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The wormhole burst forth in a dazzling light, brief blue and then gone, but Garak's eyes are elsewhere. Upon the beautiful man, sitting alone, drinking his tea.
Garak walks up to the cute new doctor and touches his shoulder as he sits beside him, eyes lighting up at the befuddled look on the poor man’s face. His beautiful, gorgeous face.
Garak’s smirk hid true fondness, to keep him there, to keep him curious. He would approach the young lieutenant and strike up a conversation, showing his interest in getting to know him.
Showing that he wanted him, was curious about his mind, about his dreams, his desires. He wanted all of him, he wanted his body, he wanted this sweet, adorable man, Julian Bashir, to see the eagerness behind Garak’s assessing eyes.
At that first meeting, with Garak’s heavy innuendos and Bashir’s adorable blushing, Garak prepared to become a mastermind of their love story.
Then came the lunches,
Oh, the lunches!
They were glorious for their cup of conversations. Their debates on authors and differences of cultures lit something long dormant in Garak. Bashir’s hands were wild in his expletives and his passions, his eyes and face so alight with emotions.
It cracked open something in Garak, something eager to surface but unknowing of how. He was raised the way he was, he knows that the best way to get close to someone is by showing yourself slowly, cautiously, finding ways to make them love you and importantly, to make it appear utterly effortless.
When Julian stays up with him that night the chip in his head degrades, when Garak says things that could jeopardize nearly 2 years of planning, Julian… sweet Julian, goes to Cardassia, meets Garak’s deplorable father, and makes it out alive.
Father must know then that Garak had ensnared Julian in his web, that he will fall for Garak one way or another. He was taught to get results.
“Julian,” Garak says, clears his throat and sits up in the infirmary bed, still groggy and healing, “I do need to apologize for the things I said.”
Best way to get caught is to apologize, Elim. His father spits in his head, but he must in order to get back on track with Julian.
“Elim. No, it’s understandable that you felt terrible and I didn’t want to put you under that kind of stress, but you’re my friend and I care about you. I knew you didn’t mean it.” Julian lays a hand on his shoulder, looking weary and exhausted after performing surgery .
“Go to sleep, Julian. You have done more than enough for me today.”
More than you deserve Enabran reminds him.
He politely tells his father to shut up.
The more time Julian and Garak spend together, the more Garak wishes he could speed up this process. But, this pesky thing called the war has set his plan. He wanted to get Julian to confess his feelings for him by at least a year from now, but this war is ruining everyones lives.
Since Julian returned from his conference he’s been acting oddly. Not any different, perse, but more aloof, harder to reach. It’s as though 5 years of well-crafted planning for tender moments, of cheesy holodeck programs he would have never otherwise participated in, is decaying before his eyes.
Getting to be close to Julian, even at most points of this war so far, is frankly remarkable and Garak should count himself lucky they haven’t been separated much, but Julian was acting… different.
He evaded him for dinner requests, shrugged off offers for nightcaps or breaks to watch the wormhole from a secluded port. All these things that had indeed worked before, and usually enticed his eager friend.
Perhaps he was jealous of the time he was spending with Ziyal? But he must have been crazy to think any writer of his story would put him with Ziyal. He was so clearly making moves on Julian, the whole crew knew. Jadzia used to have to tell Julian to look at what’s right in front of you, but the poor man never seemed to figure it out.
Or perhaps Julian is being shaped by the war. He knew how the deaths of so many affected the caring, loving man.
But he couldn't quite pinpoint the source of this aloofness, so Garak acts as if everything is fine.
And then it isn’t. Garak is deciphering codes that he knows, knows so well that seeing the numbers on the screen send a minute tremor through him. He contains it, and plans to find him.
Tain. His father. Perhaps saving him would be enough, then he could stop at least one of his long schemes.
Julian’s departure is frightening and so… out of character but Tain takes priority in only this moment.
He is glad to have Worf with him, he can protect them both since hand-to-hand combat is far from his strong suit.
They get thrown into a damned Dominion prison, and Garak learns his father is dying.
The hole his father left in him early on aches , there’s no happy end to this master plan. His father will die before he can get him out of here. His father will never praise him, love him, and will never be the father Garak needs him to be.
He needs to get himself and Worf, and Worf’s friend Martok out of here, move away from the horror growing in his chest-
The door opens with a gruff voice announcing “back from solitary.”
And shoved inside is Julian Bashir, wearing an old uniform and looking very worse for wear.
“Doctor…”
“Garak, Worf!” He shuffles forward, looking sore and tired, exhausted actually, “You’re here. You got Tain’s message?”
“We did. But we just said goodbye to you on the station, Doctor.” Worf replies, throwing Garak a look.
“What?” Julian asks blankly.
“You were on the station, Julian, wearing the new uniform and, acting like Julian Bashir.”
“A changeling infiltrator.” Martok growls, “One replaced me as well, the Jem’Hadar were taunting me about it. That P’taq! He has dishonorably already slaughtered many of my comrades!”
“Then we shall avenge them.” Worf growls, and Garak sees the fire in his eyes that makes him extremely relieved he is on their side.
“Yes, we shall, but right now, we have to signal the runabout to beam us up.” Garak replies, back to the task at hand, before he has to think about these insane revelations being thrown at him.
Although , he thinks, he did know something was off with Julian. But a changeling?
He looks over the Julian in front of him and sees those eyes, not lost of their spark, but tired. Like a soul-deep tired he’s seen in the mirror often. But not distant like that changeling, never distant.
He wants to pull Julian in, to kiss him, to say he’s sorry he didn’t know, sorry he wasn’t here sooner. If he’d known Julian was here…
But he musn’t dwell on the past. It’s pointless.
His gaze tears away from Julian and he looks back to his dying father as the other prisoners talk through the wire’s location and Garark nearly laughs at the prospect, that Tain would inevitably be the one to send him back into that frightening space.
But his father dies, so he goes in.
Garak sways from the flickering light, his vision shifting from tight closets to even tighter prison hatches. The wires shock at random intervals and his clouded mind screams at him to run, hide, leave, get off of Cardassia and never return. He gasps for air in that small space and wishes vaguely for anything to pull him to the present.
Then there’s tapping, five quick, two short, three long. It’s a code Garak knows instantly, Grumpok’s Code, a Cardassion version of Morris. The taps again, I’m here with you.
It’s Julian. His only solace is that Julian is just beyond the door, ready to put a hand on his back and coax him from the edge of a panicky abyss.
It’s Julian, and his beautiful communication method. He imagines his dearest doctor, battered, tired, but staying awake, leaning against Garak’s cage, tapping his slender fingers, his eyes filled with that intoxicating hopeful determination.
He can’t respond, not when his hands are preoccupied and he can’t look past the space that holds the tangle of wires, anything else will kick his amygdala back into high gear and remind him of his quite terrible situation.
But Julian is there all the same, and gives him a subtle and gentle once-over once they beam aboard the shuttle.
And if Garak doesn’t remember parts of the journey back to Deep Space Nine, well Julian is there beside him the whole time, a tether to the now, and doesn’t mention it.
Having Doctor Bashir back is glorious. He’s warm again, though still hurting from his time in prison, he leans closer to his friends when laughing at dinner, he’s spending more time playing darts with O’Brien, and he’s even a bit clingy with Grarak. He will pat his hand more often, sling an arm around his shoulder at lunch, clearly desperate for physical contact. Which Garak is happy to oblige.
Not a week later however, when Julian’s parents come to the station for interviews on Julian, Garak, who is always closely watching Julian, sees he’s slowly falling apart, if not privately. Garak knows the feeling, perhaps too well, and so he remains near him, getting paper cuts just to go to his infirmary and spend some time with him.
Since their return from the prison, they’ll sit together in the infirmary on a slow day and laugh, chat, and swap secrets that Garak is sure Julian knows that his aren’t true. But since the arrival of his parents on the station, Julian is trying to push him away, and Garak will only be pushed a short distance. He knows Julian, and how far away he needs to be depending on the situation.
Right now, he lingers outside of Julian’s parents quarters, not listening to the shouted conversation, because it’s muffled and he’s not at all eavesdropping.
But when Julian exits his parent’s quarters with tears in his eyes, he stops short to see Garak there.
“Julian.”
“Garak.”
Julian sinks along the curved wall in the hallway, head in his hands.
Garak sits beside him, eyes softened and tender, watching him. He rubs his back while Julian breathes and Garak helps him to his feet after a few quiet moments.
“How about you come to my quarters for a while? I can grab Kukalaka from your quarters?”
Julian’s smile is flat, “Don’t bother. But your quarters, sure.”
They walk in silence, even when they enter Garak’s quarters, with its array of colored fabrics draped over armchairs and sprawled across the coffee table, a traditional Cardassian sewing machine set out on the table, with Garak’s most recent project left abandoned since Dr. Zimmerman entered the station.
Julian sits on his couch and buries his head in his hands and Garak waits for him to speak first. He finally does, and reveals the conversation he had with his parents, though he’s vague on some points and Garak knows he’s keeping things from him, but he gets the gist.
Controlling parents, some dark family secret that Dr. Zimmerman can’t know.
Garak, though concerned by the situation, is delighted that he’s sharing a bit more of himself with Garak, and Garak only. The schemer in Garak laughs silently, at having ensnared Julian so totally, that he's breaking the tougher inner shell of his love, a shell that he doesn’t let crack open easily.
“I feel like an idiot. I’m falling apart all over again, seeing them here.” Julian says, punctured by heartbreaking sobs.
“Julian, whatever it is they did to you, you can confide in me.”
“I just… can’t Garak. I can’t risk them getting in trouble.”
Garak wants to say fuck that or since when have I been known to squeal?? But he purses his lips as he watches Julian furiously wipe his tears, and get to his feet unsteadily.
“Julian-”
“I’m sorry Garak, I have to go sleep this off. Tomorrow is going to be pretty stressful, so I won’t have time for lunch. Thanks for your help.”
And he’s gone without another word, leaving Garak to restrain himself from chasing him down.
He knows how far away to stay, so he’ll give distance… for now.
The truth comes out sooner than Garak expects, because of stupidly negligent parents who can’t tell their son apart from a hologram. They would make terrible spies.
Garak tries to find Julian for a good part of the day, but he’s talking with O’Brien first, then more shouting matches with his parents and a hearing the following morning.
All Garak can do is watch from afar, hear second-hand what’s happening, and ache to think of Julian, hurting, where Garak can’t help him.
Garak finally tracks Julian down after his parents leave. Julian’s walking back to his quarters, looking utterly lost.
“My quarters, my dear? I can make you a cup of Tarkalean tea?” Garak asks, in the soft tone he knows soothes Julian.
Julian nods tiredly, informing Garak that Sisko let Julian have the rest of the day off. Once they’re shut in Garak’s quarters, the full story of his learning struggles, his childhood enhancement, and keeping himself a secret all this time comes out.
Garak ponders how similar he actually is to Julian; two lost boys, neglected and unfriended by their peers, searching for ways for their parents to be proud of them, always concealing parts of themselves, utilizing subterfuge to a point of comfort.
“Julian, I am very glad you are here with me today, but I am sorry your parents robbed you of your own free will and option to choose for yourself, to grow and learn at your own pace. They were cruel to do that to you.” Garak whispers, his voice ghosting over Julian’s ear, and the man turns so they are mere inches apart. Garak longs to kiss that frown off his face, to wipe away tears and sooth where hair was pulled and rustled.
But now isn’t the time, not when Julian is so on edge as it is.
So he merely puts a hand on Julian’s shoulder and when he grows tired from his frankly taxing day, Garak ushers him to his bed (though Julian sleepily protests he will sleep anywhere at this point), and tucks him in, his covers looking nice on Julian. Garak elects to sleep on the less comfortable couch that night out of sheer will and politeness to boundaries.
The next morning, Julian walks in with bedhead, wearing a rumpled uniform and a yawn.
Garak is already up, having replicated tea and toast, something he picked up from living amongst humans.
“Good morning, my dear doctor.” Garak calls softly, and Bashir’s smile is more genuine than last night as he sits beside him, stretching.
“Good morning Garak, thank you… for everything last night. I apologize-”
Garak waves his words away, “no apologies, Julian. I can’t imagine what these last few days have been like for you.”
“It’s been a bit better with you here.” Julian replies, “I’m… concerned people will treat me differently, but I know you would never.” Julian replies, averting his gaze from Garak.
“Never.” Garak replies, putting a hand on his, noting how tired his love looks, exhausted so deeply.
Julian gets breakfast from Garak’s replicator and sits beside him.
An entirely new side of Julian is revealed to Garak, adding gorgeous strokes of color to a picture Garak didn’t think could be more breathtaking. He hates to see the aching dark tones on the canvas, but knows it makes up the beautiful man in front of him.
“They called what they gave me, gifts. ” Julian sneers after some time when their tea is dwindling down to dregs, “but they were just designing a better son. It took me 9 years to figure out what they did to me, Garak. Now it’s all out for the world to see, that I am a fraud.”
“You are not. You are a man who dealt with much, who was lied to and forced to lie about who you are. Have you met me?” Garak gestures to himself and they chuckle, “that is all I did as well. It doesn’t make you a fraud, it makes you a survivor. Now you can be yourself and start healing from this.” Garak replies.
Julian puffs out a tired sigh and nods, “That… means a lot Garak.”
“I mean each word.” Garak nearly kisses him there, but his logistical mind whispers at him to wait, just a bit longer.
They eat and drink a second round of tea in companionable silence, and something peaceful settles inside of Garak. If all goes to plan, he could have mornings like this for the rest of his life.
And things are going to plan.
The weeks yawn into months and the war rages on. Julian and Garak ebb and flow like the tides on Lakarian’s shores. They sometimes spend hours in each other's company, talking about literature and theater, swapping station gossip, or tailoring techniques. Other times, they are lucky to steal away quick hellos on the promenade. Either way, Garak lets it flow naturally, while still meticulously watching each move, every woman or man that tries to seduce Julian, privately celebrating when their connections fail.
And he waits for his opening. It is coming soon now, he knows.
The Julian that faces Garak presently has indeed been shaped by the war. The crew of the Defiant is all getting antsy (as the humans put it) but none moreso than Julian. He is snappy, rude, and frankly acting quite stereotypically Cardassian, but Garak is polite enough to not say so.
Garak tries his best to soothe his agonizing love, but it’s difficult, difficult when the war is all around them, in Julian’s face all the time, in the broken bones and sinew of tissue and constant loss of life that he is facing.
Garak is shifting his constraints and constructs when it comes to Julian Bashir. Everyone was expecting bright-eyed, “frontier medicine” Bashir to take a longer adjustment time in dealing with war, but none of the others knew (except perhaps for O’Brien) the weight of guilt that Julian carries around each day, not allowing anyone to shoulder it with him. He felt the death of each he couldn’t save.
And here is Garak, trying to comfort a good man, when he has taken so many lives, killed more Bajorans than Major Kira will ever know about.
It’s painful, to feel this helpless, to falter, stilling his hand an inch above the next piece on the chessboard of this game he’s playing with Julian. He can’t light banter or sarcastic comment himself out of this. He must face Julian’s grief head on and break through that barrier for him, before he builds it far too high.
“Julian, come sit with me for a moment.” He escorts Julian to his own cramped Definat quarters that he shares with Lieutenant Renover, and guides him to sit on the stiff bed.
“What are you thinking about, dear doctor?” Garark asks.
“I am tired, Elim.” Julian finally admits after a pregnant pause, soft voice breaking.
“Let’s drink some water and rest for a bit.”
“I can’t.”
“You can, Julian, and you must.” Garak lays a scaly hand on Julain’s neck, feeling both for his racing pulse, and also for a fever that could be running through him. But he feels fine, if not anxious, and Garak knows this is the time. He needs to step into action to save Julian from himself, from the clutches of war and it’s ever-growing tendrils.
“I have too much to do!” Julian snaps, shaking Garak’s hand off.
“No, not at this moment. We have two days until we reach the next rendezvous point, so we, and by that I mean you need sleep and relaxation.”
“I can’t relax. I don’t remember the last time I have.” Julian admits, shoulders slumping.
“Then let me help you?” Garak offers, holding out a hand to Julian which elapses a fraction longer than Garak calculated for him to take it. But he does, and squeezes Garak’s hand.
“How?” Julian sounds desperate now, for any respite from his horrid war.
“Lay with me?” He asks, guiding Julian to his too-small bunk. They face one another and their bodies slot together so perfectly that Garark can’t help the sigh that escapes him.
It takes a painstaking moment where Julian is tenser than a coiled spring, but then he relaxes and lets out a low sob.
Garak wraps his arms around him and watches as tears leak past closed eyes, Julian’s eyelashes clinging to one another as they dampen. He shakes with grief and Garak holds him through it.
Julian brushes a lone tear from his eye and smiles, “I needed this. Thank you Garak, you’re always here when I need you.” Julian leans over and kisses Garak on the cheek, then pulls back in surprise at himself.
“Julian…”
“Garak, I…”
“Perhaps you should try again, properly this time?” Garak asks, his stomach swooping with victory, with glee at his success at getting them to this point.
Julian releases a relaxed smile he hasn’t seen on his love’s features in so long, then he’s kissing Garak and it’s tender and innocent and Garak wants oh so much more but he’s patient, and has been for nearly 6 years now.
They break apart and sit up, now not tired at all.
“Garak, I didn’t… I… how long have you…?” Julian is flustered and blushing and it’s heavenly.
Garak kisses Julian’s sunset cheeks and mumbles, “Julian, that first night I saw you, I knew that you had to be mine. Not in the possessive, archaic way, but in the way that I wanted to, and did do anything to keep you in my life.” He’s panting and shaking at this bout of truth, at his desire to show off to Julian his masterful, scheming skills. But also to confess this to his sweet Julian, who is his, “I have been laying the groundwork ever since, you have been the pawn in this delicate game of mine. I hope you know that I do it because I care, because I dare to call this feeling love. None of this was accidental.”
Julian’s face took a spectacular journey, a smirk growing wider the more Garak speaks.
“You knew the whole time?!” Garak squeaks, genuinely impressed, poking his chest. A mischievous grin grows on his face alongside Julian’s.
Julian nods and merely laughs, a laugh Garak hasn’t heard in years. It’s light and filled with that kind of sunshine that Garak wants to bottle.
They embrace, their kiss soft and delicate, handled so beautifully. It grows in passion and like that first fire he felt, Garak chases it.
They whisper I love you into their lips, their skin, their souls, and Garak realizes that his next scheme has begun, to keep Julian by his side for as long as they live.
He smirks and Julian smirks right back, eyes twinkling knowingly.