spocknbones:

Kirk had initiated his casual touches exactly 851 days ago. It was safe to say that Spock was adjusted and used to them by now. He no longer tensed when Kirk clapped his hand against his shoulder, or bumped their elbows together, or brushed his hand against Spock’s lower back or neck. Spock was used to it, and, if anything, found comfort in Kirk’s casual tactile actions.

But this was new. This was different.

Spock’s eyebrows furrowed minutely as Kirk brushed his dark, straight bangs to the side to reveal Spock’s forehead. Kirk hadn’t touched his face, much less his hair, many times before. The other times had been when Spock was injured but right now… right now they were alone in Spock’s quarters, playing chess, both of them in optimal health.

“Captain-?” Spock spoke aloud, not moving from his spot in his chair as he looked up at Kirk, who was standing in front of him.

“It’s Jim,” Kirk softly corrected, like he had a million times. A whisper of a smile was on his face, and he moved his hand to let Spock’s bangs fall into place, only to brush them aside once more.

“Jim,” Spock spoke again, and he felt an unmistakable heat rise to his cheeks. Kirk’s thumb brushed over the psi point on Spock’s forehead, and a rush of want cute need flooded from Kirk’s mind. “What are you doing?” Spock murmured, not moving away from Kirk’s hand.

Kirk laughed softly, his grin growing on his face. “You know, Spock, for being a Vulcan, you can be a little bit oblivious sometimes.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “And how is it that I am oblivious?”

Kirk brushed Spock’s hair all the way off of his forehead, the strands sticking up between Kirk’s fingers.

“Because,” Kirk said, leaning lower, “I’m going to do this and you’ll still approach me later asking what it meant.”

Kirk grinned, and Spock froze when Kirk’s lips made contact with Spock’s forehead in a gentle kiss. Spock blinked, and Kirk pulled away, letting Spock’s hair fall back down to it’s spot over his forehead, albeit slightly mussed now. Kirk grinned, and patted Spock’s shoulder, turning to walk through the bathroom and into his own quarters.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Spock. Get some rest!”

Spock blinked again, and muttered his own goodbye, doubtful that Kirk heard it. He brushed his fingers over the spot, his cheekbones flushing a green.

Kirk was right. Spock was going to approach him later to ask what it meant. “Later” ended being five minutes afterwards when Spock gathered himself, stormed into Kirk’s bedroom, grabbed his shoulders, and kissed him until they were both breathless.

shakespearevillain:

Julian was a good dancer.

Of course, due to his augmented reflexes, he could never really go full-out on the dance floor. The safest dancing for him, oddly enough, was couple’s dancing. No one questioned a strong, agile partner while doing a waltz or a samba; they just thanked their stars that they were paired with him. He always led. It was both better for not showing off genetic enhancements and what was generally expected of a tall, lanky man. Sometimes he’d catch a shorter man, or a man who simply didn’t care about the usual expectations for height in couple’s dancing, following someone else’s lead. They looked so free, doing all the spins and shimmies and turns. More than one partner had caught him looking yearningly at a couple with a short man. Usually, this partner drew the wrong conclusions and left him after the dance was over, or, in one notable case, left him mid-tango. He couldn’t afford to tell them why he was looking at another couple that way. So, instead, he focused on making his partner happy and tried not to let his eyes wander.

It was at a formal Federation dance that everything changed. The Dominion War had been going on for a year and someone back at headquarters had decided that a party to “ease the tension” was in order.

Clearly, whoever had planned this didn’t know the first thing about easing tension. Everyone was ordered to be in their dress uniforms. Sisko had already given the big speech on behaving themselves, an order which Jadzia and Kira had managed to break within the first five minutes of the party. Ever the good sport, Julian had danced with several high-ranking officers from across the fleet and endured some tasteless jokes about which parts of him were genetically enhanced. He had just finished dancing a waltz with a lieutenant who had somehow managed to both compliment him and make him sound like some sort of freak show when he saw someone very unexpected.

“Garak?” Julian exclaimed as he watched the impeccably dressed tailor walk over to him. The man was wearing a dark green tuxedo that looked to be one of his own creations and a pair of white gloves. “What are you doing here? You’re not in Starfleet.”

“Perhaps not, but I am decoding messages for the Federation,” Garak said. He pulled down on his jacket and surveyed the crowd. “Apparently, that was enough to warrant an invitation.”

Julian beamed at him. “Well, I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “It’ll be a little less lonely.”

“Lonely?” Garak asked. He gestured with one gloved hand at the lieutenant who had just left him. “Were you not dancing with that attractive, young woman just a moment ago?”

“I was, but…” Julian tilted his head to the side. “I dunno. I think half the people in here view me as more of a freak show than a person. Dr. Menga already talked to me about doing a few tests with her.”

“I see,” Garak said, something tense in his voice. The music began to play again.

“Tango,” Julian and Garak said at the same time. Garak grinned as Julian stared at him. “Have I surprised you, doctor?” he asked with a mischievous look. “Federation citizens aren’t the only ones who know about dancing.”

“I - I just thought it was an Earth thing,” Julian said.

“Perhaps it is,” Garak said, extending his left hand towards Julian. “Perhaps it isn’t.” His other hand hovered by Julian’s waist. “May I?”

Julian glanced at Garak’s hands. They were in the leading position. “I’m taller,” he said.

“And?” Garak asked.

Well, if Garak wasn’t going to complain, he certainly wasn’t going to. He gave him a little, suspicious look, then gave him his right hand. Switching to doing everything backwards was a bit difficult at first, but he quickly caught on. “If this is some plan to embarrass me, Garak,” he said as he truly got the hang of the backwards steps. “It’s not going to work.”

“While I applaud your suspicions,” Garak said as he guided Julian into a back bend, “I think there would be better uses of my time than embarrassing the chief medical officer at a party.”

“Which would be?” Julian asked as he pivoted on his toes so he faced the opposite way from where Garak was going. 

Garak smirked at him and pivoted so that he was facing the same way as Julian. “A good attempt, doctor,” he said. “But we both know that what I’m doing is classified.”

“And we both know that I have one of the highest security clearances on the station,” Julian said.

“On the station, yes,” Garak said.

Julian rolled his eyes. “You can just say you don’t want to talk about work,” he said, doing a little flourish of a kick between Garak’s legs. “I get it.”

“Do you?” Garak said.

“Yes. Do you think I want to even think about sick bay right now?”

“And yet, you’re the one who brought it up,” Garak said. He pulled Julian to him, their noses almost touching. “Perhaps you should focus on enjoying the party. It is, after all, for the benefit of you hard-working officers.”

“Was that a jab?” Julian asked before twirling away from Garak.

“Not at all,” Garak said as he pulled Julian to him. Julian did an extra half turn so that his back was pressed against Garak’s chest this time. “On Cardassia,” Garak said in Julian’s ear, “people of your station would be feasting every night.”

“Of my station?” Julian protested.

“Come now, doctor, you needn’t pretend with me,” Garak said, turning Julian out of his arms. “The selfless servant to the Federation act is noble, but you yearn for power just as much as the next man.”

“If I ‘yearn for power,’ Garak,” Julian said, squeezing his partner’s left hand, “then why did I let you lead?”

“An interesting observation,” Garak said, “but ultimately a moot one. I’m not so much leading you as giving you an opportunity to dance without thought for the consequences of your actions.”

“Well then, lead me, Mr. Garak,” Julian sniped. “It’s not as if you don’t have the chance.”

Garak nodded at him. Suddenly, his grip on Julian’s hand and around Julian’s waist tightened. Julian stared into his eyes as Garak began leading him around the dance floor, guiding his every movement. His brain, usually a hive of activity no matter what was happening, turned blissfully silent as he put his trust in Garak. When Garak flicked his wrist, Julian turned out. When Garak pulled on his hand, Julian danced to him. Every move was dictated by the music and by Garak. A panicked part of his brain momentarily slammed on as he realized just what he was doing. He began to pull away, but Garak held him tighter. “You may tell me to stop,” Garak said in response to Julian’s attempt to escape. “Given the nature of the dance and your own request, I can only assume you’re dancing until I hear you say otherwise.”

Every part of his Starfleet training told him to take that offer.

Every part of the doctor who had spent countless lunches sitting across from Elim Garak told him to hold on tight and savor every moment of this.

“Just part of the dance, Garak,” he said, relaxing into Garak’s grip again. If he heard a little snort of disbelief from the Cardassian, he ignored it. By the time the song was over, Julian felt that warm exhaustion he’d often felt on the tennis court after a good game.

“Forgive me, my dear doctor,” Garak said as he let go of Julian’s hand. His other hand disappeared from around Julian’s waist. “I fear we may have drawn some unwelcome attention.”

Julian looked around the ballroom. Everyone was staring at them. Julian’s eyes widened and he swallowed the fear that had formed in the back of his throat.

“I think,” Captain Sisko said with a raise of his champagne flute, “that was the most spectacular tango I’ve ever seen.” The rest of the crowd took the hint and began clapping. As interest died away with the clapping, Sisko walked towards them. “Mr. Garak,” he began.

“No, sir, this was my fault,” Julian said, subtly stepping in front of Garak. “I asked him to lead.”

“A noble stance, doctor, but I was only going to ask where it was that Mr. Garak learned to tango,” Sisko replied.

Julian blushed crimson.

“And,” Sisko continued, “if either of you would be willing to teach Jake. Maybe not something as spicy as the tango, but I think every young man should know how to waltz at the very least.”

“I’ll do it,” Julian said before Garak could get a word out.

Sisko smiled at him. “That’s what I hoped you’d say,” he purred. He nodded his head at Garak. “Mr. Garak.”

“Captain,” Garak replied with a courteous nod of his head. “Is it just me,” he said as soon as Sisko was out of hearing range, “or were you just extorted into giving dance lessons?”

“Something like that,” Julian said. “Although, I think I probably could have said ‘no.’”

“Possibly,” Garak said. “But, then again, maybe not. You were just caught dancing with a Cardassian, after all.”

“What?” Julian said, turning to face Garak.

“My dear doctor, is it really that surprising that a room full of Starfleet officers would object to a Cardassian leading one of their own?” Garak asked. “It was rather a bold choice.”

“That’s not what that was about!” Julian protested.

Garak raised an eyebrow ridge at him.

“It was about me being an augment,” Julian said. “That’s why I always lead. If I actually get to dance, people get nervous and start thinking about genetic enhancements.”

“I see,” Garak said. The music struck up again, a waltz this time. “So, a Cardassian and an augmented human…?” he asked, extending his hand towards Julian.

Julian snorted out a laugh. “A recipe for disaster,” he said, taking Garak’s hand.

“How interesting,” Garak said as he caught hold of Julian’s waist. “Do you think we’ll be chased off the dance floor if we try it again?”

“Possibly,” Julian said as he began the box step. “And I can’t say I’d really care if they did.”

Garak sucked in a breath, for a moment looking completely flustered. Almost as quickly, his expression settled into a warm smile. “You know, doctor,” he said as they danced, “there may be hope for us yet.” 

shakespearevillain:

It’s dinnertime at the Garak household. Tolan has barely touched his food. Normally, this wouldn’t be all that unusual for the picky nine-year-old, but Julian made his favorite: spaghetti and meatballs.

“Tolan?” Julian asks as he watches the boy scoot a meatball across his plate. “Is something wrong?”

Tears swell in Tolan’s eyes. “Mirow says that I’m destined to become an evil monster,” Tolan says, not looking up from his plate.

“I didn’t know Mirow possessed psychic abilities,” Garak says snidely as he cuts one of his meatballs. “I must speak with his mother about that.”

“Garak,” Julian says warningly.

“He says it’s because my grandfather was head of the Obsidian Order,” Tolan continues, wiping his nose with his sleeve. Garak gives him a look and hands him the handkerchief he keeps in his jacket pocket. “He says I’m destined to become just like him,” Tolan says, wiping his nose with his father’s handkerchief. “That it’s in our genes.”

Garak is silent for a moment. Julian is considering whether pointing out that Tolan is adopted is going to help anything when Garak says: “My dear, what is your name?”

Tolan furrows his brow at his father. “Tolan?” he says, confused.

“If our intention,” Garak says as he twirls a bit of pasta onto his fork, “were for you to become a second Enabran Tain, what would we have named you?”

“Enabran,” Tolan says, a light coming on in his eyes.

Garak nods. “So, what does it say about us that we named you after Uncle Tolan?”

“That you want me to be like Uncle Tolan,” Tolan says.

“And what was Uncle Tolan like?” Garak asks.

Tolan looks down at his plate. “Kind,” he says, “and good with plants.”

“And a good civil servant,” Garak says. “You were named after a man who saw the beauty in growth, service to others, and the simple things in life. Now, what can you tell me about Enabran Tain?”

Tolan furrows his brow again as he thinks. “He was the head of the Obsidian Order,” he says. “He was very scary. He didn’t like you very much.” Garak gives Julian a sideways glance. Julian shrugs and mouths: “It’s true.”

“He tortured people,” Tolan continues, oblivious to his parents’ disagreement. “And he tried to start a fight with the Dominion, but lost.”

“Are we training you to be a torturer?” Garak asks.

“No,” Tolan says. He looks up at Garak. “You teach me about poetry and orchids.”

“And medicine,” Julian says, feeling like medicine is both antithetical to torture and an important contribution from him.

“And medicine,” Tolan says with a little smile at his dad.

“Then, given your limited knowledge of torturing people and, I should hope, your much larger breadth of knowledge regarding orchids, poetry, and…” He casts a glance at Julian. “…medicine, what makes you think that you will become the ‘evil monster’ that Mirow hypothesizes you to be?”

Tolan bunches up the napkin in his lap. “Because it’s the Garak nature,” Tolan says. “Everyone says so.”

“Then I must speak with Everyone’s parents as well,” Garak says, turning his attention back to his spaghetti. “This ‘Everyone’ appears to be getting very opinionated about our family with very few facts.”

Tolan makes a face at his father. “You know what I mean,” he says. “People hear I’m a Garak and they assume scary things.”

“At least you’re not a Dukat,” Julian says. “What?” he asks in response to Garak’s deadly look. “If Tolan’s getting picked on at school for being a Garak, imagine what the Dukat kids have to go through.”

“The thought does not bear thinking,” Garak says, rubbing at his temple.

“Who’s Dukat?” Tolan asks.

“Ah, there is hope for the future,” Garak says, just barely suppressing a smile. “You were beginning to make me worried.”

“Who’s Dukat?” Tolan asks again, this time turning to the barely-keeping-it-together Julian.

“He was your father’s enemy,” Julian says once he manages to pull himself together again. “And a grade-A jerk.”

“A politer epitaph than I would have given him,” Garak says.

“What epi-path would you have given him?” Tolan asks, his eyes wide and curious.

“Epitaph, and I would have added that he was an arrogant bully who risked the lives of everyone on Cardassia to soothe his own ego,” Garak says. “But, as Dad said, we were enemies.”

“Maybe I can bring that up at school!” Tolan says. “That my father helped defeat Dukat.”

“Or,” Julian says with a nervous glance at Garak, “you can try to make your own path outside of your father’s identity.”

“That… might be for the best,” Garak says. Only Julian catches the haunted look that passes across Garak’s face and just as quickly disappears.

“Not that your father didn’t do wonderful things to help end the war,” Julian says, reaching for Garak’s hand under the table. He squeezes it and gives him a sympathetic look. “And he’s still doing wonderful things to get Cardassia on its feet again. But you aren’t your father any more than you are me or Enabran Tain or Richard Bashir.”

“What does grandad have to do with this?” Tolan asks.

“What your dad means,” Garak says, “is that you are your own person.”

“Or,” he continues, “to go with the more Cardassian sentiment, you are a Garak. Sometimes that means scary things and sometimes that means tending to flowers. The choice of what kind of Garak you’re going to be is yours.” He carefully cuts a bit of spaghetti with his knife. “I think you can guess which type we would prefer you to strive towards.”

“The flower kind?” Tolan asks.

“The Tolan kind,” Garak says. “Which, I suspect, has a fair bit to do with caring for animals and making interesting art choices with brightly colored paints.”

“And standing up for Hobin when he was getting picked on,” Julian says. “That was a very brave Garak thing for you to do.”

“Although, if the chance does present itself again, I would recommend finding a way to make it so your opponent is the one who comes home crying,” Garak says. “Perhaps we can work on that part of being a Garak together.”

“You’re not teaching him more ways to make scathing remarks,” Julian says, jabbing at Garak with his fork. “He already gets enough of that from you without you giving him a class on it.”

“My dear, it is the Cardassian way,” Garak says with a twinkle in his eye.

Tolan gives Julian a confused look. “I thought that was the human way,” he says.

Both parents turn to him with concerned expressions. “What makes you say that?” Julian asks.

“Because you’re the one who always says rude things to important people,” Tolan says. “Hobin was telling me how no one but a Federaji human would say half the things you say.”

Garak chuckles as Julian turns a bright red. “It is true, my dear,” Garak says. “You do have a tendency to overlook rank in a distinctly non-Cardassian way.”

“I can’t help that some of the people you work with are idiots,” Julian grumbles before taking a big bite of spaghetti.

“Like that!” Tolan says cheerfully. “Hobin says–”

“My dear, I think your dad has had quite enough of Hobin’s opinion for one evening,” Garak says. He taps Tolan’s bowl with his fork. “Now eat before your food gets cold.”

Tolan has no trouble finishing his bowl of spaghetti and hinting at seconds this time. It is only when Julian is tucking him into bed that he regains a contemplative look. “You won’t be mad,” Tolan says quietly, “if I turn out to be more like Father than Uncle Tolan, right?”

“I will not be mad,” Julian says, tucking the covers around Tolan’s neck, “if you turn out to be more like the love of my life than the man who raised the love of my life.”

“I mean…” Tolan chews on his lip for a second. “I mean, what if I turn out to be scary too?”

Julian takes a deep breath and brushes back Tolan’s hair. “Well, there were a lot of things that went into your father doing… what he did,” Julian says, unsure how much Tolan has heard. “One of them being how Tain and grandmother treated him. You, my darling, have two loving parents who care about you very, very much. I doubt you’ll turn out exactly like your father.” 

“But what if I do?” Tolan asks, tears springing to his eyes again.

“Then, we will worry a bit,” Julian says, “but we will love you all the same.”

“Even if I torture people?” Tolan asks.

Julian blanches a little. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he says, “but yes. Even if you torture people.”

“I don’t want to,” Tolan says softly. “It’s just that Mirow says–”

“Mirow doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Julian says firmly. He kisses Tolan on the forehead. “Now, go to sleep. You have school and, I suspect, a few choice words for Mirow tomorrow.”

“Father told me that Mirow’s parents were traitors in the war,” Tolan says eagerly.

“Father needs to learn not to tell little boys things that will get them in trouble if they say them on the playground,” Julian says with a glare at the half-open door. A shadow quickly moves away. “You can’t hold people’s parents against them,” Julian says. “That’s not fair to anyone.”

“So… Don’t talk about Mirow’s parents?” Tolan asks.

“I would approach this from the angle of Mirow not knowing the first thing about our family and that shoddy research habits like the ones he’s displayed will hardly get him into University.”

Tolan smiles and snuggles down into his bed. “That might make him cry,” Tolan says.

“Not the goal,” Julian says as he gets up and turns off the lights. He stands there for a moment, watching his son settle down. “Goodnight, Tolan.” 

shakespearevillain:

Vic carefully watched Julian. The doctor had brought Ensign Walker to the holosuite along with his other friends to have some fun with the program. He’d told Vic that he was head-over-heels for her, but, now that Vic saw them together, he was beginning to think he’d been played. “Well, someone is being played,” Vic thought as he watched Julian’s eyes stray over to where Garak was sitting at the bar for the third time that evening. “I just can’t figure out who.”

Ensign Walker seemed to notice Julian’s inattention this time. She glanced over at Garak, looked at Julian, then gave the doctor a peck on the cheek. She got up from the table and said something to him. He objected. She took a deep breath, said something else to him, then walked out the door.

“Havin’ some trouble, pally?” Vic asked as he walked over to the table.

“Just unlucky in love, I guess,” Julian said, staring down into his holographic whiskey.  

Vic stored away that comment for later. “So, when are you going to tell him?” he asked.

“Hmm?” Julian said, looking up from his drink. “Tell who?”

Vic took in a deep, exasperated breath. “The guy who looks like he should be goin’ one on one against King Kong,” he said, gesturing with his head to Garak.

Julian furrowed his brow. “Who? Garak? What should I tell Garak?”

“Look, pally, I’m not sure if it’s any of my business, but it’s clear you’ve got the hots for ‘King of the Monsters’ over there,” he said.

“Garak’s not a monster!” Julian exclaimed.

“Kinda makin’ my point for me, pally,” Vic said with a wince.

“I mean, yes, he’s a Cardassian, but he’s also charming and witty and intelligent and mysterious and infuriating and…”

“Kid, you don’t gotta convince me,” Vic said. “I mean, you do a bit. I don’t get it, but I also don’t swing…” He gestured towards Garak. “…whatever way that is.” He sat down at Julian’s table. “All I know is that you’re head-over-heels for the guy.” He tapped a finger against the table to emphasize his point. “And it’s eatin’ me up to see you two passin’ each other like ships in the night.”

Julian looked down into his glass. “He wouldn’t… I’m not… We have lunch together,” he said.

“Ok, that’s a good start,” Vic said.

“No, I mean… We have lunch together, but it’s lunch,” Julian said. “And half the time he’s arguing with me over literature or philosophy or politics.”

“So, ask him to dinner,” Vic said. “Sounds like you’re halfway to being a married couple already.”

“He wouldn’t…”

“He might,” Vic said. “You don’t know until you try!”

“I’m just a kid to him,” Julian explained.

“Look, I don’t know how age works for space lizards–” Vic said.

“Among Cardassians, age is considered a sign of power and dignity,” Julian said as he played with the stem of his glass.

Vic gave him a look. “He told you that?” he said.

Julian waved a hand dismissively. “I was about to turn thirty. He was trying to cheer me up.”

“No, I like it! Think I might use that line on some of the dames around here,” Vic said, giving a cursory glance at some of the attractive women in the room. “Power and dignity, huh? That’s one heck of a pick-up line.”

“It wasn’t a pick-up line,” Julian protested with a grimace. “I was worried about aging and Garak brought some perspective to it.”

“Ok, kid,” Vic said, patting the table. He stood up. “You can keep watchin’ from the sidelines, but it sounds like you’ve got a royal flush with this guy. I wouldn’t waste it just ‘cause you’re scared to make a bet.”

“I’m not… I’m not scared,” Julian protested, but, by then, Vic had already walked away.

—

“So, when are you going to tell him?” Vic asked as he walked up to Garak at the bar.

Garak raised an eyebrow ridge at him. “I’m not sure what it is that you’re implying,” he said, carefully setting his holographic whiskey on a cocktail napkin.

“No, y’do,” Vic said. He leaned forward a little so his elbow rested on the bar. “‘S alright if you don’t wanna talk about it. I know a lot of guys are secretive about batting for the other team.”

“And which ‘team,’” Garak asked, a wicked glint in his icy blue eyes, “would it be that you think I’m ‘batting’ for?”

“Look, forget I said anything,” Vic said, throwing his hands in the air. “Just, talk to him, will ya? I’m a romantic guy who doesn’t like seein’ people all star-crossed.”

“While I appreciate your concern,” Garak said, “I’m afraid you’re seeing things that simply aren’t there.”

“Right. And Rock Hudson never made friends with Dorothy.”

Garak stared at him, then subtly tapped behind his ear ridge. “I apologize,” he said, a look of real concern in his eyes. “It appears my universal translator is malfunctioning.”

“Oh no, that’s authentic 60′s slang!” Julian said, bounding over to where Garak was sitting. “‘Friend of Dorothy’ was slang for a gay man.”

“Bingo,” Vic said with a grin. “And Rock Hudson was about as gay as they come.”

“A movie actor,” Julian explained in response to Garak’s blank look. “He was a well-known movie actor.”

“One of your Bonds?” Garak asked, picking up his glass again.

“Gee, Hudson as a Bond,” Vic said, rocking back on his heels. “There’s a thought.”

“No, he played a lot of leading men,” Julian said. “But never Bond.” He glanced at Vic. “Sean Connery was playing the role when he would have been up for it.”

Vic nodded.

“I see,” Garak said. He got up from his bar stool. “As fascinating as all this is,” he said, pulling down on his jacket. “I’m afraid I have an early fitting tomorrow.”

“Oh, surely you can stay for a few more minutes,” Julian said. “I was just about to have Vic sing ‘My Way.’”

“I have a killer rendition of it,” Vic said with a warm smile. “And it’d give you some time to–”

“I’m afraid I truly must insist,” Garak said, casting Vic a deadly look. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t think this ‘lounge music’ is something I enjoy. It’s quite irritating and has the most infantile ideas about love.”

Julian furrowed his brow at Garak. Vic got the hint. “Alright, pally,” he said. “I’ll see ya around. Maybe I can play you the blues sometime. Seems like that might be more your style.”

“Oh! The Captain was talking to me about this. It’s an Afro-American style of music,” Julian said, practically vibrating where he stood. He turned wide, excited eyes to Vic. “You can do that?”

“Kid, singing is my specialty,” Vic said, already heading towards the stage. He could hear Julian urging Garak to stay for the experience and Garak making some excuses. 

Definitely a blues guy.

Vic took a drink of water as he thought of what song to ask the band to play. He’d had one stuck in his head since he started talking to Garak, but it wasn’t exactly the blues. He shrugged. The idea was there, even if it didn’t meet strict definitions. “Hiya, folks,” he said, turning on the charm. He could see Garak and Julian still talking with one another. “I’ve got a special request to sing some blues for you,” he said, “but the blues isn’t somethin’ you just jump into. So, let’s ease you in with this jazz piece inspired by the blues, then see how many of you are asleep.” That earned him a chuckle from the crowd. He gestured to the band leader. “Hit it.”

The bass came in with a low thrum. Garak shifted uncomfortably.

“I’m feelin’ mighty lonesome,” Vic crooned. The tension in Garak’s shoulders increased. Julian, as usual, didn’t seem to notice, instead continuing to talk to Garak like nothing had changed with the song. “Haven’t slept a wink,” Vic continued. “I walk the floor and watch the door and in between I drink.” Garak looked up at the stage, something indescribably cold in his ice-blue eyes. Vic guessed that look would have gotten most people to shut up. 

Most people weren’t holograms. 

“Black coffee,” Vic crooned, earning himself a little burst of applause from the audience. “Love’s a hand-me-down brew.” Garak was heading for the door now. “I’ll never know a Sunday,” Vic sang, his eyes fixed on Garak, “in this weekday room.” The Cardassian was gone before he could get to the second verse. Julian, on the other hand, was enthralled. It took three more actual blues songs and then a brief talk with Captain Sisko about famous artists for him to get back to his regular lounge set.

“Maybe just try tellin’ him, pally,” Vic said after everyone but Julian had left the holosuite. “Not sure indirect is your style.”

Julian smiled sadly and looked down at the floor. “Computer, end program.”

—

The first thing Vic saw the next time he booted up was a very stressed-looking Cardassian. Garak’s hair, which Vic had thought was pasted in place with gel, was fanned out around his face and there were dark circle under his eyes. He had a box of tools with him – things Vic knew from his time with Felix were engineering tools. Best to proceed with caution.

“Hiya, pally,” Vic said, giving Garak a short wave. He told the band to take five and walked off the stage to come talk to him. “Didn’t think I’d be seein’ you for a bit.”

Garak grabbed the holo-singer by the arm and escorted him to a dark corner of the room. “What did you tell Dr. Bashir?” he growled.

“What? Nothin’! I’m no snitch,” Vic said, wresting his arm out of Garak’s grip. He smoothed out the edges of his suit where Garak had rumpled it. “Why? Has he been actin’ funny or somethin’?”

“I haven’t seen him,” Garak said.

Vic paused in adjusting his cuffs. “Ok,” he said hesitantly, “so why the freak out?”

“Freak out?” Garak repeated with a curious glance.

Vic gave him a patronizing look. “Why’d you pull me over here?” he translated.

“To determine if you’d said anything,” Garak said.

“Well, I haven’t,” Vic said. He eyed the box of tools by Garak’s side. “And I’m guessin’ by that box of goodies that you don’t want me to.”

“That would be a fair assumption,” Garak said.

“Then I won’t,” Vic said with a shrug. He gestured at the stage. “Now, can I go back to my set?”

“How do I know that you’re going to keep silent?” Garak asked, getting uncomfortably close to Vic and fixing him with his icy blue stare.

“Look, pally, I’m not tryin’ to be a buzzkill here, but this,” Vic gestured at the lounge, “is Vegas in the 60′s. I’d be dead if I didn’t know how to keep my mouth shut.”

Garak looked at the singer with new appreciation. “And why would that be?” he asked.

Vic gave him a sad smile. “I’m gonna get back to my set now,” he said, patting Garak on the shoulder. He gestured at the bar with his head. “If you want a drink, they’re on the house. Just tell the barkeep that you’re a friend of Vic’s.”

Vic had just turned his back to leave when Garak spoke again. “He’s my friend,” he said. “And friendship isn’t something that comes easily to me.”

“So you keep your trap shut,” Vic said. He turned to look at Garak. “I get it. I really do. But take it from an old gambler: sometimes you gotta put all your chips in if you wanna win.”

Luckily, gambling parlance crossed galaxies and centuries. “I’m afraid I don’t have that many chips to wager,” Garak said with a little, sad twitch of his mouth.

“All the more reason to take a chance,” Vic said. “If you lose, you don’t lose much. If you win, well…”

Garak eyed Vic carefully. “Computer, end program,” he said.

—

“Lunch didn’t go good?” Vic asked as soon as he saw Julian. This time, he didn’t bother telling the band he was taking five. They knew the score.

Julian plopped himself down at a table near the stage. “He didn’t even want to have lunch with me,” he said as he fiddled with one of the decorative cloth napkins. “And I’m a little worried about his health.”

Vic leaned on his mic stand. “As a doc or as a guy in love?”

Julian gave him a sad smile. “Both,” he said. “Although, this may be serious, he seemed… lethargic. Like he’d been up all night or something.”

“Hmm,” Vic said as he accessed the data files for when his program had last been run. 04:12 hours. That tracked. “Look, pally, maybe he needs a little help gettin’ to sleep at night.”

“Garak would never take a sedative,” Julian said.

Vic screamed internally – an impressive feat for a being made of ones and zeros. “I’m not talkin’ about medicine, pally,” he said. “I’m talkin’ about someone to keep him warm at night.”

“Oh. Oh,” Julian said, the penny finally dropping. “No, I - I don’t think he’d like that. Garak gets very private when he’s ill. You should have seen the last time he got sick. It took me threatening him with reading all of Shakespeare’s sonnets aloud to get him to go to sickbay.”

“Right, I’m gonna guess that makes sense in your universe,” Vic said.

“He doesn’t like the sonnets,” Julian explained. “Says their too sentimental.”

“You’re missin’ my point here, pally!” Vic said. “You’re a doc! He’s sick! What better time to invite yourself over to his quarters and hope playin’ doctor turns into ‘playin’ doctor.’”

Julian wrinkled his nose at him. “I’m not going to abuse my medical license like that!” he exclaimed.

“Of course you aren’t,” Vic said as he drooped against his mic stand.

“What sort of doctor do you think I am?”

“The kind who comes to a hologram for love advice,” Vic said pointedly. He held up two fingers. “And who, despite my best efforts, has struck out twice now.”

Julian narrowed his eyes at Vic. “Look,” he growled.

“No. That’s it. I’m done, pally. I’ve already got Nanook of the North to worry about without you runnin’ me into the ground too.” Vic looked up at the ceiling. “Computer, end program.”

—

“Good to see you two kids got things sorted out,” Vic said when he saw Julian and Garak enter the holosuite. He glanced nervously between them. “It is sorted out, right?”

“Mr. Fontaine, what is it that you’re implying?” Garak said with a mischievous smirk. Julian rolled his eyes and put his arm around Garak’s waist. “Yes, it is ‘sorted out,’”Julian replied. “We’ve been dating for a month now.”

“’Ey! Congratulations!” Vic said. “Let me sing you somethin’ as a celebration. What’ll it be, guys?”

Garak sighed and looked at Julian. “This was your idea, my dear,” he said.

“I was thinking maybe you could sing that coffee song again,” Julian said.

“‘Black Coffee’?” Vic asked. “I thought you said things were working out for you two.”

“They are,” Julian said. He looked down at the floor. “It’s just–”

“The song now holds sentimental value for Dr. Bashir,” Garak explained.

“Not just me, Garak,” Julian groused, his ears turning red.

“If you could also clear the lounge of most of its patrons so that we might have the floor,” Garak continued as if he hadn’t heard Julian, “it would be much appreciated.”

This was news to both Vic and Julian, given Julian’s surprised look. “Have the floor?” Julian echoed. “I thought we were just going to have a drink together.”

“And miss an opportunity to dance with you?” Garak asked as the tables around them vanished. He turned and held out his hand to Julian. “Perish the thought.”

The bass came in with a low thrum. Only, this time, it didn’t seem as melancholy as Julian took Garak’s offered hand. “I suppose you think you’re leading,” Julian said with a teasing smile.

Garak pursed his lips and tilted his head to the side. “I could be persuaded to let you lead after this song,” he said.

“Persuaded?” Julian said. Vic didn’t know why he bothered singing. The pair clearly weren’t listening to him or the blues as they slow danced around the lounge, flirting and arguing with each other.

“It’s drivin’ me crazy,” Vic sang as Garak drew Julian into a backbend, “this waitin’ for my baby,” he smiled as Julian got up and pressed Garak’s forehead to his, the two of them practically glowing, “to maybe come around.”

As he hummed out the last few bars, Garak and Julian melted into each other’s embrace. “Thank you,” Garak said, his icy blue eyes suddenly locking on Vic.

“For what?” Vic asked, suddenly more nervous than when he’d had to make a deal with Tony the Stone.

“For keeping your ‘trap shut,’” Garak said with a roguish grin.

“Hey, no problem, pally,” Vic said as Julian gave Garak a confused look. He pulled on his bowtie as the room suddenly felt very warm. “Anytime.”

geekthefreakout:

Garashir Try Basking Rocks

AN: I wanted them to try a Cardassian thing together.

“I never thought you’d invite me to a holosuite. It’s usually the other way around.” Julian remarked to Garak as he continued to rifle through his closet. Garak had extended said invitation and promptly rejected Julian’s choice of outfit out of hand.

“There is, as they say, a first time for everything, my dear Doctor.” Garak said, regarding Julian’s favorite relaxation pants with a suspicion bordering on disgust. “What on Prime are these meant to be?”

“They’re meant to be comfortable.” Julian said, exasperated. “You said dress for comfort and for the heat.” He held up a pair of shorts for Garak’s inspection. “Does this meet your standards?”

“I’m beginning to think nothing here will.” Garak sighed, inspecting the green, blue, and orange biking shorts. “But I suppose they will suffice until I can create more suitable garments for you. Really, Doctor, you could stand to make use of my sartorial services more often, you are clearly in desperate need.”

“I spend most of my time in uniform.” Julian defended, grabbing the shorts and the science-blue t-shirt which Garak had deemed ‘unflattering, but at least not offensive’. “And there’s nothing wrong with my off-duty clothes! No one ever says anything besides you.”

“Undoubtedly they seek to preserve your feelings. I, however, know that you are strong enough to withstand criticism.”

Keep reading

shakespearevillain:

I like to imagine that, during that first day when Garak wouldn’t let go of Tolan and he was in a bunch of high-ranking meetings holding a Cardassian infant, everyone thought it was just the most blatant, hollow attempt at trying to rebrand himself for a new Cardassia. 

I can see Cardassian senators grumbling to themselves: “Who does he think he’s fooling? We all know about his past with the Obsidian Order. First, he marries a Federation augment, and now this? What’s next? Adopting a three-legged riding hound? Ridiculous.” No one believes that Elim Garak spent an entire day holding his newly adopted son because he cares about the child. They all think it’s some ploy. 

When headlines in the next day’s news report talk about how Elim Garak is making a pathetic grab at Cardassian sympathy by adopting a child and then holding that child through multiple meetings “like a trophy,” Julian is furious.

“Let them talk, my dear,” Garak says as he watches his husband fume. He finishes mixing up a bottle of formula and presents it to Tolan, who latches on eagerly.

“But they’re saying that we adopted Tolan out of some political agenda!” Julian exclaims. “That you don’t care about him at all!”

“Yes,” Garak says, “and what better way to keep our son safe than to let them think that’s exactly what I’m doing?”

Julian stops his pacing. “You can’t be serious,” he says.

“Quite serious.” Garak holds up a finger as Julian starts to protest. “My dear, you were worried about how political life might affect our son,” he says. “If my political life thinks that Tolan is nothing but a tool in some sort of campaign for a softer image, they won’t bother with him.” Tolan spits out the bottle and begins looking around the room. Garak offers it to him again and he doesn’t latch on. Garak picks up Tolan and walks over to his husband. “Let them think that this is all some nefarious scheme on my part,” he says, rubbing Julian’s shoulder with his free hand. “You and I will know the truth.”

“And what about Tolan?” Julian asks.

“Well, if I recall correctly, you said that you were going to make sure he was going to be raised with love,” Garak says with a twinkle in his eye. “Federation sentiment or not.”

Julian smiles, catching onto Garak’s drift. “Well, what sort of ‘Federation puppet’ would I be if I didn’t enforce a few Federation standards,” he teases.

“And, of course, for image’s sake alone, I have to bend to your whims on occasion,” Garak teases back. “Otherwise, people might think our relationship is going poorly.”

“What a travesty for your image,” Julian says before pressing his forehead against Garak’s.

The picture of the three of them together, Julian and Garak with their foreheads pressed together over a cooing baby, is a very domestic one. It is also something that no news service would ever publish for fear of public outrage over obviously photoshopped pictures.

Which is exactly how Garak likes it.

shakespearevillain:

For @ofhouseadama and her wife, going off of this post (careful, NSFW), and particularly this quote:

“My wife and I have a joke that in any scenario where Julian finds himself the caretaker of particularly young orphans/wards of the state, he in his sleep-deprived state tells Garak that babies need to be held to grow up big and strong and. Garak perhaps takes that very literally out of fear of fucking up The Kids in the way that he was fucked up, whereas what Julian was trying to communicate is that children do genuinely need love and affection and connection in order for their brains to develop correctly.“

Enjoy one lizard trying his hardest and one augment who’s not sure what to do with him.

—

“Garak, what are you doing?”

The Cardassian glared at Julian before turning back to the cuts of fabric he had strewn about on the kitchen table. He had his subatomic sewing device in one hand. The other arm cradled their adopted, Cardassian son. “What does it look like I’m doing, doctor?” he replied snidely as he finished the final seam on his creation. With a quick grab and a flick of his wrist, he turned the emerald green fabric inside out, revealing that it was a pouch sling. “Someone has to hold our son, after all, and you had to go to work.”

Julian had learned about old models of computers as part of his engineering training at Starfleet Academy. During that time, he had encountered what people of the 21st Century referred to as “the spinning wheel of death” — a rotating circle that their computers displayed when the computer was malfunctioning or overloaded. He felt like one such circle was spinning in his brain right now as he tried to work out Garak’s statement. Finally, his brain decided to close all programs and he let out a confused: “What?”

Garak rolled his eyes. “Our son,” he said as he placed the sling around his neck. “He needs to be held.”

“Well, yes,” Julian said. “Babies respond well to touch.”

“And while you were off at the hospital, I was the only one available to hold him,” Garak continued as he transferred their son from his left arm to the newly fashioned sling. “Over the course of five hours, my arms became exhausted, so I made the sling.”

“Hang on,” Julian said, his brain suddenly booting online again. “Are you telling me you haven’t put our son down since we picked him up from the orphanage?”

“As I said, someone needed to hold him.”

“Garak, babies don’t need to be held constantly,” Julian said. “When I was telling you that babies need to be held, I was talking more about the need for touch.”

Garak narrowed his eyes at his husband.

“Why would I lie about this?” Julian said, throwing his arms in the air.

“Perhaps to escape responsibility,” Garak said as he absently rocked the sling. “After all, you did manage, within a few hours of receiving our son, to put work over family.”

“I have patients to look after!” Julian exclaimed. “And I didn’t think that you’d be holding him the entire time! How did you even get through your meetings?”

“Cardassians are most accommodating of new parents,” Garak said with a proud raise of his chin. “And even if they weren’t, they know not to cross me.”

“So a combination of tradition and fear then?” Julian asked, folding his arms over his chest and giving Garak the look.

“As you yourself noted, those two concepts are pillars of Cardassian society,” Garak said with no small amount of snark as he looked down into the sling. 

Julian took in a deep breath through his nose and walked over to his husband. “It’s ok to put him down, you know,” he said, placing a hand on Garak’s shoulder. “It won’t hurt him.”

Garak let out a bitter laugh, not taking his eyes off the child. “My many enemies on Cardassia and off-world would beg to differ with you, doctor,” he said. “I’m sure they’d love nothing more than for me to let down my guard.”

“Your ‘many enemies’ have to get through several layers of security, a couple of guards, and a fiercely protective augmented human in order to even touch a hair on his head,” Julian pointed out.

“And what of his Cardassian father?”

“The infamous Elim Garak?” Julian said. “I suspect if they know you’re anywhere in the area, they won’t even make an attempt.” He touched his husband’s jaw, turning his attention away from the baby. “Now, are we going to play mind games or are you going to tell me what’s really bothering you?”

“Games do suit us.”

“Garak…”

“Very well, doctor,” Garak said. He traced the baby’s nose with one finger. “What if… What if I fail?”

“At what?”

“At this,” Garak said, clutching the sling tighter to him. “At being a father. We both know mine wasn’t–”

“Neither was mine!” Julian interrupted. “You think I’m not scared of becoming a second Richard Bashir?”

“I doubt you’d subject this child to genetic re-sequencing, no matter what the ailment,” Garak pointed out.

“And I doubt Enabran Tain ever held you for five hours straight through multiple diplomatic meetings out of fear of messing up,” Julian said. “So this child already has had more love and dedication from you than that man ever showed you in his entire life.”

“A good start,” Garak said, his attention still focused on the baby.

“And I really doubt that Tain ever went to the trouble of making a baby sling,” Julian said as he fingered the strap around Garak’s neck. “Where did you even get the materials?”

“They’re replicated,” Garak said simply. “I’ll make a better one when I have a chance to purchase some non-replicated materials.”

“I don’t know,” Julian said, looking down at their peacefully sleeping infant. “I think this one suits him.”

“Hmm,” Garak grunted. He rubbed the cloth between two fingers and made a disgusted face. “That’s simply because he doesn’t know any better.”

“It was made with love,” Julian said. He walked behind Garak so he could see roughly what his husband was seeing. The view was somehow even better from there. “Can’t think of much better than that.”

“A Federation sentiment if ever I heard one,” Garak said.

“Nice try, but I’ve been on Cardassia too long,” Julian said. He wrapped his arms around his husband’s chest and rested his chin on Garak’s shoulder. “I know Cardassians believe in love for their children.”

“Duty would be the correct word,” Garak said.

“Yes, well, this child is going to get love,” Julian said. He kissed Garak on the cheek. “Federation sentiment or not.”

“I suppose you’re going to see to that?” Garak asked with a raise of his eyebrow ridge.

“Absolutely,” Julian agreed.

“I see. Then, I’d better keep young Tolan in my custody for as long as possible,” Garak teased, removing himself from Julian’s grip.

“We’re really naming him ‘Tolan’?” Julian asked with a slight cringe.

“Tolan Augustus Garak,” Garak said, emphasizing each name with a wag of his finger. “Unless you’d like to add ‘Bashir’ to that list.”

“No, I don’t,” Julian said as he tucked his hands into his armpits, “but I’m calling him ‘Gus.’”

“What a confusing experience that will be for him,” Garak said, a twinkle returning to his eye. “I’ll have to explain to young Tolan that his dad doesn’t know how to pronounce ‘Tolan’ properly.”

“And I’ll explain to him that his father refuses to acknowledge his human name, no matter what I have to say about the matter!”

“Was that three minutes or four?” Garak asked with a smirk.

“What?”

“Minutes that we went without arguing.”

Julian looked up at the ceiling, calculating the time. “Three minutes and eight seconds,” he replied. “Not great, but I think we’re both a little on edge.” He furrowed his brow as a thought occurred to him. “Wait, if you thought you had to hold Gus –”

“Tolan.”

“– this whole time, what did you think the crib was for?”

“For when one of us inevitably buckled from exhaustion or mental strain,” Garak said. He looked down at the baby and cradled the infant’s head. “I came very close to using it several times, particularly during the diplomatic meeting with the Bajorans. He may be small, but he is quite heavy.”

Julian tried to not laugh. He really did. Garak would later say that the laughter coming from his husband was completely uncalled for, given both of their fears about parenting and his understandable ignorance on the subject of infants. In the moment, all Garak did was glare at him as Julian slowly pulled himself back together. “Sorry,” Julian said. “Just… I didn’t think you’d view this as an endurance test.”

“My dear doctor, we’re both going to see this as an endurance test in the long run,” Garak pointed out with a knowing look.

“Fair point.” Julian held out his arms. “Which is why I should really have a turn on the sling. You’ve earned a bit of rest.”

Garak eyed Julian suspiciously. “If you’re certain you won’t wake him,” he said hesitantly.

“Garak, I’m a doctor,” Julian said. He took the baby in his arms and began taking the strap off Garak’s neck. “I can handle not waking a–”

A splitting cry filled the air. Garak took back their son, rocking him back and forth in an attempt to settle him again. To Julian’s great surprise, it worked. The baby made a soft, cooing noise and then quieted down again. “Looks like he already has a favorite,” Julian noted. He managed to keep most of the bitterness out of his voice.

“I’ve simply been around him the longest,” Garak said, not taking his eyes off the baby. “Tolan will grow accustomed to you too.”

Julian thought that over for a second and decided he as probably right. He also decided that he was going to do some research on soothing babies and call Miles to ask for his advice. Until he could do all that, it looked like the best thing for all their sanities was for Garak to keep holding the baby and for Julian to prepare dinner.  

“I can’t believe I’m only asking this now,” Julian said as he walked over the the replicator. “But why Tolan?”

“It was my uncle’s name,” Garak replied.

Julian froze, one finger hovering over the replicator buttons. “The one who raised you?”

“The same.”

Guilt washed over Julian as he realized just how much the name meant to Garak. The emotion was quickly followed by a feeling like his heart was going to burst from the amount of love he had for this ridiculous, secretive man. “You know, I think I like ‘Tolan,’” he said as he finished replicating two bowls of lamb stew for them. He turned and began walking towards the kitchen table. “And it’s only fitting for him to have a Cardassian name on Cardassia.”

“And the naming convention is a staple of the repetitive epic,” Garak said as he swept the scraps of his work out of the way and into a conveniently placed box.

“I’m not reading The Neverending Sacrifice again,” Julian said, waving a spoon at Garak. “Twice was enough.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to endure it a third time, doctor,” Garak said as he sat down at the kitchen table. He gazed into the sling and ran a finger over Tolan’s nose. “It was the only book I found that managed to put Tolan to sleep.”

“You’re joking,” Julian said, sinking down into the chair next to him.

“I wish I were,” Garak said. “He seems to have inherited your distaste for repetitive epics without any biological ties whatsoever.”

“Or maybe he finds them comforting?” Julian offered as he set Garak’s bowl in front of him.

“Perhaps,” Garak said.

“And also maybe he’s a baby and just likes the sound of your voice,” Julian said. He tapped Garak’s bowl with his spoon. “Eat your food.”

“I would agree with you but for the fact that he seemed to cry louder during my rendition of Julius Caesar,” Garak said as he picked up his spoon.

“There is an entire box of baby books that Miles sent us!”

“Yes, and, if I were committed to spoon-feeding him drivel, I would have opened the box,” Garak said as he scooped a bit of meat onto his spoon. He frowned at the bit of stew, looked into the sling, and then plucked the meat off the spoon. It was when he began lowering it into the sling that Julian realized what was happening.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed, grabbing Garak’s wrist. “No solids yet. We talked about this!”

“What?” Garak asked. He shook his head as if trying to wake himself. “This is my son!” he protested.

“Yes, and even your son can’t eat solid meat before he’s ready for it,” Julian said, carefully removing the bit of lamb from Garak’s fingers. “Did you get any sleep last night at all or were you up worrying?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Garak snapped.

“Because you’re falling into a nurture trance,” Julian said gently. At first, he hadn’t believed Garak when he’d told him about the Cardassian urge to protect and care for their children. His talk with Dr. Parmak had revealed that, uncharacteristically, Garak had been telling the truth. The trait was found in mothers, fathers, and guardians and was one of the leading causes of hospital visits for infants. Babies who had been wrapped too tightly by an overprotective father. Babies who had been fed solid food off of their mother’s plate and ended up almost choking to death. Babies who had been nearly smothered when a half-asleep Cardassian guardian had leapt on top of the child to protect it from another Cardassian, a vehicle, or, in one particularly embarrassing case, a small hawk.

“Ambassador Elim Garak does not fall into a nurture trance,” Garak said.

“And now I know you’re exhausted because you’re using the third person,” Julian said. “And whether you want to admit it or not, you just tried to feed Tolan solid food off your plate.” He reached for the baby. “I’ll handle the crying. It was The Neverending Sacrifice that put him to–?”

“Don’t,” Garak hissed, pulling the sling away from Julian.

“Garak…” Julian said warningly.

“Don’t touch him,” Garak snarled. Tears sprung to his eyes. “He’s my boy. I’ll look after him.”

“Elim Garak,” Julian said, changing course so that his hands cupped his husband’s jaw. “Tolan is our boy and I promise you that nothing bad will happen to him. Not if I can help it.”

“But you can’t, can you, doctor?” Garak snarled, wrenching his chin out of his husband’s grasp. He wrapped his arms around Tolan. “You can’t keep all the horrible things in this universe from touching him, from warping his mind! You can barely even protect yourself. Why in the name of Cardassia would I hand him over to your lackluster care?”

“Because we agreed to do this together,” Julian said, shrugging off the jab as the ineffectual coping method it was, “and because you won’t be able to protect either of us if you’re exhausted.”

Something about that seemed to click in Garak’s brain. Julian hoped it was the “doing this together” part, but, deep down, he knew it was the “won’t be able to protect either of us” part. Garak carefully took Tolan into his arms and shrugged the sling off his neck. “It was The Neverending Sacrifice that put him to sleep,” he said as he handed Tolan to Julian. His hands lingered on the sling before he forcefully pulled them away. “He also enjoys that Mozart program the O’Briens sent us, and… singing.”

To Julian’s credit, he managed to keep his face absolutely neutral through the idea of notorious spy Elim Garak singing their son to sleep. He nodded gravely and put the sling around his neck. Tolan began to fuss from the sudden change in placement. Garak reached for him, then pulled his hands back. “I will return in an hour,” he said as he got up from the table. He looked up at the ceiling. “Computer, set an alarm for one hour from now.”

“Alarm set,” the computer responded.

Garak nodded stiffly and left for their bedroom.

As soon as Garak left, Julian let out a little sigh of relief. “Computer,” he said as he got up from the table, all thoughts of dinner forgotten. “Cancel alarm.”

“Alarm cancelled,” the computer said.  

Julian looked down at their son. Tolan was beginning to realize that Julian radiated more heat than Garak and had shifted in his sling so that his back was pressed against Julian’s chest. “You,” Julian said he rocked Tolan in his arms, “are exceptionally well-loved. Don’t let your father try to convince you otherwise.” He gestured with his head towards the bedroom. “That man loves both of us more than he’d ever care to admit.”

Julian was fairly sure that Tolan hadn’t mastered Federation Standard yet. Still, he felt as though the baby understood him as he yawned, made a gurgle sound, and went back to sleep.