Icon from a picrew by grgikau. Call me Tir or Julian. 37. He/They. Queer. Twitter: @tirlaeyn. ao3: tirlaeyn. 18+ Only. Star Trek. Sandman. IwtV. OMFD. Definitionless in this Strict Atmosphere.
It is Kelas’ hatchday, and although Kelas liked to pretend they’re too old for such trivialities, Elim wants to mark the occasion.
There are few places where flowers bloom, but Elim knows this land well. He knows his floral-lore, and picks accordingly - electric blue d'man for passion, starry sungia orchids for steadiness and belt mallow because he knows Kelas likes it in tea.
When Kelas sees the luminous bouquet that evening, they bark out a laugh.
“You are a charmer,” Kelas responds wryly, but their vitiligo scales are flushed blue, and they lean up to kiss him warmly.
If we want to come up with a canon in character reason for Garak and Bashir growing apart instead of just ignoring it as bad, homophobia driven, writing (both approaches are good) I think it might have been because Garak was NOT what Julian needed after the Dominion War trauma set in. At the beginning of their story Julian has a lot of spoons and hope for the world and all of Garak’s mystery invigorates him and being there for Garak in his trauma makes him feel needed but after years and years of war and hurt and seeing some horrible things I think he’s just… not able to take on Garak’s baggage anymore. Like he needs to play darts with Miles and drink a beer not have a cat and mouse conversation about Garak’s past time committing petty atrocities for a fascist state. I think he simply changed. Garak’s presence used to energize him and although he will always care about his friend I think it stopped energizing him and started draining him.
As much as it hurts my heart, that’s a valid take. To me, based on the few interactions we do see, I feel canon seems to hint more at the friendship continuing off screen rather than growing apart entirely. I also see Garak fulfilling an important role for Julian in the war, that being a distraction and target for his feelings.
There are a lot of excellent metas about these scenes in particular, but given the context in the episodes, I see Garak trying to help Julian preserve a little of his idealism and innocence by putting himself in Julian’s way when he’s shutting down or becoming numb to the war and starting a silly argument until Julian is full of righteous indignation again. Particularly contasted with Sisko’s quip about liking “him better this way.” Most of the crew seem to see Julian’s quiet as a sign of maturity to be encouraged. Garak, and arguably Miles, know better.
AN: Garak’s growth is one of the most fascinating things to me. I always thought this episode must have had a profound effect on him, but of course the show did not explore it, so I’m going to. That said, be aware of colonialist thinking, an oppressors perspective of oppression, and of Garak SLOWLY coming to realize that the occupation of Bajor was bad, actually. If these things bother you, proceed with caution.
Garak should have been working on Ensign Barrows’ new suit. He had the material in front of him, the cuts already made. A simple matter, really, to sew them together now.
But he couldn’t stop thinking. Tain would despair of him, he knew. A disciplined mind should not be so easily distracted. Yet he couldn’t seem to wretch his mind away from the Bajoran whose place he had taken when he was brought into Odo’s guilt ridden mind. The man unjustly killed, who had been doing nothing more than trying to survive.
He’d known, of course, about the conditions on Terok Nor. He’d come through now and again prior to his exile, completing some duty or another. And then, of course, he’d set up his shop in the last few years, never realizing that it was meant to be permanent until Dukat’s smug, sneering face had passed along the order as the rest of the Cardassians were pulling out. He’d been aware, in a distant sort of way, of the injustices wrought by his people. Of the deaths, not just from executions which might have been just, but from starvation and exhaustion. He hadn’t allowed himself to give it much thought then.
Garak finds him in the Replomat nursing a cup of Tarkalean Tea and reading and re-reading the same three sentences of the scientific paper on his padd. “May I join you?”
“Whatever you want, Garak.” Julian doesn’t look up from his device, but his eyebrows furrow.
Garak takes this as an affirmative invitation and seats himself in the other chair at Julian’s table. “I’ve just heard an astounding rumor.”
“Have you.”
“Yes, indeed I have! It was said that the parents of our young doctor were guests, here on the Station! And I would not have paid these rumors much mind—you know how people like to talk in a place like this, but I happened to find myself in the docking bays as today’s last transport was getting ready to depart, and wouldn’t you know that I saw two humans boarding, a male and a female, I believe, with shocking aesthetic similarities to our own chief medical officer! Not quite as dashing, of course, but I suppose that’s only to be expected…”
Bashir looks up at last and peers at Garak for a long moment in silence before responding. “That’s the only rumor you heard today, is it?”
“Well, there may have been one other small matter to which I heard allusions…”
“Right.” Julian averts his gaze once again. “A small matter.”
“Doctor.” The timbre in Garak’s voice changes, the facade with which he normally presents himself giving way to something altogether more sincere. “I do know what it is to be…molded…by one’s parents.”
Julian peels his eyes from his padd and with some deal of difficulty and directs them toward his companion. “Do you.”
“Yes, Doctor, I do.”
“Right.” He glances down at his tea. The intensity in the man’s eyes unnerves Julian, but it does something else too, something altogether more welcome in the rush of unwanted recollections his parents’ sudden visit had brought him, the shame he had spent so long attempting to conceal. Julian allows himself to sit in that other feeling for a moment as finishes his drink, before, finally, he continues. “No doubt this will all make a rather interesting report for your spymasters.”
“Why, I don’t know what you mean!” Garak responds, in faux surprise, returning once again to the character he so frequently embodies. “I’m a simple—”
“A simple tailor?”
“Yes, Doctor, a simple tailor! My father was quite insistent that I become one! I wanted to be a gardener, you see, but he forced me to learn to sew until my fingers ran raw!”
Julian releases a snort. His lips fall into a grin for the first time since this whole debacle began. “Whatever you say, Garak.”
Clint takes a sip, expecting the burned-black bitterness of gas station coffee, and he’s hit, instead, with sugary chocolatey sweetness. He double-takes and then glances up at Bucky, who’s pokerfaced but turning red, just a little, along the blades of his cheekbones.
“I put some hot chocolate in it,” he says, mumbling it out. He doesn’t sound ashamed, exactly. Embarrassed, maybe.
“Oh,” Clint says.
Years ago, when he couldn’t stomach anything bitter, he drank his coffee this way. He drinks it black now, doesn’t have time for anything that dilutes the pure rush of caffeine, but he finds that he is not at all inclined to pour it out and go back for stronger coffee.
He wonders if there’s anyone else in the world who remembers – or cares – that Clint used to drink his gas station coffee mixed with hot chocolate.
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