irresistible-revolution:

He’d only ever made friends in Arabic. Made love in Arabic. Simply could not bring himself, naked in the dark, to reach for a blowtorch when he wanted candlelight. Oh, there was pain there for sure, and scars: his father’s voice, his mother’s eyes. But they were human hurts, small and furry in his hands. Nothing like Standard’s indiscriminate, devouring gleam.

It was hard to think about the fact that he dreamt in Standard. Harder still, perhaps, to listen to himself speak Arabic and hear a turn of phrase, a way of framing an idea, that had been lifted from Standard wholesale. Always, when he spoke, in whatever language he picked, he was translating himself. Garak had asked him, once, after he’d yet again put his foot in his mouth during one of their lunches: “What, my dear doctor, could you possibly know about exile?” He still wasn’t sure how he would formulate an answer to that question. He knew this: in one of Garak’s very first post-war letters, immediately after he’d returned to Cardassia, he had told Julian about a doli player he had met, the beautiful, winding songs he had played. “I listened to him standing on the streets of Kardasi'or and I missed Cardassia”, Garak had written, and Julian had understood this with visceral clarity.

He could teach Elim Arabic; Elim could learn. The idea was an intoxicating, shameful impossibility. The Arabic he spoke was incomplete: a language of home, of chores, a language that reminded you to buy milk. He’d never tried, but he knew with perfect certainty that he could never present a paper or discuss literature in Arabic. Sometimes he would be in the middle of formulating an idea and the sentence would suddenly slip away from him - holes where words should be. It was getting worse, he knew. Back on Deep Space Nine he’d tried to practice through the universal translator, making himself use Arabic whenever he could since everyone could understand him even if he didn’t speak Standard, but that lonely, quiet pouring of words into a filter was not language. He didn’t need to speak: he needed to speak with.

excerpt from “arms” by lenn (eitch), part 6 of their post-canon cardassia series from the rubble

shakespearevillain:

I saw this post about Rami Malek and Daniel Craig in No Time to Die and had to write a ficlet around it.

— 

Garak picked Julian up and kissed him as the doors to the central computer opened. Before he could say “we did it, doctor,” the kiss evolved into something more than simple celebration.

“So,” Julian said as he and Garak pulled apart, “does this make me a Bond girl?”

Garak rolled his eyes and set Julian on his feet again. “My dear, I really must introduce you to proper stories about spies.”

Julian was having none of it. “What do you think of Honey Bunne?”

“What?” Garak asked, still slightly stunned from the kiss.

“As my Bond girl name.”

“We’re not having this conversation,” Garak said as he walked through the doors and over to the computer bank.

“You’re right. Too on the nose,” Julian said as he followed him. He grinned at Garak. “Kit Ten? Sapphire Night?”

“Julian…” Garak groaned.

“Eunice Arsch?”

“Actually, I rather like that one,” Garak said as he typed in the security code.

Julian wrinkled his nose. “Really?”

“No.”

“Dot Korsin?”

“Kava Worak,” Garak said as he inserted the data clip.

“What?”

“It’s appropriate, when properly translated,” Garak said as he went through the computer’s database. “I wouldn’t use it in public though.” He pulled the data clip out of the system and wiggled it in front of Julian. “Now, come along, doctor,” he said, already heading for the runabout. “We have very little time.”

Julian smirked at him. “That’s Dr. Kava Worak to you.”

Garak stopped just as he was about to exit the room and gave Julian a tired look. “Julian, if the Jem’Hadar find us–”

“Right. Sorry.” Julian picked up the pace so that he was side by side with Garak.

“Besides,” Garak said as they boarded the runabout, “this gives us more time to chat.”

“Chat?”

“Yes, doctor,” he said once the doors to the runabout were closed. He set a course for Deep Space Nine then pulled Julian close again. “After all,” he said, “from what I hear, you have always enjoyed studying a new tongue.”  

shakespearevillain:

AU based on this post where Mila ends up moving in with Garak on DS9 after Tain decides she’s too much of liability. @the-last-dillards , @agrippaspoleto , @conceptadecency 

—

“Elim, where is your sweater? It’s freezing on this station.”

“I am well aware of the temperature,” Garak said as he adjusted his close-cut jacket so that it fell perfectly over his shoulders.

“Then you must have actually gone insane since last I saw you. Here.” Garak managed to catch the bulky wool sweater before it hit him in the face. “I had that replicated.”

“Replicated?” Garak protested, holding the black synthetic wool garment in one hand. “Mila, I’m a tailor.”

“Then you should have put your skills to use making a warmer outfit.”

“Mila…”

“Elim Garak, are you going to stand there and defy your…” The last word stuck to her tongue. Neither of them was used to saying it, even if saying it might have been safe to do while on a Federation-controlled station. 

“Aunt,” Garak said. It was the closest he could manage on a family tree without giving away the game entirely. Plus, he’d learned from Dr. Bashir that many alien species referred to older women relatives and family friends as “aunt,” regardless of actual blood ties.  “No, I will not stand here and defy my aunt.”

“Good.” Mila nodded her head sharply and exited to the main room. “And put some oil on your scales,” she called back. “You look like you’ve been wandering around in a desert.”

Garak closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

—

“You’re looking remarkably healthy today,” Julian said as they sat down to lunch.

“Meaning?” Garak asked as he set down his tray.

“Well, your scales look a little brighter and you look… well…”

“What, doctor?”

“Warm,” Julian said. “That sweater looks warm.”

“Yes. That’s about the only thing in its favor,” Garak remarked gloomily as he picked at the turtleneck. 

“You don’t like it?”

Garak stared at Julian and tried to remind himself that the practice of baring neck ridges to show one’s virility was a Cardassian custom that no human would have any reason to pick up on. “It’s warm,” he said.

“It reminds me of the sort of thing I’d wear back in England,” Julian said, perfectly oblivious to Garak’s discomfort. “Although, I don’t think I’d wear it in black. Maybe a sapphire? Red?” 

“All excellent choices, I’m sure,” Garak said, “but, if we may veer away from the topic of my wardrobe, what did you think of The Barren Waste?”

“Elim!” 

Garak let out a little sigh of frustration as Mila appeared behind him. “There you are,” she scolded. “I saw the sign on your door and guessed you’d be…” Her eyes landed on Julian. “Is this Dr. Bashir?”

“Dr. Bashir, my aunt. Aunt Mila, Dr. Bashir,” Garak said hurriedly. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind…”

“He’s more handsome than you said he was,” Mila commented with an approving glance. “I can see now why you were trying to run out in that neck-baring jacket.”

“His what now?” Julian asked, barely containing his laughter. 

“That jacket of his! The one that shows off his–”

“Mila! That is quite enough!” Garak interrupted. He stood up from the table and grabbed her by the elbow, hauling her away from the table. 

“He’s not Cardassian,” Mila said, seemingly oblivious to Garak’s distress as she was led onto the promenade. “But you could do worse than a doctor.”

“It’s not that…” Garak ground his teeth. “Dr. Bashir and I are –”

“Don’t try to lie to me, Elim,” she said, wrenching her arm free of his grasp. “Giving him all those Cardassian novels. Having lunch with him. I’ve even heard you’ve touched him on the shoulder in public.”

“I didn’t know both of us were intelligence agents,” Garak sniped.

“Yes, well, you’ve always been a little slow,” Mila countered. She raised her chin and clasped her hands in front of her. “I approve of the match,” she said.

“There’s no match!”

“You’d better hurry then before my favor runs out,” Mila commented as she turned her back on him and left.

—

The wedding was a chaotic affair. Cardassia was just getting back on its feet and, as a potential head of the Cardassian government, it was determined that having a long-term boyfriend was less beneficial than having a husband. At least, that was the official version that Garak tried to feed Julian. Julian had taken it in stride, kissing Garak on the cheek and asking him if marriage was something that Elim wanted or something Garak wanted. The delineation of his personal and professional life was somewhat twisted from when he’d first used the two-names metaphor, but both of them understood when he whispered “Elim.” Foregoing the usual two year engagement, they were married on a warm summer’s day just outside of Lakarian City with a few notable members of the Cardassian government and most of the higher-ups from DS9 present. Julian looked stunning in his ruby-red tuxedo. Garak went with a more traditional Cardassian look that mirrored the military uniform, but, rather than being black with shades of grey, was a sapphire blue with gold detailing. Mila was the first to congratulate them after the ceremony.

“I told you that you could do worse than a doctor,” she said haughtily as Garak paraded his husband back into the reception hall.

“Yes, mother,” Garak said with a polite bow of the head.

“Don’t you ‘yes, mother’ me, you scoundrel,” Mila scolded. “I’ve known you too long.”

“I think, what he means, mother,” Julian said, a twinkle in his hazel eyes, “is ‘thank you.’“

Mila smirked. “I like this one,” she commented. “He knows his manners.”

“How very fortunate, especially as we’ve already signed the marriage papers,” Garak sniped.

Mila ignored him, instead turning to Julian. “You take care of him, young man,” she said. “I know he can be a handful, but, in the end, he’s worth it.”

“I know, mother,” Julian said, casting a loving glance at Garak. “I know.”

shakespearevillain:

Julian groaned as sensation slowly returned to his body. He realized he had been sleeping. No, his medical training reminded him, unconscious. Why had he been unconscious? A sharp pain in his skull quickly reminded him. Something had hit him in the head. Something from an explosion. His eyes shot open, only for him to close them again as the dull, orange lights seared themselves into his retinas. The children. He’d been on Cardassia Prime, trying to get some war orphans out of harm’s way when the building next to them had exploded. He had just gotten the last of them into a bunker when he’d been hit in the head by debris.

“Ah, so you’ve returned to the land of the living,” a familiar, smooth voice said.

“Garak?” Julian rasped, squinting into the lights. He could see the form of his companion silhouetted near his bed. He tried to sit up, but was immediately hit with an intense wave of vertigo.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Garak said.

“Noted.” He took a deep breath and asked the obvious question: “Where am I?”

“On the station, in sick bay,” Garak replied, gently sidling into view beside Julian’s bed. Julian caught a momentary flash of worry in Garak’s blue eyes before it was replaced with his usual cold demeanor. “I told you not to come down to the planet,” Garak said as he began pacing the bedside. “And yet, did you listen to me? Oh no. You’d much rather risk your life trying to save some orphaned Cardassian children than consider the effect losing you might have on the health and wellbeing of the entire station. Nay, the entire quadrant.”

“I’m not that special,” Julian said.

Garak barked out a harsh laugh.

Julian clenched his jaw and balled his hands into fists. He slowly sat up, careful to sink down whenever he felt at all dizzy. Garak looked furious and in a disarray. His jaw was clenched. His usually neatly combed hair fanned out in a spray around his face and his scales looked duller than usual. “Garak,” he said, “one augmented human–”

“I’m not talking about your augmented status, although that certainly helps matters,” Garak interrupted. He held up his index finger. “I’m talking about the one Federation doctor who is willing to give Cardassia a chance. You are a vital link between a broken Cardassia and the Federation.”

“I thought that was your job.”

Garak heaved a big sigh. “Doctor, please,” he said, “spare me your naïve optimism. We both know that most Federation officers don’t trust any Cardassians and even more than that would prefer to see me vaporized than speak two words with me.” He began pacing alongside the bed again. “No, no, no. You are the closest thing we have to an ambassador at the moment and still you choose to risk your life.”

“And what was I supposed to do? Just leave those children to die?”

“Yes!” exclaimed Garak. “That would have been an acceptable loss. Five children for the price of a link between Cardassia and the Federation.”

“That’s not how that works, Garak,” Julian said.

“That is exactly ‘how it works,’” Garak countered. “Do you think those children would have survived much longer if you had died? With a devastated Cardassia and no food coming in from off-world? They and thousands of others would have starved, not to mention succumbing to illness, violence, and a general lack of sanitation.”

“I didn’t know the Federation was doing that much for Cardassia.”

“Oh, it’s not,” Garak sneered, “but, at least, they’re in a position to offer should worst come to absolute worst.”

“You know, you really do have the bedside manner of a torturer,” Julian said.

“Thank you,” Garak replied without skipping a beat.

Julian caught Garak’s hand the next time he made it to the head of the bed. “Elim,” he said softly. “You can just say you were worried about me.”

Garak started to pull his hand away and then grasped onto the side of the bed, sinking his hand further into Julian’s grip. “While that may be true,” he admitted as he ran his thumb over the back of Julian’s hand, “it is hardly relevant. Our personal relationship is secondary to your larger role–”

“As a friend to Cardassia, yes,” Julian interrupted. He touched Garak’s cheek with his free hand. “But, I didn’t die,” he said. “And those children are safe.”

“This time, it worked,” Garak growled. “But what about the next time? Really, doctor…” He blinked rapidly and looked up at the sickbay lights. “You must put aside your Federation values and face the cold, hard facts of the situation. You can’t save every child, nor should you try.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Julian said as he pulled Garak into a sitting position on the bed. He brushed the Cardassian’s dark, black hair away from his face. “Have you had any rest?”

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

“I take it that’s a ‘no.’”

Garak sighed. “Ever the doctor,” he complained. He squeezed Julian’s hand. “I’ve had a few naps,” he said. “But, mostly, I’ve been here.”

“You need to get some rest,” Julian insisted. “How long have I been–?”

“A day,” Garak said.

Julian furrowed his brow, his gaze darting over Garak’s disheveled state. “Computer?” he said. “How long have I been in sick bay–?”

“Really, doctor–”

“93 hours and 32 minutes,” the computer responded.

Julian’s jaw dropped. “Four days?”

“A little less than that,” Garak said.

“You’ve been by my side for four days?”

“As I said, I’ve had the occasional nap.”

“Garak, at 72 hours of sleep deprivation–”

“Believe me, doctor, I know exactly what sleep deprivation does,” Garak countered. “It is a time-honored torture device.”

“Then you know that you can’t sustain this.”

“I know.” He tilted up his chin and continued sitting on the bed.

“You’re not going back to your quarters.”

“First of all, doctor, I no longer have quarters on this station.”

Julian rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“No,” Garak said, “I’m not.”

Julian let out a frustrated sigh. “Come here,” he said, throwing off the thin sheet and scooting so that he almost dangled off the hospital bed. “We can share the bed,” he said in response to Garak’s incredulous look.

“I don’t think–”

“Garak, if you refuse to leave sick bay, then you must sleep here. Doctor’s orders.”

Garak smiled sleepily. “Very well, Julian,” he said, tucking himself under the sheet. He also tried to perform a balancing act on the edge of the bed until Julian pulled him close. “Both of us need sleep,” Julian said as he fit himself against the Cardassian’s chest. Garak placed his head on top of Julian’s and closed his eyes. Within seconds, both of them were asleep.

tybarbary:

writing-prompt-s:

With the hero chained up, the villain unveils their masterpiece: a weapon that tracks everyone who loves the hero before obliterating them. The map powers on. “Wait. There’s just one dot.” The Villain says. “…Someone loves me?” The hero replies with hope.

The villain frowns deeply, staring at the enormous globe onto which the digital map is projected. “There must be some mistake,” they mutter, swiveling away and pulling up the programming for the map function. They had gone through four rounds of troubleshooting before unveiling this–ugh, what a time for a random glitch!

The hero shifts their weight as an awkward silence fills the room. “Is… isn’t that where we are right now?” They lean forward against their unbreakable restraints, peering at the map.

“I must have flipped the select() statement around,” the villain grumbles under their breath, scrolling through color-coded syntax on a black background. “I swear, this worked every time I tested it…” They sigh. “Hold on. Once I fix this, then you’ll see–”

“No, it’s… it’s probably working,” the hero murmurs sheepishly, relaxing back into their bonds. “I’m pretty much the only person who, er, likes me.”

“That’s stupid,” the villain snaps. “You’re a hero. You’re popular and beloved among the populace, not to mention your own friends and family.” They don’t look up from their scrolling. There must be an error in here… did they miss a semi-colon?

The hero makes a noise of disagreement. “A-actually, I’m really… not… um.” They clear their throat unconvincingly. “I mean, um, of course, you got it wrong. People are probably searching for me even as we speak.”

This time, the villain glances up, one brow arched. “You forgot to modulate your tonal inflection to make that a believable statement,” they point out.

The hero wrinkles their nose. “Yeah, I’m really bad at lying.” They shrug, the movement stifled by their bonds. “Really, though, the map is great. Putting it over a globe is a nice touch.”

“Thank–wait.” The villain frowns again and moves closer to the hero, eyes narrowing. “This is a ploy, isn’t it? A double feint to distract me from the truth that people are searching for you, and it’s only a matter of time before–”

“Y-yep, you got me.” The hero laughs half-heartedly. “I’m just that good at playing you.”

The villain rolls their eyes. “You ought to be, after six years of consistently getting in my way.” They turn back to the screen full of programming syntax, straightening their villainous mantle as they do. “As soon as I find this bug and fix it, I’ll be able to see exactly where your little search party is, and my minions can deal with them.”

The hero doesn’t argue, their attention returning to the digital map with its single, glowing dot. A wistfulness washes through them, a longing for friendship far more acute than their longing for freedom from the clutches of their long-time nemesis. The villain had adjusted the fit of these manacles years ago to be perfectly-sized to the hero’s frame, resulting in a weirdly comfortable experience despite the accompanying mortal danger.

“Are you going to kill me?” the hero asks after the silence has gone on for a minor eternity.

“Of course,” the villain replies distractedly, their face inches from their screen. Colored code flashes by as they scroll rapidly, faintly reflected on their skin.

The hero decides they don’t believe an answer that rote. “No, I mean. Really.”

The scrolling slows. The villain half-turns, brow raised again. “Why do you sound hopeful?”

The hero blanches. “I, uh, I’m hopeful that you wouldn’t– I mean, you’re not really the murdering type… right?”

The villain scoffs. “I do what I want.” They glance towards their screen, but focus again on the hero. “I’m afraid this display will have to be fixed later–I know I never get to keep you for long.” They pause, blink at the strangeness of their own phrasing, and then continue. “But I know where your parents live. I’ll make sure to properly test this map before we meet again.”

The hero’s eyes widen. “You what? Are you serious?”

“Of course I am,” the villain mutters, drawing themself up to their full, unimpressive height. “And before you doubt…” They move closer to the globe, study it for a moment, and then tap one fingertip in a crowded neighborhood just north of downtown. “Your mother lives here, with your grandmother and your aunt.”

The hero deflates. “O-oh,” they murmur weakly. “That’s… that’s good to know.”

The villain stops, turns, furrows their brow. “What do you mean by that? It’s not good to know that I know where they–”

The hero laughs wanly. “No, I meant– I didn’t know– they moved last year but didn’t tell me where…” They trail off, then clear their throat. “Um, I mean… this is all still an act to stall you until my rescuers can come to my… rescue…”

The villain fairly stomps up to the hero, jabbing them in the collarbone with a pointed finger. “Alright, what’s your deal? I’ve managed to catch you a dozen times before now, but you’ve never acted like this. You’re–you’re sad.”

Reflexively, the hero leans back, eyes darting to the side before returning to the villain’s face. “You forgot your contacts today,” they murmur lamely.

“It’s so you can see how often I roll my eyes at you,” the villain snaps, doing just that. “I doubt I had you fooled that my eyes are always full black.”

“Well, no, but I didn’t realize your real eyes are such a warm brown.” The hero shrugs against their restraints. “Not as intimidating.”

The villain scowls. “You’re deflecting–which is more like you, but does not answer my question. You’re not even pretending to struggle against your chains. You’re not scared at all.”

“I–look, you caught me off-guard with your stupid map, okay?” The hero feels a flicker of their usual defiance return, and their cheeks flush. “You found my one weakness–my… my loved ones. All one of them.” Just as quickly, that spark gutters, and they sag against their bonds. “All none of them, more like.”

The villain studies the hero’s face, brows knit and eyes narrowed. “Hmm. I should have capitalized on this bug to make you feel unloved, then?”

The hero shrugs one shoulder. “You didn’t really need to. I did that all on my own. I really didn’t need proof that–oh, it doesn’t matter. Let’s get on with–with whatever else you have planned.”

The villain’s expression doesn’t change, a mixture of suspicion and intense alertness. “You should know, then, that I haven’t found a bug in the code. Maybe it is right. Maybe the only person who loves you is in this room.”

The hero chuckles sadly. “Don’t say it like that. It makes it sounds like you love me.”

“I– what? I– that’s ridicu– no.” The villain recoils, then spins with a flare of their brooding cloak and hastily returns to their screen full of code.

Startled, the hero watches the villain as their shoulders hunch over the screen. “Wait. Do… you…?”

“What a stupid question,” the villain snaps heatedly, not glancing over. Their head ducks lower towards the screen, but the code isn’t scrolling. Another awkward silence settles over the room, punctuated by the background whirring of machines and computer fans.

“Um…” The hero clears their throat yet again. “Are you okay?”

The villain facepalms loudly and still does not look over. “What are you on today?”

“Hey, it’s not my fault that you made a thing to prove that no one loves me except for either me or you, and I’ve never been particularly good at that whole self-love thing.” The hero grimaced at the villain’s back. “So apparently, this nemesis thing we’ve got is my best relationship in the world.”

To the hero’s surprise, the villain sighs and lets their shoulders slump. “Mine, too,” they begrudgingly admit.

johannestevans:

thinking about how sexy it would be for julian and garak to interrogate someone together, maybe a Khon-Ma spy within the Fed - by which i mean BASHIR is with the prisoner, and they know he and garak are Involved

and julian to be sitting on a desk with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at this guy in a chair, and asking him questions all polite and reasonable and even

Garak standing back by the door

and this guy refusing to answer any questions at all, and he’s obviously anxious and angry at being captured, but he isn’t interested in engaging with Julian’s polite “I’m just a nice doctor” thing bc he knows it’s just the prelude to an interrogation

and Julian sighs, gets to his feet, rolls his sleeves up

and the Khon-Ma laughs, shows his teeth. “what now? you’re going to torture me?”

Julian who looks at him almost owlishly, his eyes wide. “Me? Oh, no, you’ve misunderstood - I’m a doctor. I’ve taken a Hippocratic oath.”

Julian laughs, and it’s a soft, gentle sound, almost self-effacing, perfectly polite. “No, I couldn’t possibly - it would go against all I am. No, /I’m/ not going to torture you. He is.”

And nodding to Garak as he moves to leave

and the Khon-Ma whose jaw drops, then he steels himself, but just as he’s leaving, julian puts his hand on garak’s chest

“I know you don’t like it when you feel I’m telling you how to do your work–”

The Khon-Ma can’t see Julian’s fixed expression, his raising eyebrows.

Garak can, though, and he picks up the thread immediately, puts on the face of the harried and put-upon spouse

“Now, my dear–”

“I’m just saying–”

“Which of us is the trained interrogator?”

Julian sighs. “You are. But /I/ am the doctor, and he’s a human.”

“And?”

And julian who SIGHS, and he looks distasteful but almost bored as he glances back to their prisoner, end then says in an undertone, loud enough that the prisoner can still hear him, “Just… call me BEFORE he starts bleeding this time, hm? We don’t want a repeat of last time.”

“My dear doctor,” says Garak with tired and affectionate familiarity, “my methods–”

“I’m not asking you to change your methods, Garak, just alter them a bit. He’s not a Cardassian - we bleed quicker than you do, but we’re vulnerable.”

“So vulnerable, in fact–”

“Look, Garak,” says Julian, picking an imaginary piece of lint from Garak’s collar, “I know we bleed quicker, but think, you don’t have to cut so deep like you do with a Cardassian - we’ve got no scales, no ridges. You can peel an apple, can’t you? Think of it like that.”

and Garak who genuinely IS very aroused in this moment, not that he’s going to advertise it to their companion, who inhales as if inspired, cups Julian’s cheek.

“Beautiful creature,” he says reverently.

sternly: “As soon as he bleeds, Garak.”

“Yes, yes, of course!”

And just as Julian goes through the door and Garak steps forward, the Khon-Ma agent, suddenly a lot glossier with sweat, blurts out, “Wait!”

And Julian glances back, eyebrow raised, and seems pleasantly surprised that he’s suddenly cooperative

(and after, Garak with hot blood goes to Julian’s quarters to flirt, maybe to teasingly tell him that empty threats, no matter how beautifully acted, won’t always work

finds Julian sitting on the bunk, staring into space.

“Well,” Garak says softly, as comfortingly as he can manage, stroking his hand over the doctor’s shoulder. “At least I didn’t find you on your knees vomiting into the basin.”

“You just missed that bit.”

“You did very well, my dear.”

“I know, Garak. That’s the problem.”)

(i posted this on twitter first)

shakespearevillain:

Fuck it. I’ve been having my horrible nightmares again. (Think of the sequence I wrote for “Unwinding the Thread” when Garak is asleep and you have a rough approximation.) I’m writing a pure, ego-centric, fuck-you-I’m-James-Bond fic.

—

Alistair was new to the station. After getting top grades in Starfleet medical, passing every known engineering test, and writing a few plays just for fun, very few people had expected him to want to go to Deep Space Nine. His best friend on Earth had spent days practically foaming at the mouth after he’d turned down a chance to go study botany with the crew of the Enterprise. “You could have met Captain Picard” was quickly becoming her new catchphrase. Few people understood the allure of a planet so far away from home and with so little to offer a young man with promise.   

Few people knew he was genetically altered either, so he didn’t expect them to understand the appeal of working under Dr. Julian Bashir, known augmented human and his idol since he’d first read the scandalous news report. As he fiddled nervously with the sleeves of his science blue uniform on his way to sick bay, a Cardassian walked up behind him. 

“You know,” the Cardassian said, causing Alistair to freeze in place, one finger hitched under the cuff of his sleeve. “I find that a good tailor can keep one from tearing apart the seams of one’s uniform before one has had the chance to wear it.”

“And I suppose you know a good tailor?” Alistair asked.

“Yes. Me.” He walked in front of Alistair, curiosity in his icy blue eyes. “My name is Garak,” he said. “I own a shop on the promenade.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Garak,” Alistair said with a slight bow of his head.

“Oh. A polite young man,” Garak said with a hint of a smile. “And here I thought Julian was going to have a hard time with you.”

“You know Dr. Bashir?” Alistair asked.

A flicker of amusement passed over Garak’s face. “That would be a fair assumption,” he replied. “I take it you’re on your way to sickbay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Young man,” Garak said. “Do you see a comm badge anywhere on my outfit?”

Alistair looked over the red shirt and trouser combo with its spotted print jacket. “Uh… No.”

“Then I would thank you to stop calling me ‘sir.’ It’s just Garak.”

“Sorry, s- Garak.”

“Bright man,” Garak said with a pat on the shoulder. He turned towards sickbay and tilted his head towards it. “Now, come along. It wouldn’t do to keep Dr. Bashir waiting.”

“He’s been waiting for me?” Alistair asked as he fell in step next to Garak.

“Well, you did get the highest grades since the days when he went through Starfleet medical and you have written one of his favorite plays,” Garak said, “or was that rumor unfounded?”

“No, I… He likes my plays?” Alistair asked.

“Yes. Something about reviving the genre of non-derivative Terran theatre,” Garak said. “I can’t say I saw the same thing when I read them, but Julian has always had a soft spot for tragicomedies.”

“You’ve read my plays?”

“Young man, are you going to continually repeat everything I say?” Garak scolded.

“It’s just surprising is all,” Alistair said. “I didn’t think anyone had read my plays, much less anyone outside of the Terran system.”

“Yes, well, Julian likes to keep abreast of these things,” Garak said as they entered sickbay. The soft lighting cast Garak’s face in shadows. As Alistair was pondering how sinister it made him look, Garak held up a silver pail that looked remarkably like a very long metal bento box. “I brought lunch,” he announced to the seemingly empty sickbay.

“Yes, I’ll be just a moment,” an English voice said from behind a wall. Seconds later, Dr. Julian Bashir poked his head out. “Did you get the–? Oh! I see our newest recruit is here,” he said. He smiled and walked over to Alistair, hand extended. “Dr. Julian Bashir.”

“A-Alistair,” Alistair stuttered. 

“Now, I’m sure you didn’t spend six years studying medicine for me to just call you ‘Alistair,’” Dr. Bashir said with a fond look.

“Oh, uh… Dr. Wright,” he amended, shaking Dr. Bashir’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“He keeps calling people ‘sir,’” Garak noted wryly. “Is that just something you augmented humans do or is it trained into you?”

“What?” Alistair and Julian said nearly simultaneously.

“Oh, don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” Garak said as he began separating the bento box into its different containers on one of the empty beds. “And, yes, I did get the lamb stew for you.”

“What do you mean augmented?” Julian asked. “That’s… That’s against regulations.”

“Now, Julian,” Garak said, “I think you’re hardly one to throw stones when it comes to augmented people doing things they’re not supposed to.” He gestured to Alistair, who looked like he was slowly turning into a statue. “This young man has followed in your footsteps and has now come to study under his hero.”

“Hero?”

“Well, um…”

“Yes!” Garak exclaimed. “Really, doctor! The pulse, the fidgeting, the wide eyes, the deferential tone. Simply as a medical man, I’d thought you’d see the high anxiety and put two and two together.”

“Oh,” Julian said. “Is that true?” he asked, turning towards Alistair.

“Well…” Alistair took a deep breath through his nose and out through his mouth. “Yes,” he said. “Your friend is very perceptive.”

“Yes, well, he ought to be,” Julian said with a cutting glance at Garak. The tailor smirked at him and began unfolding a napkin. “How did you manage to escape detection?”

“About the same way you did,” Alistair said. “Keeping my head down. Doing good work. I hadn’t really tried to get good grades in Starfleet, but I didn’t realize how well I was doing until it was too late. The engineering and playwriting are hobbies of mine.” He lifted his chin and clasped his arms behind his back to keep them from shaking. “I figured there’s one place in the universe where I might be accepted for who I am,” he continued, “and that place is Deep Space Nine, working under Dr. Julian Bashir.”

Dr. Bashir sighed. “At ease, lieutenant,” he said, waving a hand at him. “You’ve put me in a difficult spot, but Garak has a point. I’m not exactly in a position to throw stones.”

“Good. Now can we all sit down and have a meal?” Garak asked, gesturing to the disassembled bento box. “Or are you still too busy for lunch today?”

Dr. Bashir gave Garak a look and stalked over to the bed. “That includes you, lieutenant,” he said. “Garak seems to have planned out everything today.”

Alistair cocked his head to one side and approached the bed. One of the containers held a sushi roll with a little bit of sliced ginger and another held something that looked a bit like a donut.

“An ikri bun,” Garak explained, seeing his confused look. “Generally, we Cardassians have it with gelat, but I figured you’d have enough adrenaline going through your system without adding caffeine.”

“You really have planned for everything,” Alistair said.

Garak nodded. “I had to ask Mrs. O’Brien, but I think the sushi roll is about the best that one can expect from a replicator.”

“Do you have his favorite color as well?” Julian sniped.

“Now, doctor… Of course I do,” Garak said with a sly smile. “Although, it’s hardly surprising that someone so fond of you would grow to like that Federation teal.”

“Blue,” Julian and Alistair said simultaneously.

“It’s… It’s teal, but it’s called Science Blue,” Alistair clarified. “I guess whoever was naming it didn’t know their colors that well.”

“My!” Garak said. “A fashion expert as well.”

“Oh, no, not –”

“He’s joking, lieutenant,” Dr. Bashir said. “Although I suppose it is good to know you can tell teal from blue. Some of the more advanced blood work we have to do here requires someone who can make the distinction.”

Alistair nodded and popped a piece of sushi into his mouth. The salmon was clearly replicated, but it still scratched that itch for sushi he’d occasionally get. “Fank.” He placed a hand over his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “Thank you, Garak,” he said. “It’s quite good.”

“My dear, you’re going to find that lying is my business,” Garak said as scooped a tiny bit of Aldanian spice pudding onto his spoon. “So it’s really best to speak the truth around me.”

“Garak…” Julian said warningly.

“What? Oh, manners are all well and good, but I had really hoped that you two might find a way to get over this little bump in the road so that next time one of our lunches comes around I don’t have to bring it to you in sick bay.” Garak gestured with his spoon at Alistair. “And being overly polite isn’t going to get you anywhere at the moment.” He sipped the bit of pudding off of his spoon and scooped up another mouthful. “Now are you genetically engineered boys going to play nicely or do I have to find time in my schedule to dispose of a body?”

“What?” Alistair asked, panic lacing his voice.

Dr. Bashir sighed. “I like your plays,” he said after a moment. “And I could use a hand around the infirmary.” He shifted back on his heels. “Are you still up to the task?”

“Yes, sir,” Alistair said.

“Good. You’ll report your status to Starfleet tomorrow.”

“But-!”

“I think, as I’m your commanding officer and someone who knows a bit about genetic enhancements, I can make a good case for you staying,” Julian said, “but you’re going to have to trust me.”

Alistair nodded, trying to push down the fear that had flooded his stomach.

“I know it’s scary,” Julian said, his tone soft, “but it’s better to have it out in the open. Believe me.”

“Yes, sir,” Alistair whispered.

“Oh, and, one more thing.”

Alistair looked up at Dr. Bashir, who was regarding him with a fond smile again. “It’s Julian,” he said, “not sir.”

—

Apparently, I can’t even be James Bond in my fantasies. I think I got close to being Q though, so that’s progress!

readinginthereadyroom:

it’s battle lines (st: ds9 1x13) and kai opaka gifts molly o’brien a necklace. 

there doesn’t seem to be an in-universe explanation for this moment. but I like to think that opaka was predicting kirayoshi o’brien’s birth 2 yrs later. 

I mean think about it. opaka’s contemplating prophecy when she arrives on ds9. preoccupied by it even. she’s barely said anything to anyone. responds but doesn’t initiate conversation. until she spots chief o’brien and makes a point of speaking with him. of giving him, a perfect stranger, a gift. for the daughter she shouldn’t know he has.

and my theory is opaka knows. knows that kira nerys will be the one to carry chief o’brien’s next child to term. that nerys will become a part of his family. another partner with him and his wife. another mother to yoshi and an auntie to molly. 

but obviously she can’t say anything. after all, it hasn’t happened yet. so instead she gifts molly her necklace. it’s her way of blessing nerys’ family. nerys’ choices. opaka is saying I see you happy someday and I approve. 

and that will mean everything to nerys. because as she tells bashir, opaka’s always been a symbol of hope to me. and hope is the driving force of nerys’ entire life. the search for hope in the darkness. for home and love and peace after a lifetime of war. and another war yet to come. and the eternal war inside. 

a search that will continue thru the whole series. past the whole series.

and yeah, there was moment. when nerys was pregnant with yoshi and living with in the o’briens’ quarters with them. where miles would rub her feet. and keiko would bring her flowers. and molly would call her auntie. where she felt safe and loved and at peace. 

only she didn’t think it was hers to keep. it was too unconventional. yoshi wasn’t hers. not technically. only by accident. only because nerys was the only option dr bashir had between them. nevermind how much miles and keiko insisted yoshi was hers. that they all were. she couldn’t trust it. couldn’t hope for it. 

it was too terrifying. 

so rather than embrace the hope of a family nerys tried to turn her back on it. let shakaar edon in as a poor replacement. let odo in only to be left behind. 

not that those relationship’s didn’t have meaning. or didn’t serve a purpose. because they did. they were essential in nerys’ search for hope. they allowed her to love openly. to think about the future. what she wanted and what she needed. who she wanted. who she needed. 

but neither shakaar nor odo where that person for her. because nerys had already found the people she needed. except that a lifetime of trauma leaves it’s mark and nerys wasn’t ready to hope yet. to open her heart all the way.

that is. until she’s visiting the o’brien quarters one day. watching molly chase after her little brother, yoshi. kirayoshi. kira yoshi. kira nerys’ son. or close enough. and molly has on kai opaka’s necklace. and it’s like watching the wormhole open for the very first time. hit by a force of wonder and love and understanding so strong it almost brings nerys to her knees.

because nerys wants this. she belongs here. and opaka knew. knew that nerys would end up here, with a grouchy engineer, a beautiful botanist, their sweet little girl, and their son. the 3 of their’s. with every fiber of her being nerys wants this little family.

only. the o’brien’s are leaving. the dominion war is over and miles was offered a new job teaching at starfleet academy. on earth. that he accepted. 

and nerys can’t follow them.

because she’s the new commander of ds9. and because bajor is her home. she’s spent her whole life fighting to free bajor from the cardassian occupation. and she’s spent the last 7 years fighting to negotiate peace between the different factions on bajor. to administrate between bajor and the federation. and there’s still a lifetime of work to do.

and she can’t ask the o’brien’s to say either. it’s a little too late for revelations. 

so she lets them go. even if does break her heart a little. because if anyone will understand freedom to choose the trajectory of your life it’s nerys. she’s not hte type to impose her hopes and dreams on anyone else. 

so she let’s them go without a word.

but the thing nerys is forgetting. overlooking. is how terribly miles and keiko work on their own. their whole marriage has been a series of keiko and miles living and working apart. keiko goes back to earth. she moves to bajor. for family, for work, for safety. and each time she takes molly with her. 

that is. until yoshi comes along. 

well. technically it’s when nerys comes along and surrogates yoshi. and her fierce and protective and no-nonense personality fits seamlessly into keiko and miles’ marriage. she’s the buffer between them. a third viewpoint that can de-escalate their fights and out stubborn either one of them. she rounds out their rough edges. 

edges that make an appearance back on earth. because I do not see miles enjoying teaching. not the way keiko did. he was always a reluctant substitute at best, so a full time professor? nah. miles is the type to get his hands dirty. to thrive on problem-solving.

and then there’s keiko. who felt so out of place as a botanist on ds9. until she created a space for herself. created a community with her station school. and nothing has really compared since that. 

so this this time I think it’s keiko’s turn to make an executive decision. miles was happiest when he was working. keiko was happiest when she was teaching. molly was happiest when worf was around. yoshi was happiest with kira. 

the common denominator? deep space nine. so they go back. 

and I can picture it too. the o’briens hop a ride on the enterprise-E. get a chance to see their friends and family there. before switching between a few other transports. it’s a long and exhausting trip, but when they finally dock with ds9, kira’s waiting for them on the other side. she practically sprints to yoshi and scoops him up in her arms and twirls him about. keiko and miles look on fondly. then wrap nerys up in a hug with molly. kissing her on either cheek until she blushes. 

nerys takes them to their quarters. perks of being commander means she was able to requisition a large enough suite for all four of them near her own. and, yeah, maybe it’s a bit presumptuous on nerys’ part, but neither keiko or miles complain. it’s still unspoken, but nerys knows why the o’briens came back. 

or at least she hopes she knows why.

they start out kinda shy. miles and keiko take nerys on a few dates to quark’s. have dinner and walk the promenade. wander around the shops and pick up little gifts for each other. maybe indulge in jumja sticks for dessert. just be together.

and it’s so easy. easier than nerys ever hoped she could have. easier than it’s ever been when it was just keiko and miles. easier than any of them remembered when nerys was pregnant. 

easy because at the end of the night, yoshi is ecastatic to see his marnah and tell her about his day at school and molly can’t wait to share all the station gossip with her auntie. and miles and nerys always ask nerys to stay just a little longer each time. until she never leaves at all.

it’s only a few years later they have a small blended bajoran-human wedding ceremony. bind themselves all together. worf is miles’ best man, molly is keiko’s maid of honor, and yoshi stands with nerys. they even exchange names. keiko and miles become the kira-o’briens. and nerys adds o’brien as a second given name.

everything changes but also nothing does. tho the 5 of them do move into a single set of quarters. with 3 bedrooms. quarters that just so happen to overlook the wormhole. and it’s there, over family dinner a few months later, that molly remarks on how she’s the only member of thier family without the name kira. how she feels oddly left out. 

because nerys has always technically been yoshi’s other mother. the o’briens made sure she retained legal guardianship rights to him when he was born. that if anything ever happened to them, she wouldn’t. couldn’t. be pushed aside.

and yeah, molly has worf. he delivered her on the enterprise-d during disaster (st: tng 5x05) and the novelization of unification (st: tng 5x07 & 08) establishes that she’s named after him. evidence enough for me that he’s her godfather.

except nerys is now molly’s third parent. she wants to belong to nerys like her brother does. like her parents do. so they decide, all together, that nerys should officially adopt molly.

there’s a mountain of padds with forms to fill out. one copy for the federation and one copy for the bajoran provisional government. but the part that really matters is the welcome ceremony held at the station’s temple. where nerys formally asks molly to join her family. promises to protect her like a parent if molly will trust her with the responsibility. and of course molly agrees. there’s tear and laughter and and hugs and after a quick prayer by the vedek, molly officially becomes molly miyaki worf kira-o'brien.

and she wears kai opaka’s necklace to the ceremony.

shakespearevillain:

conceptadecency:

What does post-canon Garak watch on Cardassian television when he’s home alone of an evening because his husband has a late shift at the hospital?

There are three levels to what Garak watches. The first is what he watches when Julian is around – the news, symphonies, ridiculous political dramas that Garak ridicules for their inaccuracy more than he watches them. The second is reality t.v., but things like Cardassian Big Brother where everyone is trying to stab everyone else in the back and alliances are made and destroyed by the second. This is what he’ll quickly change away from when Julian comes home and look sheepish about until Julian confronts him and tells him it’s ok to watch trashy television if that’s what makes him happy.

When he’s sure he’s absolutely alone, and you can’t convince me that he doesn’t have some way of tracking Julian, he uses an encrypted padd to watch Cardassian Hallmark movies. Most of them are about the tension between love of family and love of state with the peculiarity that oftentimes family wins out in these dramas. The general will abandon his political career to go make kanar with the woman of his dreams. The famed scientist will leave her studies behind to go planet hopping with a burly ship captain. He keeps tissues nearby and will occasionally indulge in a box of Delavian chocolates as he watches the whirlwind romance. 

Julian has caught him a total of once. Garak had been hard at work pushing some new bills for housing reform through the senate and thought he could catch the tail end of The Uzantine Promise before Julian came home. Julian came home early and found a passed-out Garak sleeping on a padd that was portraying a drawn-out love confession between a Cardassian Glinn and a baker from a small fishing town. When Garak woke up, the padd was off (apparently out of battery) and a blanket was draped over his shoulders. 

Julian is still saving his husband’s fondness for romances for a day when Garak gets upset with himself and declares himself as a heartless cog in the political machinery – something which happens about once a year at this point – and he can’t find another way to prove to him that he does have a heart.