Chapter Text
“QUARK.”
Quark raised one hand and one dishcloth in surrender. “Whaa-a-aaat?” he sang innocently.
“That’s the sixth person you’ve charged,” Odo said, jerking his head towards the Bajoran on his way out, “for something other than a drink or the use of a holosuite.”
Quark hummed and went back to wiping shot glasses. “What can I say, Odo, maybe I’ve mastered the art of profit. Charging people for absolutely nothing.”
“Aha-ha-ha,” Odo laughed flatly, leaning over the bar and pulling Quark down by his collar. “I’m sure.”
Quark sighed. “Look, if you must know, there’s a competition running.”
Odo let Quark ping back, smiling when the Ferengi nearly toppled over. “What sort of competition?”
Quark smiled, emptied his hands, and leaned with confidence on the bar, hands propping him up. “You sure you’re ready for this? Might offend those delicate sensibilities of yours...”
“Just tell me, Quark.”
“Oh, trust me, Odo, it’s easier if I show you.”
Quark bent down behind the bar, and lifted up a four-foot padd, the screen scattered with dozens of images, which jumped around, leapfrogging over each other every few seconds. Odo harrumphed in surprise as he noted they were all photos of Mr. Garak with Dr. Bashir, either standing together, dining at the Replimat, or walking side-by-side down the Promenade.
“I’m charging people a small entrance fee for the privilege of entering the competition,” Quark explained. “At the end of the month, whoever submitted the most romantic-looking picture of the doctor and the tailor gets a free holosuite dinner-date – real food, not replicated.”
Odo folded his arms, watching Quark put the board away again. “I’m sure I don’t need to list how many ways that violates the privacy of the station doctor and his Cardassian friend.”
“Oh, relax,” Quark waved. “I have their... permission.”
Odo tutted. “Oh, do you.”
Quark gave a firm, “Yes I do, Odo,” while mixing a drink.
Odo sneered at him.
“Besides,” Quark said, “it’s all in good fun. The entry rules clearly state that the pictures have to be taken in public areas. And you know, and I know, and everyone knows that Bashir and Garak aren’t actually a couple. They’re well-known figures around here! We’re all familiar with the sight of them dining together. They have good chemistry, and,” Quark wobbled his head side-to-side, “decent senses of humour. It’s just something silly to take all our minds off the Dominion.”
Odo hummed, almost convinced to let this atrocity continue. “Dare I ask what prompted you to offer such a generous prize?”
Quark pff’d. “Have you seen how many people are entering this thing? One holosuite dinner hardly even tickles my profits, let alone approaches denting them. Barely a week since I opened for entries, and practically half the station’s signed up. I tell you, having a camera in the back of every padd? Genius. Everyone’s an artist at heart, Odo. Even you.”
“Hah!”
“I’m telling you, you could get the best picture. Access to all the security footage? You could get a view of them nobody’s ever seen.”
Odo cackled. “I kneewwww you were up to something more devious than a competition. What do you expect me to do, exactly, share my security footage with you?”
“Oh, please.” Quark offered a regular-sized padd, with a space for a thumbprint at the bottom of a signup form. “One strip of latinum from you and I’ll be the happiest Ferengi in the Quadrant.”
⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ♥ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆
Jadzia Dax hopped down into the pit at the side of Ops, beaming, “And the photos are ranked – there’s a growing collection accessible on Quark’s network channel. You can vote them up and down. There’s some really good ones on there already.”
Kira sighed and turned away, punching buttons. “I can’t believe you’re actually getting into this.”
“What, a Trill can’t have a little fun? I’ve had enough of fabricated romances in the holosuite. I want a real game of hearts.”
Kira threw back her head and huffed. “I really can’t believe you. This is disgusting, you realise that, right?” She climbed the ladder and paced back to her main monitor, padd in hand.
Jadzia trotted after her, grinning. “Oh, come on,” she said. “I know it’s Quark, but... he does seem to be being at least slightly considerate. Odo hasn’t shut it down, so it must be legal. All the pictures have to be taken in public, for one thing, so it’s not like anyone’s going to catch them in the middle of a lovemaking session.”
“Lovemaking seh—” Kira looked at Jadzia in horror. “Bashir and Garak? Are you crazy? That would never happen. Bashir isn’t— At least—” Kira cocked her head, annoyed, then baffled. “And Garak— Well, Garak... probably, but— That’s not the point—”
Jadzia’s eyes twinkled. “You in or out?”
Kira spluttered. “Out! Obviously!”
“I’m not in it to win,” Jadzia purred, lounging against a monitor. “But that said... Tell you what, Nerys, if my entry ranks higher than yours by the end of the month I’ll take you somewhere nice in the holosuites. Your choice.”
Captain Sisko overheard as he was striding past, and he stopped. “Not this again. I told Jake that spying on the private life of my Chief Medical Officer was no laughing matter, but—” Sisko threw his hands up. “No talking him out of it. Him and Nog have been giggling over this competition for days.”
Jadzia’s grin grew two teeth wider. “Jake’s entered? Oh, Benjamin.”
Sisko scowled and folded his arms. “I’m in half a mind to enter myself, if only to see what kind of excrement Quark’s been cooking up right under my nose. Then again... from what I saw over Nog’s shoulder, people have been fairly... creative. Perhaps it is good for morale.”
Jadzia chuckled. “There’s more great art added by the hour. Did you see the one where Bashir has bird wings and Garak has scaly bat wings? Or the one with a bathtub? Ooh-ooh, or the one where they’re both women? That’s the best one.”
Kira huffed, as Sisko raised his eyebrows. “I did not,” Sisko said.
“Oh, you’ll like them,” Jadzia smiled, glancing at Kira. She then glanced at Sisko. “You’ll want to burn your eyes out.”
“How very reassuring.”
“They’re not winning entries, though, obviously,” Jadzia said hastily, in case anyone thought they would be. “If you want to win you can only submit an unedited image, not a drawing, no holoimages, no people in costumes, and so on. But hey,” she smirked, “if this raises morale, I don’t think anyone’s complaining about some joke entries.”
Sisko hummed thoughtfully, turning away and heading for his office.
Jadzia leaned closer to Kira and murmured, “But I’m telling you, if Garak saw some of the edited ones? I don’t think it’s just his morale that would be raised.”
Kira was perplexed – then her eyes lit up, she gasped, yelped, and smacked Jadzia with her padd. They both went back a few steps, laughing and shrieking until Kira agreed, fine, she’d think about entering, if it meant she got to see what Bashir looked like as a woman.
⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ♥ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆
Jake kicked Nog’s shoe, and his heel bumped against the Promenade’s balcony.
“What,” Nog demanded, as Jake patted his arm frantically.
“Look!” Jake jabbed towards the corner of the Replimat, where Dr. Bashir and Garak were mid-way through their lunch. “They’re doing their book swap!”
Nog huffed and rummaged for his Starfleet-issue padd, handing it to Jake, who found the camera setting, steadied his wrists against the lowest balcony barrier, and aimed the lens at the Replimat.
Jake grinned and chuckled as he took five pictures, zoomed in so close that he could see the shine of Garak’s manicured fingernails, and the three thin black hairs on the back of Bashir’s left wrist. He zoomed out and took a few more.
“I don’t get it,” Nog uttered, arms folded, kicking his feet. “Why did we have to wait for the data rods to come out?”
“Because,” Jake said slyly, still grinning as he handed back the padd, “Garak is giving Bashir his rod.” He wheezed with laughter, cackling with a hand on his stomach.
Nog stared blankly. “Yes?”
Jake snorted. “You don’t get it? Really? Did they ban dirty jokes at the Academy, or what?”
Nog started to get up. “Explain it to me.”
Jake sighed, but smiled, and ambled along next to his much-shorter Ferengi friend as they headed back to their quarters. He explained as they went: the rod was a metaphor for something else.
“Ohhhh,” Nog said, once he understood. He started to grin, showing his sharp teeth. “Hehehehehehehe.”
Jake laughed again, dipping his head in a nod. “Now you get it.”
They ambled to a halt and lounged against another of the barriers, watching people pass by on the Promenade below. Jake borrowed the padd again and went through the new images ponderously, leaning over to show Nog. “How about this one? Bashir’s smiling, that’s cute. We could crop it and add a caption.”
Quark hissed and waved his hand down madly, and Jake started to frown – only to hear the whisper of fabric as someone came to stand beside him.
“Hi, you two!” came a warm voice.
“Mrs. O’Brien!” Jake grinned, hiding the padd behind his back.
“It’s been so long,” their former teacher cooed, opening her arms and taking Nog into a brief hug. “How’s the Academy treating you, Nog?”
“It’s great, Mrs. O’Brien,” Nog beamed.
“And what is it you’re working on now?” Mrs. O’Brien asked, gesturing to the half-hidden padd. She peered at it curiously, and her expression cleared as she saw the image on the screen. “Do you know, this is the third time today I’ve come across people taking photos of Julian? What are you all up to?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, Mrs. O’Brien,” Nog said breathily, with his toothiest smile. “Nothing at all!”
Mrs. O’Brien gave a wry smirk. “Now I know that whenever you say that it means the exact opposite. Tell you what, I’ll ask Dr. Bashir later if—”
“It’s just a competition!” Jake blurted, smiling so he didn’t grimace. “Quark’s running it. You take photos of the doctor and Garak together and the one that looks the most, ahh... romantic? – wins. Entries close at the end of the month. We’re not supposed to talk to them about it, I heard they’re the ones who get final say on who wins.”
“Aaaaii-I-I-I heard that too,” Nog said. “But it was more just Uncle Quark saying ‘if you ruin this you’ll owe me bigtime’.” He glanced nervously at Jake. “But that was the gist of it.”
Mrs. O’Brien nodded slowly. “Okaaay... That sounds... interesting. May I see what you got?”
Jake and Nog shared a glance, but Jake figured it wasn’t dirty without the caption, so handed over the padd.
Mrs. O’Brien looked, tucking her black hair behind one ear. “Romantic?” she mused. “Hm, okay. I suppose I can see it. The doctor is very fond of Garak, isn’t he?”
“So fond,” Jake said with a flash of a smile.
“Thanks for letting me peek, Jake.” Mrs. O’Brien handed back the padd. “Are you really sure Garak and Dr. Bashir agreed to this?”
Nog assured her, “Uncle Quark wouldn’t be doing the competition unless he had permission. My father even said Captain Sisko ordered Uncle Quark to keep it running.”
Mrs. O’Brien seemed impressed. “Very important competition, then. You know... actually...” She shrugged with her bottom lip, a dazed look wandering across her eyes. “Now I think of it, I might just have some old photos of them together that could work.”
She smiled, patted Jake on the shoulder, then turned to leave. “Nice seeing you both. And good luck with the competition!”
As she left, Jake and Nog shared a bewildered, relieved, and kind of giddy look.
⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ♥ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆
“Evening, honey,” Miles uttered as he came in, trudging to the couch and leaning down to give Keiko a kiss. “Mwah. How was your day?”
Keiko was distracted for a few more moments, still swiping through something on her padd screen. “Hm? Oh. Fine. Good, actually! The kids were very well-behaved. Miles, did you know about this competition?”
Miles was halfway out of his uniform, gruff-voiced as he looked back and asked, “What competition?”
“The photography thing Quark’s running,” Keiko said airily. “Making Garak and Julian look like they’re a romantic couple.”
Miles spluttered, nearly ripping the t-shirt he was bunching over his arms, ready to pull it on. “A what? Who? W-W-What the hell does he— A couple?”
Keiko leaned back on the couch, stretching to show Miles her padd, which displayed a bright photo from three, nearly four years ago. Miles wrenched his shirt on and took the padd.
In the picture, Garak was a bit skinnier than he was today. He knelt beside Keiko in DS9’s teeny-tiny botanical bay, the day Keiko had attempted to quell her upsets by planting a vegetable garden. Miles remembered Garak had been one of several people to volunteer to play botanist with Keiko, but by the end of the day, Garak was the only one still there, knees on white slats, hands in the dirt, chattering amicably to Miles’ wife.
Miles zoomed out a bit on the photo, and saw why Keiko had chosen this one: off to the side of the picture, Julian Bashir stood there in his smart turquoise-shouldered uniform, holding a tricorder and looking proudly at the work Keiko had done.
“Julian was looking at you, sweetheart,” Miles said to Keiko softly, as she came up beside him and hooked her hand over his arm. “You worked so hard.”
“Garak worked even harder,” Keiko said with a quiet smile. “He talked to me for so long about... feeling lost and purposeless here on the station, but finding work to do, finding joy in watching something grow. I told you – he used to be a gardener. He keeps on tending the bay, Miles, just like I do.”
“Still.” Miles frowned at the padd. “Julian’s just a friend of Garak’s, love, as little sense as that makes to me. Nothin’ to see there but pride, maybe.”
“Oh, you don’t see the longing?” Keiko took back the padd and had another look. “Seems like longing to me. It’s all new to him. Tentative, affectionate longing.”
Miles chuckled. “Oh, come on. Is this what the madness is about? I’ve heard a dozen rumours about Garak this week but, please, none of them are true, are they? People are projecting fantasies onto them, that’s all. Seeing things that aren’t there. Maybe it’s all this Dominion anxiety, we’re all looking for some meaningless, frivolous escape.”
Keiko gave him a sweet smile. “Well, I, for one, Miles, intend to win the competition.”
“You what?”
“I overheard Dax saying the prize is a date in a holosuite, with real food. Think of it. We could have dinner anywhere in time and space at no cost.”
“No cost? No cost? Keiko, if you’re about to ask what I think you’re about to ask, that’s about as far from ‘no cost’ as—”
“You could get them to do anything!” Keiko pleaded, bright-eyed and smiling. “Julian’s your best friend, Miles, you could nudge him into posing for you. Going by what Jake and Nog told me, if you don’t mention the competition you wouldn’t actually be breaking the rules.”
Miles made a disparaged noise. “I’m not using Julian like that. Besides, I don’t think he wants me within fifty feet of his personal relationships, not after that incident with the Romulan magistrate and her hair. Worse: once I get him talking he won’t shut up, particularly about Garak. He says more in a single sentence than I put in an entire personal log.”
“Don’t talk to him, then,” Keiko said. “Just... invite them over, offer a drink. Get them to sit next to each other.”
Miles made several flabbergasted noises, but none of them were anywhere near convincing enough to change the mind of his wife. Finally he sighed, hung his head, and uttered, “Fine. But if Garak robs our quarters I’ll be prying those little grey scales off his face one-by-one – while Julian watches.”
Keiko’s smile turned smug. “I think he’s smart enough not to cross you.”
“Let’s hope so.”
⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ♥ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆
Benjamin Sisko steepled his fingers, and nodded. “Meeting adjourned. Dismissed.”
The senior staff rocked to their feet and slowly readied themselves to leave the wardroom, uttering to each other about lunch.
“Doctor – a moment of your time,” Benjamin called, standing up. Bashir paused near the wardroom’s exit. He patted Dax’s back as she went ahead, and the doors whispered shut. Bashir approached, and Benjamin nodded to him. “Doctor, I have some files I’d like you to review at your earliest convenience. I believe you have a lunch break scheduled for now.”
“Ah,” Bashir opened his mouth, and it stayed open for a bit. “Yes. Yes, I do, but—”
“Excellent.” Benjamin handed over a padd. “The U.S.S. Gallant collected this data from the remains of a destroyed shuttle found along the Cardassian border, and I was wondering if you’d find any medical value in the information.”
“Yes, of course, sir—” Bashir hesitated.
“Something the matter, doctor? You don’t have anywhere to be, do you?” Benjamin held back a smile, knowing full-well where Bashir was meant to be.
“Oh, no, sir, it’s just— Well, Garak, sir, I have a lunch date. Well, not a date. Just a meeting. A rendezvous.”
“Of course. Well, why don’t you invite him up here?” Benjamin beamed. “As a Cardassian I’m sure he could only be of assistance.”
Bashir relaxed a bit. “Oh. Okay.” He tapped his combadge. “Bashir to Garak.”
A pause, then, “Why, doctor, it’s almost as if my dining companion has grown totally invisible to the naked eye. I hear his voice somewhere...”
Bashir smiled shyly, scratching the back of his neck. “Captain Sisko needs me for something, and he’s – well, he wants you to help too. We’re in the wardroom.”
“I see.” Garak waited a moment, then sighed. “Well, I suppose I’d best be on my way, then. Garak... ‘out’.” The commline blipped, and Bashir sat down to study.
Benjamin took the head of the table, fiddling with another padd, flipping it and spinning it on a finger like a flattened baseball. After a couple of minutes, Garak arrived in the wardroom, saw Bashir, and smiled.
“Hello, my dear doctor.” Garak glanced at Benjamin and gave a curt bow, their eyes locked. “Captain.”
“Mr. Garak.”
Bashir offered Garak the chair beside him. “Come take a look at this. Parts of this report seem legitimate, but— Anything?” He showed Garak the medical files. “That’s not true, about you having four nipples, is it?”
Garak laughed heartily, head back, hand on his chest. Bashir laughed along, unsurely, but his smile was genuine. Benjamin took as many photos as he could, as secretively as he could.
“Not at all, doctor,” Garak said fondly. “I believe what you’ve stumbled across here is some form of practical joke. Cardassians do not have nipples at all, as you may well recall.”
“Yes.” Bashir seemed relieved. “I was starting to wonder if something unspeakable had happened to yours.”
Garak shook his head, getting to his feet. He stood behind Bashir and put his hands on both shoulders, a gesture which Bashir responded to with a smile and an easy shoulder-roll, apparently relaxing into Garak’s warmth.
“Now,” Garak said, “as I can certainly vouch that that report is quite phony, I do hope there’s nothing to keep you from joining me at the Replimat. I was planning to try that dish you recommended – what was it—?”
“Chicken tikka masala,” Bashir said, looking back at Garak, who kept his hands on his shoulders. “Oh, yes, I think you’ll like it. I gave the replicator the exact roti recipe my mother used. Burnt bits included. I had to try nearly fifty times before I got it right.”
Bashir got up, putting the padd down on the table. Garak’s hand slid slowly down his arm...
Bashir only seemed to remember Benjamin at the last second, turning fast. “Oh. I hope you don’t mind, Captain. It’s just, I think Garak’s right, it is a lot of nonsense. I know for a fact that Cardassians don’t hoot like owls when they’re angry. If anything I think this document was translated wrong. Very... very wrong.”
Benjamin gave an open-handed ‘go ahead’ gesture, wearing his most professional smile. “Just making sure. Have a good meal, gentlemen.”
Garak bowed again, then opened the wardroom door and stood by to let Bashir out first.
As their friendly voices vanished behind the door, Benjamin pried his padd up and began swiping through his new photo collection, grinning at the ones where Garak held Bashir’s shoulders and Bashir looked back at him. It was only the dim, diffused lighting in a dark room, Benjamin was sure, but it certainly did look like they each had the twinkle of love in their eyes.
⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ♥ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆
“Rohhhhm,” Leeta begged, scrunched down to hold Rom’s hands at the right height. She gave him her prettiest pout. “Do it for me. Pleeeeeeeease?”
Rom hesitated, then hesitated again. “Uhhhhhh.” He blushed. “Allllright.”
He turned towards an occupied table, the one nearest the barrier on Quark’s second level, where the red lights from below only lit the tables with warm ambience, and Garak and Bashir were silhouetted, leaning towards each other, mid-way through a heated argument.
“Not yet, though,” Rom said worriedly.
“No, not yet,” Leeta agreed, clutching her padd and glancing around nervously in case Quark noticed they weren’t working. “Right when they stand up.”
Rom busied himself wiping down the same three tables over and over, before moving to one that still had customers and making them yelp. He apologised and backed away, giving Leeta a desperate, worried look.
“But you didn’t like Far’zyny’s third soliloquy,” Bashir grumbled, thrusting his open hands towards Garak. “You can’t tell me it was xis best work if you wanted to smash the padd you read it on.”
“Oh, I think I can,” Garak argued coolly. “The best of a bad lot is something I think you’re quite familiar with, dear doctor, after you made me read – what was that delightful tome – Green Eggs and Ham—”
Bashir laughed so hard he rocked back on his chair, then flopped close again, murmuring, “You like Dr. Seuss and you’ll never convince me otherwise, Garak. There’s nothing more Cardassian than philosophical and political commentary wrapped up in colourful metaphor.”
“If I must make myself clear: the only doctor I’ve ever come close to liking is you. And even that is a most questionable statement.”
Bashir rolled his eyes, humming. “Mm. I’ll let you believe that.” He started to get up, and Leeta squeaked and waggled a hand against Rom’s back. Rom dropped his wiping cloth in someone’s Raktajino and barely even noticed, now plodding up to a full strut and approaching the couple just as Garak stepped out from the table—
Rom barged past, shouldering into Bashir and sending him toppling in Garak’s direction. Rom hurried away before they noticed it was him and before Quark heard the commotion from up here and accused his brother of anything.
But Rom reached the end of the upper pathway, and turned back, creeping close again, seeing how gently Garak soothed Bashir and straightened his uniform for him, and how Bashir assured his friend he was “really quite all right, no need to worry,” and smiled, taking a breath.
Garak and Bashir left Quark’s together, still chatting, still bickering, and still close enough to touch.
With a big smile, Rom went to Leeta’s side, and asked, “Did you get it?”
Leeta had a hand over her mouth, hiding her huge grin. “Look! Isn’t it perfect?” She showed him a picture: Bashir collapsed in Garak’s arms, Garak holding him around the waist, gazing at him with surprise but no small amount of joy. From this slight side-view, Bashir’s expression was mostly just a nose and parted lips, but he looked as appreciative that Garak was there to catch him as Garak was.
“It’s wonnnderful,” Rom said, smiling at Leeta. “I think you’ll definitely win.”
“Oh, I hope so! Thank you so much, Rom!” Leeta jumped to hug him, cheek pressed to the top of his head, then went to appease those poor customers with a dirty rag on their table.
Rom gazed after her, sighed, and went away, a happy little sun shining in his heart.
⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ♥ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆
Garak was suspicious. There was no getting around it, really. Julian apologised to Miles straight off the bat, right after “Hello,” and decided to make up for Garak’s sullen lurking energy by being the chirpiest, perkiest man in the room.
Julian plopped himself down on the O’Brien family’s pink couch with a bounce, and cried, “Oh, thank you!” as Miles handed him a Scotch whiskey.
“You?” Miles offered Garak an identical Scotch.
Garak did his suspicious thing, peering at the drink and not taking it. “Rather an uncommon gesture, is it not? Forgive me for asking, Mr. O’Brien, but—”
“Look,” Miles said bluntly, “it’s not poisoned.”
“Take the drink, Garak,” Julian urged, and Garak did.
Miles seemed to crowd himself against Garak, encouraging, “Sit, please,” and Garak stepped back, almost bumping Julian’s knees. Julian grabbed Garak’s tunic and tugged him down, so they sat beside each other. Weirdly, Miles seemed content with that, and pulled up a dining chair to sit opposite, his own drink in his hands between his parted thighs. He stared at Julian and Garak for a while.
Julian looked about softly. “Right,” he said. “Well.”
“Beautiful quarters, I must say,” Garak remarked. “I see your lovely wife’s touch in the details. Yet I remain curious... to what reason do we owe our invitation here tonight?
Miles grunted, suddenly more interested in a handheld padd than his guests. “Let’s just say it wasn’t my idea to have you here, and leave it at that.”
“Ah.” Garak shot Julian a knowing look. “Trying to bring your most diametric acquaintances together, are we?”
Julian raised his hands. “Don’t look at me! If I had my way you two wouldn’t be in the same room, ever.”
Garak chuckled. “Now we know that’s rather far from the truth, doctor.” He sipped his drink at last, and stuck out his tongue, pained by the taste. “If you had your way Chief O’Brien and I would argue over who gets to be your best friend, singing your praises while playing spies and fighting ‘baddies’ side-by-side with you in the holosuites.”
Miles snorted and tried not to smile, still thumbing at his padd.
Julian’s cheeks burned and his spine tingled. “Well. Scotch is a good start. Good flavour. Not replicated, is it?”
“Hm. No,” Miles said vaguely. He tried to fold his arms, but his drink and padd were both in the way. He looked dreadfully uncomfortable and Julian didn’t have a damn clue what to do about it. He got the continued impression the Chief found his ongoing relationship with Garak distasteful, just as everyone else on the station did. Julian had gotten so hopeful when Miles had invited him and Garak here together, but now the man wasn’t even looking at them.
Julian decided to take the lead, hoping that if he relaxed, Garak and Miles would follow – so he heaved a great, relieved sigh and sank back against the couch, eyes hooded, one arm tossed up behind Garak. “Aaah... Um. Um. Garak! Tell us about— The botanical bay. Still tending it?”
“Yes. Weekly,” Garak said. “Pumpkin season is soon to be upon us.”
And that was that.
“Right,” Julian said. “Good. Isn’t that good... Chief?”
Miles seemed startled. “Hm? Hm.” He nodded vaguely. “Yup. Great.” He stared at Garak for a bit, then examined his padd, grunted in apparent dissatisfaction, then said, “I just... have some work to be doing, so... carry on. Pretend I’m not here.” He offered a plain, slightly forced smile. “Drink. Relax. Talk amongst yourselves.”
In his overly-polite customer service voice, Garak carried on talking about pumpkin season, acting nonchalant.
But Julian frowned, wondering what the hell was going on here. Miles was acting very strangely indeed. The padd bleeped every time he set his thumb on it, and a flash of light from the screen lit up the Chief’s double chin. Julian wondered if he was taking photographs. But... why? Surely not... Why would Miles want photos of him and Garak? Some sort of... blackmail? He was too good a man to sink that low, wasn’t he?
Even so, Julian drank, and tried to get comfortable, and angled his good side towards his friend just in case, but Garak was still stiff-backed and perched on the very edge of the couch.
So Julian lifted a finger and poked Garak’s shoulder. “At ease, soldier,” he murmured.
Garak glanced at him, going silent. He seemed to realise how tense he was, and took a breath, relaxing into the couch, and, by extension, into Julian’s spread arm.
Julian realised they’d fallen into a hug, but even with heat burning up his insides, he couldn’t pull away, and maybe didn’t want to. So he hugged his arm tighter around Garak’s shoulders, wondering if Miles would see and feel more comfortable too once he realised, yes, Julian really did like this murderous Cardassian spy, so there. If he wanted photos of them together, he’d get exactly that.
Garak was looking at Julian a bit strangely, however. Sort of a ‘what are you doing to me and why are you doing it?’ kind of look.
Julian answered with a squeeze and a smile.
Garak blinked twice, then smiled back.
Okay, good, Garak liked hugs. That was a relief.
With a fresh breath and renewed politeness, Garak brought up the subject of soil temperature regulation – but Miles grunted, and Garak interrupted himself to ask, “Why, Mr. O’Brien, is something the matter?”
Miles stood up suddenly, padd tossed down. “Not a thing,” he said with a strained smile. “It’s just—” He yaaaaaawned, arms out, shoulders rolling. “Later than I thought. Thanks for coming, both of you. I’ll, ah... see you around, I guess. Have a nice night.”
Julian looked up at his friend, astonished. “Excuse me?” He got to his feet and wandered closer to the Chief. “Miles, we just got here. Now you’re kicking us out?”
“That’s about the long and short of it, yeah. No hard feelings, eh?” He clapped Julian on the bicep, steering him towards the doors.
Julian stopped forcefully, turning on O’Brien and prodding him in the chest. “Now look, Chief, it was very kind of you to invite us here for the evening, and thank you for the drink, by the way – but you can’t just bring me here and tell me to bring my ‘Cardie friend’ and not tell us anything about it or why, and then sit there doing ‘work’ – or whatever it was you were really doing – and then kick us out after barely two minutes— Garak deserves better treatment than that. I deserve better. I know you hate Garak but I really don’t think either of us appreciates being taunted by an apparent offer of friendship.”
“I don’t hate y—” Miles sighed, and had the good sense to look sorry. “Would you believe me if I told you I was just following orders?”
“Whose orders?” Julian demanded.
Miles looked small and awkward now. “Keiko’s?”
“Oh-ho! And she told you to make nice with the lonely, exiled Cardassian, did she? And you had me here, what, as a buffer? As bait for Garak? Honestly, Miles, I didn’t think you could be so—”
Garak got up. “It’s quite all right, doctor, no need to start a fight. I believe Mr. O’Brien has done as he said, simply following orders. I doubt we can expect much more of him tonight; having us here must be quite taxing for such a hard worker.”
Miles’ face coloured, but he was too tongue-tied to say anything. He knew he’d been insulted but couldn’t figure out what about, exactly.
Julian shoved his half-drunk Scotch at Miles, who took it. “Listen, Miles, I’ll thank you not to mess either of us around like this. You may not like Garak, but I do.” He stepped outside with Garak, giving Miles a stern look. “And if you don’t want to accept that then... then maybe you and I have a problem.”
Miles’ expression fell somewhere between apologetic, disbelieving, and confused.
Turning away, Julian slunk into the blue-shadowed hallway with Garak, who seemed oddly okay with all of this, but gave Julian an understanding look. As the doors hissed shut, Julian looked back at the O’Brien’s quarters and sighed.
“Come now, doctor,” Garak said, a hand on Julian’s lower back. “Perhaps the station’s kindest medical officer and the station’s loneliest tailor ought to spend a little more time together.”
Julian managed a smile. “Oh?” He walked along, looking carefully at Garak. “What did you have in mind?”
⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ♥ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆
“You gotta be kidding me,” Kira uttered, head falling to meet her palm. “Jadzia, would you put that thing down?”
“And let you win the competition? Nuh-uh.” Jadzia leaned back in her Replimat chair, biting her glossy bottom lip as she aimed her padd towards the couple three tables over. “The competition’s days from closing and I thought I’d missed my chance.” She hid away the padd and turned swiftly back to Kira when Garak flicked his sly gaze her way. Jadzia smirked and reached back to take up her fork, returning to her food. “They don’t usually eat together on Tuesdays. Fridays are their days.”
Kira huffed and waved her own fork in a shrug. “Who cares? The doctor probably had an operation run overtime that day and they’re catching up.”
Jadzia didn’t look convinced, and was far too happy about it. “They’re having an extra meal. Tuesday and Friday.”
Kira decided not to care, and stabbed her fork into her fruit salad.
“Maybe they’re seeing each other more often,” Jadiza purred seductively. “Oh, that’s sweet.” She was looking over at them again. “Oh, they’re so cute together.”
Kira snuffled. “Cute?”
“Look,” Jadzia sighed.
Kira looked, and saw Garak’s hand caress the back of Bashir’s, squeezing. They separated after only a moment, but even Kira had to admit that was kind of touchy-feely. Dax and Kira might have touched like that but they were bound in close companionship, the sort that came from being the only two high-ranking women on the station. A touch like that meant something. Emotional intimacy, which bled into physical affection, reassurance...
Now the doctor carried on rambling with his doe eyes open wide and his cheeks plump with half-chewed food, and Garak sat and nodded, then leaned in close to offer some cutting remark that made Bashir seethe with fury and then burst into another articulate volley of cheerful argument. He looked like he was having the time of his life, and Garak looked deeply content.
“You have to do it,” Jadzia said, handing Kira her padd. “You have to get a photo of us.”
“Us— Who’s ‘us’?”
Jadzia was up, side-stepping tables and sneaking towards Bashir and Garak’s table. Kira held out the padd in a despairing gesture, but finally set her elbows on the table and aimed the camera towards her girlfriend, who now posed behind the couple, one hip cocked out, hands rising.
The weird part was that Jadzia got within three feet of the table and neither Garak nor Bashir looked up.
⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ♥ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆
Julian sniffed the air, sensing a wisp of Jadzia’s white orchid perfume. He looked left, then right, but only saw the back of her as she stepped away, poring over a padd with Kira as they left the Replimat, giggling.
“Something catch your eye, doctor?” Garak asked, following his gaze.
“My nose, actually,” Julian answered. But even as he spoke, something did catch his eye. Then another thing. Then another, another, another, and suddenly he felt very self-conscious, turning to Garak and asking, tight-throated, “Garak, these past few weeks... have you felt like people are paying us an awful lot of attention? Watching a bit too closely?”
“Watching me? My dear doctor, people are always watching me.”
“No, I mean—” Julian tilted and jerked his head, trying to indicate the twenty pairs of eyes that were turned their way, half a dozen padds in those people’s hands. “People. Are watching.”
“What makes you think it’s you they’re watching?” Garak looked innocent and amused, which made Julian suspicious.
Julian levelled him with a stare. “You know what it’s about, don’t you? You know why everyone’s taking pictures.”
“Me? My dear friend, I know nothing,” Garak said, hands up. “Absolutely nothing at all.”
“Oh, oh, of course,” Julian nodded sarcastically. “Right-hand man of the Obsidian Order knows nothing about anything. Oh, yes, that tracks perfectly.”
Garak gave him a winning smile. “I assure you, doctor, even if I did know something about everyone’s sudden interest in my ever-so-handsome Cardassian features, I’m sure it’s quite harmless.”
“Harmless?” Julian squinted. “You sure?” He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling hot there. His ears were burning, too. And his inner thighs felt tight. “People can’t seem to take their eyes off you.”
“Can you blame them?” Garak asked, tilting his head a little.
Julian hummed, ducking his head to grin. He glanced back up, and cocked his head to one side, smirking. “I suppose not.”
Garak gave a gentle smile. “Now! Need I remind you, doctor, of the collection of great epics to come out of Vulcan in the twenty-third century—”
Julian knew he was being distracted, but fell back into easy conversation, for once welcoming how easily Garak could steer him away from the larger matter at hand. People were still watching Garak, watching them, and if letting Garak sweet-talk him over lunch was the only way to prevent self-consciousness, he’d take that option.
⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ♥ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆
“Quark, for the last time, get out of my office!” Odo slapped a padd down on his console desk.
“And I’m telling you for the last time, this could be your final chance!” Quark spread his hands. “Switch on your security monitor. They’re in the Replimat right now! It’s Tuesday! I thought for sure last Friday would be everyone’s final big chance to get their entries in – lunch is the best time to see them together. But then imagine my surprise when the entries started flooding in again, barely twenty minutes ago!”
Odo rubbed his forehead, flattening out the stress wrinkles. “Quark, I’m not playing your ludicrous game. If they want to eat together, they can eat together, it’s none of my business. It’s none of anyone’s business.”
“Well, it is mine,” Quark said. “And I’ll get that strip of latinum from you even if it kills me.”
Odo chuckled. “If there was a chance it would kill you, maybe I’d give over a whole case of latinum.”
Quark straightened up. “I refuse to be offended by that,” he said lightly, while being deeply offended. He sighed, and swiped a hand through the air. “Whatever,” he said. “Don’t enter. Your loss. But...” he turned towards the exit, and looked back with subdued dramatism, “if you did win, the dinner-in-a-holosuite prize doesn’t have to be used, Odo. You have no stomach, no tastebuds, and no imagination – but so what? For all I care you could donate the prize to the happy couple themselves. I’m sure they’d enjoy the privacy of the holosuite after all this attention.”
“Hmph. You make it sound like the attention is unwanted. And you so comfortably assured me you had their permission for this competition.”
Quark held up a hand over his mouth, fake-gasping. “Wait, are you saying... all this time... you actually believed me?”
“No,” Odo said flatly. The doors swept wide and the murmur of the Promenade came through around Quark’s lingering figure. “I was just curious to see how far the lie would take you before it came down around your unbelievably absurd ears.”
Quark harrumphed, straightening his jacket, ready to leave at last. “Final chance, Odo. I’m telling you now: with your God’s-eye-view of the station, you could win this competition easily. And everyone would find out you’re watching, and nobody would do crime ever again.”
“Of course,” Odo smiled. “You want the prize to go to the one person who doesn’t want it. And you’d keep the profits.”
Quark grinned slowly. “Between you and me, Constable, I think that’s what the Hu-mans call a ‘win-win’.”
He left, looking smug.
Odo leaned back in his chair, fingertips together under his smooth nose.
Purely out of curiosity, he poked at his console and brought up the security footage of the Replimat. Ah, yes. Garak, Bashir, together at a table, bantering, apparently oblivious to the crowds of paparazzi that had gathered at the lower edge of the Replimat, and on the upper level of the Promenade.
Odo watched for a while, thinking to himself that no matter what Quark said about ‘permission’, he wasn’t going to submit any image that hadn’t been approved by Garak or Bashir directly. Odo had no interest in the game, nor winning, nor besting anyone else. But if it gave him a way to confirm whether Quark really did have consent to exploit the tailor and the doctor, as Sisko seemed to believe, then...
Odo flicked away from the Replimat view, and began hunting down footage from a few weeks previously, a view he’d seen out of the corner of his eye as the console had cycled through camera angles late at night. It wasn’t hard to find – he remembered the time and date and the ID number of the turbolift, purely because he’d had Quark’s month-long tomfoolery in mind as he’d seen it.
“Aha.”
Odo scrubbed forward through the footage, and slowed down to normal speed as he saw Bashir and Garak boarding the turbolift. Garak was wearing a new tunic, a deep blue one with a gold zigzag inlaid down his chest. He was fiddling with a wrist cuff, and complained about a thread he’d forgotten to cut.
Bashir watched him, observing Garak twist and pull and try to nibble at the thread as the turbolift moved, but Garak grew frustrated when he failed.
“Here, let me,” Bashir said, offering a hand, and slipped palm-to-palm with Garak as he lifted his arm, soon breathing against his wrist as he bit the thread, trying to snip it off with his teeth.
But Garak began to smile, then chuckle, then laugh as Bashir failed and failed, as his teeth slid off the too-short thread and only made it wet with saliva.
Bashir eventually huffed and gave up, lowering Garak’s arm back to his side for him, facing the front of the turbolift again, an embarrassed expression on his face, one which Garak admired for a while, drawing and releasing a breath.
They were still holding hands.
Light burst across their faces as the turbolift reached its destination, and Bashir’s hand slid free, his lips parting, his eyes shooting to Garak’s. Garak acted as if nothing had happened, and gestured for Bashir to leave the lift first. Bashir smiled before rushing out.
Yet Garak stayed put for a second longer, gazing after his friend, then down at his wet sleeve. He smiled... so softly. And then he followed, and the view of the turbolift was empty again.
Odo hummed and rubbed a hand over his mouth. He glanced up from his console in thought, only to see a long-legged figure pass by his windowed doors: Bashir striding down the Promenade, away from the Replimat. No Garak or amateur paparazzi in sight.
Mind made up, Odo went back and found the best moment in the video feed, viewed from front-on.
“Computer, freeze image. Transfer image at highest resolution to padd number two-five-one.” He got to his feet and picked up his padd, then strode to the exit. “Computer, locate Dr. Bashir.”
The computer replied, “Dr. Bashir is on the Promenade— Correction, Dr. Bashir is in the Infirmary.”
Odo nodded. He stepped out of his office, and headed in that direction, patting his palm with his padd.
⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ♥ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆