Title: Black Bottle
This Chapter: 8:
Author: Hermit9
Fandom: Star Trek:DS9
Pairing: Garak/Bashir
Rating: Very Adult
Warnings: Overall:BDSM, Violence, Angst, Canonical character death. This Chapter: just angst
Summ: Chapters 1-7 saw the beginning of a new and unexpected love affair, now life throws a wrench in the works.
A/N: Takes place during Tears of the Prophets, just the parts of the ep. that I changed to fit in my universe and of course all the G/B stuff that didn't happen on screen...
He is being kissed. Jaw. A vague part between jaw and neck that doesn't have a real name in his mind, just a long descriptive anatomical name, another part of the jaw but not the part most commonly called 'jaw'. He knows that part is being kissed now, lightly. Just damp feather tracks that tickle across his skin, but he can't bring that notion to coherency because that 'jaw' part doesn't have a name, doesn't have an identity of its own. He imagines that he himself is much like that part right now. He is sure he has a name, but he can't come up with it this second nor identify his place relative to the rest of the world. He's pretty sure he's being kissed, or something that feels like being kissed, but he isn't certain what that means.
The kissing moves up, or down, depending on where he is relative to the kissing, or maybe relative to something else. Earth? No. Station. So, no up or down. He's being kissed corporeally northward. Toward his ear. Then suddenly south-southeast, down his neck, and he is quite sure now that he is being kissed.
Julian. That's it.
The fact that he has a name now seems to bring a lot of things together all at once, not because the name is all that important, but because he can remember the sound of someone saying it, breathing it on his neck right where he is being kissed and nipped at right now. He knows that voice better than his own and Julian opens his eyes to find smoky blue ones looking back at him. His pulse quickens even as he struggles to keep a grip on consciousness. His heart knows what is going on, and so do other parts of him. The brain has yet to catch up.
Elim nuzzles Julian's earlobe a moment and continues kissing zigzag patterns down the softer parts of his sterno-cleidol mastoideus. Elim stops his gentle osculation and Julian's breath hitches in anticipation. The first bite. He knows it is coming. That's how he likes to start, it seems. He wonders how hard it will be, where it will be placed. He wonders if he will bite him or just distract him with a bite, or even the anticipation of a bite so that he may catch him off guard while he does some other cruel thing to him that will leave him panting and helpless. Julian's eyes are foggy still and his mind a wobbling turntable, and yet he is aching and every nerve is on end waiting for it eternally.
"Relax," Elim rumbles.
Julian chuckles under his breath but doesn't dare move, not even to rub his eyes. Relax. Ridiculous.
He doesn't bite him really. His teeth connect but just scrape along as if Julian's flesh were as soft as a ripe peach, only the gentlest pressure needed. He takes a juicy bite from his neck, places a few more kisses there and then relaxes back into the pillow to bury his face in Julian's hair and squeeze him around the middle.
That's not so bad. Julian throbs a little, but starts to relax again like Elim. His body needs to learn that not every little touch or kiss is a prelude to more. He'll sort it out eventually he is sure. He'll learn Elim's tells.
"Sorry to wake you," Elim whispers behind him. "You just looked so good."
Julian squirms and turns over to face him now that he is sure he isn't on the breakfast menu. "That's ok," he yawns. "Have to get up for work anyway."
Garak is nuzzling again, but this time it is a full body nuzzle, with every inch of Elim pressed up and rooting around every corresponding inch of Julian in a slow, snaky way. This has the added effect of somehow removing the covers from most of their bodies at the same time as it reduces Julian to a happy touch-drunk pile of sleepy limbs. Elim finally settles down again and Julian finds he wants to squirm now, too.
Julian's toes flex out playfully as Garak's foot brushes them. Garak grabs them with his own toes and smiles in the semi-darkness. The smile widens and he chuckles silently to himself, marvelling as the past few weeks replay in his head and he thinks about how many times he tried to walk away from this. He can just make out in blue shadows as Julian's smile mirrors his own, though he doubts Julian's reason is quite the same. It looks more like just unfettered happiness om Julian's face, not happiness touched with grateful irony. How many times was it? How many times did he doubt, second guess, and stumble? Now, it would take a fleet of starships to drag him away.
Only a short time ago he had been afraid to touch Julian, afraid of what he might do. He could barely dare to take his hand as a friendly welcome in public. He could fit him in the insulated protection of his shop as his profession acted like a pair of gloves. He did so enjoy those touches. Funny how the pleasure is so sweet when stolen. Not that it isn't now, of course, but there is something to be said for the effect of self-denial on the boiling of his blood. And ages ago now, it seems, he could place his hands on Julian's shoulders as he sat in the replimat talking to Jadzia, a friendly reminder for her. He is mine. Wasn't necessary with anyone else. She was the only one he considered a threat anyway. A threat to what, who knows. Not like he ever had any hope that this would happen.
Julian stretches a little and Elim glides the backs of his fingers up his neck to his chin then back down to his bare hip. He was afraid to touch all that skin, once. There was a threat, but it wasn't from Jadzia, and it wasn't to Julian. He was afraid Julian would hurt him. Uproot his control. Even when this began he wouldn't touch him. Afraid he would be consumed by that radiating flesh. It doesn't. It energizes him. The warmth, the softness. He wonders how all of his predictions have been so completely wrong. Not that he's complaining. He's just suspicious and cynical by nature. Or maybe he's just blind when it comes to this man.
Elim is woken some time later, without realizing he was falling asleep, by a warm and damp, clean-smelling young man crawling up over his body and under the sheet. Elim's arms go up automatically to grasp him and pull him down and Julian groans happily. Julian smells fresh and sweet, and wet human skin stutters under his touch at first, and then slides as it dries. His own skin hardly changes except to repel the water when he bathes. Though Cardassian skin is also fascinating when wet. Many hundreds of thousands of portraits have undoubtedly been devoted to the sparkling surface of wet scales and the trenching of water over ridges, mercurial pools in the cups of eyes containing the living aquatic creatures in blue and white. But still they are grey and hydrophobic. They cannot be infused with it like that beautiful human canvas, glowing as Julian is now, smiling at him. Maybe it isn't that his own species is deficient, maybe Julian is the only one that glows.
"You know. This has been a really good weekend," Julian says with a gleaming grin, dripping a little on Elim's chest from his wet hair.
"Yes, I'd say we've been extremely productive," Garak retorts a little hoarsely, and yawns again.
"Our efforts to remain in bed for the duration were highly successful," Julian continues in a low tone, not wanting to disrupt this morning quiet despite his playful mood. "I'd estimate on the order of eighty seven percent."
"Oh surely it was at least ninety," Garak says with a smile, amiable.
"Quite possible."
"Too bad you have to foul it up now."
He sighs. "I'm not occupied all day. I'm sure we can work some more sloth into some of my free time slots."
"Sloth yes, but what about the other six sins?"
Julian shrugs with an indifferent noise. "Only three of them are any fun."
"I suppose."
Julian is about to get up and get dressed. He places a final kiss on Elim's sleepy head and begins to roll away when a hand captures his and holds it gently. "Julian, we are...keeping this to ourselves, aren't we?"
Julian's heart flutters a little but he shrugs it away. "I wasn't going to shout it from the upper pylons, but they're going to find out eventually. I think we should tell people before that happens."
"Agreed, but perhaps we should wait a little while for that."
Waiting again. He can't help but smile though. He does agree at least for now. "Of course."
They have breakfast on the promenade before Julian has to be in the infirmary. Julian considers for a moment how suspicious it would look to passers by, the two of them arriving together and having breakfast. They don't do that as a rule, but one instance is certainly not going to point even a naturally suspicious person toward the true conclusion, though Julian does make a mental note to watch for Odo and have a cheerful alibi ready. It is Marcia however that passes them first. She appears to just be intended for the infirmary but is stopped in her tracks by Garak's wide and bright-eyed smile. She smiles a little too, with a wary look on her face, trying not to look complicit perhaps, but her eyes dart to Julian over and over. Julian doesn't have that alibi ready yet.
"Marcia," Julian nods at her politely.
"How are you this morning, my dear?" Garak asks and takes her hand.
"Just peachy. And yourselves?"
"Wonderful. Won't you join us?"
"No, I'm afraid I have to be in a little early this morning to pick up after my boss. He's a bit of a slob," she says with an affectionate little smile directed at Julian who returns it.
"I see. Must be a human trait. I seem to recall someone leaving a pile of clothes in my fitting room the last time she graced me with a visit."
"Wasn't me."
"Oh no of course not. What would make you think I was implying that?" he says flatly. "And speaking of. How's the..." Julian sips his coffee and pretends he isn't interested in the conversation that is so obviously abridged because of his presence.
"Good. Good," she replies.
"Glad to hear it. Well-" Garak says with finality but doesn't get to conclude.
Marcia cuts him off. "And yours?" she asks with one eyebrow raised high.
Both of Garak's go up in surprise, and as Julian watches him, he thinks for a moment he almost detects a hint of fluster, uncertainty. That would be different. "Why. Very well indeed. Thank you. Again."
Marcia nods with a tight-lipped, satisfied smile. "I better get going. See you soon, Julian."
Marcia sets off across the bustling promenade toward the infirmary with the posture of a woman a foot taller than her.
"What was that all about?" Julian asks semi-absently.
"What do you mean?"
"Since when are you on flirting terms with Marcia?"
"Oh...." he says sharply, and then subtly adds, "We know each other well," as if that should have been obvious.
"Really. Then maybe you can tell me why she has been giving me weird looks all week."
"It's because she knows about us, but hasn't quite figured out what to make of it."
Julian sputters into his coffee cup. "How does she know?!"
"I told her."
"Elim! This right after you told me not to tell anyone," he says harsh and low, eyes unconsciously following Marcia's empty path behind her and his heart jumping into double-time.
"I asked for your discretion after I had already told her."
Julian glares, sweats, and tries to work out how he is going to face her again in a moment without blushing like a Risian sunset. "Why did you tell her anyway?"
Elim pauses, thinks. "She was a....fire break."
"Excuse me?"
"When a forest fire encroaches on a settlement, rather than trying to put out the whole fire, you burn sections of brush in the fire's path in a strategic, controlled manner so that when the fire reaches it it has no fuel and will not spread any further in that direction. I told her so that the rumor, should it get out, might not 'spread like wildfire'."
Julian blinks once then laughs. "That's a good one, Elim. But it will never work."
Elim smiles satisfaction in return, apparently getting the reaction he wanted. "I told her because she is your closest friend and would have found out anyway. And I also told her because I wanted to know what she knows."
Spying on him then. Shouldn't be all that surprising. "I see. Strategic, but not a fire break."
"No not really. And she's a lovely woman. I don't mind counting her among my accomplices at all."
Julian considers this again. His closest friend. He always thought of Garak and Miles as his closest friends. Garak is different now though. Friendship changes with sex no matter what you do to try to keep it the same. And somehow, it even changed his friendships with others. He won't be able to use Miles as a sounding board for this new relationship. Jadzia - no. Too complicated. Who does that leave besides Marcia? Just Vic. Even Julian would have to admit that if he started considering Vic his best friend, it would constitute a problem. But still, he's known her what, a month?
"Don't worry," Elim says suddenly with quiet solemnity and a quality of earnest empathy Julian has rarely heard in that voice. "As stubborn as she is she wears her heart on her sleeve. She has quite a lot of respect for you."
......
For now, it is business as usual. He meets Marcia's eyes as he enters the infirmary, smiles tightly, and gets to work. Amazing how fast he is able to focus on work when he is trying to avoid something else.
Amazing how quickly he can be distracted from both things by a pair of beautiful blue eyes.
He has barely sat down at his desk when Jadzia turns the corner into his office with her hands awkwardly steepled in front of her midsection. Jadzia always walks with her hands behind her back, anyone who has known her more than a day will tell you that. Those eyes are sharp and distracted when they meet Julian's, internally focused but not on herself. Julian sits up slowly in his chair, avoiding letting on what he sees in her demeanor, and smiles mildly. He doesn't offer a greeting because she clearly has a purpose, already engaged in a conversation within her own mind, and he doesn't want to interrupt.
"Julian," she says as if she thought she didn't already have his attention.
"Hi," he replies for lack of a better idea.
Her hands, still talking more than she, clutch together in front of her and gesture once toward him. "Can we talk?"
"Sure. What's on your mind?"
She opens her mouth but then shuts it again and goes back to the office door. Julian sees her smile apologetically to whomever is out there, probably Marcia, and then shut the door. She turns back to Julian, staring him down with one more instant's hesitance. "Worf and I are going to have a baby."
Julian isn't permitted to feel anything right now, he knows he isn't, and so he puts that on hold, and leans forward in his chair as Jadzia pulls a chair up for herself right in front of him.
"That's what I've been trying to talk to you about all week. We decided last night. We want to try."
"Jadzia," he begins softly, "I told you when you got married it would be difficult for a Klingon and Trill to conceive." He tries not to let it sound like a reprimand. No warranties, no returns. He already knows this is not going to deter her, though it is his instinct to try. Something guilty asks him what his motivation is.
"I know. But things have changed, even just since the wedding." She doesn't offer any more explanation than that.
"We also know nothing about what kind of difficulties you'll having in giving birth to a half-Klingon baby."
"I know. I know. I know it's a risk and I know it won't be easy, but I need to do this."
"Need?"
Jadzia stands and turns away from him quietly for a moment. "You've heard the Defiant is leaving in the morning for Cardassian space?"
"...No...I just got in..." He wasn't expecting it so soon. The talks with the Romulans must have gone better than expected. The news puts an edge of worry to his nerves but also of hope. The Captain has been pressing for an offensive for a long time. He isn't one to take foolish risks. If he thinks they can win, chances are they can, Julian and all his calculations be damned.
"I need to do this before my opportunity is gone." She turns back to him again and she's fighting back tears. Julian stands and takes her chilled hand. "It's been so long, Julian," she blurts. She looks like she regrets saying it but now that it's out, she continues. "First it was Nilani, then Deral, then Lenara, then Jayvin. And Curzon never settled down....It's been a long time since I felt like this. It's been so long since I had a real partner in life, since I felt this kind of love." A tear glances off her cheek and her voice trembles. "Don't let anyone tell you that there are plenty of fish in the sea," she says then with a small bitter laugh, "Don't let anyone tell you that true love happens every day. It does not. And once you have it don't you dare let it go for anything less. Once it's gone it's gone, and you may wait an entire lifetime to find another, or you may not find it at all." Jadzia trembles a little and pauses, wiping the tear tracks from her cheeks briskly. "Because it's all timing, and it's all opportunity. I don't know if this makes any sense to you....It's been a long time. So many times I've lost it as soon as I caught a glimpse of it. Now I have it and I'm just so scared. I have to be strong for him, because of who he is. I can't show him how much it scares me when he puts himself in danger, but I'm just, I'm so afraid he's going to go on one of these missions and never come back. And it's almost inevitable. I've made my peace with that, but it's too soon. It's too soon to lose him. Right now. I want to do this while we can. I want there to be something of us left even if one of us doesn't survive. I want a little piece of him to live forever. When I die it's not the end of me. I want there to be a little piece of him that keeps going too, and I want to do it before it's too late. And if...if you think we can do it, if you can make it possible, then he'll have a reason to keep coming home."
"Jadzia... he has every reason in the world to want that already. He has you," the words feel hollow and sad. Julian's throat is tight.
She smiles weakly. "Julian, you know that isn't true. Regardless of how he feels about me, he's perfectly happy to die any day of the week. But he wants a baby, too. The only reason we could think of not to is the war, but it is also the reason we must. Because if we stop living our lives because of the Dominion then they win. And if we don't do it while we have the opportunity then they win. It means a lot to both of us."
Julian swallows. There is too much here to think about right now, but right now is what she wants. There are questions swimming in his head, alarm fighting with empathy and all the while her eyes implore him.
"Please."
Julian swallows again. "I'll do what I can," he intones numbly.
She smiles through her tears and hugs him tightly. Her breath is warm on his neck. "Thank you."
~*~
Garak is whistling to himself as he tidies up the shop, which is a thing as rare as a Cardassian in love with a human. Not the tidying. That's rather ununique to Cardassians to the point that humans might claim obsession. But the whistling, well, he'll stop if anyone comes in, but for now he has some sort of ridiculous little song bird fluttering around inside his chest making him do this. The station outside is bustling already despite the early hour, and the appearance of a munitions officer headed toward ops indicates something special as well. The mission must be a go. Garak's tune slips away from his lips for a moment, but returns another moment later. He'll get some details after he is finished here. Surely Quark knows something by now. He'd know himself if he hadn't been otherwise occupied this morning. Garak smiles like a loony at a pair of steel blue trousers. The trousers are unimpressed.
"Sisko to Garak." The surprising voice knocks Garak out of his reverie.
"Garak here. What can I do for you, Captain?"
"Sorry to call on you so early, Garak, but I'd like to see you in my office as soon as possible." Sisko's voice sounds calm enough, low and light like usual, but he suspects that the tone is meant for any bystanders who might be in his shop unbeknownst to the captain.
"Certainly. I'll be there in a just a moment."
"Thank you."
"Ah, Captain."
"Yes?"
"Shall I bring my tape measure?"
"I think we can dispense with that for now. Though I do have a job for you."
"Understood."
~*~
Julian throws his padd at the bulkhead with a little more force than is necessary to really break it thoroughly. He rubs his face harshly and breathes into his hands until the anger cools to simmer. She needs to have a baby just to keep him. To keep him interested enough to not die in some pointless pissing contest with the Jem'Hedar. Julian paces in his office, not really a large enough space to pace effectively, but he's not leaving this room until he has his head on straight again.
A baby. He hasn't delivered a baby in quite a while. And never a Klingon one. Funny how he thinks of this future child as a Klingon, it's only half, but somehow the Klingon cancels the Trill like vinegar mixed with wine. This child will be just another Alexander, lost and confused, mixed up in his own clashing gene pool and dislocated culture. Neither one thing or the other and ineffective as both. It will be almost impossible anyway. He doesn't know why he's worried. No, he does know why he's worried. While Julian has an ability to foul up relationships in the most creative ways, make a fool of himself, annoy and irritate people without even trying, he also has similar success at being a doctor. He is reasonably sure that he can make it happen one way or another. Though he is still worried. So either he is worried he won't be successful or he is worried that he will.
If he is, she'll have a baby. She could die giving birth. Klingon babies are large, and if Worf insists, and Jadzia goes along with it, which Julian bets she would, their child will come into the world in the traditional Klingon way. Which means Julian will essentially not be involved.
He has to be. As CMO he will protect his crew mate. He'll just have to order Worf to step down. Jadzia won't have a say either. He'll do the birth in the most controlled manner possible. She'll come out of it safely no matter what. He'll disobey orders if Sisko tries to keep him from interfering. There is no way he's letting her die for Worf's pride.
Julian's breathing is rapid and he tries to stop again and calm himself. He is a little ahead of himself after all. No reason to panic yet. It's entirely possible that he will fail to find a way to get the haploids to shake hands. It's just a matter of finding the right enzyme combination and the timing. Timing and opportunity. He isn't entirely sure what she meant by that but it sounds right. A few practice runs will work that out once he has the chemicals synthesized. But, maybe it won't happen. And if it doesn't? It'll be a disappointment, but surely it doesn't mean that Worf simply won't come home. How can he not care if he lives or dies when he has her to live for? Why does he need more, or why does she think he needs more? Though maybe the need is the need? The possibility the lure? And maybe it's impossible.
Maybe within the impossible is a new possibility.
The possibility of her.
'...when I look back at her, she's drifted even further away.'
Every time he takes this step it puts more distance between them. It just hurts. It doesn't matter how amazing the past few days have been, it hurts to have her so far away. Marcia, Vic, Quark, they've all said it. Just let her go. But this time. Right now, tomorrow...it could happen.
Julian feels numb all over for a second. "What the hell am I thinking?" he mutters to the air, and stumbles into his chair. Julian shakes his head and tries to dig his fingertips into his skull, feels tears prick at his eyes. Selfish son of a bitch. He can see Jadzia, destitute, beside herself with grief and knows that that is what awaits her if Worf doesn't come home, not a happily ever after with Julian. He's shaking....He doesn't want that. He may have no love for Worf, but he doesn't want him to die, and he doesn't want to see her like that. Doesn't want her to hurt like that. Like Tavana. Like the Captain.
"You're just upset, Julian," he mumbles into his hands. On the rare occasion something does fluster and uproot him completely, he often finds himself spinning off into a radically irrational and careening train of thought. He guesses that would be normal for anyone, but he is especially tuned into it in himself because it brings the memory of his less fortunate augmented friends bubbling to the surface. He is quick to clamp down on it these days. He senses a danger in indulging in despair and even more in fanciful daydreams. He has had more than his fair share of daydreams about Jadzia over the years. He convinced himself they were harmless, but lately he isn't so sure. On the more rational side of his predictions he thought and knew that at some point they would want to try to have children. It's only natural. And perhaps guaranteed with the hardheadedness of Dax taken into account. But he never thought he would be the one doing that research. He isn't a fertility doctor after all.
The thing is, it makes sense.
Julian breathes more deeply and slowly, feeling himself coming back down again, his mind funneling back into it's socket. He realizes that this is a way through it. This could indeed be an opportunity for him. Starting this thing with Garak meant giving her up, for good. For good because Garak does not love lightly or casually, and because he isn't going to keep doing this, imagining what is never gong to be. The opportunity lies not with her, but with himself. If he can tie himself to her life in this way, he never really has to lose her completely. He will never be a lover or husband to her, but if he can give her the thing she wants most, a child, and if that helps keep what she already has, she will be a part of his life forever afterwards. And that is more than he should even hope for.
He spends the rest of those morning hours setting up the first series of tests. Everything else is on hold. He closes his work on his prion research and shelves it. There are genetic samples in both of their files, so he starts with that, Trill conception, and amniotic chemistry. He sets up a series of three million hypothetical chromosome matches, with a second tier test, should any of them make it through the match, to see if the resulting zygote would survive to implantation. He starts the program and goes to lunch with his head still swimming with what-if's and unnerving bursts of cloudy emotion, visions of a Klingon baby with spots. When he comes back after picking at his meal for an hour, the results are in and not in the least surprising. "This isn't going to work," he mutters to himself. It is. It will work. He knows there is a way, by virtue of love there is a way. Attraction is not an indicator to be ignored. It is as meaningful as matched sets of chromosomes, which many did, by the way, turn up a perfectly healthy zygote. The problem is finding the path there, finding a way for that little hypothetical egg to become a person. Even that, Julian knows, is quite possible, by virtue of his birth and subsequent reinvention. There would be no reason for him to exist if such problems were completely unsolvable. The phenomenon of an interspecies couple in love who cannot procreate is too ironic for the cold universe to produce on its own. Julian doesn't believe in fate. Things happen for logical reasons and it has nothing to do with morbid poetry. The thing that hinders, is time. This could take months, maybe years of research and testing. That is what isn't going to work. Not for the here and now, which is what he needs, what she needs.
Julian sighs out loud. Marcia looks over at him then and looks like she is about to come over and start asking questions, so Julian picks up his coffee cup and retreats to his office once again to work in solitude.
Laying on his desk is a card the size of Julian's hand folded top to bottom and tied with a sky blue ribbon through a small eyelet. Tucked into the ribbon is a tiny five-petaled wildflower in the same blue. His name is scrawled, written in an unfamiliar hand, on the top. Such an object stands out on his desk as much as the little black bottle, though the two things together seem to match very well. He doesn't need to speculate any further as to who placed it there. Though, he wonders with a little half smile how he got in and out of this room while it was locked. Julian sits at his desk and pulls the ribbon away from the card. It opens to reveal a short note in the same strange letters, the handwriting of a Cardassian who has a well-developed handwriting skill, just not in English. The letters are perfectly formed, though foreign to a degree, and magnificently exotic to Julian's eyes. The words themselves make his whole body thrum as if Elim were there behind him whispering them in his ear.
My Dearest Julian,
As I write this I am struck by the simplicity of the message I wish to convey to you, and how large a card I chose to write it on. I guess it just feels much larger than it turns out to be when digested by these words.
I know I have said this before, once or twice over the past few weeks, and I think you already know the truth of it; that it perhaps does not need saying so much between people like us, but I want you to know that it holds true while I am rational and calm as well as when the emotional turmoil of these lives we lead boils over. I want you to know that it is, and has been a constant for some time, that when I have said it before, that it was not madness or maudlin that caused me to manufacture it, that it was always there, but that the blister is less difficult to break when I am thinned by pain. It is easier, too, in writing. For while more permanent, I can choose my words over time and match them to my thoughts and feelings without the fear of misspeaking.
That said, I think I have put it together in the most accurate way this language allows: I love you. You are my world.
E.G.
Julian is faintly glad he is already sitting down, though he feels like he might fall anyway. He rereads it. Then again. He keeps expecting it to make him less dizzy the next time he reads it but it just doesn't, if anything the effect is becoming cumulative and he decides he should stop and put it away somewhere safe before he passes out. He smirks stupidly to himself. He thinks about walking it home to his quarters actually, because there are always people rummaging through his office (even with the door locked) but he knows he definitely wants to keep it here. He never spends any time at home, and he wants this where he can read it again and again on days like today. He looks around for a few moments and then finally slides it behind a photograph of Miles and himself on the Colorado river in the holosuite.
Julian grins and tries to tuck the corners of the card more squarely behind the picture, but ends up taking it out and reading it again. He wonders about the probability of cardiac arrest caused by an excess of joy. The urge to run over to his shop is almost overwhelming, but not only would that be wildly inappropriate, he has a lot of work to do for someone else he loves.
It was exactly what he needed though. Somehow that scaly, nefarious tailor knew without any communication from Julian that he was in trouble, that he needed support. Maybe it wasn't his intention to support him, maybe he didn't have a clue that his card would provide the lift Julian needed. Maybe he is just making sure Julian will be receptive and ready when he comes home after work, which he certainly will be now, but the effect on his distress is brilliant.
~*~
Julian comes through the door three minutes after eight without ringing the chime and without a hello. He resists the urge to leap onto him, but only just, and instead finds Elim looking mildly surprised standing in the middle of his living room. Julian crosses the distance in three steps, smoothly locks his arms around Elim's neck, and none too gently grabs his mouth with his own. Elim is chilly. He must have just gotten home as well, both of their days turning out to be busier than they had hoped, but it doesn't matter now, because he has him, and invisible hands seem to grab Julian from under his rib cage and squeeze his diaphragm as he plunges into him. He gives him everything he can in that kiss; every bit of heat that has been collecting like heavy dew on his insides comes tumbling down on them both now, shaken from above, and every bit of tender care he can furnish in that kiss comes out as well in the warm swipe of his tongue, to the gentle and fastidious sucking of his lips. Every vibrato inhale tightens those sharp fingers in Julian's ribs and chest, hikes his heartbeat, and every exhale releases it only to have it come back stronger a moment later. Julian works the fingers of one hand into his hair and clutches the other around the back of his neck, fingers tight around the tendons. Elim's hands are strangely inert at his hips, fingertips only just gently squeezing into the wrinkles of his uniform and sliding slowly upward without seeming to have a destination in mind. He responds to everything Julian does, every lick and nibble, every wanting noise he makes, he isn't absent by any means, but he also isn't completely animalistic as Julian is at the moment, and finally, without Elim ripping his clothes off, or exacerbating this outburst, he lets it die on his lips with a final slow kiss. Julian sighs as he lets their lips part and opens his eyes.
Elim is looking back at him with his head slightly down and coy, looking up below suggestive ridges. He strokes his thumb over Julian's cheek once and then those ridges glide upward with a small smile. "Did you get my note?" he asks.
Julian huffs disbelief, slumps to one side and then kisses him soundly again.
"I don't know how you did it, Elim, and I probably don't want to know..." Julian is grinning at him, up close, nose to nose, and the proximity is overwhelming. He wonders how long this feeling will last, being lost when he is in his arms, delirious happiness just looking at his face. "I missed you today," he breathes, smiles, but notices then that Elim's smile isn't the same as his.
The past few days, when he was happy, so was Elim. When he was uncomfortable, so Elim seemed to be as well. Perfectly matched, perfectly in sync, and while his petty doubts still gnaw at him, simply because he is who he is, the card this morning seemed to seal Elim within his heart. He hadn't thought of anything that poetic, and it never occurred to him to send Elim flowers or cards or other such things, but that is it, that is the nature of it, that is where they both are. They are at the point where they are hopeless, pathetic, and ridiculous in their thoughts and actions, their reactions to each other. The helpless smiles, the wayward and erratic heartbeat, there is no question in Julian's mind that they feel the same, that Elim knows it too, and yet right now, something is missing from this puzzle and he searches his face for a clue, and waits for him to reveal it.
"And I you," Elim says at last. "I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to see you today. It turned out I had more to do than I thought."
"You're not the only one. Jadzia came in to see me today. I'm sure you've heard that rumour--" Julian stops because Elim still looks strange to him. Julian is spinning like a top still, but there is an intensity to his grey-blue eyes that is making Julian's heart skip a beat now and then, and yet that intensity doesn't seem to have anything to do with Julian himself. While Elim stands, fully concentrated on him, watching his lips move as he speaks, his hands merely grasp Julian's lightly, and Garak's ever-present, congenial smile is absent.
Elim brushes a thumb over Julian's cheekbone, slides one arm and then the other around his waist, and kisses him again, softly. It is now the only sound in the room when they part, and Julian's eyes open to find Elim's smile is gone altogether, as if it had been hanging by a thread before, and it is replaced with open-eyed solemnity, sufferance. Now they match.
"Julian...I'm leaving for Cardassia in the morning."
Julian's ears seem to object to the words and begin to ring and grow hot. All the rest of him blanches cold all over and he feels Elim's arms tighten around him subtly. He just stands there against him for a moment until he realizes he hasn't really been breathing and finally inhales. Tears prick at his eyes as he does though he doesn't quite understand why. It is like they cry for something they have not yet seen.
It feels like being run through, and there isn't time to digest all of this either.
Julian is man of accurate thought and fast calculation. His mind can take the concrete things of the universe and manipulate them theoretically with startling accuracy and whip quick speed. He has met only one other person that could do such things quicker or more accurately, and that man was a machine, technically. That man is possibly even more at a loss when it comes to the more intangible, internal, and subjective things in life that also need reduction and calculation, but really not much more than Julian himself. When he has time to consider it, to separate himself from it and consider all the known variables, he does pretty well, he thinks. Hindsight is a good teacher, at any rate, and his mistakes number in quantities that his body of examples from which to learn is enormous and varied. But when he lacks the time, and lacks the emotional distance to put it into perspective, he knows he is at his weakest, and must rely on those shaky and capricious emotions to guide him.
He is trembling slightly as he lays his head on Elim's shoulder. He can feel that he is. They stand there still and silent, and Elim's hand cradles the back of his head. At some point, and he doesn't remember quite how or when, they lay together on the couch with Julian's head on his chest, facing the window and the stars. They don't say a word, and Julian is somewhat glad of it. Elim's fingers thread idly through his hair for so long before he finally stiffens beneath him, rises, and leads them to Elim's bed. They lay entangled, partially covered until Elim falls asleep. He has an important role to play tomorrow, and he will need his rest. He can't begrudge him that. Julian's shock has faded, his numbness withdrawn, and he feels alone and raw laying next to him, touching him. He cannot justify waking him, not to slake his own sorrow. It isn't his planet that is controlled by the Dominion. He has no right. But still, the dark and quiet night will offer him no peace.
Julian gets up, dresses, and lets himself out of Elim's quarters. He goes back home, hasn't been there in days. He waters his plants, and paces around his living room for another span of time that disappears before he knew it was even upon him. He should sleep, but laying down here he knows he'll stare into the blackness until dawn, and going back to Elim's the temptation to lay beside him and cry, break down and beg him not to go, is too great.
He goes to the computer and pulls up Jadzia's file. He gets it now, he does. Whenever he fails, it seems, the Universe is right there to show him what he did wrong, though never in time to prevent it when it matters. He supposes he wouldn't learn if it didn't matter, maybe. Seems cruel. He bites his bottom lip hard. Right now, he would do absolutely anything to ensure that Elim will come home to him safely. Absolutely anything, and he can't blame Jadzia for wanting the same thing, nor Worf for leaving, because he can't blame Elim for doing what his character demands.
He also doesn't want to tell her it won't work. If he tells her it will work and Worf doesn't come back - Julian doesn't want to think of the possibility again. At the same time he doesn't want to see her get pregnant and then immediately lose the father to his warrior's fate. Immoral, this. Making judgments, deciding for others what is best for them. That is what it is, but Julian knows the odds. Someone is going to die. They're at war. Better a warrior prepared to accept it than someone else. Better that Jadzia find solace in the knowledge that she wasn't wasting her time with him, better that she not resent him. He should tell her. It isn't going to happen, not right now. Worf has already made his contribution, too. Even if he doesn't come back. Jadzia can have his baby as soon as Julian figures out how. She can't resent him for dying if he has left her that. Though she would. It isn't the baby she wants. She wants him and the baby. She'll accept one or the other, but she isn't ready to. What she said is true. All the others, all the love in her life cut short; Worf needs only a reason to come home to make it happen. There is enough passion in a Klingon heart to turn the tide of any battle. If that passion is fixed on life, he will live. A wife, he has, love, yes, those he can retain in Stovo-Kor. He cannot complete the tasks of his life, however, if he is dead. If he feels he is to have another child, and Julian can provide the means, or even at this early juncture, the possibilty of the means - then he will return. They all will. Worf would not jump ship even for that future. If Julian loses, Jadzia will too most likely. If Jadzia loses, it could be her alone. Julian wouldn't know how to heal her after that.
Julian takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly, and then opens a comm to Jadzia's quarters. A moment later and she is on the screen, quiet in her greeting. She wasn't asleep, he can tell by the set of her eyes, though she wears a nightgown and has her hair down, soft and inviting around her shoulders, a stitch of worry in her brow. She looks older than he's ever seen her, and he wonders if he appears the same, and if she would notice. Despite that, he can still see nothing but timeless beauty in that face. He swallows once and she waits patiently for the reason for his call. "I found it," he says, and when his ears start ringing again, the lie like an emetic to his mind, he shouts at himself internally. You can do this, you selfish fuck. I don't care if you're uncomfortable with it, I don't care if you think you're so much better than this. You will do it for her. You owe her for even thinking for a moment about wishing ill on her husband. You can lie to her, for her.
"What?" she asks, guessing, but not trusting to believe.
He takes another quick deep breath and spits it out. "You're gonna have a baby."
A smile flickers over her face, then she covers it with her hands and laughs, her eyes glittering with tears. "Julian, are you serious?" He nods and clenches his jaw to keep his own tears back. She laughs again, the tears fall, and she wipes them away. "Oh, Julian. I can't believe it. I can't believe you did it so quickly."
He nods again. "We got lucky."
"Kira...she told me she went to the temple to pray for us. I guess it helped." He nods again and averts his eyes to the console. "You look so tired, Julian. You must have been working on this all day - thank you. You are such a good friend." She is beaming again, like the last star in the sky.
He smiles tightly at her, wishes her a good night, and signs off.
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