Icon from a picrew by grgikau. 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.
What if Jim and Bones accidentally skip forward seven levels of friendship at the Academy through a combination of codependency and peril and forget that they actually don’t know everything about each other six months in…
Jim: Yeah, when I was on Tarsus, we -
Bones: Excuse me, when you were on WHERE
Jim: did we not have this conversation
Bones: no we fucking well did not
Jim: whoops
Five minutes later
Bones: I can’t believe you were on Tarsus because your family sent you there. I would never send my daughter to-
Jim: YOU HAVE A DAUGHTER?
Bones: oh we missed that too didn’t we
Five minutes later
Jim: I can’t believe this! Do we actually know anything about each other? Is your name even Bones?
“He’s watching us,” Miles grumbled, and his next shot at the dartboard went wide.
“He’s allowed to do that,” Julian responded. “It’s a public place.”
“He isn’t even drinking. He’s just lurking.”
It was true that Garak was not really partaking in anything Quark’s had to offer (much to Quark’s consternation, although he seemed to be giving Garak a wide berth for reasons of his own). Instead, Garak stood in the upper level and watched the game intently.
“It’s creepy,” Miles said definitively.
Julian looked up and waved cheekily at their spectator.
“I think it’s sweet, in its way.”
“Sweet!” Miles scoffed. “I need another drink.”
He stomped off to the bar. Julian winked upwards, and was met with a smile that might even have been genuine.
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.”
“It’s Garak, by the way.”
Julian looked up from the padd he’d been reading in bed. “What?”
“My name,” Garak said. He was standing in front of the large, ornate mirror in their bedroom, applying an enriching oil to the scales along his neck. “It’s Garak.”
Julian frowned and set the padd down in his lap. “What have I been saying?”
“Gah-rack,” Garak said. He rubbed the oil vigorously into the hollow right above his clavicle. “Sounds like I’m trying to choke you.”
“You have tried,” Julian teased.
Garak stopped and gave Julian a deadly look. Julian swallowed. “Gah-rick,” he said.
“Geh-rick.”
“Ga… Geh-rick.”
Garak nodded and moved on to the sides of his neck. “Accent on the first syllable.”
“Geh-rick. Wait… Like Derek?”
“Deh-rick,” Garak said, sounding out the name for himself. He paused with his fingers halfway to the jar of oil. “I suppose it is similar enough, though I have never heard the name before.” He dipped his fingers in the oil and began working on a particularly dry patch of scales by his ear. “I assume it’s Terran in origin?”
“I had a mate in school called Derek,” Julian confirmed.
“How nice for you.”
“Not really,” Julian said. “He was a real prick.”
Garak snorted out a laugh. “And yet you continued to associate yourself with him?”
“Well, we were in the same grade at school. You know how it is.”
Garak thought of One Lubak. “Yes… I suppose I do,” he said as he finished oiling his scales and put the lid back on the jar.
“Well, Mr. Geh-rick,” Julian said, “have I been getting any of your other names wrong? Some unique Cardassian way of saying ‘ambassador’?”
“Actually,” Garak said as he slid into bed. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you about the correct pronunciation of my given name.”
“Elim? I’ve been saying Elim…” He registered the slight grin on Garak’s face. “You’re joking.”
“Yes, Dr. Bah-sheer, I am.”
Julian rolled his eyes and looped an arm around Garak’s shoulders. “You’re impossible.”
“A kinder epithet than I’m generally given,” Garak quipped, before giving Julian a quick peck on the cheek, “but true nonetheless.”
“I take it we’re all square then?”
“Oh, I intend to tease you mercilessly in front of the O’Briens,” Garak said, “but, yes, our domestic spat is at an end.”
“Good,” Julian said. He kissed Garak on the forehead. “Because now you get to come with me on our hike tomorrow and explain all the plants that Keiko wants to know about.”
“I take it back,” Garak said. “I’m furious.”
“Too late. We’ve made up.” Julian turned out the light on the bedside table and snuggled up with his husband. “Goodnight, Elim.”
Sometimes my enormous chicken with multiple pointy ends decides she’s a baby and needs to sleep tucked under her much-smaller friend’s wing. This goes about as well as you’d expect.
