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.
THIS IS LITERALLY HOW THE SCENE ENDS. I THOUGHT I REMEMBERED GARAK LEAVING THE ROOM BUT HE HAS TO STILL BE IN THERE BECAUSE ANY EXITS WE KNOW ABOUT ARE VISIBLE BEHIND JULIAN. THE ONLY STUFF TO THE RIGHT OF FRAME RIGHT NOW IS A REPLICATOR AND SOME MEDICAL SHIT
Ok these are the Garashir drawings I’ve made thus far, Garak just gets bigger and sillier every time I draw him. Also yesterday I kept having the vivid mental image of them going swimming and Garak just floating around like a crocodile
like this one’s for sure shipping goggles but it’s SO funny to imagine that “not so boyish anymore, doctor” is literally just a blatant come-on because they either just hooked up recently for the first time, or julian did something exceptionally slutty. like the whole scene is garak doing Cardassian style flirting, coming on STRONG, literally just whore behavior, and when julian finally breaks and flirts back like a human, which is their thing because something something cultural exchanges, garak brushes up against him, says something else snarky, and then dips. he absolutely got railed for hours in a state-honoring way that night.
It’s pleasant to dwell in the nostalgia of it, even temporarily, and he holds onto it until it seems to pass, waning to give way to the present. When it does, he continues: “But seriously, Garak, this looks like deleted personal logs from an officer on a Federation starship?”
“Not simply any Federation starship.” A smirk. “Tell me, Doctor, what do you know of the Illyrians?”
“I slept with Garak last night,” Julian muttered into his hands.
“What, for the first time?” Miles scoffed.
There was a long silence.
“Oh Jesus, really?” Miles poked him in the shoulder. “Julian? You’re having me on.”
“I’m not,” Julian groaned, still not looking up. “I really did it.”
“Julian…I thought…” His friend took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I thought you were…I dunno, since a few years ago, at least. You’re joking, right?”
“Miles, what the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you and Garak! I thought you’d been,” Miles made a vague hand gesture, “for ages! You’re really doin’ my head in, to be honest.”
“Oh my God. Why would you think that?”
“Well! I don’t know, you’re awful close. Have been for longer than you and I have been friends, even. And you obviously…I mean, you flirt with him. He flirts with you. Constantly. I had to learn to put up with it, and that wasn’t easy, mind you, but I care about you and he’s…you know, he’s good for the war effort. So I made an effort. But you’re seriously…you’re seriously telling me that you just now got together last night?”
“Miles, I don’t see what’s so hard to believe about that.”
“You were in prison together!”
“Well! That doesn’t mean we had sex!”
“Yeah, but considering the obvious…you know…attraction, I would have figured. I dunno. Stop looking at me like that, you’re the one who’s sleeping with a -”
“Miles!”
“I wasn’t gonna - I was going to say ‘spy.’”
“Okay, okay. But that’s not the point. The point is…” A horrifying thought occurred to Julian. “Wait, does everyone else think we’re sleeping together too?”
The first time Garak realizes he’s taken Bashir for granted is when the Doctor cancels their plans for lunch at the last minute. It is not the first time Bashir has been called away on some emergency or another. But when he receives the message, he feels a flash of irritation. He had expected to spend time with the man discussing La Belle Dame Sans Merci, a poem by a human poet named John Keats.
It’s the irritation that surprises him. The idea that he had felt entitled to the man’s time. That he had simply expected his company, that Bashir was a given in his life- like a rule in a logic puzzle. Always unyieldingly true.
Elim Garak is an exile, a spy, and, apparently, still a fool.
