Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Garak’s quarters always feel a little emptier right after Julian leaves them.  

A little colder, darker, for the lack of his bright, warm spirit.  

With a heavy sigh and his lips still tingling from his lover’s goodbye kiss, he sets about going through his morning routine.

It’s been just over six months since they finally fell together, and if Garak is being honest with himself - something he is not even allowed most days - he’s glad it took time.  When he’d first approached the young, exquisite creature he’d hoped for a dalliance, a distraction at best.  But in the intervening years, he’d found the one thing he had been denying himself his whole life.

True friendship.

Oh, don’t get him wrong.  The sex - now they’re having it - is fantastic.  The best he could ever dream of.  But he’s not deluding himself here.  While Julian’s talents - his stamina, his flexibility, his eagerness - give him a great deal of credit, it’s that connection that takes them to the next level.  Some nights they fight and argue and insult and fuck for hours, foregoing sleep for bruises and orgasms and bite marks that only get healed if they won’t be covered by clothing. 

Other nights, like last night, they make love.

Garak never once thought he’d find someone he’d want to be so tender with.  To worship.  Let alone that they’d want him in return.

Or that he’d be capable of it.

Julian does seem to bring out the worst in him.

After a lengthy shower and meticulously dressing for the day, Garak tidies up the small bedroom and frowns as he makes the bed.  Kukalaka has fallen from his home on the shelf and is tucked up by the headboard with Julian’s pillow.

He rolls his eyes and makes the bed after setting the children’s toy away where it belongs.  It’s been left here as a reminder, a visual cue for Garak to think of Julian whenever he’s away, as if he could do anything else.  It's also a reminder that Julian belongs in this space, and he wants people to see that he does.

They will have this fight yet again when Julian returns from his conference in two weeks.  

It’s the one fight that isn’t ever made in jest, the argument that hurts them both, yet Garak will always win by pure stubbornness on his part and the good heart of the man he loves.

Because no one knows about them.

Not even Miles.

“Having me as a friend can easily be passed off as a quirk of your effusive and gregarious nature, my dear,” he’d told him several times.  “But as your lover?  You’d be shunned.  Your career stunted.  I doubt even Chief O’Brien would be able to see you the same way.”

“I don’t care!  And neither would Miles as long as I’m happy,” Julian would always reply, his wide smile and incessant naivete out in full force.  “And I am happy.”

That, Garak could never argue with.  But Julian’s desire to announce their relationship with a shout from the top of the promenade?  Not going to happen.

Thankfully, his unwavering optimism meant the man always acted as if he was slowly wearing Garak down, that he would win sooner rather than later - and always kept his word.

Kept their secret.

Sometimes, when he dwelled on it a little too long, Garak worried about just how easy it had been for the man to lie when it was something so personal.  Apparently, despite his many tells when being directly interrogated, Julian was a master at lies of omission.  

He did his best never to think too long on what else he could be hiding, as down that path lay only ruin.

So no one knew about them.  Outside of the privacy of his quarters, they are decent friends who share lunch at least once a week - sometimes more - and debate everything from music, art, and literature to cultural norms, practices, and the absurdities thereof.  

For the rest of the station, it all starts and ends there in the replimat.

Once his rooms are in order and everything back where it belongs, Garak settles in for a long morning of reading.  His orders are all caught up and no pre-arranged appointments are on his calendar.  He hopes to distract himself from being without Julian for the next two weeks by losing himself in the next book on their extensive list.  

It’s Julian’s pick this time, which isn’t a great help with the distraction attempt but it is a start.  This one is an old Earth tale about Hobbits and Dwarves and mythical creatures called ‘dragons’.  (It had surprised Garak, though he’d never admit it, that all the races in the book, save the humans, were made up and not simply extinct subspecies from Earth.)  While he’d never been inclined toward the magical and fantastical works of Earth, Julian had been insistent that understanding the Terran fascination with magic and fantasy would help him understand the very human wonder at space and exploration.  

Garak still isn’t convinced.

Somewhere shortly after being introduced to something called a ‘goblin’ Garak’s door chime sounds and he looks up, surprised at how much time has passed.  His shock only grows the moment his door slides open, the chime clearly a courtesy as Julian looks up, having opened the door with his own code just as Garak reaches it.

“Should you not be boarding a transport?  It leaves in only a few minutes.”

“Yes.  Yes,” Julian mumbles and pushes past him, immediately beginning to pace.  “Promised to wait for me.  Not forever, of course, but… a bit.  So I can’t linger.  Need to just…” As he paces he gestures about wildly, clearly indicating a heightened level of nerves.  About what, Garak hasn’t the faintest clue.  “Just get it all out.”

Quite suddenly on alert - and on guard in fear for his heart - Garak stands straight and swallows heavily.  He keeps his face carefully blank, blinks once, and nods to encourage Julian to continue.

“I don’t even know how to start.  I - Oh, Elim,” he breathes out after looking at Garak finally, clearly well accustomed to his look of shutting down to protect himself by now.  He closes the distance between them and places gentle hands on either side of Garak's face, gently bringing their foreheads together, and whispers fiercely.  “I love you, Elim.  This isn’t a bad thing.”  

Here though, despite his assurances, he freezes.

Garak’s wariness feels far more justified and he doesn’t move.

Barely breathes.    

“Well, I don’t think it’s bad.  I think it’s wonderful,” he says with a brilliant, genuine smile.  “A gift!  A miracle, even.  I just don’t know how you will feel about this which is why I need to tell you right away.  To give you time to, well, think about.  It’s perfect timing, really, what with me going away for a bit.  You will have - “

“Doctor!”

Garak’s sharp and impersonal bark of his title makes Julian truly still for the first time since he walked through the door.  Terror wars with the pure joy in his eyes, clear he can’t suppress one with the other as his mind swirls with both.  Garak has always found it best to let people hang themselves rather than offering any out and even here, with the man he loves, he can’t overcome the self-protective instinct to remain silent and allow Julian to do as he may.

“You, ah, you may want to sit down for this.”

“I’m perfectly fine right here,” he responds testily.  “Now would you please just - “

“I’m pregnant, Elim.”

Garak sits.

Thankfully, he’d moved close enough to a proper chair that it catches him on the way down as his entire universe tilts sideways and turns to pure static.  This isn’t possible, and not just in some nebulous, emotional way but truly, physically so.

He’d thought…

How stupid he still is.

His voice is barely an audible rasp when he speaks.  “Well, this is a lark.”

Julian shakes his head adamantly and sits on the coffee table directly in front of Garak.  “I would never joke about something like this.” Though he tries to grab Garak’s hands, surely in some attempt at reassurance or comfort, Garak jerks back on instinct.

Determined to say his piece, Julian clears his throat.  “I was feeling off this morning.  A tad dizzy.  A touch nauseated.  I did a full scan to make sure I wouldn’t be bringing something contagious to a conference full of people to take back to their homes.  And, well…”  He takes a long, deep breath and closes his eyes, moisture clinging to his long lashes.  “For humans assigned male at birth, there is an extremely rare chance of a genetic mutation that allows them to carry children.  It wasn’t even discovered until the 20th century.  Their chance of conceiving naturally is extraordinarily low.  Throw in cross-species,” he trails off for a moment to shrug helplessly.  “Apparently the probability is low to be almost incalculable… but not zero.”  

Silence, painful and empty, stretches like a tightrope between them, ready to snap and send them both plunging to their end.

Of all the people in his life, all those he’d never trusted, never dared to let close, he’d had to let one in.

And he just broke his heart, too.

“It’s likely more statistically possible than you think, given that it’s not cross-species,” he says as evenly as he can.  Despite his years of duplicity and practice at deception, it comes far easier than he expects at the moment.  

Perhaps it's the sudden numbness in his chest.  “At least, it isn’t Cardassian.”

For a heartbeat, Bashir looks genuinely confused.

Then he jerks back as if slapped.  The understanding that creases his features is indistinguishable between hurt and anger, and Garak finds he still cares far more than he wishes he ever had. 

“Elim.  Elim, no.  I would never, could never, do that to you.  That you would even think…”

Garak stands and stalks across the room, unwilling to face this any longer.  Face him.

Face his own enormous stupidity.

“I would have hoped your ability to lie would have improved by now.  Though I must commend you on getting this by me so far.  I hadn’t even entertained the thought that you would be so unfaithful to… to your own word.”  He refused to say unfaithful ‘to me’.  They hadn’t yet promised each other forever, though Garak, until this very moment, had known - had thought - he’d give the rest of his life to the man standing before him.  Six months of being lovers may not be much time, but he’s loved him for far longer than that. What they had done was swear their ‘now’ to one another, to be all the other wanted and needed.  Exclusively.  Faithfully.  And for the first time in his dark and distrustful life, Garak had dared to believe…

“How dare you!”  The doctor jumps from his seat and stomps over but Garak doesn’t move, holding himself steady and tilting his head back for the illusion of looking down at the human before him.  “Not only are you the only male I have ever been with, I haven’t so much as looked at anyone else since months before we even kissed!  Elim, I - “

“Stop calling me that.”

The quiet demand brings more pain to the doctor’s face than anything else has so far.

“Just because every word that passes your lips is a lie doesn’t mean that I -”

“I am sterile, Doctor.”

He freezes, mouth agape in shock.

“I have been sterile since I was a stupid, naive youth.  Though it appears despite my best efforts I never truly grew out of those traits.”  Attachment, sentiment.  Filthy, terrible traps for a member of the Order to fall into.  Tain had done what he could to keep them from accidentally happening and all but beaten any other avenue out of him.

But rather than make the other man stammer, to fumble over how easily he’d been caught in his lie, he actually dares to double down.  “That’s not possible.  There is no other explanation but you.”

Garak has had more than enough of this and would very much like to be allowed to break down in private now.  “Don’t you have a transport to catch?”  He turns away and picks up his PADD in obvious dismissal.  Nothing on the screen is clear, blurred though he refuses to acknowledge why that may be.

“I can prove it to you, please.  Just give me a chance.”

“You need to go.”

“Elim,” he begs.  “Please.”

“Your transport is waiting.”

Garak knows he’s won when the only immediate response is silence.  There are several long breaths that are the only thing filling the gaping, painful space between them, growing more agonizing as he wraps the steel bars around his heart once more, knowing he’ll never let them be broken down again.

“Alright,” the doctor says with a sigh, sounding far less resigned than Garak expects.  In fact, he sounds determined.  If he were to turn and look, Garak knows he’d see the man standing up at full height, shoulders back and head up high.  “I… I knew this would be difficult.  But I will prove it to you.  I’m coming back, once you’ve had time to process and think about what you’re accusing me of.  I am not giving up on us, Elim.” 

“Leave, Doctor.”

No other argument is made.  The only sound that follows is the soft hiss of his door opening and closing.

The shattering of his PADD against the far wall he throws it against with a furious shout is far less satisfying than he’d hoped.

Garak’s quarters have never felt so empty. 

Chapter Text

The hypocrisy of Garak’s feelings on his current situation after just how long he’s been trying to teach the good doctor the many benefits of mistruths is not lost on him.

Nevertheless, he spends three days in such a rage he closes his shop rather than risk losing more clients than the five that walk out on him.  He can recover from missed appointments - citing an illness - far more easily than bouts of infuriated rudeness.

On the fourth day, he gets into a fight at Quarks.  He doesn’t even know - nor care - who with.

Day five he crawls into the bottom of a bottle and hopes to never leave.

It’s not the same as his implant, as the simulated chemicals that kept him some semblance of sane during the early, excruciating days of his exile.  But it’s enough.

(Garak is better at lying to himself than anyone else.)

He had to learn to be honest with Julian.  Learned for Julian.  Oh, he would always bend and stretch truths, speak in riddles when it wasn’t terribly serious - more out of habit than a true desire to be dishonest with the man.  But Garak had learned very early on in the change in their relationship how to tell when Julian needed the truth from him.  He’d never give more than he was willing, but, over time, learned to say ‘no, I can’t talk about that’ rather than make something up.  

Julian’s deception should impress him if nothing else.  He’s only been trying to teach the man how to get away with a lie since the moment they met.  Almost five years and he’d begun to feel as if there was no hope for that infallibly honest face.  Instead, it rips and rends Garak’s heart, tearing the tentative blooms out of his soul by the roots, leaving it just as barren as it had been before his arrival, if not more so.

Of all the people who could have found him in a miserable heap at the back of his shop, the last one he expects is Major Kira.

And like hell he expects her to be the one to knock any sense into him.

“If I have to listen to Ziyal and Julian cry because you died of alcohol poisoning I am going to beg the Prophets to bring you back just so I can kill you myself.”

Garak refuses to change a thing about his slumped position against the storage room door.  It wouldn’t do well for him to give any acknowledgment of being found in such an embarrassing state.  He tuts.  

“Major Kira,” he addresses her with a nod that makes his head spin, though his voice is steady and free of inflection of any kind.  “Clearly it failed to strike your notice, but the closed and locked doors do typically indicate that a shop is, in fact, not open for business at the present time.”  

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind if I ever show up here for business,” she assures him with ill humor.  Then she kicks him in the shin.  More of a shove of her boot, than anything else.  “Now get up.”

“No, I don’t think I will.  This spot of bulkhead belongs to me as long as I pay my rent,” he raps his knuckles against the metal beneath his thigh, “which is up to date for some time, and I may do with it as I please.”  Including wallow.  Though, if he thinks about it, that is rather un-Garak-like behavior and if he doesn’t want people around him asking questions he has no desire to answer - lies or not - he should probably figure out how to get back to some semblance of normal.  Which, rather unfortunately, would begin with sobering up.

At least enough to pass as sober.

Major Kira stares down at him thoroughly unimpressed.  “Get up, Garak.  You’ve stood Ziyal up twice now and she is convinced you’re mad at her though for what she can’t even begin to fathom.”  Her arms are crossed over her swollen stomach and she leans her hips back against his work table.  “Whatever happened, you need to at least speak to her so she knows she didn’t upset you.”

“That child couldn’t anger a Klingon if she tried.”

The quip earns him a laugh that she quickly bites back.

“Then whatever Julian did to turn you into… this, ” she says with a pitying look.  At Julian’s name he can feel his face scrunch in distaste and her own eyes soften in understanding.  He curses how easily he’s been caught out.  He also curses the fact that with Ziyal crossed off her list, Kira had expected only one other person.  The idea that it could be something else, something outside the influence of this damned station and the people in it apparently hadn’t even crossed her mind.  The veracity of that is almost more pathetic than Garak letting himself be seen like this in the first place.  “Well, at least he’ll be back in two days and you two can work out whatever this misunderstanding has been and you can get back to your regularly scheduled arguments.”

“You can tell Ziyal that I am appropriately apologetic for missing our standing meals. I shall endeavor to make it up to her as quickly as I am able.”  Garak straightens a bit, ignoring the way the room spins around him and swallowing heavily.  “But there is nothing Doctor Bashir and I will ever have to say to one another again.”

For a moment Kira doesn’t say anything at all.  She watches him closely and he’s only aware of her scrutiny by forcing himself to keep his own eyes on her in turn.  It’s not very bright here - even by Cardassian standards - but the lights from the promenade catch and reflect off the mirrors at various angles in just such a way that he can see her clearly enough.  

Slowly, she inhales, then lets it out while pinching the bridge of her nose.  She mumbles, “oh I am so going to regret this.”  Louder, she asks, “what happened?”

“Nothing of consequence,” he responds quickly.  Too quickly.

Her scowl makes him feel like a child being scolded by a caregiver.  “Garak.”

What he should do is tell her to leave him be.  Dismiss her, give her no choice but to leave him be.  The problem, of course, being that he has no one. No one to talk to.  No one to grieve with, to vent to, to even ask advice if he was so inclined. (He is not.)  Garak is well aware of young Ziyal’s crush on him and will not diminish her kindness or feelings by bringing her his romantic woes - not that he’d bring them to someone so young and truly naive to begin with.

Julian is all he had.

“Doctor Bashir has shown himself to be a duplicitous reprobate, unwilling or unable - which doesn’t rightly matter - at keeping his word when it actually counts.”  Garak is proud of the fact that his voice only cracks once right there at the end, though the tremor in his hands he could do without. 

“Says the exiled spy,” she says with a smirk.

“Tailor.”

Kira actually laughs, likely at him, though he doesn’t care one way or the other.  She’s amused, but also almost incredulous as she shakes her head in a mix of amusement and disbelief.

“Are we… are we talking about the same person here?  Doctor Bashir?  Doctor Julian Bashir, Chief Medical Officer of this station?”  When Garak just looks away, slowly pulling his knees up to rest his arms against so he’s less puddle and more Cardassian, she continues, a bit softer.  “Garak, that man couldn’t lie to save his own life.  He would certainly never break the trust of the people he cares about.  And as much as most of us caution him against it, he counts you near the top of that list.  You probably swap with Miles depending on how recently he’s been beaten at darts.”

Until recently, he’d thought he’d earned his rank as first above all others.

“You don’t understand,” he whispers, voice more desperate than he should allow.  

Major Kira doesn’t seem to notice.  

“Sure don’t.  Don’t need to.  Just…” she sighs, and adjusts the angle she’s leaning, clearly uncomfortable, and speaks softer and with more kindness than he’s used to from her.  “Whatever it is you think he’s deceived you about, try and think about what he would gain from it if you’re right.  Whatever that answer is, it’s likely even more absurd than the idea of him lying to you in the first place.”

Why does anyone lie?  

Garak himself lies out of a course of habit, built on years of self-preservation both personally and professionally.  When no one knows you, no one can hurt you.

No one can destroy you.

As evidenced by his current situation.  

“Your advice will be taken under advisement, Major.”

“Good.  Now be at lunch tomorrow with Ziyal or I’ll come hunt you down again and drag you out by your hair.” 

She doesn’t wait for a response before pushing herself back up off the work table and leaving the dark shop, expecting her demands to be adhered to without question.

Her words gnaw at him.  Incessant, repetitive, whispers of truth mixed with obnoxious screaming to pay attention for the rest of the evening and through the night.  Though he shouldn’t, Garak does finish off the bottle of Kanar he’d had in hand when she’d arrived, but he doesn’t replace it once it’s empty.  His own thoughts swirl through his brain as thick and viscous as the liquid he pours down his throat.

Why does anyone lie?

Sober enough to be presentable, he does keep his lunch engagement with Ziyal the next day, apologizing properly and in person for his deplorable behavior.  As agreeable as always, she forgives him instantly, even going so far to reassure him that all is forgotten.  Though he cautions her against how easily she absolves him, Ziyal cuts him to the quick.

“You’re a good man, Garak,” she says with complete conviction after he’s questioned her immediate acceptance of terrible excuses.

He can’t help but scoff.  Even she knows better than that.  “Hardly.”

“Please,” she begs, placing a gentle hand on his arm.  “Tell me what’s really bothering you, why you’ve been so absent these last two weeks.”

“Nothing of consequence, my dear.”  

“You know I can tell when you’re lying.”

“Usually when my mouth is moving, yes,” he admits with a playful wink.

“No,” she says quietly.  “Not like your usual… you stretch truths and you fabricate or - what did he call it - oh, ‘weasel your way out of things’.  But sometimes, like now, you just… lie.”

Garak has no need to ask who ‘he’ is.  Damn that man for giving away all his best secrets.  He knows for a fact it had taken Bashir at least a year after that messy business with his implant to trust his own judgment of when Garak was lying versus when he simply wasn’t telling the truth.  

A very sharp distinction, if a difficult one for most to understand.  

“Julian just didn’t want you to be lonely,” she continues when he doesn’t respond.  “He gave me ‘a leg up he wishes he’d had.’”  Her attempt at his accent brings a bitter smile to Garak’s lips. 

“What he should have done is kept his thoughts to himself.  Everyone should have to work for their trust in me.  Not everyone is cut out to…” his voice trails off almost painfully as he refuses to say anything related to ‘friendship’ in relation to Julian.  It’s too much and not enough and it aches. 

“Garak,” she admonishes, “he has all these other people in his life and I think he knew that.  He’s your friend.  He loves you.  He just… wanted to make sure you had someone else too.”

He loves you.

Why does anyone lie?

Why would Julian lie?

Even if Ziyal hadn’t meant it in the same way Julian would whisper in his ear, in the way he said it with such devotion, in the way he felt it when they touched, when they kissed, when they shared their most intimate truths where no one else in the universe could hear…

She hadn’t meant it like Julian had meant it.

Had Julian meant it?

Why does anyone lie?

Why would Julian lie? 

What could he possibly have hoped to gain by making up such a preposterous thing as carrying Garak’s child?  Was he lying about being pregnant in the first place ?   He’s a brilliant man, more brilliant than anyone but Garak gives him credit for.  The likelihood he’d made a mistake of some kind and done something as inept as misread a medical scan is truly preposterous.  

Is he lying about who he’s been with?  Or that Garak is the only male he’s ever…  

No.

That isn’t the point.  It’s not about what he could be lying about.

Why does anyone lie?

Why would Julian lie?

Regardless of what his lie is, if there is one, there would never be any doubt Garak would find out.  Garak always finds out.  If there were another man, Garak would have noticed something.  ( He keeps you well enough hidden from everyone else , a voice whispers malevolently in the back of his head.) Julian knows this undeniable truth about Elim Garak.  Garak will always find the truth, no matter how many truths exist.  

Garak’s heart tightens in his chest, painful and tight, stealing his breath as nothing has since the first time Julian kissed him.

Why does anyone lie?

Why would Julian lie?

He wouldn’t.

Of course he wouldn’t.  Not about this.  Not about them.

Never about a new life.

Deep in the night, while all but a skeleton crew are fast asleep, Garak slips into the old mess of a storage level deep beneath the promenade and begins to dig.

It would be considerably faster to steal what he needs from the infirmary, but not without risk.  And his desire not to face even the slightest consequences for that action - and resulting inquiry into why he'd needed on in the first place, drives him to desperation.  The first evening he doesn’t find what he’s looking for and spends the entire next day cursing the Federation, the Bajorans, Quark, and Gul Dukat for good measure.

Then he spends an entire evening cursing himself for not being able to get his own hang-ups over going to a medical professional in the first place - no matter their affiliation. More than likely he could have avoided this entire mess if he took more than a passing consideration for his own health at any point in the last three decades. Getting by on the mantra of ‘if he wasn’t bleeding out, he’d live’, had proven just fine up to a point.  

Apparently, this is that point.  

Julian’s transport is supposed to dock mid-morning and he expects to have to avoid the man.  As much as it pains him to admit, he’s not ready.  His heart and mind are still in the abyss and limbo of not knowing which is unacceptable.  

It’s not until he returns to his search the following evening that he realizes he hadn’t even seen the Doctor once all day.

Perhaps Julian is giving him space.  Waiting for Garak to come to him.  To apologize.

It’s not unheard of.  He would do it, and Julian could even expect it of him.  Maybe a few years ago he would have been too stubborn, but now?  Now he has too much to lose.  

Maybe. 

Maybe he has nothing to lose.  Maybe he has already lost it.  Either by someone else ripping his heart out or doing it himself with such hateful accusations. 

Finally, on the third night of his search, he finds what he’s looking for.

Deep in a crate of supplies unnecessary to the Federation and not quite in good enough condition for Quark to have commandeered and sold off is a broken Cardassian medical scanner.  As with much of the equipment in here, it looks worse than it is, and he knows with a little bit of care and work he can have it up and running once more.

It takes him a little longer than he’d hoped.

Julian is still either avoiding him or giving him his space - which Garak isn’t sure.  During the day he does at least try and keep up with where the man is, to keep up with what’s going on about the station.  The chaos of Bajor’s upcoming acceptance to the Federation keeps everyone occupied, especially the senior staff, and Garak doesn’t even have to worry about making excuses for him to Ziyal when the Doctor doesn’t join them for lunch.

Two days after finding the damned thing, Garak gets the scanner working again.  

The results make everything worse.

Garak stares at the medical readings until the world is nothing but a blur.  

Why do people lie?

Because they want something.

Why does Enabran Tain lie?

Because he wants power.

Power over his enemies.  Power over his allies.  Power over his own thrice damned son despite having every inch of it in the palms of his hands.  Even in death - though Garak still isn’t convinced of that fact - he maintains his steel hold over Garak’s life and heart.  If Garak had fathered a child before now - which he is almost certain he hasn’t - Tain could have easily used that against him, another tool, another bargaining chip.  But even before the child is born the single act of deception combined with his conditioning to mistrust anyone in the medical field, has succeeded in Tain’s constant desire to cut through any possible connection he may have had.  Even from the grave he threatens to ruin the one, pure, good, and bright thing in his otherwise miserable life by reinforcing his own distrust.

Garak finds himself suddenly out of breath and dizzy, groping blindly for the nearest surface to lower himself to.  Because not only had he accused Julian of such vile behavior, but Julian is carrying his child.  Their child.  A child created from a love he never in his life thought he’d be worthy of in a galaxy on the brink of war and complete destruction.

His dear Julian had been so afraid and yet so full of genuine joy.  And Garak… 

It’s no wonder he hasn’t had a difficult time avoiding the good doctor.  Given his own time to reflect on their fight, Julian likely wants nothing to do with him.

Garak doesn’t blame him in the slightest.  

He doesn’t even want anything to do with himself.

Chapter Text

There is never a perfect time to apologize to someone for accusing them of being unfaithful and conceiving another man’s child.

But right after Kirayoshi is born Garak decides it’s been long enough.  He knows Julian is always in a particularly easy mood after a birth even if he wasn’t present - the fact that it’s Chief O’Brien’s baby is likely to just exacerbate that fact.  He plans to approach him publicly at first, in the replimat where he can make the first overture of apology, to subtly let him know that Garak knows he was wrong and will be waiting for him in his quarters to appropriately make amends.  What he expects the morning after Major Kira gives birth is a bright and effusive Julian, wildly animated and ceaselessly babbling over the miracle of life and his hand in saving the newest Federation citizen all those months ago.

What he finds is the same man he could find in the replimat any other day of the week.  Smiling pleasantly, working a mug of raktajino, and listening to Lieutenant Commander Dax tell some elaborate tale of a battle she’d been in a century before.

“Good morning, Garak,” she says with a genuine smile once she’s reached a stopping point, gesturing to the empty chair at their table.  Julian grins around his mug with a welcoming nod of his own.  But there is no underlying emotion there.  Nothing he is trying to hide or overpower with a blinding smile as he is wont to do.  He is not covering up hurt or anger or bitterness of any kind.  Nor is there any depth of joy or excitement caged up and begging to get out.

He’s just plain and simple Doctor Bashir.

“Apologies for the interruption,” Garak says with a quick tilt of his head, disguising his own surprise.  “I won’t take but a moment.  Doctor Bashir, we’ve both been so otherwise occupied lately I fear we’ve entirely gotten out of the habit of seeing one another for our weekly luncheons.”

Julian looks appropriately contrite over missing a regular casual engagement and smiles apologetically.  “It has been rather wild around here, hasn’t it?  And I do miss you telling me how wrong I am about Cardassian literature.  If I remember correctly we were still working our way through The Blind Gul?”

That was, in fact, the last book they were in the middle of debating, and outwardly, Julian’s behavior isn’t any different than it ever is in public.  But Garak feels like something is wrong.

Something is missing.  

“Quite,” he agrees.  “There is also the matter of the item you’d left with me to mend sometime ago.” Namely, their relationship, which Julian had firmly left suspended in Garak’s hands.  “If you would be so kind as to stop by so we may inspect the work together?  Ensure it is up to your exacting standards.”

At this, a flash of confusion creases Julian’s brow.  But he waves it away with a quick shrug.  “Alright.  I’ll pop round your shop soon and we can give it a look.  Perhaps schedule a lunch while I’m there.”

“Marvelous plan, Doctor.  I won’t take any more of your valuable time.  Lieutenant Commander,” he gives them both one last parting nod before taking his leave at a leisurely pace despite how his heart is beating wildly in his chest.  Something is terribly wrong and if he doesn’t go about his regular routine it will consume his already fragile self entirely.  

So he opens his shop.  He keeps his appointments.  Customers come and go.  Garments are sold and mended and altered.  Ziyal suspects nothing out of the ordinary at lunch.  When he closes up for the day, it’s with a smile and wave to his neighbor Aurelia while she wipes down the glass cases displaying her own fanciful wares.  

All of it, every movement, every action, is completed with a knot of fear like he hasn’t felt in ages in the pit of his stomach.  A thought always saved for Julian, for planning how he’ll track down what is going on.  What he could say, who he could ask, what programs he’ll need to run on the station’s computer to try and get some damned answers.  

The first thing he does is follow the man, of course.  

It’s easy enough to do without being noticed that first night.  He could track him by using his very illegal access methods to the computers, but he’d rather see firsthand, for now, that all his other activities are normal.  

Just as expected, he meets Chief O’Brien for a drink before they head to the holosuites in some dreadfully bland ancient earth garb.  From his vantage point, he can't quite make out what they order.  An hour later they emerge bruised, battered, and grinning from ear to ear as if they’d had the time of their lives.  

So far it seems that Garak is the only one to notice anything strange.

Perhaps Garak is the only one to be given anything strange.  He allows, for the briefest of moments, that his fears are unfounded or, at the very least, focused in the wrong direction.  It may very well be that he’s irreparably destroyed the one point of light left in his life.

I am not giving up on us, he’d said.

He’d sworn.

Garak still believes that much, if nothing else.

After a few rounds of darts, both men retire, Doctor Bashir returning to his quarters where he remains the rest of the night, much to Garak’s frustration.  At the very least, he’d hoped to be confronted, called upon either by Julian seeking him out or requesting his presence.  

When another day passes in much the same manner, Garak decides it’s time to track this issue to its source before it drives him truly insane.

(He’s been there, doesn’t much enjoy the idea of returning.)

“Oh! Garak! What a surprise.”

It’s only a few minutes before his shift is supposed to end and Garak has gone out of his way to corner him in his office at the infirmary - somewhere Garak would only be caught dead or dying.  Literally.  Julian doesn’t move from the entrance once the door slides open, clearly genuine in his confusion at Garak’s presence anywhere near the medical facilities.    

“Good evening, Doctor.”  Garak nods slowly, keeping a pleasant smile in place and his hands clasped behind his back.  “I thought that, perhaps, I shouldn’t wait for you to come to me, for once.” 

He raises his brow ridges and the Doctor draws back just a touch, apologetic frown on his lips.

Bashir sighs.  “I keep forgetting to come see you, don’t I?”

“Indeed.  I still have that repair to return to you, as well.”

“Why don’t you bring it to lunch tomorrow?”  He asks, gesturing subtly toward the exit.  Garak doesn’t move.  “We can discuss Cardassia’s views on disabilities while I look over what I’m sure is your most flawless work.”

“We could,” he allows, drawing his words out as if playing coy.  “Or.  Perhaps, as a change of pace, we could hold off until dinner.  Say, in my quarters?”

The doctor stops trying to convince Garak to leave to a more populated area - anywhere less private, more likely, and freezes, staring out at him with his jaw dropped for a moment.  Then he snaps it shut and rubs the back of his neck.  “Ah.  Garak, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“I disagree entirely.  It’s merely a meal shared in private rather than public.  What could be bad about that?”

“You know exactly what.  Don’t be obtuse.”  He sighs, then frowns, almost pitying, but kind.  “I'd thought you'd been avoiding me after that little display of mine in your shop,” he says, seemingly genuinely upset.  "When you very succinctly turned me away?"  It had been a few days before the conference, when Julian had been in a particularly flirty mood and unwilling to adhere to Garak's boundaries of keeping it in private.  True, Garak had been a bit harsh, but he had more than made up for it that evening. 

If Garak hadn’t already suspected this creature were an imposter he may never have seen the subtle differences.  Whoever this may be, they are very very good.  “You were right to turn me away.  What we have is good, Garak.  Great.  Amazing.  You’re one of my best friends, and I… I don’t want to ruin that by trying something that could end in disaster.”  

“Ah, my dear,” he responds with a warm smile, head tilted down just enough to play at flirting.  “It could also be the greatest journey either of us has ever endeavored.”

In truth, it had been Julian who had persisted.  Julian who had said those same words to Garak when Garak had already given in but feared the idea of losing him.  Either because they weren’t as compatible as they had both dared to hope, or because Garak would, inevitably, prove to be too wrong somehow for the good, kind man he’d come to love.  

For the man he’d never be good enough for, who he’d come to finally accept loved him anyway.  

“I’m sorry, Garak,” he gets in response, the man’s voice cracked and soft, laced with worry and authentic regret.  “Please don’t ask this of me.”

Garak makes a show of embarrassment.  He lets it flash across his features and hides it away a touch slower than he normally would with a smirk and serene smile.  “Think no more of it,” he assures him.  “What is it you humans are so fond of saying? ‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained?’  It appears I simply missed my chance.”  

“Quite,” he says with a heavy, relieved sigh.  

“Perhaps, to show that nothing need change just because of both of our… mis-steps, we could grab something from Quark’s instead?  You could try and convince me once more that Ridain should have remained in power in the end.” 

“He was blinded, Garak, not made suddenly incompetent.”  

While Garak fully agreed with the argument in principle, he’d been working - the last time they debated this - to make Julian understand from a Cardassian viewpoint of strength and duty to state rather than the ridiculous Federation notion that anyone who wants to do something can by sheer force of will.

“That is entirely beside the point,” he starts and is interrupted by a sudden burst of laughter.  

“Alright, alright.  You win.  Quarks.  I am starving, and I feel a sudden need to put you in your place.”  The doctor clasps his hands together and rubs them in excitement.  Garak finally allows himself to be led away from the office and through the open air of the infirmary towards the exit.  

“Quark recently received a very rare bottle of Acamarian brandy you should try,” the Doctor says as they walk.  “My treat.”

Planet-wide klaxons are quieter than the alarms in Garak’s head. “Have you indulged, Doctor?”

“Mm, yes.”  He clasps Garak on the round of his shoulder, a friendly touch rather than higher on the curve of his ridges as a lover may, as he guides him out of the infirmary.  “Last night with Miles, in fact.  It’s surprisingly smooth with an almost… citrusy bite to it.  Potent, too.”

It takes all of Garak’s training in subterfuge and espionage not to turn and attack the being at his side with the strength and sudden surety of who he is not.

Garak may not be a medical professional, or know many ins and outs of pregnancy in humans - or any species for that matter.  But he does know this much.  Alcohol is not permitted.  And Julian Bashir would not chance even a drop to pass his own lips were he expecting a child.

If nothing else, Julian - his Julian, who he’d cursed and accused and sworn - did not lie about that.  

“You know,” Garak says suddenly, feeling the hand at his shoulder burn in the worst way.  It’s a violation that makes his stomach churn violently.  “I just remembered a client requested their alteration be completed a day early and I haven’t quite finished it yet.”  

The imposter’s face falls in such a perfect imitation of Julian’s disappointment it physically hurts Garak.  “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure, I’m afraid.”  Garak deftly steps away and out of the unwelcomed touch, clasping his own hands together just below his chin and tilting in deepest apologies.  “Perhaps we can catch up tomorrow after all?”

“I… I guess.”  This imposter is good.  He frowns with the same quirk of his lips, subtle arch to his brow and pout in his eyes.  It angers Garak like nothing has so far, like no other act this creature has put on.  Because he knows then, without a doubt, that if it hadn’t been for their relationship, for the love they shared under the security of secrecy, he likely wouldn’t have noticed. 

Rather than make any further lengthy excuses, he makes his escape.

And then, he is enraged.

He doesn’t just feel it or express it.  His blood runs thick with fury, seeping out through his flesh and scales until he radiates with it, fingers tingling and head a buzz.  A million thoughts wage war in his mind - where to go, what to do, who to involve, who to kill.  The first murderous thought of slowly, painfully taking out the imposter makes his stomach lurch hard enough he almost vomits.  Just the slimmest chance it could actually be Julian only brainwashed somehow makes that option plummet to the bottom of the list.

Though it’s still on it.

Moisture prickles in his eyes and he refuses to succumb.

He needs to destroy things, to let the hatred and anger and pain out so he can collect all the leftover shattered pieces of himself together and begin to plan.  In his quarters he starts to strip before the door even fully closes, tearing at zips and clasps hard enough many of them begin to rip and he doesn’t care.  At the door to his bedroom, he pulls the next one purposely hard enough the fabric splits.  A figure on his bookshelf is thrown to the ground.  A data rod crunches under his shoe.  His clothes tear.  His floor becomes cluttered with shards of glass and pieces of complicated electronics, hair wild, breath quick, heartbeat quicker.

And then, he stops.

His fingers brush soft, worn, well-loved fur.  Patched together and brought back to life time and time again.

Finally, Garak breaks.

“I know there will always be secrets between us, Elim. I - I’m not naive enough to think that will change just because we love one another.”  Julian stroked Garak’s bare chest idly, fingers dancing in an intricate pattern known only to him.  The lights were a dim glow, skin otherwise blanketed in a sea of stars.  Garak breathed deeply, swimming in the pleasure of their shared scents of sweat and sex.  He hummed in vague agreement before running his fingers through Julian’s thoroughly tousled hair.

He kissed his temple.

Julian continued.  “Even still, there are, well, some things I want to share.  Well, one thing.  A rather silly thing, really.  Ridiculous that I’m so - “

“Julian, my dear,” he shifted to kiss him properly, “sweet,” and again, “love,” and again.  This time, the kiss lingered, Julian parting his lips and welcoming the gentle glide of Garak’s tongue within.  Garak’s hands began to wander, down the smooth expanse of his back, tracing the ridges of his spine, cupping his firm buttocs then even further to slip two fingers where he was still loose and wet with Garak’s seed.  Julian moaned into the kiss, stoking Garak’s desire.  

“Elim… you’re… ah… taking me off topic.”

“We can always return to it, after.” 

“This is important.”  Immediately, but with great care, Garak withdrew his fingers, though they continued to hold one another, pressed intimately together across every inch.  

“Whatever you have to tell me will remain in my confidence.  I shall take it to my grave.”

Julian frowned.  “It’s not that serious.”

“Perhaps not,” Garak allowed with a nod.  “But it is important to you, therefore it is important to me.”

The kiss Julian gave him then was so deep and full of affection it threatened to steal Garak’s breath, made him light headed not with physical want but a powerful need to hold on and simply never let go.

“This,” Julian whispered against his lips, “may be my, hm, second biggest secret? Or perhaps tied to my first really which, I can’t…” He trailed off.

The distress on his lover’s face tore at Garak.  “It’s alright,” he assured him softly.  Which was what he needed, apparently, as suddenly Julian was gone.  He rolled over to the edge of the bed and hung off the side to dig in the overnight bag he’d rather illicitly teleported there the day before, arriving a few minutes later in civilian clothes as he always did.  (Garak deeply loved Julian’s penchant for ignoring stupid rules.)

What he brought back, however, put a confused frown on Garak’s face.  

“ What is that? ”

“This,” Julian placed the strange, threadbare, inanimate creature on Garak’s chest.  “Is Kukalaka.  It’s a child’s toy.  Nothing inherently special about him.”

Garak’s heart twisted with fondness.  From how difficult this confession was for Julian, it was very clear it mattered to him a great deal.  And more than that, whatever he thinks or knows or feels about Garak and his past, he trusts him with this piece of his heart.

“Tell me, please, why he’s so special to you.”

Julian’s smile was blinding.  But he quickly ducked down to hide his face in the curve of Garak’s neck.  “It’s what he represents,” he said, fingers brushing a missing patch of fur.

“And what is that?”

“Myself.  Sort of.  It’s ridiculous and stupid, really.  He was my first patient.  That part, and that I still cling to a toy from my childhood isn’t what's important or some great secret though.  It’s… he reminds me that, if nothing else, there is still that part of that little boy left in me.  The one who cares, who wants to help people, after everything, is still there.”

“Well of course he is.  You grew up. You didn’t suddenly become a diff-”

Julian’s bitter huff of a laugh cut Garak off.  Worse, were the tears he could suddenly feel spilling against his neck where his lover hid from the world.  Garak immediately held him tighter, shushing him quietly while he stroked his back in comfort.  This was clearly only the smallest tip of whatever darkest secrets Julian held painfully deep in his soul.  But Garak didn’t care.  How could he when he held his own far deeper and darker than the man in his arms would likely ever know?  Though Julian knew of his darkness, he didn’t know what lay within.  And yet, Julian loved him anyway.  How could Garak ever offer anything less in return for that gift?

He told him as much, and Julian kissed him, again and again and again until the kisses weren’t enough, until the touch wasn’t enough.  And as they made love, Garak vowed to himself he would spend the rest of his life proving the depth of his love and devotion if that is what it would take.

Hours later, in the darkest part of the night, cleaned up and re-dressed and thinking clearly, Garak makes a decision that he’d never thought he’d be capable of.

He needs help, and the situation is too dire, too important - and Garak far too fragile - to go about it his usual way.  There is no time or room for subtle manipulations and clever trickery to get someone to unwittingly lend their aid.

No.

He needs help.  And he’s going to have to be honest about why he needs it.

He’s going to have to ask for it.

For Julian, he’d do just about anything. 

Chapter Text

“This better be damned good,” Sisko grouses the moment he opens this door to find Garak standing there.  He’s beyond grumpy, swaddled in a robe with a deep scowl creasing his features.  Garak had expected nothing less, given the time of night.

It is pushing 0300 after all.

“I believe a security breach of this magnitude is more than adequate of an excuse,” he offers quietly, checking the hall around him for the hundredth time.

Though the captain looks as if he’s bitten into something sour, he ushers Garak in.  He’s never been the kind of man to brush aside a potential risk to his station even before the threat of war hung heavy in the air.  He’s not about to start now.

“You have five minutes, Mr. Garak.  If I don’t believe the credibility of your concerns by then, I’m going back to bed even if you aren’t done talking.”  

This is more than he expected, in truth. “Well, then I better not waste a moment.  Captain Sisko, I regret to inform you that your Chief Medical Officer - or whoever is acting as such - is not who he says he is.”  He sees the Captain straighten and his eyes clear as he begins to listen in earnest.  

“I assume you have evidence to back up this claim,” he responds, tone concerned despite the skepticism of his words.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” he says.  However, he doesn’t elaborate right away.  As much as he’d resigned himself to telling the truth, or some version of it, he isn’t about to put all his cards on the table - as Julian is so fond of saying.  “I’m sure you’re quite aware that Doctor Bashir and I have considered each other friends for some time?”

Sisko nods.

It’s not exactly a secret that none of the Federation officers, well, none of the Federation crew at all, are happy about this truth, but Sisko keeps that to himself.

“When the Doctor returned from Meezan IV several weeks ago our weekly get-togethers ceased.  Originally it had been entirely of my design after a… disagreement we had.  However, once I attempted to make my apologies, the lack of contact persisted.  In fact, when I went to confront the matter directly it was as if our argument had never occurred.  He had no recollection of the discussion whatsoever.”

With a heavy groan, Sisko rubs his face.  He holds his hands up, then a single finger.  “Do you mean to tell me that you have woken me up at this ungodly hour, rang the alarm of danger, and accused my chief medical officer of being compromised just because he was too busy to remember a tiff you had and then blew you off?”

There’s a quiet rage under Sisko’s calm demeanor and his cheek twitches while he waits for what he’s sure to expect to be Garak’s feeble attempt at defense.  

Instead, Garak goes for broke.

He clears his throat and steps away, looking out into the vast, never-ending sea of stars, wondering, not for the first time this evening, which direction he would have to look to be looking for Julian.

“Doctor Bashir and I… Julian and I began an exclusive, intimate relationship right around six months ago.”

The room goes cold.

“Hold that thought.”  

Garak looks around to find Sisko crossing the open space to a small side table that contains several crystal glasses and decanters of different liquids.  He pours himself a generous portion from one, inspects the contents, doubles it, then knocks it all back in one go.

“Right.  When I told him to keep his friends close and his enemies closer, I’ll admit, this is not what  I had in mind.”  

Garak doesn’t even bristle at being considered the enemy in this scenario.  This man would be a poor Captain indeed if he stopped considering Garak as anything but, even only slightly.  

“Before he left for the conference, Julian came to me with news that, against seemingly insurmountable odds, and entirely unintentionally, we had conceived… that he was expecting.”

Sisko inhales sharply, then requests a raktajino from the replicator, putting one last shot of whatever he’d downed in the mug. He comes closer to Garak’s side.  There’s a softness in his gaze now, more understanding, almost sad.  “That was almost a month ago.  And you said you fought?  I’m assuming you didn’t take the news well.”

“I regret my immediate reaction deeply.  Now, more than ever, I regret how long it took me to decide to apologize and then again how long I was a coward before making the attempt.  Tonight, whoever I spoke to in the infirmary had no recollection of the fact we’ve been in a relationship for over half a year, nor any knowledge of our.. Our…”  He curses his inability to say it without feeling weak, without feeling the anvil crushing his chest push down all the harder.

Thankfully, Sisko is a man of great understanding and mercy.  “Your child,” he says for him, so that it’s out there.  So that someone has acknowledged his pain.  

Garak nods, and swallows.

For a long time, the silence is almost suffocating.  The Captain paces, clearly recalling interactions and conversations since the suspected change.  His features are as expressive as always - not overly so, but the conflicting emotions he’s going through would certainly be clear to anyone who knows him.

Garak counts himself among those people.  

“But he…” Sisko starts, then stops.  He grimaces and places his mug on the nearest surface. “He’s still so Julian.  He performed surgery on me.  He cuddled with Yoshi the night he was born and plays darts and drinks with O’Brien and flirts with Dax.  Nothing seems off.”

“Captain,” Garak sighs, feeling the edge of anger seep into his words.  “I must insist - “

“No.  No, Mr. Garak, I believe you.  Entirely. I'm just… shaken, to say the least.  Best case scenario is that he IS Doctor Bashir with only his memory altered.”

“I’d hardly see a reason for anyone to target only his memories of us.”  There are enemies he wouldn’t put it past however there would be no real purpose behind the act.  Not right now, not while he’s in exile.  There wouldn’t be any point to it other than an overabundance of malice.  

“I did say best case, not most likely,” Sisko adds with a sigh.  “We need to handle this delicately.  If Doctor Bashir is being kept somewhere we don’t want to tip our hand too soon in case they decide they have no more use for him.”

That would be a most unacceptable outcome.  Garak isn’t sure he would survive it.

“Agreed.”

“You haven’t told anyone else about this, have you?” 

Garak simply gives him a look, frowning deeply.

“Should have expected that.”  Sisko apologizes with a simple nod.  “Keep it that way.  I will read in Major Kira.”  

“She won’t believe you if you tell her your source.  I’m surprised you do, for that matter.”

“You aren’t the only one, Mr. Garak.  But people have been replaced before, and I trust my gut. In this case, well…”  He leaves the assurances at that and takes a deep breath.  “I’ll make sure we find a way to corroborate and prove it to her.  Then she and I will work on neutralizing his security codes, quietly.  Nothing that would be of any significance to the station is anything he’d use on a daily basis as a medical officer.  And if he brings up issues with his codes, we’ll know he’d been trying to use them in secret.  Meanwhile, you can utilize the station’s system to do whatever digging you need to try and track down what happened.  Do you think you’ll need to go to Meezan IV?”

He shakes his head.  “Likely not.  No one I’d want to speak to would still be there, and I can easily track his movements by tracing the use of any of his personal codes. Though I will certainly let you know if that changes.”

“Good.  Then we’ll get you set up decoding some signals we will conveniently be picking up from the wormhole.  You can start at 0900 in Ops when I call you in to ask a special favor of you.”  

With the decision made, Garak says his thanks and moves to leave.  But Sisko stops him, reaching out with an aborted movement, just barely missing contact with his arm before he drops his hand completely.  The look of command on his features has been softened by concern, by true understanding, and empathy.

“Mr. Garak,” he says quietly. “Why did you bring this to me?  I would have expected you to manipulate the entire station into doing your bidding - unknowingly - to out the imposter before you came clean with any of this.”

“I love him, Captain,” Garak responds without a breath of hesitation.  “And against everything I’ve ever been taught and the many hard lessons I’ve learned in the most difficult ways, I’ve told you all of this because I am… I am afraid.”  Angry at himself for showing even the slightest vulnerability, let alone something so damning, Garak turns away again, keeping his shoulders back and rigid, breathing deeply and standing tall.  “Whoever is wearing his uniform, that is not Julian.  Which means he was captured.  He is out there somewhere and while I have not insignificant resources to call upon, combining what I have with those available to Starfleet will make the search much easier.  And much faster.”

“We’ll find him, Mr. Garak.”

He doesn’t have anything to say to that.

There really isn’t any other option.

For two days he makes a home for himself in a far corner of Ops, keeping a screen full of old encrypted codes easily handy in case anyone happens by, but diving deeply into Starfleet and civilian records alike of every single movement Julian made on the way to and from Meezan IV.  When that proves infuriatingly fruitless, he scrutinizes everything he’s done since then.  If he can’t trace down what happened before Julian was replaced, then perhaps finding out what his replica is up to may lead him in the right direction.

He and the Captain don’t speak much out of necessity, and when the imposter makes his way to operations Garak always, conveniently, finds somewhere else to be.  But as far as he can tell, Sisko and Major Kira are doing a good job of keeping track of where he is and what he’s doing every minute of the day.  From what he can see - and what he’s discerned from his own dive into the station's logs - the man isn’t actually doing anything nefarious during his day-to-day duties or even at night under the cover of darkness.  

The likelihood that he’s an agent with a specific task rather than a general spy goes up with each passing hour of otherwise innocuous activity.

On the morning of day three, a real transmission that needs to be encoded is handed to him by a worried Sisko.    

Only its source has him abandoning his other tasks entirely.

From somewhere deep in Dominion territory comes a signal with encryption he’d recognize in his sleep.  He knows what it says before it even begins to repeat.

More importantly, he knows who it’s from.

Tain.

“I require a runabout.”

He’s standing in the captain’s office two hours after being handed the code.  It had only taken him so long to decide what to do about Tain’s message.  Plus, he’d needed to give himself some plausible deniability.  

“I assume you’re going to tell me what for?”

“There’s a lead I would like to follow.”  Though Sisko opens his mouth as if to speak, Garak barrels forward.  “Not, as we had once thought, to go to Meezan IV.”  

“Of course not,” the captain sighs and shakes his head. “And we’re sure this has nothing to do with the code we actually gave you this morning?”

“That old planetary survey? Irrelevant.”

“Commander Worf will go with you.”

Which is permission, but with a condition he hadn’t planned for.  There’s a slim chance he can get around this - very slim - but he has to try.

“I hardly think that necessary, Captain.  I won’t be gone a whole day.  There is simply a doctor that Julian had contact with at his conference, doing work for the Federation on a colony all but cut off from deep space transmissions.  It will be a matter of hours to get there, beam down, ask him my questions and return.”  

“You’re taking Commander Worf, and that’s final, Mr. Garak.” He smirks.  “So you may as well tell me where you’re really going.”

Defeated, Garak sighs and throws out his hands.  “As long as you’re letting me go.”

He does tell the truth, eventually, (part of it) and though Sisko never rescinds his permission, he does question if Enabran Tain should be his priority - something Garak has been questioning for years.  But, as he tells the captain, not only could there be any number of other survivors or captives, it could, truly, be a lead toward finding his precious doctor as well given their certainty that their duplicate is a changeling.  One he can’t pass over.

Sisko doesn’t have to tell him to keep the truth about Julian to himself until there would be a reason to share it.

It makes it rather difficult, several hours later, to convince Worf to continue into dangerous territory when they’re so close he can taste it.  He only hopes their warning to deep space nine made it through the wormhole, since they won’t be any time soon.  

Enabran Tain, even on death’s door, hasn’t changed.

Garak doesn’t know what he expected, really.  It doesn’t surprise him, and despite coming here to track him down, he hadn’t exactly hoped for anything more.  The pain and disappointment of not having gotten any closer to finding Julian leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and makes his words sharp and his anger sharper.  Tain’s flippant dismissal of his arrival doesn’t hurt as much as it adds more fuel to the fire of his own ire.  Whatever acceptance he’d thought to find by coming here he’d lost long, long ago.

But if Tain was able to get a message out, then he damned well could too.

So he asks General Martok - who has been here for at least two years - to explain what they had done, exactly how they’d managed to get any message out at all.  Because if nothing else, Tain did teach Garak literally everything he ever knew.  How to lie. How to cheat. How to manipulate more than just people.  Codes and intricate, delicate electronics were his to command.  

He’s desperately trying to bury his apprehension at the idea that the method of sending communications is in a fucking wall when a Romulan woman comes into the Barracks.

“They’re releasing him from isolation.”

“Who?” Worf asks.

“A friend,” the General assures him while the racket of a struggle begins to get louder outside.  

A moment later his heart all but stops.

“ Julian. ”

His awed whisper is drowned out by a shout and the heavy sound of impact as Julian is shoved against the bulkhead.  But it’s him, hair a mess, face far more gaunt than it should be, and covered in a thick layer of growth.  Though he looks up and catches Garak’s wide-eyed gaze, there’s only a flicker of emotion there before he all but shuts down, eyes darting around at their rather large audience.

It pains him to keep his distance, especially now, after how he’d almost lost him, how long it’s been since he held him, touched him, and after how he’d left things.

But if Julian, one of the most impulsive and emotional humans Garak’s ever known, can recognize the situation they’re in and act accordingly, Garak certainly can as well.  Even if every moment they’re in the same space, a world apart, kills him painfully slow.

Julian moves mechanically through the room, eyes haunted and shrugging away from contact.  How long he’d been in isolation Garak doesn’t know.  He realizes he doesn't really know anything and every single detail he’s missing vexes him more than the previous one.  He doesn’t know how long he was isolated, doesn’t know how he’s fared here physically, if he’s been in that damned fighting ring, if he’s been hurt, starved, beaten.  

He doesn’t know if he should even hope for anything more than simply having him back.

He doesn’t even dare think about it.

After Julian pricks his finger and swipes his ‘B negative’ blood on the bench and they discuss the possibility of other changelings among them, Worf frowns and asks, “when were you brought here?”

Julian sighs, but Garak answers for him.  “Over a month ago.”

When Julian’s head snaps up in shock it’s clear he hadn’t been expecting Garak to know.  He nods slowly in agreement.  “I was attending a burn treatment conference on Meezan Four.  I expected them to send a replacement like they had for General Martock but…” he glances curiously between Garak and Commander Worf.

“They did,” Worf grumbles, shaking his head.  “A very good one.  No one knew.  I don’t think even Chief O’Brien knew.”

Julian frowns, clearly pained by this, but looks up at Garak with the faintest hint of a plea in his eyes.  “Captain Sisko knows, however, because I told him,” Garak assures him.  “It took longer than I’d care to admit. Though, given how your replacement and I ah,” he pauses and can’t help but glance down with a flick of his gaze at Julian’s abdomen, something that makes the other man close his eyes and breathe deeply.  But otherwise, Julian doesn’t move, doesn't give anything away.  “He and I were avoiding each other.  Once I forced contact, however, I knew, and went straight to Captain Sisko.”  

“You did?” Julian asks, clearly awed.

“You did?” Worf echoes, much angrier than Julian, glaring up at Garak.

“He and Major Kira had the changeling tightly monitored by the time the Commander and I left.”  

“But how did you convince him?”  Julian asks dubiously.

“I tried something new, my dear,” he says with a soft smile, unable and unwilling to hold back on the term of endearment.  “I told the truth.”

“Or some version of it.”

Garak shakes his head.  “He knows everything you’ve been trying to get me to allow you to share for months.  And… a little more.”

Julian stands with a jerk, face blank except for his eyes.  They’re darting around the crowded room, desperate, but for what Garak hasn’t a clue.  “I need some air.”  When he steps forward they all part to let him through.  He makes it to the door in two long strides then turns and looks back.  “Join me, Garak.”

The compound is larger than he expects, and two full circles of the perimeter takes them, at their snail's pace, almost an hour. They walk side by side in complete silence.  Garak lets it be, lets Julian have his thoughts, work through whatever is going on in his head.  It’s easy to see this place has affected him greatly, stolen something from him - though how much he doesn’t yet know.

Suddenly, he’s pulled off into a corner - not hidden by any means, but private for the moment.  He finds his arms full of the man he loves and held in turn so tight, it begins to hurt and he doesn’t even care.

“Oh, Julian.”

“Elim,” he whispers into his hair.  “I’ve missed you so damned much.”  For a moment they simply hold one another, breathing deeply and remembering why they fight for what is important.  “We can stay in this spot but not like this,” Julian says after a longer stretch of time than is likely safe.  “The guard rotation will be back soon.”

Slowly, painfully, they extricate themselves from one another and put a distance between them that hurts almost as much as when they were an entire galaxy apart. 

“Did you really tell Sisko everything?” Julian asks, full of disbelief.

“I had to find you, my dear.  I needed his resources and couldn’t waste a single second acquiring them any other way.”  

“Well, at least I’ll finally get to stop imagining what his lecture will entail,” he adds with a huff, but no smile.  Neither of them points out that the lecture will be entirely dependent on them getting out of here in the first place. 

At that moment, as Julian had predicted, a pair of Jem’Hadar guards slowly walks into view, one eyeing them with deep suspicion as they begin pacing the immediate area - always in sight.

“I find I owe you the deepest of apologies,” Garak offers quietly after a long stretch of silence.  “I treated you with suspicion and anger that were not your due just before you left and it was wrong of me.  Terrible.  Especially since - to no one’s surprise at all - it was Tain who had lied about my procedure.  Even had my medical records altered, as it turns out.”

Julian accepts his apology with the same grace as he always does, and far more than Garak surely deserves.  But that leaves one last, soul-shattering question lingering thick in the air between them.

“Is it…” Garak clears his throat, finding trouble speaking, which is an uncomfortable feeling he is unaccustomed to.  Julian tries and fails to hide the pain on his own face.  “Are you still…”

“I don’t know,” he admits with a trembling whisper.  “Honestly, I try not to think about it.  I’m still sick all the time, which is typically a good sign in humans but could just as easily be this miserable place.  But I haven’t had any cramping or hemorrhaging so…”  His hands twitch by his side, clearly aching to cradle his stomach as his fingers press just against his hip, and unable to keep his gaze from going down.  

Garak’s own hands burn to reach out and hold him, to shield him from everything.

“I want you to touch me so much it hurts, Garak.”

“I know, my dear.  Perhaps when we get out of here, we can finally crawl into bed and not leave for a week like you’re always threatening to do when you have to leave me for a shift.”

For the first time since they were reunited, Julian smiles.  It’s small and timid, brittle, but the most beautiful thing Garak has ever seen.  “That is a marvelous idea.” 

Hours pass while they wander idly, Garak catching Julian up on what happened at the station over the last month, carefully avoiding any mention of the changeling’s interactions with his friends.  When their evening rations are handed out, Garak ensures that at least half of his own portion makes it into Julian's hands when he’s sure their ever-vigilant guards aren’t looking.  It’s painfully telling how the man never puts up a protest.

Julian is describing his stubborn streak of demands that had him thrown in isolation for five days (which more than explains his stoic demeanor) when General Martok finds them.

Tain is dying.

With a few silent looks and subtle nods between them, Julian joins him in the otherwise quiet barracks as he all but begs his father to acknowledge him as his son just once.  

Even that, apparently, is too great an ask.

Garak’s always been his greatest disappointment, after all.

“Elim…”  There’s a hand on his shoulder that he fights not to reach for, staring down at the lifeless form of one of the only beings he’d ever cared for throughout most of his life.  

Until Julian. 

His insides twist with fear and pain and a typhoon of self-loathing.  Uncertainly claws at his skin, panic setting into his bones.  He wasn’t good enough.  He never will be.  Not for Tain.  Not for Julian.  And certainly not for….

“I am afraid this is the only parental figure I have to go on, my dear.”  The smoothness of his voice is his lie, the falsehood he wraps around himself like a thick blanket, calm and steady.  “The chances I’ll be much the same are - “

“Elim,” Julian interrupts, even softer this time.  “Darling.  Did he ever, truly, love anyone but himself?”

“No.”  Garak slowly lifts the thin sheet to cover Tain’s body, standing as he does so.  “No,” his voice cracks.  “I don’t think he did.”

“And do you love me?”

“Of course I do!”  He spins abruptly to stand face to face with Julian, holding him by his arms, far closer than they should be here, now, but not caring in the slightest.  “No matter what mistakes I make - and I’m certain there will be many - do not ever doubt that.”

Julian steps fully into Garak’s arms, a hand on his face, thumb gently brushing his cheek.  “Then you are already a better man than he could ever hope to be.  And I have no doubt in my heart you will be an exceptionally better father. ”

The word, and Julian’s emphasis, strikes a resonant chord in Garak’s shattered heart.  Something settles in his soul.  It’s still sharp and painfully rough around its jagged edges, but it’s whole.

His determination to get them out of here is set aflame once more, mostly, so he has every chance he can grasp to prove Julian right.

Chapter Text

Enabran Tain is taken from Barracks Six unceremoniously by two, silent, stoic Jem’Hadar.  There are no words said, no tears shed.  More than likely, they incinerate his body. 

Garak finds he doesn’t much care.

All that matters now is escape.  His job is to get Julian off this rock and back to something resembling safe.  The most obvious answer is, of course, building off Tain’s work.  As Commander Worf and he discuss the option of changing the communication target and message he’s already calculating intervals and variables based on the code he’d seen back on Deep Space Nine.  He’ll have to see the mechanics, of course, but there are enough universals that he’s certain he could do it.  It will take time and patience, but he knows he can do it.  He has to.

Now, if it just weren’t in a tiny crawl space that makes him want to vomit just thinking about it.

Before there is a chance to inspect the work, however, they are all dragged out to the center of the camp for something that, for the briefest of moments, allows Garak to hope.

Deyos, their prison warden apparently, stands in front of his crew of Jem’Hadar and looks out over the prisoners with a smug grin.  “All Cardassian prisoners step forward.”  

There are seven of them among the crowd collected.  Every last one looks around and hesitates.  The Dominion isn’t exactly known for its kindness, to say the least.  Slowly, Garak and his fellow Cardassians begin to move.

Julian presses a quick, glancing touch to Garak’s wrist with the tips of two fingers.  

An acknowledgment.

Of their connection.

Of their shared fear.

He steps away and his wrist feels cold.

“I am pleased to announce that the hostilities between our peoples have ended. As of today, Cardassia has joined the Dominion. Therefore, you're all being sent home. Congratulations on your new status as Dominion citizens.”

Hope like nothing he’d thought to experience here in the Gamma quadrant surges through his chest.  Dozens of possible rescue scenarios play out in his head, the most immediate of which is simply getting back in the runabout, beaming Julian and Commander Worf out of here, and running like hell in whatever direction the Dominion isn’t .  It’s not exactly an elegant plan, but it’s not far off from what they’d already discussed.  

Julian’s eyes are wide with shock when Garak looks back.  The barest hint of a smile tugs at the very edges of his lips when he nods, telling Garak it’s okay.  He trusts him to get them to safety.

And then it’s all cut out from underneath him from one breath to the next.

“Ah.  Not you, Mister Garak.”  Deyos says, far too pleased.

Garak turns to him with his heart racing in his chest.  

“Excuse me?”

“You're staying,” he tells him plainly.  It’s clear that not only had he been frustrated at letting go of any of his prisoners, but that keeping at least one brought him at least some restitution for his loss.

“Well there must be some sort of misunderstanding,” Garak insists. “The last time I checked, I was a Cardassian.”

“But not a very popular one, I'm afraid.”  Deyos tuts. “At least not with the head of the new Cardassian government.”

If Garak thought himself cold before, his skin turns to absolute ice.  There are many who would see him suffer, but the list of those who would go out of their way to single him out is smaller than most would think. 

As of half an hour ago, the list is one name shorter.

“And who would that be?” He asks, already knowing the answer, feeling it thick and malicious in the air.

“Gul Dukat.”

Garak is going to drive a very dull knife through that smug bastard’s heart the next time he sees him.  It will take great skill to hit something so microscopically small and he’ll enjoy every single second of his slow and painful death.

He watches his fellow Cardassians get escorted back through the heavily guarded doors towards where they’d been processed initially.  Towards their freedom.  

Towards the hope of escape that Dukat had stolen from him implicitly. 

The moment Julian is at his side and none of their wardens are within ear shot, he all but growls his anger.

“I think it's time we were done with this place.”

The wall is worse than he’d imagined.

“This would make a wonderful interrogation chamber. Tight quarters, no air, bad lighting, random electric shocks.” Garak jerks and scowls at the new burn on the back of his hand.  “It's perfect.”  

He’s pressed in on what feels like all sides.  Logically, he knows he can move side to side.  He can escape.  He can leave.  But the unforgiving press of metal made to withstand the vacuum of space presses against his back while cross bars and broken electronic modules dig into his front at sharp angles.  

“Sounds like you're enjoying yourself,” comes Julian’s voice through the empty air.  

“If you'd like, I'd happily trade places with you,” he snaps back harsher than he intends.  

“I suppose you could give me a crash course in Cardassian field engineering.”  Oddly enough, picturing Julian as he speaks helps tremendously.  Garak takes a deep breath and imagines he’s saying this on the station, sitting brazenly on a replimat table while Garak sits politely in a chair.  Julian would have one leg up, the other swinging lightly as he makes light of years of study and expertise.  “I should be ready to take over from you in what, five or six weeks?”

When Garak opens his eyes again the space is a little less cramped.

“Visitors,” one of their lookouts snaps.

“Quiet,” Julian warns before Garak hears the distinct sound of the crawl space being completely shut off again.  

Deep breaths.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

In.

Out.

He can do this for Julian.  He can do this for the life he carries.  He can do this for them.

His breathing becomes all he focuses on while the commotion carries on back in the barracks.  If he concentrates he can make out what they’re saying easily enough, but he’s far too focused on not thinking how tight everything is.  How there’s something stabbing him on his right lower side.  How when he tries to pull away from it all he gets is solid wall.  

And then Julian tells him to wait.  

Tells him he’s stuck here.

Just a little while longer, Garak.

Yes, but how long is a little while?  How long are they going to be watched?

Panic is right there at the edge of his vision, creeping closer and closer with every breath he forgets how to take correctly.

He can’t move forward. He can’t move back. He can’t move to the exit he can’t leave.   His heart pounds dangerously in his chest and his stomach churns hard enough he has to swallow back bile.  He’s running out of air, out of time.  He has to leave.

He can’t leave.

Julian opens the panel.

“That was thoroughly unpleasant.” His voice is flippant.

His heart is going to explode.

“Are you all right?” Julian asks, immediately on the alert.  His hands are on Garak and if he were clear headed at all he’d shove him off - politely, of course.  But he barely even registers the touch, can’t think of what he could possibly be doing.

“I am fine, my dear.  It’s just much hotter in there than I thought.  I got a little light headed,” he tries to assure him.  Shifting away.  He doesn’t get very far.  “Give me a minute and I’ll go right back.”

“No, you need more than a minute.  Your pulse is racing.”  His hands move, oh so gently, down from his temple to his neck, body tense with worry but touch as delicate as ever.  

Garak does love his hands.

Julian frowns.  “I don’t want to think about your blood pressure.  Maybe you should wait until tomorrow.”

“Do you want to get off this hellhole or not?” Garak snaps for the second time.  

Julian’s frown doesn’t change.  He simply looks down at his stomach and then back up at Garak with a deep crease in his brow, and Garak sighs.  Of course he does, and of course they’re all doing whatever they can, and what Julian can do, is worry about and care for people.  

“Let me get back to work, please.”

“Rest,” Julian says with a tug on Garak’s hands.  “Five minutes.”

Before he really knows what’s even happening Garak finds himself sitting carefully on the cot that protects their sole escape route with Julian close at his side.  Too close.

His head is spinning far too much to question it.  

Julian keeps him out for at least half an hour.  

He spends the time in the relative openness of the room remembering how to breathe correctly and picturing the circuits and nodes, imagining the most efficient way to cross wires and reprogram transistors manually.  

“I have to go back in now.”  Garak inhales slowly.

The warmth pressed against his side shifts and he opens his eyes to see Julian staring at him with a wide open, loving gaze. “I have every faith in you, Elim,” he whispers then presses the briefest flutter of a kiss to his temple.  It’s the first kiss he’s had from Julian in almost five long, agonizing weeks.  More than anything he could say to himself, more than any other lie or reassurance or platitude, that is what gets him moving again.

Inside the crawl space is just as tight as before, just as imposing.  But he makes it through four transtator circuits before the first flicker of fear trickles down his spine.

It’s worse than sharp nails on a hardened clay surface, and he doesn’t even know where it comes from.  A million bugs crawling on his skin would be more welcome. 

A socket sparks.

His hand stings.

The light above him flickers.

Garak’s eyes go wide.  “I’m sorry, but that is absolutely unacceptable,” he tells the fiber optic cables, his only source of light in this torture hole.  

The next circuit slides into place.    

His light flickers again.  “I am under enough strain as it is, I can’t have you quitting on me.”  

He snaps at the light.

He snaps at himself.

“Get a hold of yourself, Garak. After all, you haven't had one of these attacks in years. Yes, this is a tight enclosed space. Yes, there's not a lot of room to move. But a disciplined mind does not allow itself to be sidetracked by niggling psychological disorders like claustrophobia .”  Another circuit.  Another spark.  Another flicker of light.  “Besides, this isn't like Tzenketh. The walls won't collapse in on you. Your friends are nearby, Julian is right outside, there's plenty of air, so there's nothing to be concerned about. Focus on the job. You're the only person who can contact the runabout. People are depending on you.”

But I couldn't count on you, could I? All you've done is to doom us both.  You’ve doomed us all.  

“You're stronger than this. A disciplined mind.”

I have every faith in you.

“Julian needs you to do this.”

I’m pregnant, Elim.

“Your child needs you to be better than this.  Your child needs you and like hell you’re going to disappoint them like you’ve been disappointed your whole life.”

I am not giving up on us.

The light goes dead.

Thoughts that had been going through his head, commands to himself, assurances, equations, next steps in his process, the voices of the man he loves, all of it, turns to a cacophony of pure static.  Loud, blinding pounding against his head while his heart tightens and pulses in such a manner he expects it to give out any second now.  The darkness is all encompassing. 

His head pounds.

His heart stutters and threatens to stop.

Garak.

A vice clenches down on his lungs, squeezing tighter and tighter with each breath he can’t take.  

Garak you have to stop.

The walls all but encompass him now, there is no room to move, no space to breathe, no air to fill his lungs.  

“You’re making too much noise.  Garak.”

A touch.

Gentle, warm, familiar.  On his shoulder, squeezing tight.  

“Elim.  Darling.  I’m right here.”

“The light.”  He swallows and it takes him another breath, two, three, to continue.  “The light went out.”

“I know.”  A hand in his hair, another gripping his own tightly.  Stroking.  Caring.  Understanding.  

Garak breathes.

“Come on.  I think you can take your break a little early.”

But that’s not acceptable.  No matter what he says, what Julian assures him of, he must see this through. “I can’t.  I have to do this, Julian.  I have to get you both out of here.  I have to.  I have to.  I can’t let this be what I am.  I must…”

Julian squeezes his hand and rests his forehead against his shoulder.  

“You must rest, my love.  Five minutes,” he lies.  “Five minutes of a quick rest and you can get right back to it, alright?”

“I’m sorry.”  

“Shh.  None of that now, darling.  Come.”  

Words are spoken.

Conversation goes on around him.  

A part of him, a normally loud, screaming, obnoxious part, knows he should be paying attention.  Participating.  

The part of his soul that will always sound like Enabran Tain is all he hears.  Scathing disappointment, acidic vitriol.  Nothing he’s never heard before.  Garak doesn’t exactly have to have a wild imagination to hear those words.  

It’s all just crystal clear memory.

His body is stiff, unmoving no matter how much he would will it, and he lays on his side, furious with himself and incapable of doing anything about it.

“You care for him a great deal.”

Garak isn’t sure when Commander Worf returned, though he has vague recollections of talks of battles and great tales told in song.

There are hands running through his hair, and he realizes with a start that he is not alone on his cot.  Rather, his head rests on Julian’s thigh and he’s breathing in his scent.

Garak nuzzles a little closer.

“Yes,” Julian says quite clearly and Garak can almost hear the smile in his voice.  “We’ve been together some time.  Though I’ve loved him quite a great deal longer.”  

Bright, warm memories slowly begin to filter through the bitterness and anger.  Each stroke of Julian's hand through his hair, each lung full of his scent, brings more and more of his light.  A shared moment of laughter.  A stolen kiss.  A night spent in pleasure.  Another night, even more precious, simply spent together. Reading.  Debating. Laughing. Sleeping curled up in one another’s arms.  Walking the Promenade together.  Dining with friends and sharing private looks.  A lively argument over metaphor and hyperbole in literature.

His eyes.

Always so expressive, so open and straight to his heart.  It’s why he’s always made such a terrible liar, really.  And always will.  There’s a human phrase about wearing one’s heart on their sleeve, but for Julian, it’s all there in his gaze.

One that’s looking down at Garak when he turns to look up.

“We may need to start thinking of another escape plan,” Julian says quietly, hand still in Garak’s hair, thumb now idly brushing the ridge along his jaw.  There’s a question in those familiar hazel eyes, and determination.  He is offering Garak an out, and is more concerned with his health than pushing through on their first, most obvious plan.  

Garak loves this optimistic fool.

“That won’t be necessary,” he says as he pulls himself to a sitting position.  Julian moves as well, keeping close, fingers delicately dancing across skin to check for vitals.  Always a Doctor.

“Are you sure?”

Garak nods.  “I made a promise I have every intention of keeping.”

With a heavy sigh, Garak leans forward to rest his chufa against Julian’s forehead, taking a single breath to shut out everyone else, everything else, these people, this place, the Dominion and the war.  

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

“Then you better get to it,”  Julian tells him with the faintest of smiles.  

He works through most of the night.  

When they think they can get away with it, Julian goes in with him.  As much as he’s physically in the way when he does, Garak can stay almost twice as long for his calming presence.  So while the work goes slower, in the end, he gets more done faster than he would without him.  

“I should have us out of here before midday rations,” Garak tells him late in the night out in the barracks  

“I can’t wait to get back to a real bed.”  

Everyone else is fast asleep and they sit against the thick metal wall on a single cot off in the corner, whispering quietly, both far too on edge to sleep.  

Here, in the inky darkness of artificial night, they dare to hold hands and not let go.

“What is the first thing you intend to do?” Garak asks.

“Shower,” he says with a huff, nose wrinkled.  “If you haven’t noticed, hygiene isn’t exactly top priority here.  I’ve gone nose blind to it, but I can’t imagine anyone who isn’t here would want to be within ten feet of us, and certainly not downwind.”

“I’ll help you.” Garak smirks and Julian shakes his head with a fond glint in his eyes.  “You know how meticulous I am.  My penchant for attention to detail.  Wouldn’t want to overlook anything.”

“Of course not.”  He rubs the back of Garak’s hand with his thumb, small, simple circles occasionally broken up by long linear swipes.  Garak recognizes the look of heavy thought on his features and in the way he holds himself - gaze slightly off focus, shoulders high, mouth occasionally pinched.  “It’s why I keep you around, afterall.  To make sure nothing is overlooked.”

His tone is as light and teasing as his words, but the moment it’s out of his mouth, Julian frowns again.

“Are you really the only one who noticed?”

Ah.

This is a conversation Garak had hoped would wait until their return.  Until well after their return.  

“I…” he pauses, contemplating a lie but then letting it go.  “He was very good, my dear.  And most of the crew preoccupied with their own dramatics.”

If anything, Julian’s frown deepens.  “But Miles… Jadzia?  I thought Jadzia and I had become close once I stopped my atrocious flirting and throwing myself at her against her wishes.  And Miles… after you, Miles is the best friend I’ve ever had.  He knows me better than anyone.  Or… I thought he did.”

“He has been a trifle distracted with the birth of his son.”

“I know.  Something I will forever regret missing.”

Given Garak’s own anger at the people Julian considers friends having not noticed he’d been replaced he begins to suspect he won’t be the best at making excuses for them.  Especially since after that, he doesn’t have any more he’d bother offering up.  

So he decides to switch tactics.

“Did you know I’m aware you understand Kardassi?”

Julian actually jerks in surprise, mouth falling open.  He squeezes Garak’s hand and searches his eyes for something before shaking his head.  “What?”

“Oh I doubt you can speak it,” Garak waves his free hand through the air.  “Though if you try I’m certain your pronunciation would be atrocious.”  

That earns him an eye roll and defeated sigh.  “I learned for you.”

Garak squeezes his hand. 

While he isn’t exactly surprised by that piece of knowledge, it does warm his heart all the same.  They’ve both learned a considerable amount of new things, new languages, new ideals, new cultural norms for one another.  He still remembers when he’d realized that Julian had read one of the books they’d been debating in the original Kardassi rather than the Federation Standard translation.  

No translation had ever, truly, been able to pick up on the subtle nuances in Savron’s speech to his husband during the climax of Scattered Continent .  And yet, Julian had understood them intimately.  

“And you have an eidetic memory.”

Rather than looking shocked or scandalized, Julian slumps, almost resigned.  “And just h ow do you know that?”

Because he pays attention, damn it.  He’s been paying attention since the day they met, since he couldn’t stop watching that playful gaze, the quirk of his lips, the tilt of his head, the pulse just visible under the long, smooth flesh of his neck.  

“Because I know you, my love.  Better than even you realize I would wager.  You present yourself as this charming, brilliant, but awkward, pretentious man who isn’t quite as perfect as he tells people he is.  But you are that perfect, that brilliant.  Moreso.  You make yourself just abrasive enough people don’t look too closely.”  

“And you always said I couldn’t lie.”  Julian responds with a playful shove of his shoulder.  But he doesn’t meet Garak’s gaze, and he doesn’t smile.  

If anything, Garak’s words seem to make him more somber.  

“Refusing to open your mouth and speak the truth is not the same as lying.  They aren’t even in the same system, let alone the same planet.”

After he seems to think on that a minute or two, Julian, eventually, sighs.  “What does this have to do with anything?”

“It was easy for the changeling to present himself as you because you are already presenting yourself as something you aren’t to most people.  You keep a piece of yourself hidden at almost all times.  I don’t know why, I don’t know exactly what - and I don’t care if you never tell me - but I do know this is true.  It’s the same reason if the Dominion was desperate enough to replace me they’d probably get away with it too.  For almost everyone in my life, I am a presentation.  An act.”

“Don’t.” If they were alone, Garak has no doubt Julian would be crawling into his lap, clinging to him like he does when he becomes overly emotional, when he can’t hold back on something - all limbs and desperate to be as close as physically possible.  As it is, he clings to Garak’s hand so tightly it almost hurts.

He’s stronger than he looks.

“Don’t say that, please Elim.”  He resumes his stroking of Garak’s hand, thumb crossing the same patch of flesh and scales over and over and over again.  “I would know.  I would, I swear it.”  His words are shaken, a tremor in his voice that runs deep through his entire body.

“Of course you would,” Garak assures him quickly. “Just as I was the one who knew about you… what are you doing?”  He asks when Julian’s thumb stops its general grazing and keeps pressing back and forth between two spots.

“There’s a nick.”  Julian brings Garak’s hand up between them and catches his thumb nail in an old split scale from a wound Garak doesn’t even recall.  “Just here.  And then an odd little ridge further along, like there’s a defect in the growth plate.  This one doesn’t feel like it’s from an injury, just an extra ridge that shouldn’t really be there.”

“You’re memorizing my imperfections.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far.  Elim Garak is anything but imperfect .”

And isn’t that the greatest lie ever told.

“A fact you would do well to remember, my dear.”  

“I shall do my best.”

They sleep just like that, hand in hand and against the wall.  Eventually, Julian’s head lands on Garak’s shoulder where he snores ever so lightly for a short while.  The familiar sound is just welcoming enough to allow Garak to drift off for about an hour, awake and alert again long before the first round of guard check-ins for the morning.

Even before their first companion rouses.

They are on separate beds and far apart before anyone gets a chance to see.

Garak is back in the crawlspace an hour later.  

There isn’t much left to do, thankfully.  He’s already wiped the original message and completed the change in coordinates the message is to be sent toward.  That had been the most difficult part.  Now it’s just manually encoding the actual message itself.  

If only he had an interface to type into rather than re-routing circuits and quantum connectors.  

They’d have been out of here days ago.

Julian doesn’t come with him this morning.  They can’t both be missing so often as to raise suspicion.  But, if the previous day was anything to go by, the detrimental effect on his mental faculties is cumulative, so he has some time before he’ll be truly panicked.

Not that the high heart rate and clammy skin or trembling hands are exactly pleasant but he can deal.

It helps that he knows he’s close.  

Four more circuits.  

He freezes for a heartbeat when he hears the door slammed open and feels the vibrations through the walls of his prison.  But he can’t stop.  As long as he can work silently, he continues working.  He can’t fail.

After a brief silence, there’s a commotion.  Shouts and accusations are followed by the telltale sounds of screeching metal on metal and the loud pop of a wall panel being forcibly removed.

Garak inhales.

Weapons are fired.  

The next beat of his heart feels like an eternity as he waits for something, anything.  To know what happened, to know who is left.

“Garak!”  Comes Julian’s frantic, beautiful voice. “How many translator circuits have you got left?

Garak presses the one in his hand into its capacitor bank and exhales. 

“Three.”

“Well, work fast, because pretty soon we’re going to be up to our necks in Jem’Hadar.”

He works faster than he’d previously thought possible, fingers moving frantically in desperation.  Though he knows Worf and Martok are at the fighting ring, and will have a large portion of the guards distracted - it won’t be all of them.  

Two to go.

They’re going to get out of here.  They’re going to get back to Deep Space Nine.  Julian is finally going to get his wish to tell everyone about their relationship.  Hell, Garak might even let him actually shout it from the top of the Promenade.  

One left.  

They’re going to get out of here.  They’re going to have a family.  Julian is carrying his child.  A life they created.  A life they will build together come hell or high water.

No matter what.

The last circuit snaps into place.

“Got it.”

Everything moves on autopilot the second he materializes in the runabout.  Lock signals on two Klingon life forms, lock the next signal on any life forms left in their barracks.  Bring the engines to life while they’re transported in.  

He has coordinates laid in before Julian even barks a single order.

“Take care of the Commander,” Garak tells him softly. “I’ll get us home.”

He’d hoped to see that endless optimism of his.  The smile that always seems to break through the darkest of moments especially here, now, at the moment of their victory.  But instead, Julian still looks dark - grim.  He clasps Garak on the shoulder and nods with a tight, exhausted grimace that speaks to a depth of pain no words ever could.  

“I know.”

They may have escaped, but Garak wonders how long it will take them to be truly free of the place.

Chapter Text

Jadzia Dax stabs them all herself to draw vials of blood. 

Each of their samples are watched for a full sixty seconds before any of them are allowed out of the airlock security force field where they are all promptly shuffled off to the infirmary.  

This is the part no one tells in any of the stories Garak and Julian bring to one another.  The slow, meticulous grind of what comes after you win.  General Martok is well enough, for the most part, even with his missing eye.  Their Romulan friend, Thue, is physically alright but is the only survivor of her original crew of four.  She doesn’t speak.  Julian has a black eye he hasn’t seen to yet and Worf needs surgery.  Everyone but Garak and Worf are thoroughly malnourished.  

They have won, but winning does not mend them.  It does not bring back the things they have lost.  

It does not mend the soul or bring back the dead, and it never, ever, is as joyous as they make out in the stories.

“You should really see to that shower, my dear.”  

Julian doesn’t respond, rather intently focused on the scanner in his hand and the readouts on the medical computer next to the biobed Garak is sitting on.  

“Jadzia has complained about the stench once or twice,” he says flatly, punching something into his PADD.  He loads up a hypospray and presses it to the soft flesh at the back side of Garak’s neck before he even gets a chance to protest or swat him away.  Whatever is in the vial doesn’t make him feel any physically different so it must be some sort of nutrient cocktail to make up for the few days of abysmal food.

He hopes Julian has already topped himself up as well.  At least twice.

“I’d be more than happy to help, you know.  Like I'd promised earlier.”

There’s no hint of response or levity in his normally bright gaze and it tears at Garak’s heart.  Instead, Julian continues making note of whatever it is he’s reading out on the monitor, not even stopping when Jadzia arrives.

Her nose wrinkles a touch but she doesn’t mention it.

“Everyone’s blood work has checked out.  No hidden pathogens, strange diseases, or infections.  Doctor Girani and Nurse Jabara are already operating.”  She sighs deeply, shaking her head when Julian barely acknowledges her with more than a simple nod.  “Julian, I really wish you’d let me do a full body scan on you, too.  Everyone else has had one.  Even Ga-”

“No!”    

Dax is clearly taken aback by the blunt refusal.  She looks to Garak with a deep crease between her brow and worried frown.  

“Will you give us a moment, Lieutenant?” He says. Reaching for Julian, he grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him back to stand still in front of him.  With a silent nod of understanding, Dax steps away.

“Julian,” he says softly.  “You have to slow down and take care of yourself.”  His skin is dry and ashen beneath layers of grime, purple and sickly green around his right eye.  The growth of his beard is beginning to curl and even beneath the layer of hair Garak can see the gauntness of his cheeks.  

“I can’t.  I can’t stop.”  Julian’s hands begin to tremble, so Garak captures them between his own and holds them close, pressing gentle kisses to his knuckles.  “I can’t stop to think, to wonder, to… to fear.  If I stop working I’ll start worrying.  If I worry it’s because I don’t know the answer to the one question that scares me more than anything has in my entire life.  But then all I have to do is a simple scan.  Two seconds.  Right there.  And I’ll know.  I’ll know.  And I’m terrified of knowing, Elim.  Right now, I can’t…”

Tears flood Julian's eyes, glassy and unshed.  The trembling in his hands grows, shakes his arms, and becomes a tremor through his entire body.  Garak stands and pulls him closer, wraps him tightly in an embrace that he knows isn’t enough, but is all he has to offer.

“Shh. My dear Doctor.  Julian, love.  It’s alright.”

Julian swallows.  He presses his face against Garak’s neck and inhales deeply, then pulls back.  Somehow, he still hasn’t allowed himself to shed a tear.  “What if it’s not the answer I want?”

There’s no need to ask what answer he wants, and he won’t insult Julian, or harm him further, by making him voice it.  He knows what Julian wants, what has him terrified to the point of petrification.  And as much as the prospect of actually being a father terrifies Garak himself, seeing Julian so lost and devastated would break him.

“Then I will hold you while we mourn, but I will still be right here,” he swears.  

All Julian does is nod.

He doesn’t say a word.

Doesn’t move.

“Allow me to take care of you, my dear.” 

Another nod.

Garak promises to return as quickly as he can and goes to find Lieutenant Dax.  She’s just around the corner, making notes in some log.  The second she sees Garak she’s on her feet, expectant.  

“I will be taking Julian back to my quarters to freshen up and rest.  Discreetly. ” He intends to transport them directly to his rooms, permission granted or not.  “I expect he’ll want to do a full scan of his own vitals once he’s clear-headed again.  Is there something I could take with us so that he can do so in private?”

To her credit, she doesn’t argue that it should be done here, or by a different medical professional than the patient himself.  For a moment she studies Garak, lips pursed.

“Your quarters?”

“I highly doubt going to his own, where a replacement successfully lived and duped his closest friends, is anything resembling a good idea in his state.”

Her grimace gives testament to her guilt that she hadn’t noticed any more than anyone else.  “True,” she agrees with a slow nod.  Her gaze, though, is still calculating.  “Do you need me to send a change of clothes or any personal items?” 

“I’m sure we’ll manage without,” he says, knowing there’s a portion of his wardrobe cabinet that is decidedly un-Cardassian civilian clothing.  

Jadzia seems to pick up on his meaning and smiles.  It’s a genuine, warm look of acceptance and understanding.  “In that case,” she grabs a large silver box with a shoulder strap from a cupboard and hands it to Garak.  “You’re going to need this, and I will be in the next room, conveniently leaving the medical transporter controls unwatched.”

Once she disappears as agreed, he shoulders the heavy medical case and returns to the outer examination room.  There, he finds Julian staring at an open tricorder, sensor in hand, screen blank.

“My dear?” He moves slowly, a gentle hand on his lover’s elbow, just a touch, just enough to let him know he’s not alone.

“I can’t do it.”

“Let’s get you somewhere a little more comfortable.  Cleaned up and patched up.  Then, we’ll find out together, yes?”

They move together the few steps toward the transporter controls and a few moments later are in the quiet darkness and privacy of Garak’s quarters.

“Lights at fifteen percent.”  Garak drops the medical case on his bed, finds his personal dermal regenerator on a nearby shelf, then gestures toward the refresher.  “Shall we?”

Though Julian is rather pliant, he still has his limits and refuses to be completely babied.  He undresses himself while Garak does the same, tossing all their garments in a pile that Garak will ensure is incinerated the first chance he gets.  But in the shower, a proper one with water and suds and the temperature as hot as Julian can stand it, he allows himself to be cared for.  

With gentle hands Garak cleans every inch of the man he loves, despairing at the changes that only a month of such treatment has caused.  

The water runs nearly black just from the washing of his hair and the first pass of a gentle cloth with citrus-scented soap.  There’s a scab on his left brow that Garak kisses ever so lightly.  The bruise on his right eye and cheek, earned during their escape, he avoids carefully.  It will be the first thing he tackles once they’re out of the shower.  His ribs are slightly visible.  Julian’s never carried much extra padding anywhere, and he’s far from emaciated, but the difference is noticeable.  More than the injuries and malnutrition, Garak notes the stiffness in his shoulders, how he flinches almost imperceptibly at every new touch but then takes a deep breath and forces himself through whatever pain is flickering through his mind.  

He could give him platitudes.  Garak could remind him that it’s alright.  He’s safe.  He’s home.  They’re together again.

But he’s worked so hard training himself not to lie to the man he loves.

Not overtly like all of those would be.

Because they are home, they are together, but they are far from safe.  There is no certainty here.  In each other's arms is only respite from the devastation and destruction the Dominion intends to bring down on all of them.  

But that doesn’t make it any less worth it.  

Doesn’t make their love less worth experiencing.

Once they’re both cleaned twice from head to toe, and drying off Garak points to the span of counter space next to the sink.

“Sit.”

Julian frowns, wrapping his towel low around his waist.  “Whatever for?”

There’s emotion in those words, a hint of a flame of challenge that brings a smile to Garak’s lips.  The stupor of his panic may finally be at an end.  

“You have quite an ugly entity marring your otherwise beautiful features, my love.  Not to mention the bruise.”

His jaw drops in indignation, hand coming up to rub along the messy scruff of his face.  In truth, Garak likes the idea of Julian sporting a full beard.  It’s different and unique and could frame his chiseled face quite pleasantly if it were groomed properly.  

But at the moment, it’s an unruly reminder of everything they’ve been through.

It has to go.

“I could shave myself,” he grumbles but gets up on the counter anyway.  

Garak steps out to the bedroom long enough to have the replicator supply him with a straight edge, a mug of warm shaving cream, some soothing oils, and a brush.  

Once, a few months before, Garak had taken great pleasure in learning how this works.  Julian had taken even more pleasure in teaching him traditional methods of human hair removal.  He’d almost been gleeful going through the history and evolution of the practice while showing Garak everything from the straight blade he sets on the counter to different wax compounds and electric razors, lasers intended for permanent hair removal, and the more common micro blades in use today.  

Garak had admitted to great curiosity as to the evolutionary need to have hair everywhere, and once they’d started sleeping together he had been astounded to learn just how everywhere, everywhere was.

“Hold still,” Garak directs him with a gentle touch to his jaw, dermal regenerator in the other.  Julian sighs and closes his eyes, sinking into Garak’s touch while the machine whirs quietly to life.  He can see the tension bleeding out of Julian’s face with each slow sweep, a gentle red light the only indication anything is coming from the tool.  But as the purple and green begin to fade Julian’s shoulders slowly loosen, and the grip he has on the counter becomes far less white-knuckled.  

“I didn’t realize how much pain I was in,” Julian says with a soft sigh once Garak clicks the regenerator off.  “My head feels so much better and I hadn’t even realized I’d had a headache.”

“Extreme stress will do that to you.”  Garak replaces the medical tool with the still warm mug of cream and thick brush.  It’s also likely he’d simply been in some kind of pain since he’d been taken.  Emotional and physical trauma alike.  

He desperately tries not to think about any other kinds of pain he may have missed.

“You don’t need to do this, Garak.”  Julian nods to the brush, but Garak ignores him and begins to apply the heated, foamy cream in gentle swirls to his face.

“I want to,” he says with a soft hum.  

The first time they’d done this, when Julian had directed him in the best methods for the closest shave, it had been a prelude to sex.  There had been teasing and banter and far too many inappropriate touches from someone who had a blade literally against their throat.  Garak had teased him about allowing anyone so near such vital organs with such a deadly weapon - especially someone with his background.  Julian had opened his bare legs and tugged him even closer, revealing his entire body to a duplicitous spy.  

“You know me,” he’d whispered, hands recklessly low on Garak’s own hips.  “I love to live dangerously.”

Now, it’s different.  Tender.  When Julian parts his knees to invite Garak close there’s nothing sexual about it.  There is simply an undeniable need to be as near as they possibly can.  To touch and feel the gentle movement of one another as much as physics allows.  The gentle scrape of the metal blade against Julian’s skin is the only sound in the room, not even their breathing registers to Garak’s ears.  

A gentle hiss of metal on flesh.

The soft swipe against his towel.

Again.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Julian closes his eyes and Garak can tell when he’s become lost to it, to the gentle rhythm and subtle touches.  Their breathing becomes in time with the swipe of the razor.  Down, in.  Swipe, out.   He doesn’t fall asleep, nor would Garak want him to like this.   But after Garak gently cleans his face of any residual cream and massages in a generous portion of oil, there’s a soft smile on his lips and a gentle sigh escapes.

“I love you,” Julian whispers.  The words are quiet, but fill up the air around them and Garak’s chest with such warmth and devotion he can feel it in his bones.  

“As I do you, my dear.”  

They wrap themselves in fine, soft, rare Edosian silk robes made by Garak himself.  Julian’s fingers find the delicate embroidery along the edges and trace it with a far-off gaze.  Slowly, Garak guides them toward the bed, toward the medical kit that Dax had sent them off with.   He doesn’t say anything.

He doesn’t have to.

Julian places a single hand on the silver metal case while Garak holds him gently against his side.  

“I’m still not ready.”

Despite his words, Julian flicks open the clasps on the case and drags up the cover, revealing a few medical devices tucked into a portion of one side, and a large screen on the other.  It seems to be a portable medical computer.  More complicated than the basic medical tricorder but not as sophisticated as the consoles in the infirmary.  Likely, it’s tapped into the station’s systems.

“Do you honestly think you ever will be?” 

Julian shakes his head.  

“Together then?” Garak asks, grabbing the small, handheld scanner from the case.  He holds it up between them, waiting for Julian to take it.

A warm hand wraps around his own.

Julian nods.

After a few inputs to the portable computer - Garak assumes pulling up the right program and protocols - Julian lowers their entwined hands to just over his abdomen and closes his eyes.

They both hold their breath.

Silence.

One second.

Then two.

And then, a beep.

A gentle, wet, whooshing sound fills the room.

It’s soft. 

It’s steady.

Whu-thump.

Whu-thump.

It’s a heartbeat.

Julian all but collapses into Garak’s arms, openly weeping, tears streaming down his face as he lets go of all the fear and terror and emotion he’d been holding carefully back for weeks .  Likely since even before he’d been taken in the first place.  His hand shakes almost violently in Garak’s as he presses his wet and messy face against Garak’s bare chest.  But Garak holds him tight, holds his body with one arm and his hand in the other, keeping the scanner in place so they don’t lose the sound, so they hear it, feel it permeating their skin and down into their bones. 

It’s real.

It’s there, within Julian.

It’s alive.  

They’ve all survived.

Garak’s own tears are hot streaks down his cheeks.

For a long time, they sit curled up together, relief and fear pouring out of them both with every shuddering breath, simply listening to the music of the life they’ve created.

“I need to check…” Julian’s voice is cracked and scratchy and wet.  Despite his words, he doesn’t move right away.  But when he does it’s just enough to turn to face the computer, to place his hands over the touch screen controls.  He tenses in Garak’s arms for another heartbeat, but then everything changes again for the second time in just a few short minutes.

A holographic projection comes to life above the open case in a faint glow of yellow light.  

There, suspended in the air, is the strangest little creature Garak has ever seen.

“Is that…” he reaches a hand out to trace the gentle curve of a spine, two arms with nubs for fingers, two legs.  Tiny little spots on the side of its head for ears.  Ridges.

Scales.

“That is our daughter,” Julian says with such raw, naked emotion in his voce it steals Garak’s breath.  

“Are you certain?”

He doesn’t need to clarify about what.

“As certain as I can be given the genetic scan, wildly different chromosome markers, and the fact that this is the first known Human Cardassian hybrid in existence.  That’s not even getting into the fact they may inform us one day we were quite wrong about their gender assignment.  But we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

When .

When they get to it.  

Years and years from now.  So many changes and milestones to come.  

Garak can no longer live just in the now, with a vague hope for the future, with a daily struggle to find a way to give himself a future, to find hope to return home one day.  To do what he can to survive now because maybe he will have something worth surviving for.

Because now he has this.  He has them.  He has first steps and first words.  He has arguments over discipline - of which he knows there will be many - and bedtimes and late-night treats.  He has lessons to teach and books to read and a life to live for.  

He has Julian.

He has their daughter.

“Elim, darling,” Julian presses something on the computer to freeze the image and places his scanner back in the case.  “Say something, please.”

Garak works his jaw, unable to think of anything he could possibly say at this moment except…

“I love you, Julian.”

Julian’s smile, real and wide and whole again for the first time in far too long, makes Garak’s whole heart sing.  

He kisses him then, lips pressed to lips, chest to chest, a hand sliding low on his abdomen where their fingers meet and cradle their precious child together.  Here, in his lover's arms and held and cherished, he finally, feels like he’s come home.

“How…” he clears his throat, lips still brushing Julian’s.  “How is she?  How are you?”  

“Not great,” Julian says with a sad sigh.  “But not in danger. Though..” he trails off and turns back toward the kit, replicating something into a hypospray that he injects into his own side.  “With the right round of treatments, we should both be right as rain in no time.”  

“I hope that treatment plan includes plenty of rest?”

Julian laughs and nods before getting up to put his kit away.  But as he does he seems to pause and think better of putting it all away.  Instead, he pulls out a small rectangular device that he attaches below his navel then inputs a few commands on the computer before closing the case.  A moment later, the silent rhythm of their daughter’s heartbeat fills the air.

“I seem to remember someone promising me a week of sleep?”  He asks with a light, tender kiss to Garak’s chufa.  

Garak’s hum and tug down to the mattress is all the answer he receives.

The lights go out and they curl up on the bed, Julian in Garak’s arms, fingers tangled together over his stomach, the gentle whooshing sound of new life a lullaby that serenades them to sleep.

With his entire world held in his arms, Garak’s heart, and home, feels completely, perfectly full.