Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek or any of its characters. I'm also not making any money off this.
Note: I'm not a big fan of the term "meet-cute" since I'm old and crotchety but really I have to admit it's a pretty accurate descriptor. This is the sort of temptation I need to avoid when I have other things I need to complete but I couldn't resist. It was fun to envision a modern Earth AU where our favorite aliens are just another one of many different Earth inhabitants and I certainly wouldn't mind anyone else running with this. Any procedural, historic, cultural, geographic whathaveyou errors are open for correction too since this was a bit off the cuff on Tumblr last night with only minor research and checking on my end.
"Ya know, they say Cardies are real ball busters." Julian Bashir snorts in response to that declaration, shuffling his notes carefully as he walks. He glances to his partner, Miles O'Brien to his left matching his awkward strides as they make their way towards the interrogation room.
"Cardies, Miles? Already forgotten last week's lecture on Racial Sensitivity from HR?" Julian teases him, shoulders relaxing slightly as he starts toying with the buttons of his gray jacket.
"I didn't say "Spoonheads" now, did I?" Miles says with mock defensiveness still discreetly checking for Lieutenant Odo. "I'm just giving ya fair warning there, Julian. Better watch this one. Know yer new to this whole detective business and all, wanna make a good impression on the Captain but if yer sure ya wouldn't want me takin' this I don't see as they ought to mind much."
Julian shakes his head, pausing in front of the door to the room as if he could somehow see through it. Yes he's young, yes he's only been recently promoted to detective and yes to a million other things, but he wishes his old friend would remember he worked hard to get here and as many years between them he's a grown man after all.
"He's not our main suspect, Miles, just a poor man who happens to be the unfortunate proprietor of the shop next door."
"You get a good look at 'im? Looks pretty damn suspect to me." Julian opens his mouth then shuts it again. He's almost tempted to walk around to the one way glass and "have a looksie" but he sets his jaw and puts a hand to the doorknob instead.
"I'll be fine, Miles. It's just a few routine questions and I think we can write this one off. I've got a much better feeling that this involves the Syndicate besides. After all, Mr..." he looks down at his notes, "Garak has been an exemplary citizen and I don't doubt you'll need to play a few more rounds of Angry Birds on your phone you'll be so bored." Julian looks over at him with a raised eyebrow. "Unless of course there's something you're not telling me?"
Miles' hands are up and Julian's immediately on alert as he gives a slow drawl and a step back.
"Nah, nothing, Julian, you got this, eh? You know where I'll be if ya need any help with Mister ah... Garak in there." There's a narrowing of Julian's eyes to that as he watches Miles' retreating back. There's surely something there his old friend is holding back, some odd mischief or another and Julian pats himself down almost subconsciously before taking a final breath. Really, of all the nonsense, as if questionoing one middle aged tailor was some grand test of his mettle. He sighs, turning the doorknob. Surely Miles is having him on and he walks confidently into the small drab room seeing the man, Mr. Garak seated pleasantly at the table with what's sure to be an unenviable cup of coffee.
"I hope we haven't kept you waiting long, Mr. Garak I'm afraid we're a bit understaffed tonight. I'm Detective Julian Bashir and this is all really just a formality. We have a few questions we need to get sorted out on the matter of the fire next door for our reports. We'd usually get this all wrapped up on scene but the with building being compromised, I think our Officer Nog might have thought you could use a bit of warming up." He watches the man turn to face him,unable to help but notice what rather striking blue eyes he has. Nice smile too, he notes, thinking this is probably what Miles was warning him about. Well really, Julian might have a "type"- older, nicely dressed, educated or "boring" as Detective Dax likes to tease- but he has a job to do and he's perfectly capable of professionalism.
"No Mister, Detective, just Garak," is the perfectly pleasant rejoinder and though his voice is cultured and musical, Julian hopes he isn't one of those head cases they sometimes see fancying himself Caesar or the like.
"Just Garak?" Julian asks to confirm, a discreet glance at his notes revealing that he really doesn't see any other first name or surname. Perhaps it's a fashion thing; there was a mention of his owning a clothing boutique. Owned, Julian supposes given the state of the establishment next door but he doesn't imaging bringing up such a sore point now to me much of a kindness.
"Just Garak," more firmly spoken and Julia shrugs that off. Right then, Just Garak.
He takes a seat in the chair somewhat lazily, not completely across the table but not crowding either. Garak doesn't seem particularly ruffled with another sip of coffee, one leg crossed as he waits for Julian to get situated- hardly looking like a man whose entire life's work has just gone up in a grand conflagration- and begin the recording. He recalls that Cardassians don't shake hands but he's not quite sure if he's forgetting some other greeting, recalling once that Jadzia said something about some other hand gesture, a press of palms but he decides not to take that risk.
"Well then, "Just Garak"," he says with a bit of that boyish cheek and charm that's usually well received, "would you state your name for the record?"
"Just Garak," is repeated and a hand is held up to Julian's protest. "Garak," he parrots with a small smile.
"Thank you. I just have a few questions that I need to ask you and then I think we can call this an early evening."
"A pity," Garak answers with a careful sweep of his eyes. "I can't quite recall the last time I spent an evening in the company of such a... charming young man." That gives Julian just a bit of pause and it's only the reminder that Miles is likely watching and possibly having a laugh at him that keeps him from reacting too obviously. He clears his throat, taking his pen out making a few scribbles on the page.
"I thought the Cardassian memory was famed for never forgetting anything," almost stupidly comes out of his mouth and it's a hard look at his own hands that keeps him from glancing to gauge Garak's reaction. Don't flirt with a possible suspect, don't flirt with a possible suspect...
"Quite so," Garak agrees ignoring his blatant fib earlier. "I believe my good friend Elim and I passed a pleasant time by some ten years back watching the rerelease of "The French Connection". You'd like Elim, I think," he adds thoughtfully and Julian's eyes flick to Garak's hands in motion, noting the neatly manicured nails and the cuff of the dark red sweater. Cashmere. Surely it's Cashmere. There's a coat slung over the back of the chair, a rather nice black wool peacoat. Scarf, fine knit, hair still carefully slicked back and the Cardassian is put together quite nicely as if he hadn't been roused out of bed as he'd stated by his neighbor's fire. Alright, enough with his clothes, Julians. Surely you've got your questions you silly git.
"Yes, well, I won't keep you from whatever em... So it says here that you've owned Garak's Clothier's since Eighty Four."
"Mmm, it was right before that unpleasant business with Mr. Goetz that was in the news. I was able to get my current lease at a good price. I imagine the real estate has gone up considerably in value. Doubtless in no small part to the department's tireless efforts to keep the criminal element in this city. You know, I'd only recently arrive to the Burroughs in the late seventies, but the magnitude of difference in these last few decades. Not that I should say the streets of Cardassia City were much better back then what with the protests... that disgruntled element but then again we've always had far tighter restrictions on firearms. Though the northwest quadrant... I should say that I mis the color there even if most of the best clubs were owned by those on the Order's watch list."
Julian nearly jumps when he realizes Garak's hand is on his shoulder, and he looks up suddenly, dropping his pen, mesmerizes by the pattern of ridges around his eyes.
"I do want to thank you for all that you do, Detective Bashir," Garak says effusively, and Julian notes that he has the warm aroma of sandalwood and clove. "I should say that the Obsidian Order couldn't do half as fine a job within your far more compassionate parameters." There's a squeeze at that last word and Julian has no earthly idea if he should move that hand or-
"Ah... right, well thank you, it's not just me of course but all of us doing our best out of love for the city and people and ah... do you recall if you'd heard any noises?"
"Back then? I'm afraid being so near the holidays I was working on a few alterations for a Miss O'Connor's dinner party, though if you recall the shooting was in the afternoon. I wouldn't have been anywhere near 14th street in any case though if I need to produce an alibi, I believe if I were to check the records in the attic there may be some salvage where I could still procure some contact of Miss O'Connor's." There's a thoughtful brush of Julian's shoulder, some lint, some faraway expression of Garak's that's still somehow far too intent making Julian almost sweat.
"Er, tonight I mean, not that night in eighty four...that afternoon I mean... I think I was in bed myself that night... no that was a Saturday night so I'm sure I was watching the telly like most..." Lord, he's babbling. Lord, it's hot in there though he should recall they raised the temperature before beginning but it hadn't seemed that hot then so-
"Is that how you spend your evenings, Detective? A pity," Garak murmurs not bothering to answer the question as he straightens the lapel proficiently and Julian imagines that hand lingering just a it too long. Breathe, Julian, really, you'll have Miles thinking you can't tie your own shoelaces at this point.
"So you ah... were at home all evening then?" Julian asks realizes how horribly that sounds like leading. He bites the inside of his cheek and tries to force himself to reset as Garak's hand drops and he takes another sip of coffee.
"Where else should a middle aged tailor find himself detective?" He asks, another one of those looks, amused as if he can somehow read Julian's thoughts, and the thought comes unbidden to Julian that his apartment would do rather nicely. Does he have somewhere to stay tonight? Oh God Miles is never going to let you live this down.
"Right, home, got it," Some more furious scribbling that he likely won't be able to read later. "And you didn't hear anything before the fire?"
"Cardassian hearing is notoriously poor, I'm afraid," Garak offers apologetically. "I imagine I miss all sorts of things my neighbors must get up to though the elderly Mrs. Atwell assures me I'm more the better for it."
"You stay above the shop then?"
"I stay where I'm welcome." Is that his heart? Beating faster? Is it possible to be so instantly in lust? Is it all in his fool head like that imagined Rear Window-esque fiasco last holiday with the two Klingon women? Lord, I know I haven't been terribly devout but if that look isn't all in my head...
"Got it," he says clipped, completely professional, clutching the pen so tight he's afraid it will explode all over. Oh Godin heaven it is dripping ink everywhere. "Home, right, heard nothing ah..." He's sure he wrote other things, things that had to do with the case... "Ah no threats? That is... you didn't hear any cause for concern prior to the fire that is ah... right... Cardassian hearing..." Julian babbles rather stupidly as Garak pulls a small white stick- a bleach pen- from God knows where and solicitously begins cleaning a drip from the cuff of his jacket. His grip on Julian's wrist is firm, the slim circumference easily encircled, warm, hot, Garak's slightly calloused fingers on his skin like... like Garak's giving him vital information that he really ought to be paying far more attention to.
"I can't say that I've had reason to have cause for concern, though one mustn't be surprised given Mr. Morn's propensity for ill acquaintances. Now as for this jacket, dry clean only I'm sure, the cut is adequate for what it is... Express... I recognize that blend... do be sure to avoid the cleaner's on 2nd Ave on second thought it might be best if I take it. There's a lovely couple, does good work even on this. No charge, I do appreciate you... Detective."
"I'm... sorry?" Julian is already unbuttoning the gray suit jacket when he wonders what in God's name he thinks he's doing. He can't even be sure he heard everything in the right order.
"I would offer a far better garment were you to visit my shop, but if you're anything like your modest partner I imagine I'll hear no end of the burden of dressing well on a detective's salary." Garak sighs and Julian can see the stain significantly lightened. "Were we finished here, detective?" That question comes abruptly leaving Julian with a sense of disappointment.
"Finished?" Julian asks with a blink as he fishes his spare pen out, tossing the leaky one in the bin.
"With your questions," Garak answers, mischievously with another raise of that cup, a grin that's far too playful
"Ah right," Julian looks again thinking that he may have to question Mr... Garak again when he's got his wits better about him if their other leads don't pan out. Hopefully they will... won't... he doesn't rightly know. "There's em... the matter of the fire department's concern of the cause of the fire originating with a somewhat unique combination of chemicals not usually found in human provinces though Cardassia Prime numbered one amongst Bajor as well but ah... it is a bit unusual."
"You know, detective," Garak says with a hush, leaning in with a careful glance back and above to the mirror and Julian is certain his pulse is only racing because of the potential for a lead. "Now that you mention I may have heard tell of some dubious materials used in the insulation of that interior wall. Why, I imagine the building inspectors would have a field day with some of these old structures but you absolutely didn't hear that from me while my somewhat charred abode is still under a rather favorable lease." Julian sighs in response, looking at Garak with a soft hopeless smile. Nothing. Absolutely nothing useful. "If I were to ask you another dozen questions, Garak, would I even be able to get a straight answer out of you?"
"What an appalling thing to suggest. But I assure you, detective, had I anything to offer, you would certainly be the one I should give it to."
"Ah well... I've nothing to hold you on... no reason to keep you here," Julian says a touch breathless seeing Garak sit back, watching the thoughtful circle of Garak's thumb around the rim of the mug. "I'll... I can give you my card if you think of anything..."
"If I think of anything?" There's a coy raise of a brow ridge and Julian feels his stomach somersault into his throat. He's so doomed. He's so ending this recording now.
"Anything that you ah... would like to share with me." He passes his business card to Garak, but not before turning his back to the damn mirror and hastily writing his cell on it hunched over and oh that won't be questioned later. "Anything," he repeats, hoping that tone carries, feeling electric dancing from the tips of his fingers to his chest. Garak pockets the card carefully in his billfold looking almost expectant as the two stand. "You have a place to tay tonight, right?" Julian asks stupidly, inner Julian not sure whether to scream at him or high five such an insipid come on.
"As a matter of fact, the generous Mrs. Atwell has so graciously offered me use of her spare room while they rebuild provided I provide a few essential services." Julian practically blanches, Garak's tone offering absolutely nothing as Julian calls to mind the seventy year old woman who stood half oblivious to the scene of chaos asking if any could spare a lighter while hers was somewhere lost in a living room that seemed a fire hazard itself by her description. Julian doesn't rise to take the bait instead quickly changing the subject.
"You... Cardassians don't em... don't shake hands right? I don't want to be rude of course, you've been so kind with your time and all so... thank you." Julian almost stuffs his hands stupidly into his pockets when Garak doesn't immediately answer and seems to be contemplating something. Julian is about to begin to awkwardly ask if he's given any offense when Garak raises his right hand and Julian almost thinks he's going to give some Vulcan-esque salute. But there's an expectant look which follows and Julian automatically goes to raise his right as well.
"The other hand, detective," Garak offers and Julian complies curiously, swearing he hears Miles screaming from behind the mirror. It's then that Garak presses their palms to meet and oddly, Julian's eyes flutter shut for a brief moment as if there was some innate intimacy in that gesture he's completely unaware of. Nonsense, you ignoramus. But perhaps you ought to read up a bit on Cardassian Customs for next time... in case of... Oh God, you bloody fool.
Their hands lower, the moment passing, Julian feeling just a touch breathless as he gathers his notes again.
"I'd... I'd love to see you off but I'm afraid I need to get back to work and Officer Eddington is the soul of hospitality so I'm sure you'll be in good hands.. er… I don't mean like ah..."
'Think nothing of it, Detective, I've a few drops left of this delightful brew, and perhaps Mr. Eddington might be so good as to supply me with a cup to go. It was a pleasure simply making your acquaintance, and I'm sure this is far from the last we'll see of each other. I do delight in making... interesting new friends."
"As do I," Julian says sure he's in store for an endless ribbing from Miles at the very least and a likely dressing down from Captain Sisko. Garak smiles at him again as Julian knocks on the door so that Officer Eddington may enter. He meets those eyes again, so blue, like someone bloody bottled Neptune to an Earthly form all for him to stare into. Oh God, he's mortified to have even thought something so obscenely dramatic. Julian nearly walks into amidst that self flagellation Eddington, ignoring a curious glance as he steps back out into the hall wondering if he didn't just dream that entire encounter. His hand still tingles after all. No, definitely not a dream but… Worth it. Definitely worth it.