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“What are you drinking, Doctor?”
Bashir looked up from his half-empty cup. Inside rested something that was a deeply unnatural shade of blue and clearly frozen. If Garak had seen it in Quark’s he wouldn’t have thought twice about it, but it was an unusual choice for the Replimat.
“Yes, I’m doing well, Garak, thank you so much for asking. How are you?”
Garak sat down with his usual enigmatic smile, which the doctor would invariably interpret in all the wrong ways. Bashir’s response was quite pleasing, really. Hypocritical as anything, for his dear doctor to lecture anyone on manners, and all the better for it.
“Ah, I can’t complain.” He could, of course. Cold, and bright, and small. Tain couldn’t have designed a better punishment if he tried for a century. “Really, though, what is that? Have the replicators gone mad again?” It could be their best attempt at Tarkelean Tea, for all Garak knew, though that didn’t seem right. Bashir was very particular about what he ate, how he ate it, and when he ate it. Garak had wasted months trying to understand the pattern. It was one of the few things about Bashir that he completely failed to understand.
Bashir wrapped his hands around the cup and grinned in a way that meant he thought he was being very clever.
“It’s a blue raspberry slushie. O’Brien added it to the replicators last night. Apparently it’s Molly’s favorite treat.”
“A drink for… youthful people, then?” Garak asked, raising his ocular ridge. “No wonder you like it.”
Bashir huffed, then rolled his eyes. “I’m not letting you distract me with insults,” he said. “It is popular with children, yes, but plenty of adults enjoy it, too. It’s nostalgic, Garak.”
Ah, nostalgia. Another Federation concept they’d spent an extremely pleasant hour arguing about. Bashir had been particularly passionate- he’d actually gotten right in Garak’s face at one point.
“Well, if it brings up such fond memories, by all means, though I truly can’t imagine why you would be so attached to something so…” Garak trailed off. The trouble was that he couldn’t start a conversation with an outright insult, not yet. Even if the doctor didn’t understand what it meant, it reeked of desperation. And he feared that even if they didn’t know for sure, the Bajorans on the station at least suspected. He would cling to whatever scraps of dignity he could, even after everything.
“Filled with sugar?” Bashir suggested.
Garak hummed in agreement. It was accurate enough, and this slushie was proving to be a little more interesting than chasing that argument would likely be.
”It really does remind me of my childhood.” Bashir took an unreasonably large gulp. He always did eat and drink too quickly. Perhaps that was one of the drawbacks of an enhanced metabolism? Garak had insinuated that all humans ate like that, but it was mostly just the doctor, and he was by far the worst offender on the station. It might be worth looking into Bashir’s personal replicator requests just to see how many calories he was actually consuming.
“I used to bike-or walk, sometimes- into town with my friends in the summer. We were always absolutely dripping with sweat by the time we got there.” Bashir paused, his eyes fixed just to the left of Garak’s. On a normal day, Garak would have jumped in with a comment about Human inefficiency. No Cardassian would ever waste water so wantonly. But Garak did want to know where the doctor was going with this, so he let the moment pass him by. “So we usually got one of these before heading to whatever it was we were up to that day. I don’t think it did much to hydrate us, honestly. It’s mostly just tasty. Actually,” and then he got a Tone, and Garak settled in for a proper Bashir Explanation. “It’s sort of interesting. It used to be red colored, because it’s raspberry flavored, but then a few studies showed that the dye they used was bad for people, and in particular for children. It was linked to all sorts of developmental and behavioral problems, so the prevailing governments at the time banned the dye entirely. The companies that used the red dye for candy and sweets decided on blue as a work-around, and renamed the flavor blue raspberry. I guess it just stuck, even now that the replicators can make any color at all.” Bashir looked down at the table and blushed a deep red. “Sorry. That, ah, was a bit long-winded, wasn’t it?” He gave a sheepish smile, more to the table than to Garak.
There were many times Garak made unpleasant plans for the majority of the station’s population. It was hardly uncommon, especially now that the Wire wasn’t dulling his experience. This was only unusual in that Garak had never before made plans on the behalf of someone else, excepting Tain, and that barely counted. Sentiment aside, if he ever figured out who exactly was suppressing the doctor’s wonderfully informative (and very passionate) explanations, he would do everything in his power to make life very difficult for them. He had several suspicions- Chief O’Brien and Lieutenant Dax were at the top of his list.
”No problem at all,” he assured. If nothing else, he could always cement himself as the only person on the station Bashir could safely rant at. Could share anything he liked with. That would be a very pleasant distinction indeed.
“In any case,” Bashir said, visibly rallying, “as good as the sugar and the strong taste are to a young child, that wasn’t really the point.”
Bashir looked pointedly at Garak. He was learning something, then- he wouldn’t share more until Garak asked. It was almost sweet. He’s have Bashir arguing like a real Cardassian within the year.
“And what was the point, my dear doctor?” Garak prompted dutifully. As obvious as he was, Bashir was clearly putting the effort in. There was no reason not to reward it.
“The color. The dye is very strong, and it changes the color of your tongue. See,” Bashir said, and then he stuck his tongue out.
Blue, was the first word that lazily crept across Garak’s suddenly still mind. Very, very blue, especially in the center. It became more purple on the sides, but the blue was strong, and it even went underneath from what he could tell.
Bashir pulled his tongue back in, which was both very fortunate and the worst thing that had ever happened in Garak’s life. He had a sudden need to check that he hadn’t been placed in some sort of holoprogram without realizing it- he discreetly ran his hands down underside of the table (blue, blue, blue), but it felt real.
Bashir kept talking, but Garak wasn’t listening. His eyes were drawn to the mouth. He hadn’t seen it before, hadn’t been looking (purposefully kept his gaze away from Bashir’s mouth, from his eyes, from his neck) but he couldn’t help himself. There, the occasional flash of bright blue inside of all that pink.
He wanted the Wire more than he had in weeks; at least with the Wire his attraction to the doctor had been reasonable. Back then, he’d have placed this incident aside as occasional masturbation material, but he wouldn’t have thought about it much. He wouldn’t have fixated on it.
These days, it was all tangled up in the inescapable fact that someone knew him, that he was letting someone know him, and that that person had forgiven him and helped him despite all that they knew. That Bashir still wanted to have lunch with him, hour after hour, because for all his crowing about spies he’d never actually cared about the things Garak had done. Garak’s weakness taken physical form. Tain really couldn’t have designed such a perfect punishment.
Bashir wasn’t talking anymore. His head was tilted, his eyes narrowed. Garak forced himself to tune back in.
“You’ve been quiet,” he said, a flash of blue in almost every word. “Oh, god. I’ve actually offended you, haven’t I? I’m sorry, Garak, truly, I-”
If Bashir kept apologizing Garak would not be held accountable for his actions. He dealt admirably with the blue shoulders, with the zeal for arguments, with the doctor’s insistence on discussing his romantic encounters. This was a bridge too far.
“Not at all, my dear,” Garak said, thoroughly interrupting him. Thank the State, Bashir could take hints so long as they were the size of Dukat’s ego. “I’m merely surprised. On Cardassia, tongues are very private. I forget, sometimes, that humans feel differently about this sort of thing.”
”Oh! Well, I’ll just keep my tongue to myself, then.” The most pathetic part of Garak wanted to put in a strong protest. There was nothing wrong with it in certain private settings, and incidentally would his dear doctor have any interest in those? “I’m going to get another.” Another? Had he really already finished the first? Perhaps if he drank enough the blue would cover the entire inside of his mouth. “Do you want anything?”
“No thank you. I’m still full from breakfast.” He couldn’t say for certain whether or not he was hungry, but he knew that anything that wasn’t Bashir’s very blue tongue would have to wait. A man only had so much mental energy.
Garak did his level best to get himself under control while Bashir was gone. That flash of blue, out in the open where anyone could see, would haunt him, he knew. It would hound his memory, distract him from his work, stalk his dreams. He wouldn’t be surprised if his fantasies later that evening took a particular turn, one that involved far more mouths than he usually cared for.
He saw from Lieutenant Dax talking to Bashir from the corner of his eye. Bashir’s back was to him, but the Lieutenant seemed very pleased. She pointed at his drink, and then Bashir gestured to his mouth. Was he showing her? Garak fisted his hands tightly under the table. She could look, certainly- he wouldn’t blame her, but she shouldn’t go further. She’d had her chances, after all, and although Garak didn’t personally ascribe to any notions of fairness he knew very well that his doctor did. Yes, his doctor. That was fair. He’d been the one to actually enjoy his company, to welcome him. He’d been the one to take Bashir by the hand and make him feel special. He’d been the one who buried anything that could possibly lead to his augmentations being discovered so deep that only a direct confession would get anyone anywhere. A chance would be a very fine thing to have, he thought. He wasn’t afraid to use every tool in his arsenal to get it.
The problem, of course, was that one chance would never, ever be enough. It would have been, once, but that went out with the permanent high. He’d seen how Bashir went about relationships, and while he knew the doctor cared about him- about their friendship- too much to treat Garak crassly, Bashir just wasn’t the stable type.
It didn’t matter how badly Garak wanted to take Bashir into his dressing room, in the man’s office, in their bedrooms, for hours on end. It didn’t matter how much he wanted to try, how much he would be willing to try, even the things that made him shiver with shame. It didn’t matter that Garak wanted to leave his scent behind, and have the same done to him in turn, so that the knowledge was as inescapable as Garak’s affections. It didn’t matter that Garak sometimes looked at that long, smooth neck and wanted with a desperation more fitting of a starving man to bite and mark. To refuse to let go. To trap and be trapped.
Bashir was, in his way, too much of a free agent. If Garak wanted it, he would have to work for it. Which was fine. He was used to that, at least.
”Sorry about that, Dax had a question about my last report. I think we were still on Pride and Prejudice when we last spoke?”
How unfortunate. Garak had actually enjoyed this one (though he pretended otherwise), and he couldn’t even focus enough to recall the relevant points. A comedy of manners with very pointed but subtle commentary on the upper classes was Cardassia’s bread and butter. Though this work wasn’t particularly subtle, it was still recognizable. Even the courting was familiar, like a distorted mirror. His attention, however, invariably drifted down to Bashir’s mouth. That speck of blue kept showing, again and again. Garak was finding all sorts of new limits to his self control today.
“Oh, I know we planned on it, but I had a very busy day. I’m afraid I’m just not up for it. Perhaps you could talk about something? Any new exciting breakthroughs, perhaps?” Garak prompted.
”Well,” Bashir said, taking a sip in a way that might have been considering, or might have been designed to drive Garak to madness. Bashir always did take people at their word. Even Garak, too an extent, no matter that he knew better. “Not medically, no. I did watch a very good game of raquetball the other day, and some of the moves- well, I can’t imagine you’re very interested in that sort of thing.”
Garak’s interest in raquetball began and ended with how flushed and pleased Bashir would look immediately after playing it, and that shamelessly unfashionable get-up he insisted on. “Please,” he said, leaning forward, “tell me more. Maybe if I learn something about it I’ll appreciate the sport.”
Bashir was off and Garak was safe to keep his gaze locked on his lips. Bashir’s aversion to eye contact was, on occasion, very useful indeed. As long as Garak’s general body language made it seem like he was paying attention, and he kept nodding and making vague affirmative noises, he could put his eyes wherever he liked. He usually used it to… discreetly listen to the goings-on in Quark’s, but really, people of discipline or no, Garak could only be expected to take so much.
He let Bashir ramble for the rest of their lunch, all the while chasing hints of the blue within all that pink.