Chapter Text
Garak presses the door chime four times before the door to Bashir’s quarters finally opens, “You didn’t arrive for our dinner plans. I was concerned, but the computer did say you were in your quarters,” he says chipperly, before the young doctor can open his mouth.
Bashir cracks a wry smile. “You do realize, only station staff are supposed to be able to ascertain personnel locations?”
“What? No!” Garak acts shocked, maybe a little too much, but it makes Bashir huff out a laugh and dip his head. “I had no idea, Doctor. It must be some kind of glitch.” He leans in a little, lowering into a conspiratorial tone. “I’ll be sure to let Chief O’Brien know.”
“I’m sure you will. Come in, Garak.” The boy sounds impossibly tired.
“So! How did you find Zera Kisek’s new Enigma Tale?” Garak asks. “Ah- May I use your replicator?”
“Er- Yes, of course,” Bashir says, gesturing awkwardly, raking a hand through his curling hair. “Actually… I hadn’t gotten around to reading it yet.”
“I think you’ll enjoy it,” Garak says. “One rokassa juice, no ice, small. Would you like anything, Doctor?”
“I…”
“One Tarkalean tea, extra sweet, extra hot,” Garak orders for him. It’s a reassurance – as if to say, “See? I am one who knows you.”
“You’re not going to ask, then.”
Garak turns away from the replicator briefly. “Ask about what?”
“About my genetic enhancements.”
“Do forgive me, Doctor. Of course. What would you like me to ask?” Garak sets the steaming cup of tea down on the little table beside the couch.
Bashir stares at him. “You’re not- You don’t care? Are you pretending not to care?”
“Oh, my dear Doctor,” Garak says. “Do you truly think so?” He gestures at the couch. “May I sit?”
“Er- Of course. But-”
“Thank you.”
He settles down rather close to the middle, and then just looks at the doctor, waiting. He may have lost some of his touch, but his eyes are still the same as they had been in his younger days.
Garak might feel a little bad for using interrogation tactics on his young friend, but he sees the benefit in allowing Bashir to feel as though he’s coming clean. The dishonesty must have been eating away at him for so long – but he hadn’t even shown a bit of it, Garak notes with a glow of pride.
Bashir drops down to sit beside him. “Garak, I-”
Garak looks at him over the rim of his cup.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“How novel,” Garak needles him.
“You’re not… Angry with me?” the boy asks, almost plaintively.
“…Angry with you?” Garak sets his rokassa juice down so suddenly he almost spills it. This isn’t even close to how he had thought this conversation would go. “Do tell me, Doctor – why should I be angry?”
“You are here because of my genetic engineering?”
“On Cardassia, we have no such compunctions about genetic re-sequencing. More to the point, Doctor, I’m impressed! I’ll run the risk of being presumptuous: I’m proud.”
Bashir is taken aback, bursting out, “But I lied… to… you…” and finds himself trailing off as he realizes what he’s saying.
“You did,” Garak says with a wide smile. “Successfully, I might add.”
Bashir laughs quietly, shaking his head.
"Without doubt, Doctor, the only person I am angry with is myself, for not seeing through your subterfuge these past years – but I cannot be too angry, after all – losing to such a masterful opponent is no shame."
"Laying it on a bit thick, aren't you, Garak?" Bashir laughs shakily. His eyes glitter briefly, but he blinks the shine away – still smiling.
Carefully, Garak places a hand on Julian's shoulder, close to his neck – nothing reminiscent of the salacious advance he'd made at the Replimat during their first meeting, but a gesture of comfort and companionship. Regardless of the gesture's intimacy and its utter insignificance to a Human – Garak wishes nothing more than to gather up this fragile, unadorned being – long, angular limbs, flayed-open secrets and all – and hold him so tightly they must breathe the same air.
Julian holds on for a second more, before bowing his head, face in his hands. Garak smooths his hand over Julian's faintly trembling back, then decides that there is more good than harm done by putting an arm around him.
"My dear, oh, my dear," he finds himself murmuring as Julian gives in entirely and leans into Garak's side.
It has been a terribly trying time – barely a few weeks since returning from his month spent in the Camp 371, and now this. It would be enough to drive any weaker man to drink, or a breakdown on the Promenade, or worse. Julian sheds no tears, but he trembles, teeth gritted and eyes shut.
After a while, he takes in a shuddering breath and straightens out, looking over at Garak with a faintly apologetic expression. "Er- Thank you," he says. "I mean, I'm sorry about that."
"Not at all."
"I'll have to quit Starfleet. I mean, I'll be lucky if I'm not arrested-" Julian cuts himself off, jaw tightening. "I'm guilty, Garak. It's over. I just have to face the facts, I suppose."
"Guilty. You did it on purpose?"
"No!" Julian exclaims. "But I knew what my parents did to me, and I still tried to live my life as though I wasn't a freak. I have to pay the price now."
"Perhaps things are not so dire yet. In the worst case, you could throw yourself on Major Kira's tender mercies. The Bajoran government has no laws against genetic engineering. You could request asylum from Bajor. And though she may rather host a diplomatic dinner with the Romulans than admit it, I have it on good authority that she has quite a soft spot for you." Garak's arm around Julian's back tightens slightly, as though preemptively refusing to let the young doctor go. "But, it is wartime. If the Captain wanted to lose a highly capable officer over something like this, he would be a fool. And Captain Sisko is no fool. Besides… Everyone here on this station has become rather attached to you. I'm almost certain someone will find a way to keep you."
Julian looks over at him, large golden eyes searching Garak's features for something that he seems to find, because the next moment he's put a hand on Garak's knee and leans in to kiss him.
It is brief, warm, and Garak is taken so off-guard that he hasn't the opportunity to respond – only involuntarily shutting his eyes at the odd, gentle sensation. The bone-deep longing he's felt for so long does not disappear – it sharpens to an ache. Garak remembers that night in the prison camp, stopping the boy before he could make his confession – he had only delayed it.
And then Julian draws back just as suddenly, and he looks fearful. "Oh, god, Garak- I'm sorry, I didn't- Forgive me?"
He makes as if to move away, but Garak still finds himself clinging, the strength of his arm preventing Julian from distancing himself, putting his other hand on Julian’s, letting it remain upon his knee. "Nothing to forgive, my dear," Garak murmurs, betraying himself just as surely as if he had handed a disruptor to Julian, aimed at his own chest. He wonders if the boy knows exactly what he's done to Garak. How easily he could destroy him.
Julian swallows. "Do you-"
Whatever answer Julian wants, Garak isn't sure whether he's willing to give it, so he touches the young alien's warm cheek, and brings their mouths together again.
Julian kisses him fiercely back, clambering into his lap, holding Garak's face captive between his hands. Garak's hands rest on Julian's hips, trying not to hold him too tightly and failing.
Whatever comfort Garak can give, he shall – sometimes this simple feeling of another's warm touch is the remedy for feeling as though one is entirely alone in the universe. At this point in their friendship, facing death numerous times together, seeing the best and worst of one another, bedding the doctor shouldn't affect anything. Garak wants to tell himself that. The danger of his past takes second place to the inevitable danger of the war with the Dominion – and this night need not be repeated. After all, such things are common between soldiers. It need not mean anything more.
Whatever Julian might feel for him will pass. Garak wants to believe that – he cannot imagine what kind of life they could give one another, goals as opposed as they are. Garak can give him nothing but bitter disappointment, always second to Cardassia. He cannot help but think of poor Ziyal, and her misguided affections. Now, with the Federation's law hanging over Julian's head like an executioner's blade, his desperation has boiled over into this. It's the only reason they've paused their careful dance – that tomorrow, Julian believes they shall never see each other again.
And Garak has been dreaming of this for years – to run his hands over smooth, warm alien skin; to kiss the breath from that clever mouth; to hear how prettily Julian demands and begs for his touch in the same breath.
Garak whispers endearments in Cardassi he knows aren't in the Federation's translator banks – each one only once, before it can be picked up and translated. Words of love are so rarely spoken in public, so very rarely included in media – no Federationer would have had the chance to learn them, until now.
"Oh, beloved… My beautiful boy… My dearest…"
Julian clings to him – back arching up to meet Garak as he lays spread out beneath him. His throat is so open, so exposed, his smooth belly unprotected by even a single scale – how could such a fragile species have survived without artificially creating a deeper strength within those delicate bones?
Garak takes his time with Julian, wants to make Julian incoherent with pleasure, to make Julian his – so that all problems of tomorrow would be forgotten and there would be nothing else but the two of them, and golden hands meeting gray. Of course, such a thing is impossible. But for the moment, if he can make Julian feel that lie was true, it could be just enough.
He finally leaves the young doctor spent, asleep beneath the blankets of his bed with a furrow in his brow. Garak sits on the edge of the bed, runs his thumb over forehead to smooth out the frown there, runs a hand over his hair.
Julian mumbles something Garak can’t quite make out. He places a gentle kiss on one exposed shoulder, and quietly leaves Julian’s quarters.
In the back room of his shop, Garak activates the terminal and inputs an old access code. It is more than likely his old contact on Bajor had been deactivated in the past ten years, but perhaps only forgotten, or in deep cover, left behind after the destruction of most of the Obsidian Order. Garak doubts that Captain Sisko will let Bashir go this easily, but in the case his hand is forced, he wants there to be a backup plan.
He can arrange transport with Quark. Of course, first, he’d have to convince Bashir to go, and not face whatever punishment the Federation metes out to those who were altered out of some sort of misguided sense of guilt – but he’ll resort to trickery and subterfuge if he has to.
Perhaps the boy will never forgive him for it – but, as the Humans say, ‘he’ll burn that bridge when he gets to it.’ Besides, Starfleet’s decision has not come through yet. The doctor’s fate is as yet undecided.