"I must say, Doctor, it is rather pleasing to see you finally taking the time to really enjoy your meal; to savour the taste and the experience of each flavour."
Whilst the air around them is abuzz with chatter and commotion, all manner of bustle seems to have dissipated, right here, at their table. The very chairs on which they now adorn, the Cardassian tailor and his good doctor friend, the same furniture at which they situate for almost every meal. This occasion, however, the human showed no haste in the consumption of his meal, to the mild yet pleasant surprise of the individual seated opposite him; an individual with which much discourse had been shared.
"Practice makes perfect, Mister Garak.", comes the response from the slim physician.
"Indeed, it does."
A smile is gifted to the tailor, his own plate also barren from the foodstuffs which sat atop the hour before. "Besides, Sickbay is not that busy today; so, I thought I'd give myself a decent break."
"What a wise choice it was, Doctor, and well-deserving. And, what better way to spend that time than with a good friend."
"I couldn't agree more.". Before the physician makes even a miniscule movement for his departure, the Cardassian continues.
"Might I add, my dear Doctor, that I have become quite fond of our meals together. I've found our discussions to be rather enlightening."
"As have I, Mister Garak."
"One might also say that this could be the beginning of something wonderful.", the simple tailor rises from his chair, most genteel as he moves. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have much tailoring to do. Good day to you, Doctor."
"And to you, Mister Garak."
With those words, there accompanies a grin and a nod of civility, and the human bids farewell to his friend. As his olive eyes trail the Cardassian whilst he wanders across the Promenade, the doctor contemplates what the simple tailor had just uttered.
Whatever could that mean?
... ... ...
Several months later.
Once again, they have gathered at their usual table, a plate atop for each. All is the norm, with a single exception: the entwining of fingers in grey and tan tones, and a gaze of eyes unto one another, wistful and seemingly endless. Of course, there is behind them the standard amount of regular discourse and clatter of cutlery; yet, all is still, within this moment. And, their voices, lower than their norm, and seemingly gentler, as if reunited at last following an extended absence.
"My dear Doctor."
"My dear Mister Garak."
END