‘my sweet dove’ – and then watched in amazement as a blush rose up from Garak’s neck and all the way to his hairline. He’d been surprised, but not nearly as surprised as Garak had been.
Because Garak, they discovered, rather liked being called ridiculous, sappy pet names. More than liked, actually. He loved it.
And he hated that he loved it.
“You say that every time, lovebug, and every time, it works.”
Garak squeezed his eyes shut.
“I am not listening to this nonsense.”
“Sweetpea. My sunshine. My precious blossom.”
Garak made a small cry of distress and retreated into the blankets like a turtle, but Julian could still see the top of his forehead, and the deepening blush that Garak could not hide. Julian lowered his voice to a syrupy croon and struck the killing blow.
“My lovely little lizard.”
Garak let out a long groan, buried his face in his hands and rolled away, freeing the end of the blanket. Julian did not wait for an invitation, but slid right in and wrapped himself around Garak, who hunched protectively.
“I hate you,” Garak said, voice muffled. “I despise you more than anyone in the entire galaxy, alive, dead, or mysteriously disappeared.”
“Sure you do,” Julian said, adjusting his pillow and settling in comfortably. “My sweet little crumpet.”
“I could kill you ten different ways without even getting out of this bed.”
“But you won’t,” Julian said, happy and confident. “Do you know why?”
Garak sat bolt upright.
“Don’t you say it, Julian, don’t you dare—”
“Because you’re my Gare-bear— Alright, alright, I’m done, I swear I’m done, get off!”