Chapter Text
Garak understands, now, why Julian was so careful about offering to talk about the book. He needs time to—practice his reaction. To determine what response will give the doctor the appropriate amount of information without revealing any more. Julian knows that he lies constantly, but there is lying and there is—insincerity. A lie, like a suit, must be carefully tailored, and at the moment he can’t manage to do either for Julian.
It takes him a few days. Julian must see that Garak is avoiding him, but he doesn’t force the issue, does nothing more than nod to Garak as they pass on the promenade. Perhaps once or twice Garak catches Julian watching him. Finally, he braces himself and contrives to walk past the infirmary at just the time that Julian typically leaves and ambushes him—no, it’s not an ambush, it’s a simple greeting—to say, “My dear doctor, I fear we’re overdue for lunch. Can I interest you?”
“It’s 1900 hours,” Julian says.
“Ah, I must have lost track of time while working in my shop. I’m dreadfully busy, you know. In that case, dinner?”
Julian looks very suspicious of this, likely because Garak has never lost track of time in his life. “…All right.”
“Perhaps—your apartment in Hong Kong? It’s been quite some time since I ate Chinese food.” Since the last time they ate there, in fact.
Quark is more than happy to sell them a few hours of holosuite time. When he looks at Garak with a certain amount of innuendo, Garak remembers that it was Quark who let Julian into his holosuite the first time and lets a little bit of danger creep into his own eyes. There has been a little too much forgetting, lately, that Garak is not just another cheery station resident.
When they’ve sat down to dinner, Garak announces, “I would like to discuss the book,” and then finds it very hard to go any further.
“If you like,” Julian says. After a moment of silence, he adds, “Did you—enjoy it?”
“I don’t believe that enjoy is quite the right word,” Garak says. “It was—compelling.”
“Yes, that’s what you said about the Iliad.”
Garak feels a sharp stab of emotion as he contemplates his next words. He never did figure out quite the right thing to say. “I found Odysseus to be—” The words catch in his throat.
Julian tries to save him. “Did you know, Homer was quite famous for the epic similes in the Odyssey? It’s one of the great difficulties in translating from the ancient Greek to English, and I would imagine through the Universal Translator as well—”
“I found that I—empathized with Odysseus,” Garak says. “His emotions were—familiar.” He can say it here in this unreal place, this hologram of a four-hundred-year-old apartment in a nation-state that no longer exists. Julian says nothing, only waits and watches Garak. “After everything he went through during the war, the only thing he wanted was to return home, and when he did, he found it—tainted.”
“Penelope was faithful to him,” Julian points out.
“And yet he returned home to find himself nearly displaced again. To find that he had to commit acts of brute violence there too.” Many parts of the book were unutterably sad to Garak, but in some ways that was the worst violation: to dream of home for years, to search for it through hardships, only to return and discover that there is no home to which one can return, not the way that it was. He has enough insight to see the parallels to his own life. “Everything he suffered, during the war and during his travels home…”
“Weren’t you just telling me that the Iliad was a celebration of war?”
“My dear doctor.” Julian is being facetious. “The Iliad is about a warrior and so is a celebration of war. The Odyssey is about a—an exile,” and there, he’s said it. “And so it is about the tragedy of exile.” He finds that he can’t continue.
“We don’t have to talk about it more,” Julian says. “If you’d prefer, I would be happy to tell you why I think your choice of salt-and-pepper squid was inferior to my choice of mapo tofu for this meal.”
It feels like cowardice, but Garak can’t help but agree. He picks up a piece of squid with his chopsticks and offers it to Julian. “Try it again, I think you’ll change your mind.”
* * * * *
Garak has had rather a lot of kanar. “I’ve had rather a lot of kanar, my dear Julian,” he announces. He’s a little fuzzy on how they got here. Ran out of time in the holosuite, perhaps? Decided to have a drink or two at the bar?
“Yes, I can see that.” Julian tries to encourage him off of his bar stool. “Come on, why don’t we get you something other than kanar. Away from Quark’s.”
“You will accompany me?” This is very important to Garak, for some reason. “I’m not sure I can find my way back to my quarters without your assistance.” He’s found his way through unfamiliar hallways while blindfolded and drugged, but right now, it feels true.
“Yes, yes.” Julian doesn’t stop him from grabbing his bottle of kanar, but he does steer Garak out of Quark’s. Julian supports him as they make their way through the promenade. Garak would be stumbling but for his grasp—Julian is steady, infallible, the smoothness of his gait somehow smoothing Garak as well.
“Wait, wait,” Garak says. He stops once they’re out of public sight and leans back against the wall for a moment. “My dear Julian—”
“You don’t usually call me that.” Julian’s voice is soft. There’s something confused spinning inside of Garak, something frantic, and he pushes himself off the wall and back onto his feet.
“We should keep walking,” he declares. “This is—not the appropriate place to continue drinking.”
“No, never that.” Julian wraps his arm around Garak’s shoulders again and hoists him along.
His strength is…appealing. There are few people Garak would trust with his full weight. Perhaps no one else. He puts his arm over Julian’s shoulder as well and leans into that warmth. Then he turns his face a little against Julian’s hair, breathes out onto his ear and feels Julian shiver a little. “My dear doctor,” he says.
Julian hesitates just a fraction and then continues them on. “Only a few more meters,” he says, and Garak doesn’t know whether Julian is lying or whether he himself has lost his sense of location. It’s not long before Julian has deposited him onto the bench in his own quarters and handed him a glass of water.
Garak considers the bottle of kanar in one hand and the glass of water in the other, and elects the bottle of kanar. “Thank you. Won’t you sit?” He’s not sure Julian has been here since he sat vigil by Garak’s bedside.
Julian hesitates again before sitting next to him. “Drink the water, please, Garak.”
To humor him, Garak drinks it. He stares into the empty glass. “Do you know, doctor, I fear I may have been—less than truthful with you.”
Julian laughs. “Garak, the only time I think you’re telling the truth is when you tell me what you think of a book I’ve recommended, and then only to be contrary.”
“You’re not wrong.” Garak sets the glass down and turns to face Julian. He’s golden in the soft light. “But I fear I was less than truthful—with regard to you. My—feelings about you.”
“Oh?”
He’s about to gut himself open, and the worst part is that he wants Julian to see it all. “I find—” He reaches out to touch Julian’s temple, trace down to his cheek. How different from a Cardassian his face is. “I find that I am—strangely aware. Of you. At all times.”
“Aware of me?” Julian’s voice is rough.
“The way that you move. The way that you speak. Your—physical presence next to me.” The words burn in his throat. “What you think, when I say something to you. What you might be thinking when I am not with you.”
“I saw you in the holosuite,” Julian says quietly.
“I was—educating myself.” Garak touches his own lips, to keep from touching Julian’s. “It has become difficult to focus on things that are not you.”
“I see.”
“And you must see how dangerous it is,” Garak tells him earnestly. “For anyone to know my feelings for you.” He sees a flash of something in Julian’s eyes. “A vulnerability for both of us. You would be a—target, for anyone who wished to harm me, to manipulate me.” He does touch Julian’s mouth then, softly, fleetingly.
“And I suppose you’re a target for anyone who wants to manipulate me?”
Garak nods in approval. “You see what a weakness it would create.”
“I thought you didn’t have that sort of feelings. For me.”
Garak is stroking Julian’s shoulder now, cupping his hand around the warm curve of it. “As I said. I fear I was less than truthful.” He’s not sure if Julian is leaning toward him or if Garak is pulling him, but Garak presses his forehead to Julian’s and closes his eyes, drawing in a long breath. The heat of Julian’s body soaks into his skin.
Julian touches the ridges of his face. “What are you saying, Garak?”
What is he saying? “I don’t wish to be—separate from you. More than necessary. I—” It’s too hard to put it into words. He pulls Julian closer and tilts his head to fit their mouths together. Julian opens his mouth to Garak and there, the slightest brush of tongues, then deeper, Julian stroking his fingers along the ridge that runs down his neck to his shoulder and Garak wants to bask in it. He clutches at Julian and pulls him closer until Julian turns fully to him and swings his leg across Garak’s lap. He straddles Garak, pressing him back against the bench as they kiss. Garak tilts his head back to expose his neck—vulnerability upon vulnerability—and Julian breaks away from his mouth to place hot, wet kisses across his neck. It would be easy for him to kill Garak now, like this, and Garak would do nothing to stop him. What does Garak’s skin feel like to him, to his bare human mouth? How sensitive it is to his touch—his lips, his tongue, his teeth—and Garak can do nothing but gather him closer, slide a hand through Julian’s hair and brace the other at the small of his back.
“Wait,” Julian says, and he pulls back. Garak recognizes the red of his lips from that night in the corridor, the shape of his hair. “Wait.”
“For what?” Garak can feel how little Julian wants to wait for anything.
“You’re drunk,” Julian tells him. “You’re drunk and you’re having a lot of complicated feelings.”
“My dear,” Garak begins to protest, and then remember that he is indeed drunk and that it was denying having feelings that got them into this entire mess. “I don’t see the relevance.”
Julian—stands up? Why is he standing up? “Don’t get me wrong, I want to hear more. When you’re sober. But I don’t want you to tell me something now that you won’t say—or do something you won’t do—when you’re sober.” He’s breathing fast and good, this should be difficult for him, because it’s very difficult for Garak.
“What if I can only tell you more when I’m drunk?” The doctor is already out of his grasp.
“I’d like to imagine you have a bit more emotional fortitude than that.” Julian is askew, every part of him, and Garak doesn’t want to let him go.
“Come to the shop tomorrow, at least. For a suit fitting.” He reaches out and Julian catches Garak’s hand with his own. “I haven’t finished your suit yet, but I need—more measurements.”
“More measurements,” Julian repeats. “All right.” He releases Garak’s hand slowly. Garak is very cold. “Get some sleep. I don’t want you to…take inaccurate measurements tomorrow.”
“My dear Julian. I wouldn’t dream of it.”