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It was more than a bit shameful to admit, but on the whole, Garak enjoyed tailoring. Challenging projects in which he could immerse himself assisted in the eternally daunting task of keeping stress at bay. On most days, the rhythms of sewing were a balm.
Regrettably, recent days had been the opposite of a balm.
“Ah, I do apologize, but I’m afraid that’s entirely out of the question,” he said in his best customer service voice despite the sharp, throbbing headache that had taken root in his temple. “As you can see from the dozens of unfinished costumes currently taking residence on my work table, I have quite a few orders to fill. I am willing to add you to the list, but—”
“It has to be done in the next two days.” The Starfleet lieutenant was frowning now, arms crossed tight across a burly chest, muscles bulging. Garak automatically shifted into a defensive stance, just in case. “My daughter needs a costume for the party, and I hear you’re the best there is.”
“Well, I’m flattered at the high praise.” Even the lights of the shop sent piercing pain through Garak’s head. Why did he need to have the lights so bright in here? It was ridiculous. Oh, it was dimmer in the shop than the rest of the station, but still far too bright on these days. “But I simply do not have time—”
The doors slid open again, and this time, they did not close. The line of prospective customers, all off a recently arrived Federation starship, now stretched into the corridor.
In typical Federation fashion, the customers all insisted that their orders were most important and must take precedence over the others. Why was it so impossible for them to understand that Garak simply could not make hundreds of costumes in two days?
As the demands continued, the air in the shop seemed to thin, like the humans were robbing him of oxygen. More and more crowded in, all clamoring about their desires. An endless flood, so persistent.
The walls moved in, and Garak clenched his trembling fists. He cast a quick glance around. The walls were not moving. They were perfectly still.
His hands began to shake, and he compulsively smoothed out a bolt of cloth as the next customer launched into her demands. Wonderful. At this rate, with the endless barrage of customers telling him how much their child deserved a costume, he would not even be able to complete the orders he’d already accumulated. How was he supposed to work with so many demands?
The customers pressed in, an endless flood. The walls moved in again, crushing him. His breaths became hitched, restricted, not enough air.
And of course there wasn’t enough air. All of these Starfleet personnel were stealing it!
“—and it’s really unfair, my Jessie deserves—”
Garak’s remaining thread of patience snapped, and he slammed down his tailoring tool. “I’m sure that your Jessie is a lovely child, for the time being, and I hope they do not take after your example. All of you, leave my shop at once. I am closed now.”
The humans stared at him in shock, but his control had utterly given way. He couldn’t breathe, everything was too bright, and he was likely going to blow up his shop again if he was assaulted with any further demands.
“Out,” he snapped again, pointing to the door. “I trust you are all capable of finding the exit?”
As soon as the grumbling crowd trickled out, Garak collapsed onto a stool. His entire body trembled, control betraying him once again.
And not merely shivering from the cold, either. He attempted to breathe, and failed. The walls crowded in closer and closer, about to crush him…
The door slid open, and he clenched his fists. He must not lose control more than he already had. This was disgraceful. “I’m closed.”
“So I hear.”
Ah. Wonderful. Garak looked up, resigned to being poked and prodded. “Doctor Bashir. If you’ve come to check on me, I assure you that I am perfectly fine and have no need of—”
He began to hyperventilate, which was rather unhelpful for his assertion that he was perfectly fine.
“Garak?” Julian crossed the shop in quick strides and touched his temple. “God, your pulse is racing. Listen to me, you need to breathe.”
“I am attempting to do so!” Garak snapped, jerking away. “And what I need is a little piece and quiet!”
Rather than being driven away by such a statement, Julian carefully moved a chair closer and sat. He laced his fingers together and rested his hands in his lap. Peaceful. Quiet.
Garak, who had been heating up for a fight about whether he needed to go to the Infirmary, subsided. How odd. Julian truly was remarkable. No one else would have responded to such a request with actual peace and quiet.
They sat together for several minutes, in utter silence, and Garak’s equilibrium returned. He still trembled, and the brightness of the lights made his head ache. But he could breathe again, and the walls were still.
“My apologies, Doctor,” he said at last. “I believe I was a little overwhelmed. It has been a trying day.”
“More Halloween costumes?” Julian asked, his voice thankfully soft.
“Unfortunately. I attempted to explain to your fellow Starfleet officers that I am merely a simple tailor and alas, incapable of creating an infinite number of costumes by hand in two days, but…” Garak heaved a sigh, collecting his tailoring tool and a partially completed “Dracula” costume. “They were not particularly understanding.”
“I’m sure Odo would be happy to place a guard at your door if you need them chased off,” Julian said, grinning.
“Tempting, but I don’t believe that will be necessary.”
Julian watched as Garak stitched red lining into the cape. “Are you sure you should be working right after a panic attack? It might not be a bad idea to take the rest of the afternoon to rest.”
“It would be a very bad idea. I have far too many orders to complete.” And now that there were no further incessant demands from additional customers, sewing ought to be a balm again.
Garak glanced sideways at Julian. Rather than arguing, the doctor had merely picked up his PADD again and was tapping at it industriously. The Infirmary was often quite busy as well. Perhaps Julian could use a little peace and quiet too.
Able to breathe again, Garak lost himself in the rhythms of his work. With Julian’s steady company and a lack of further customers, this might turn out to be a good day after all.