Trektober Day #12: Diplomacy
“Dr. Bashir, why are you not with a patient?”
Julian hastily swallowed the ration bar and strained to smile.
“I’m taking a short break to eat something. Dr. Ariz approved it.”
“Why Dr. Ariz would allow such lazy carelessness is beyond me,” Ritelas said contemptuously. “You humans have no discipline.”
If Julian thought that Garak’s lunchtime snipes at his humanity had been bad at the Replimat, it had nothing on a whole planet of Cardassian superiority. Julian’s grasp on the culture still failed him. Inevitably, when he fought back, it was someone who was using insults to flirt and took his passionate response entirely the wrong way. When he stayed professional and calm and didn’t engage, that was usually when it was someone who actually held his species in low regard and needed to be taken to task or else they’d keep finding reasons to needle him about it.
It was a situation that required careful diplomacy.
“I’m sorry you feel that way. My husband, Councilor Garak, has been working hard to ensure our people understand each other, but of course if you have any issues with my behavior you can report them to the Aid Alliance Committee.”
That usually put an end to the argument, although Julian would be hard-pressed to say whether it was because he was married, or because his husband was the famous Garak, or because of the reminder that interplanetary civility was the current priority of the government. Maybe, despite the Cardassian love of the state, they hated bureaucracy as much as he did and simply couldn’t be bothered to file the complaint.
Icon by @ThatSpookyAgent. Call me Tir or Julian. 37. He/They. Queer. Twitter: @tirlaeyn. ao3: tirlaeyn. 18+ Only. Star Trek. The X-Files. Sandman. IwtV. OMFD. Definitionless in this Strict Atmosphere.
Trektober Day #11: Nightmares
Cardassians don’t dream.
It is one of the aspects of their physiology that Julian is most grateful for when he begins practicing medicine on the planet. The people are traumatized enough, followed in their waking moments by the memories of bombardments and charred flesh. They already struggle to fall asleep and wake up. The last thing they need is nightmares in between.
He is envious of the fact that Garak, whose past haunts him even at the best of times, can sleep in peace. It is only Julian who wakes up screaming, unsure if he is in his bed or a lab or a simulation or a prison camp. It is only Julian who sees the faces of those he has killed when he loses consciousness.
But perhaps it is better that way. There is a safety to knowing that waking up will end the nightmare. The Cardassians also do not have that.
Trektober Day #8: Epistolary
My dear doctor,
Through my window, I see stalks of rulot grown tall. Even though it has been years, I marvel at Cardassia’s resiliency. Once, I wondered if our soil had been poisoned forever, if anything would never grow again. But Cardassia has always been more than the soil, and her spirit thrives.
There are children laughing outside my home, and I drink in the sound like so much water. It sounds like hope.
I have grown foolishly sentimental in my old age, Doctor. You will laugh when you read this. But my heart bursts to share it with you, to see you glow in the light of Cardassia’s suns. Come back to me soon, my love.
-Elim
Elim,
You know I had to come in to the clinic today. You already convinced me to take a week off; my patients would be suspicious if I stayed away longer. I’ll be home in time for dinner. Parmak has promised to make sure of it.
Don’t be so dramatic.
Love, Julian
I need an epilogue where we deal with the contract between Garak and Quark from “Body Parts.”
—
Rom shuffled his way into Garak’s shop. “Uhh… Quark is here,” he said.
“And?” Garak drawled from where he was sewing together a jacket.
“Nothing,” Rom said, “he just wanted me to make sure the coast was clear first. And to tell you that he’s here.”
“I want a new suit!” Quark called from the promenade.
Rom nodded. “He wants a new–”
“I heard him,” Garak interrupted, setting down his subatomic sewing device. “Do you really think?” he called out. “That killing you in my shop would be surprising?”
“No,” Quark said as he popped his head through the door. “I guess not.”
“Then, the way I see it, you are free to enter,” Garak said.
Quark looked up, to his left, to his right, and finally put two fingers through the doorway as if it might bite him. Garak pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. Finally, after a few other tests, Quark ran in with his arms over his head.
“Are you done?” Garak asked dryly as the Ferengi stood before him.
“I want to end the contract on my life,” Quark said, slowly lowering his arms to his sides.
“Do you?”
“Yes! Things are different now. I don’t need to sell my remains.”
“I see,” Garak said. He picked up his sewing device and resumed work on the jacket.
“Well?” Quark asked.
“Well, what?”
“Are you off the job?”
“I could be.”
“How much is it going to cost me?” Quark asked.
“That’s quite a dangerous question for a man with no latinum and a price on his head to ask,” Garak noted as he finished a seam in the shoulder.
“You heard about the bar,” Quark said flatly.
“Rumor travels fast on the promenade.”
“Alright.” He threw his hands in the air. “You got me. I’m broke – for now. But I can get you the money just as soon as business picks up.”
“I’m afraid,” Garak said, “that won’t be acceptable.”
“It’s not?”
“Mr. Quark,” Garak said, not taking his eyes off his work, “my services are quite expensive, as you well know, and I would hate to tarnish my reputation by not killing a man when he specifically asked me to do so.”
“But now I’m asking–”
“I’m afraid,” Garak said, “that our contract must be made null and void.”
“You mean you won’t kill me?” Quark asked.
Garak nodded. “As much as it pains me to say it, you simply can’t afford my services at this time.”
Quark winced. “Yeah,” he said gloomily, “I guess you’re right.”
“However, should you require something sartorial, such as a new suit, I think I might be able to find something that will fit your needs.”
“Something off the scrap heap?” Quark remarked gloomily.
“Oh, I think I can come up with something a little nicer than that,” Garak said as he set down his sewing device and hung up the jacket. He turned back to Quark. “But, for now, I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with one of the ready-made options I have on display. Something in the purple to red range, I would think, having seen your previous attempts at fashion.”
“You do like purple, brother,” Rom said.
“Yeah, sure. Something purple,” Quark said.
“An excellent choice,” Garak said, taking a deep plum shirt off the rack and handing it to him.
“I suppose you want this cleaned and returned?” Quark said, gesturing with the shirt at Garak.
“Well, to be perfectly honest, that particular style is going out of fashion,” Garak said. “And, as a businessman, I’m sure you know how detrimental it can be to have old stock simply gathering dust. Although, I would appreciate it if, should someone compliment your wardrobe, you would tell them where you got the shirt.”
“An advertisement,” Quark said.
“More or less,” Garak agreed.
Quark shrugged. “Yeah, I can live with that,” he said as he walked into a changing room.
Rom took a few tentative steps forward as soon as his brother disappeared behind the curtain. “Thank you,” he whispered.
“For what?” Garak asked with a raise of his eyebrow ridge.
Rom looked at him curiously for a moment. “I dunno,” he said, taking a few steps back again.
“How nice for you,” Garak said. He smiled in earnest as Quark reappeared from the dressing room. The rich, plum color of the shirt complimented his skin tone nicely. He’d have to remember to add some plum details to the suit. “Will that be all for you today?” Garak asked.
“You don’t think that maybe I could get a cut of the commissions that come in from this shirt?” Quark asked.
“Certainly,” Garak said, “they will go directly towards the deposit you owe me for the voided contract.”
Quark smiled. “Eh, it was worth a shot,” he said.
“Indeed. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I have other ensembles to make.”
“Hang on,” Quark said just as he was about to leave the shop. “How do I know that this isn’t part of the surprise?”
“Time,” Garak said with a slight grin, “will tell.”
Trektober Day #6: Observation Deck
“Can you see it from here?” Julian asked softly. Garak did not turn. He had not heard Julian’s approach, but the opening of the door had flooded light into the dark, empty space.
“See what, my dear?” He knew. They both did.
“Cardassia.”
Cardassia Prime twinkled to the right of the viewscreen. Garak could have pointed to it without even looking. He had become a compass, during exile; no matter where he was, he could always point out Cardassia in relation. His anchor, no matter how far into space he sailed.
“No,” Garak lied. “Not from here.”
Garak and the Jack Pack
Want to thank
for giving me the idea and motivation; this is the first fic I’ve posted and finished in quite a while. Also gonna tag
and
since their DS9-related posts are what helped lead me to this (if there’s a DS9-related Discord I should join, let me know); note that I’m not much of a shipper (and I’m ace), so I wasn’t quite sure how to approach the Bashir/Garak relationship; I just left it in the background (and the lizard man t-shirt).
“Oh, Doctor. There you are, and I….see you’ve brought company!” As he could see, Dr. Bashir was heading for the Replimat for his typical luncheon with him, only four other people were crowded around him. A skinny man with a mustache, a stocky older man with a timid expression, a rather gregarious-looking woman, and another woman who looked rather distant. “Oh, hello Garak. I’d like to apologize for being a bit late.”
Trektober Day #5: Sick Fic
“I am not sick,” Julian insisted, and sneezed explosively. Garak smothered a laugh.
“Oh? Did they genetically enhance your immune system as well?”
Julian glared at him balefully.
“As a matter of fact, they did.”
“Then I’m sure you’ll be recovered soon. In the meantime, I believe the doctor’s orders are to rest.”
“You aren’t a doctor.”
“No, but Girani is, and I’m happy to comm her to come over and prescribe you a bedtime if that’s necessary.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me, my dear.”
For @bardicious, part 2 of the rescue fic. (Part 1)
—
Garak couldn’t help but note how comical Chief O’Brien looked. The gold and black jacket of his Star Fleet uniform had managed to cover the white undershirt he’d been wearing when Garak first gave him the news of Julian’s kidnapping, but did nothing to hide the blue-striped pajama pants. Granted, with how quickly he’d gone to the docking ring, it was a wonder he’d remembered to put on shoes. The Chief, it seemed, was not one to waste time.
“You think Gul Dukat kidnapped Julian?” Miles asked as they sped towards Cardassian space.
“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Garak replied. “Dukat is the only other person in the quadrant with unlimited access to Dr. Bashir’s quarters who also has a motive for wanting to kidnap him.”
“Right. Three questions,” Miles said. “First off, Gul Dukat can get into Julian’s quarters whenever he likes?”
“He has the highest security access code for Terok Nor. Technically, he could get into the quarters of anyone on the station at any time he likes.”
Miles shivered. “Noted. Second, ‘other person?’”
“Apart from myself.”
“You can get into Julian’s quarters any time you like?”
“Chief, is this really the–”
“No, I want to know exactly what’s happenin’ there,” Miles said, smashing a finger against the control panel for emphasis. “Did he give it to you or are you just invitin’ yourself in?”
“The doctor has invited me in on more than one occasion,” Garak said evasively.
Miles swore under his breath and rubbed a bit of sleep out of his eyes. “Fine. Fine. We’ll talk about that later. An’ lastly, motive?”
“Gul Dukat and I… haven’t been on the best of terms.”
“What’s that got to do with… Oh,” Miles said as the reason why that was relevant hit him in the head like a two-by-four.
“Yes,” Garak said.
“So, he thinks he’s gonna get revenge by hurtin’ Julian–”
“As a way of hurting me, yes,” Garak said.
“Didn’t know you two were that serious,” Miles said. “Erm, you and Julian, I mean.”
“Officially, we’re not.”
“And unofficially?”
Garak clenched his jaw and looked away from Miles.
Miles let out a little breath of a laugh. “Julian’s got weird taste,” he said.
“Indeed,” Garak murmured.
—
Julian hadn’t been able to put up much of a fight. As much as brains and dexterity might help him in medicine, it did little to nothing when trying to fight off two Cardassians while bound. He had been led off of the ship with the Cardassian he didn’t know pinning his arms against his back and using them like a rudder to steer him forward. Gul Dukat kept a possessive hand on Julian’s upper arm, but otherwise let his companion do the work. They disembarked onto a space station that looked like a darkened copy of DS9. In the dull, blue twilight of the Cardassian lighting system, he almost didn’t notice the changeling until she was right next to him.
“Is this the human?” she asked.
Gul Dukat dug his fingers into Julian’s arm. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?” he said through clenched teeth. He let go of Julian and took a few steps away from him. “Yes, this is the human.” He gestured at the doctor like he was trying to call attention to a side show at a carnival. “Founder, I introduce you to Dr. Julian Bashir.”
The female changeling cut Dukat a withering look before placing a hand on Julian’s shoulder. He felt something a bit like shaving gel slide over his shoulder and up along his neck. He tried to pull away from it, but it moved with him. After a moment, it retreated again and reformed into her hand. “He is human,” she said.
“Of course he’s human!” Dukat exclaimed. “What else would he be?”
“He could have been our lost brother,” the female changeling said. She looked directly into Julian’s eyes. “Although Odo would have to have become a lot better with faces since last we saw him, the odds of it being him were not zero.”
Julian wished Odo was here. Odo would have stared bravely into their faces and told them that genetically engineering people was not a just thing to do. Even Quark, he imagined, would have come up with some rule of acquisition that went against the practice. Neither of them had experienced genetic engineering before. Neither of them had woken up in a hospital bed, screaming, begging to go home, only to be stuck with a hypospray. Neither of them had nightmares that resembled this exact scenario. If he thought about it, it was a wonder that he’d gone into medicine at all.
No, he reminded himself, this is exactly why I got into medicine. So people wouldn’t have to go through what I did. He tried one last, futile effort at escaping from his Cardassian captor, only to be held more firmly in place.
“He does not seem very strong,” the female changeling said, looking over at Gul Dukat.
“I’m not,” Julian said, sensing an opening, “the enhancements done to me were on my mental abilities and my dexterity.” He glanced over at Dukat. “Not really what you want in a soldier,” he said.
“Interesting,” Dukat said, “but not entirely relevant. We know how to make people strong, founder,” he said, turning towards the changeling. “It’s brutality and intelligence that we need.”
“And you think I’m brutal?” Julian said with a grimace. “Were you paying any attention at all when we met?”
“I think you can be made brutal,” Dukat said, “with a few more enhancements.”
Suddenly, Julian felt like he was free-floating in space. Like there was no oxygen in the room. Somewhere outside the whirr of his panic, he could hear someone saying “few blood samples first” and “preliminary scans.” He tried to cry out, to duck away, but his entire body seemed frozen. He had read the data on genetic engineering as soon as he had figured out what had been done to him. He had read about crazed super-humans tearing people and continents apart in their search for dominance.
He knew it would work.
—
“How do you know about this place?”
“Really, chief, asking all these questions of a known liar–”
“Yes, but you wouldn’t lie when it comes to Julian,” Miles pointed out. “Or do you not actually want him back?”
Garak glared at him. “Is that a threat?” he asked.
Miles sighed and rolled his eyes. “Cardassians,” he muttered before adding, “I want him back alive and well. You want him back alive and well. The only way that’s gonna happen is if you tell me enough for me to strategize with you. I was a soldier, remember? I can help.”
“You truly think that, don’t you?” Garak commented wryly before turning back to the control panel.
Miles crossed his arms over his chest. “‘Scuse me?”
“I don’t think you want the truth, Chief,” Garak said, his focus still on the control panel, “because then you won’t have plausible deniability when we get back to the station.”
“Screw deniability!” Miles exclaimed. “Is deniability gonna get Julian back?”
Garak surveyed Miles for a moment, his pale eyes searching for some waver in his resolve. “No,” he said once his search was complete, “it isn’t.”
“Then you’d better start tellin’ me things.”
“Yes,” Garak said, “I suppose I should.” He pointed to the coordinates he’d locked in. “This is the location of a Cardassian science base,” he said. “It was used during the occupation for… humanoid test subjects.”
Miles swallowed the bile that was forming at the back of his throat. “What makes you think they’d take Julian there?” he asked.
“There are several possible reasons,” Garak said, “but, mostly, I think they took him there to figure out what sort of genetic enhancements he has and how to replicate them.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because,” Garak said, turning away from Miles and digging his fingers into the edge of the control panel, “it’s what I would have done in their place.”
For @bardicious, the first installment of a rescue fic
—
Garak was in a good mood. He’d managed to get some Delavian chocolates. The present was an inside joke at this point, with packages of it passed between him and Julian whenever one or the other got their hands on some. Since Garak had a hard time expressing his feelings, the chocolates became a code – a message expressing love, thankfulness, admiration, loyalty, and several other emotions Garak didn’t want to put a name to. He smiled as he thought of Julian’s face lighting up, of Julian absolutely insisting that he couldn’t eat them all himself, of Julian replicating a bottle of Earth wine that would pair nicely with it. The wine never did justice to the chocolates, but neither of them really cared. It was the idea of wine and chocolates that counted.
Garak stood outside Julian’s door and pulled down sharply on the front of his jacket. The piece was one of his newer creations, specifically designed to show off his neck ridges and made out of a rich, blue fabric that brought out the paleness of his scales and the icy blue of his eyes. He pressed the chime to alert Julian that he was here. He waited a few seconds. Julian wasn’t always prompt with the door, especially if he had romantic plans in the works. However, usually, he would have called out by now – at very least with a “Who is it?”
Ten seconds had passed. He fiddled the box of chocolates between his fingers. “Doctor?” he called.
No response.
Panic surged through Garak. Get a hold of yourself, Elim, he thought as he pressed the chime again. He’s probably just in the shower or…
Fifteen seconds. It had been fifteen seconds without a response. He knew he was going to get an earful from Julian. Something about Federation standards for privacy and how he would have gotten the door eventually. Well, if Julian wanted his privacy respected, he was going to have to come to the door sooner.
“Computer. Access code Garak 1-3-5-9,” he said. The doors to Julian’s quarters swished open.
The first thing Garak smelled was blood.
—
Julian was on a ship. He could tell that much from the hum of the warp drive and the slight vibration beneath him as they soared through space. He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten there. One moment, he had been reviewing The Princess Bride so he could have more accurate points to argue with Garak over dinner. The next, he felt someone’s hand on the back of his head and a sharp pain in his skull as his forehead was slammed against the table. He’d tried to squirm out of his assailant’s grasp, but was stuck with a hypo-spray before he could manage it. Now, he was blindfolded, kneeling on the floor of a ship, his hands were tied behind his back, and his shoulders were strapped to something metal.
“Are you sure this is the human?” a voice said.
“Oh, I’m positive,” a familiar voice said.
Julian tensed. Gul Dukat? What was he doing here? Where was ‘here’? “Gul Dukat?” he asked, his voice coming out more brittle than he would have liked.
“Ah, he’s awake,” Dukat said. He removed the blindfold from around Julian’s eyes. “So good of you to join us, doctor.”
Julian looked around. They were aboard a Cardassian cruiser. He had been tied to one of the support beams. He could see a Cardassian he didn’t recognize piloting the ship.
“Where are we?” Julian said.
“A ship,” Dukat said simply.
Julian glared at him.
“Oh, you mean where are we in the quadrant?” He tapped a finger theatrically against the hull. “Well, we left around thirty minutes ago and at warp eight–”
“Where are you taking me?” Julian elaborated.
Dukat smirked at him. “A good attempt, doctor, but you don’t really expect me to reveal everything like I’m one of your holosuite villains,” Dukat said before turning and walking back to the control panel. “You’ll find out where we’re going soon enough.”
—
“Dr. Bashir has been kidnapped,” Garak said as soon as the door opened.
Miles blinked sleepily at him. “If this is some twisted joke…”
“No!” Garak exclaimed. “I… I just need a ship. A fast ship. I have some idea where they might be taking him, but we don’t have a lot of time.”
“You want me,” Miles said, suspicion lacing every word, “to give you a ship.”
“Yes.”
“At twenty-one hundred hours.”
“Yes.”
“To rescue Julian, who’s been kidnapped.”
“Yes.”
Miles nodded and reached over to the dresser where he kept his comm badge. “O’Brien to Bashir,” he said as he tapped the badge. He frowned when there was no response. “Computer, locate Dr. Bashir.”
“Dr. Bashir is not currently aboard the station.”
Miles was instantly awake. “I’m drivin’,” he said as he pulled a jacket off the rack by the door and rushed past Garak towards the docking bays. “And you’re gonna tell me exactly where you think Julian is.”
—
“What do you plan to do with me?”
“Always so full of questions, aren’t you, doctor?” Dukat said as he got up from the controls and ambled over to the replicator. “Luckily for you, I’m in the mood to answer some of them.” He turned to the replicator. “Red leaf tea, please,” he said. The replicator formed a mug of hot tea. “Oh,” Dukat said just as his fingers brushed the mug. “How thoughtless of me. Would you like anything to drink, doctor?”
“No,” Julian growled.
Dukat shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said, picking up the mug. “At first,” he said as he cradled the mug in his hands, “my plan was to slit your throat and leave you outside Garak’s shop.” He smiled and took a sip of tea. “But, that was before our alliance with the Dominion and before the Dominion heard about you being genetically engineered.”
Julian’s eyes widened.
Dukat chuckled darkly. “Oh, yes. We’ve heard about that. It was a scandal when it first hit Starfleet, wasn’t it? That one of their own was genetically enhanced.” He leaned against the side of the ship. “Personally, I don’t see the problem with creating a race of super-soldiers and I’ve found the Dominion agrees with me.”
“You already have the Jem’Hadar,” Julian protested.
“Yes, but they’re so dependent on Ketracel White,” Dukat commented. He gestured with his mug at Julian. “Apparently, you genetically enhanced humans don’t need drugs to rip someone apart. You do that all on your own.”
“I don’t,” Julian whispered.
“Still playing the doctor, are we?” Dukat said. He took another sip of tea then set the mug down on the replicator platform. “Well, no matter. With the information gathered from you, we’ll be able to make all sorts of humanoids who don’t have your… personal foibles.”
“You know the Federation isn’t going to allow this,” Julian said.
Dukat laughed. “I think the Federation is going to have to deal with our plans,” he said, looming over Julian, “whether they like it or not.”
In the mood to rib Andrew Robinson a little bit for how he pronounces Bashir’s name.
—
“Do you just call him ‘honeybuns’ all the time or something?”
“I don’t know what you mean, Chief,” Garak said as he looked out the window. Julian had insisted that Miles and his family come visit them on Cardassia. Something about needing to see old friends every once in awhile. Garak had agreed, despite knowing that he and Professor O’Brien rarely saw eye to eye.
“It’s Buh-sheer,” Miles said before taking another sip of coffee. He had set up shop for breakfast at the kitchen table and had decided to savor his coffee rather than explore the Cardassian plant life that Keiko practically bolted out of bed to go see.
Garak furrowed his brow. “No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is.”
“I think,” Garak said, turning towards Miles. “I would know how to pronounce my own husband’s name.”
“You’d think that, which is why I think you must be callin’ him ‘honeybun’ all the time or somethin’,” Miles said before popping a bit more ikri bun in his mouth.
“It’s Bah-sheer,” Garak said.
“Buh-sheer.”
“Bah-” Garak rolled his eyes and reminded himself that he wasn’t twelve anymore. “I am not going to argue this with you.”
“Yeah, because you know I’m right.”
“Of all the puerile… my dear, how do you say your name?”
Julian, who had just walked in, cast a confused glance between his husband and his best friend. “Julian?”
Both of them groaned. “Your surname,” Garak elaborated.
“Oh. Bashir.”
“Hah!” Miles said, pointing a finger at Garak.
“Just a moment, would you mind saying that again, doctor?” Garak said. “Slowly.”
“Bah-sheer,” he said.
“No! No, no, no, I’ve heard you say it before. It’s Buh-sheer,” Miles said.
“Oh! Well, that’s a result of the vowel shift when you put an Arabic name into a British accent,” Julian said with a nervous smile. He cocked his head to one side and looked up. “In some parts of Earth, it’s Bachir.”
“Bachir? With a ‘ch’?” Miles protested, his ikri bun forgotten on his plate.
“Well, yes, but that’s not how I–”
“Thank you, my dear,” Garak said smugly, walking over to his husband and taking Julian’s hands in his own.
“Hang on! You didn’t get it right either,” Miles protested.
“I did,” Garak said, casting a scornful glance over his shoulder at Miles.
“Actually,” Julian said with a slight wince, “the emphasis is a bit on the second syllable.”
“I see,” Garak said. He dropped Julian’s hands. “So I’ve been saying your name wrong all this time, and you refused to tell me?”
“Not refused. I thought…” He gestured at Miles. “Well, if humans have a hard time saying it, why would a Cardassian have a better chance?”
“I see,” Garak said coldly. “Well, Dr. Bah-sheer, maybe you’ll consider that we Cardassians have an extraordinary memory and a dedication to thoroughness.”
“Elim…”
“Oh, no, that won’t work, doctor,” Garak said with a shake of his head. He glanced at Miles before pulling himself up to his full height. “We will talk about this once our company has left,” he said before storming out of the room.
Julian turned towards Miles, a stunned expression on his face. “What did you do?!” he protested as soon as Garak left.
“Nothin’!” Miles said. “Just…” He snorted out a laugh. “Welcome to married life.”