He hopes that’s enough.
—
“Sarina. . .” Julian casually runs his hand through his hair. “I know that I have done things in the past that have damaged our relationship, that have made it impossible for us to be together. And I regret those things horribly. I wish I could take them back and give you the Julian Bashir that you deserved, but I can’t. All I can give you is tonight.” He leans in closer, wetting his lips. “The world may literally end tomorrow. This might be our last night together—or even our last night alive. I wondered if you’d give me the honor of your company.”
Julian stares soulfully at his reflection for a moment before breaking out into a grin. “I think you’ve still got it, Heartbreaker Bashir.” (Note: no one has ever called him ‘Heartbreaker Bashir.’ With the notable exception of himself inside his own head.)
Julian checks his breath, finds it decent, fixes his hair, and leaves the bathroom. Staring at Sarina’s bedroom door, Julian inhales deeply, shaking the tension out of his limbs, and in a fit of nervous excitement/gross overconfidence, opens her door without knocking. “Sarina, I know that I have done—”
Sarina yips loudly, throwing the nearest scrap of fabric over her naked body.
Jack removes his face from her bosom, turning to growl at Julian, “Do you knock?”
Julian swings the door shut, walks down the hallway, out of the house, and down the street, berating himself all the while.
How could he possibly think that would work? That Sarina would be there waiting for him with open arms? That she came all this way for him? After what he did?
Why again would he assume that she wanted him? That years of silently pining away over Jack would suddenly disappear after a few dates with Julian?
Perhaps even more stupidly, why would he think that something like that would happen to him? Why would he be part of some epic romance when his life bears every precedent of Julian alone, his lover gone, left for their one great love affair—which was never, ever with Julian? Why, after Jadzia going for Worf, Leeta leaving him for Rom, and now Ezri running back to Kahn, would Julian even consider for the briefest moment that someone would choose him? Why delude himself with the possibility of a happily ever after with Sarina when all the evidence points to Julian being a damn pit stop on everyone else’s road to true love?
If his own parents didn’t want him for who he was, why should he expect anyone else to?
Now, he’s lost—literally and figuratively—alone, in the dark, with no one—
Up ahead, the twinkling of transporter lights prelude Garak’s arrival.
Julian looks around, finding himself farther from the house than he imagined. “Do you live around here?”
“Nearby,” Garak says, strolling toward him. “I received a most peculiar call from the—well, a governmental agency that will remain unnamed. Apparently, several citizens in this area dialed the police to report a human walking alone, unescorted at night. After discovering who that unchaperoned human was, they were kind enough to inform me before beginning official arrest procedures.” Garak grabs Julian’s elbow, steering him along the sidewalk. “Is there a particular reason why you decided to be suspicious in a society that, more than ever, abhors the suspicious?”
Julian shakes his head. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“Obviously.”
“I just. . . Did you know I spent an hour today in the bathroom, practicing in the mirror how I’d approach Sarina, polishing my skills of seduction as if that would make a single difference? And then the moment I walk out, I find her and Jack, and I. . . I just had to get away from there.” He looks down at the ground. “I suppose I thought if I walked far enough, I could separate myself from how damned foolish I’d been.”
“Ah, I see.” Garak lets go of his elbow. “I hope you realize now, as I just have, that there is no ridding you of your almost pathological foolishness when it comes to matters of the heart. No matter how old you grow, no matter who you meet or what you do, you will always be the same Dr. Julian Bashir.”
Julian smiles wryly. “A source of continuity in an ever-changing world. I suppose that’s what you like about me.”
“No. I think I rather despise it right now.” They wait for a ground car to pass before crossing the intersection. “Your incessant need to find women and fix them has grown stale,” Garak says in an even, pleasant, and utterly inconspicuous tone. One never knows who is watching. Or listening. “You’d think you would have figured out after Melora that people aren’t projects and your surgery isn’t a singles bar, but there you went after Sarina, taking advantage of one of your kind. Honestly, I’m surprised they didn’t kill you. They must really like you.
“And then, who can forget poor, confused Ezri Dax desperate—at least, in your mind—for someone to show her who she truly was. A remnant of Jadzia waiting to be molded into the perfect woman.”
“What are you—” Julian starts.
Garak keeps talking. “Just like your father molded you into the perfect son.
“And you hope that, unlike you, your perfect women won’t be a little too pedantic for their own good, a little slow to pick up on social cues, a little too fixated on their hobbies, a little too—”
Julian stops walking. “Why are you saying this? I didn’t do a damned thing to you.”
“That’s the crux of the issue, isn’t it?” Garak keeps on down the sidewalk, forcing Julian to follow after to hear him. “You haven’t done a damned thing to me, because there’s not a damned thing you can do for me. You can’t fix me. Oh, you tried, during the war, but my claustrophobia was beyond your purview as a surgeon, the scars from a long life in the shadows of Cardassian society too metaphorical to be erased by a dermal regenerator. I’ve given up my hopes for our relationship, because I realized I’m nothing you can fix with a laser scalpel.”
“What do you mean ‘hopes for our relationship?’” Julian asks.
“Don’t act innocent here.” A trace of bile finds its way into Garak’s sugary tone. “I have done everything I can to bring you here. To bring you to me. I gave you frontier medicine. I gave your friends a normal life. I have tried to be a better man.”
“You’re right. You’ve done everything. Everything but tell me how you feel.”
Garak raises a browridge. “And that would have worked?”
“Maybe.” Julian jams his hands in his pockets. “You’d have to try.”
“Very well then.” Garak takes a breath, exhaling it slowly. “My dear doctor, you are magnificent. You are a kinder, more gentle man than someone like me should ever have the hope of meeting. To me, you are essential. The worst days of my life have been warmed by your presence or even merely the thought of seeing you. I love you very, very dearly, and I would rearrange the constellations to have you in my life for the rest of my life.” He pauses. “Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t know.”
Julian contemplates his shoes. “I knew. Of course, I knew that there was something. . . undefined about our relationship. I knew we always meant far more than what we said, but you were always so unavailable.”
“Unavailable? Me? I wasn’t the one chasing after everything that jiggled.”
“You’re the very definition of unavailable!”
Garak shushes him.
“You’re the very definition of unavailable,” Julian repeats quieter. “Every time I ask you about yourself, you lie. And anytime you tell me something of yourself—something real—the next day you act as if nothing has happened. Do you know how frustrating that is? Finding true emotional intimacy with someone only for them to scuttle away like a scared fish? And to have it happen over and over and over again? You’re a damned emotional tease, Garak.”
“If I had you in such a tizzy, why not take your own advice and tell me how you feel?”
“Because!” Julian quiets himself. “Because if I asked for more, you might cut me off completely. I’d rather have half of you then none of you at all.” Julian kicks at a weed
growing up through the cracks in the pavement. “And honestly, the prospect of all of you was a little overwhelming, especially then. We were at war, someone always wanted you dead. I couldn’t. . . I couldn’t bear the thought of having you and then losing you all over again.”
“Again?”
“During the Dominion’s mental simulation. . . I. . . I watched you die, Garak,” Julian says almost a whisper. “Sisko had to drag me away from your body. And now. . . now it’s happening all over again. We’re closer than we’ve ever been right now and tomorrow—”
“Tomorrow,” Garak cuts in, “will happen regardless of what we do tonight. Neither of us can undo the mistakes in our past that have kept us apart. While we may regret those things and wish we had done things differently, the only thing we can do for each other now is be together fully, completely, the way we should have been. If only for tonight.” Garak licks his lips. “I don’t know what will become of Cardassia tomorrow. This could very well be the last night she sees—or that we see. My only wish is to spend the night with the man I love on the planet I love.”
Julian, feeling more like Odo (that is, a pile of warm goo), cups Garak’s face with shaky hands and leans in to—
“Not on the street!” Garak hisses, pushing Julian away. His eyes dart around the night sky, perhaps checking for those Obsidian Order dirigibles. Finding none, he smiles weakly at Julian. “I’m sorry, my dear.” (Julian finally allows himself to feel that twinge in his heart from being called Garak’s “dear”—something he’s been denying himself for almost a decade now.) “The government is on particularly high alert tonight for any, shall-we-say, unusual behavior.”
“I understand. If walking while human is a jailable offense, I can only imagine the punishment for kissing while human.”
Garak takes his elbow. “My house is only a few blocks from here.”
Julian grinds his elbow into Garak’s palm. “Is this as much as we can touch?”
“On the street, yes. In my house, you will find out.”
Julian giggles, bouncing slightly.
“What?”
“We’re going to have sex,” Julian giddily answers. “That’s so unbelievable. It’s great. We are going to have sex. . . I mean, we are going to have sex, right? I haven’t misread this situation entirely, have I?”
“Yes. We will be having sex.”
“Fantastic. That’s brilliant.”
Garak bumps his hip against Julian’s, whispering in his ear, “I am going to treat you so well.”
“What if I don’t want to be treated well?” Julian whispers playfully.
“Then I will apply whatever techniques I have in my arsenal to persuade you otherwise.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, you know, readings from The Neverending Sacrifice, flowcharts on the superiority of Cardassian mystery novels, the usual midmeal patter.”
“If I’d known you were trying to make me beg, I would’ve gotten down on my knees years ago.”
“If I’d known I could’ve had you kneeling in the replimat, I would’ve been more forthright in my intentions.” Garak turns, leading Julian up the path to a modestly-sized house.
“Oh, thank god,” Julian sighs. “I thought we’d never get here.”
“Patience, doctor,” Garak admonishes. Stepping up to the front door, he begins disengaging a wide variety of security mechanisms: retinal scans, voice recognition, typed codes, saliva sampling, blood tests, fashion quizzes. . . “The answer bank is designed with my tastes in mind,” he explains.
“So, if you had an off style day, you wouldn’t be able to get into your own home?”
“That’s the price one pays for home security.”
“Of course. You wouldn’t want tacky burglars breaking in. They might redecorate improperly.”
Garak satisfies the last security protocol and the door swishes open. “After you.”
Julian steps inside, finding a dark and largely undecorated space. He’s unsure if this is his human biases about interior design cropping up, but this seems much less of a home than where Garak put up Lauren and the others.
“Is this where you grew up?” Bashir asks.
The door slides shut after Garak. He busies himself with resetting the security system. “No, this was given to me by the State. Temporary housing until Tain’s manor was repaired.”
“Do you think you’ll move back in?”
“No. I’m tempted occasionally, but my old room is occupied.”
“By who?”
“Patrick.”
“Ah.”
“There.” Garak taps an almost melodic sequence into the door’s interface. “Done.” He turns.
He and Julian stand about two feet apart, staring into each other eyes. Julian swallows nervously, reaching out for Garak’s face. He cups the back of Garak’s head, feeling his smooth, almost feathery hair, before pulling him in. Garak arms wrap around Julian’s torso, drawing him into a hug. Julian strokes Garak’s hair as his eyes flutter shut.
Contentment.
Followed by creeping anxiety.
“Promise me you’re not going to leave me,” Julian says.
Garak looks up, not pulling away from Julian. “I’m not going to leave you.” He rests his cheek on Julian’s shoulder. “Promise me you’re not going to try to fix me.”
“I won’t try to fix you.” Julian kisses the top of his head.
Garak pulls back slightly, drawing himself up to Julian’s height in that beguilingly reptilian way of his, maneuvers his nose oh-so-carefully around Julian’s, and chastely kisses him. “Let’s go to bed,” Garak murmurs into Julian’s mouth.
—
Face-to-face, fully clothed, Garak and Bashir lie on Garak’s bed, their arms wrapped around each other.
“I’ve never, erm. . .” Julian looks down. “I’ve never—and I don’t want this to sound insulting in any way—but I’ve never. . .” Garak rubs his back, coaxing the words out of him. “I’ve never been with someone who wasn’t, well, a mammal.”
Garak kisses Julian’s cheek, nuzzling it with his nose. “All things being equal, I’ve never been with someone who was a mammal.”
“Good. I mean, not ‘good’ that you’ve never. . . It’s good to know that we’re on the same page. I mean, I know academically where areas of sensitivity lie on the Cardassian body, but not, as it were, on your Cardassian body.”
“Ah, well. The shoulders are always a good place to start.”
Julian’s fingers tickle up Garak’s spine to his right shoulder. “Is that. . .”
“Spread your fingers out a bit more and—mhmm—kneed. . . That’s it.” Garak looks up at Julian. “What about you?”
“I guess, erm, as far as foreplay, I like. . . you can kiss my neck, sort of up and down and by my ear. . . just, yes, that’s. . .”
The proceedings grow increasingly heated from there. In ten minutes, Julian is doing nothing but rubbing himself against Garak’s thigh with one hand fondling Garak’s shoulder while the other strokes his hair. “Your hair’s gorgeous,” Julian murmurs, in a long line of compliments that come close to, but never actually reach, “I love you.” Julian buries his face in Garak’s neck. “You smell so good.”
Garak nips at Julian’s ear lobe. “Pheromones.”
Julian pulls away, holding Garak at an arm’s length. “So, erm, you’re ready? Physically?”
“Yes.” Garak eyes ghost down Julian’s front. “And I assume that means you’re ready?”
“Yes, physically. Mentally, I’m a bit nervous. But I guess you’ll be here the entire time so. . .”
“That’s the point.”
“I guess it is.”
—
The silk of Garak’s sleep tunic sticks to Julian’s sweat. Their plan of Julian sleeping nude and Garak donning pajamas so they can both be comfortable temperature-wise had been dashed to hell by Garak curling up on top of Julian like a living blanket. Or, more likely, a Cardassian on a heat rock.
/> Julian doesn’t particularly mind, so long Garak keeps talking.
“She would bake sometimes,” Garak murmurs into Julian’s collarbone. “Not regularly. But on occasions that were special to us. Little things, like doing well on an exam I thought I would fail. Or making my first pair of pants.”
“She taught you how to sew?”
“Mhmm. She never had the artistic flare for it that I had, but technically she was quite good. As good as any maid. What she really excelled at was gardening. If she’d been higher born, she could’ve been a botanist.”
“What would she grow?”
“The usual normal things: fruits, vegetables, poisonous flowers, poisonous flowers cross-bred with fruits and vegetables. Very handy in my father’s line of work. Political enemies would come over for a salad and die of heart failure a week later with no one the wiser.”
“I can’t tell if you’re joking or teasing or—”
“I’m not. When I was a toddler, I ate an overly-ripe yamok I found on the ground. I’d never seen my mother so worried. She was convinced she’d killed me, but it turned out to be a normal yamok.”
“So. . . a yamok is a vegetable?”
“A fruit. What did you think it was?”
“I don’t know.” Julian yawns. “Maybe a quaint region where the sauce is made.”
Garak mumbles something about Federation narcissism that Julian can’t quite parse. He tightens his arms around Garak, patting the back of his head. Gradually, Garak’s breathing slows and Julian’s eyes drift shut as they surrender to the inevitability of tomorrow and what it may bring.
Chapter 15: One More Day Before the Storm
“Now, what you gotta realize about raising symbionts is that it’s not an exact science,” Vic lectures from his bar’s stage. “If it was, any crumb off the street could do it. You gotta be able to feel your way through it. Get into the groove.”
The Trail: A Star Trek Novel (New Frontier Reloaded Book 1) Page 19