Julian had nervously tidied and rearranged his quarters in anticipation of tonight's guest. Having resigned himself to spending Christmas on his own this year, he hadn't bothered with any decorations and had let stacks of empty dishes and clothes pile up. His Changeling imposter had kept his rooms in an almost sterile state and his recent untidiness was undoubtedly an act of stubborn defiance, as though he was trying to prove just how 'human' he was. To come home to the achingly familiar but subtly different environment had been a tough pill to swallow. It had taken weeks of effort for his brain to stop noticing every minute change and for him to feel settled again. Shaking his head as he recycled the last of the mess through the replicator, he was embarrassed that he'd been living like a student again. He should really know better by now. He was the CMO of a space station for goodness' sake!
Despite reassurances from his colleagues, Julian had been internally wallowing and feeling sorry for himself ever since his genetic status had been made public. He had noticed a general shift in attitudes towards him, although the majority weren't so obvious as to snub him directly or insult him to his face. Exposed and isolated from his friends and family, he found himself slipping back into his teenage habits and acting like he had when he'd first been told what he was. Closing himself off and concentrating solely on his work felt natural and safe, he'd had more than enough practice over the years. Even though he'd spent most of his life keeping people from getting too close, he hadn't entirely forgiven everyone for not noticing that he'd been replaced. It was difficult not to attribute the ease in which his relationships were mimicked as a personal slight, and definitive proof that he cared more than others did for him.
Julian was mindful that he hadn't allowed himself to fully process the aftereffects of being held captive, especially the mental exhaustion of living under the watchful eye of Enabran Tain (original spymaster extraordinaire). The whole ordeal had been a constant battle of wills, not just against the Vorta and Jem'Hadar but also within Barrack 6 itself. When he finally discovered that the unpleasant Cardassian was Garak's father, many of his unasked questions were suddenly resolved. Coming from an unhappy and dysfunctional family himself, Julian felt like he could see Garak's pain and struggles a little clearer than before. He shouldered his own destructive behavioural problems as a result of an impossible to please parent. Right now, if there was anyone else on this station who was feeling as cut off and alone as he was, it was Garak. Nobody deserved to be miserable and left out in the cold at this time of year, exiled Cardassians and augmented humans alike.
As Julian put together the last of his festive display, he smiled cautiously to himself. Today would be a good day. He would make it so. If not, he could trust Garak to ensure they had a pleasant time. The man was always engaging company, even when he was only half interested in what was being discussed. He hoped that Garak would enjoy his film choice but could console himself with being able to passionately defend its merits, should he need to. Arguing with Garak, especially over the last few months, felt like the only time that his numbness abated and he truly came alive. He never had to second guess himself or hold anything back. Garak was sharply intelligent and gave as good as he got, easily keeping up with him. He was also the only person who continued to treat him the same as always instead of constantly overcompensating or walking on eggshells.
Julian's enhanced hearing picked up Garak's approaching footsteps in the corridor, long before he reached his doorway. Trying to calm the butterflies in his stomach, he called out in a clear voice. "Just come on in, Garak!"
Garak walked into Bashir's quarters with a raised eye ridge, somewhat bemused. He hadn't activated the chime yet. In fact, he'd barely reached the door before he was invited in. "So very careless of you, my Dear, to leave your door unlocked in such a manner. I could have been anyone."
Julian noted that Garak had changed and was wearing a smart gold and maroon outfit, he looked well and appropriately festive for Christmas Eve. Had the threat of a matching jumper worried him that much? Grinning, Julian joined in with his friend's dramatics. "Oh yes, if I'm not careful I could end up in the company of a dangerous enemy. Say, an ex-Obsidian Order operative who plays his cards close to his chest? Tell me then, oh wise one, whatever can I do to protect myself against people of such ill repute?"
At Garak's dismissive shrug, Julian's temper flared of its own accord. "Please give me some credit, Garak. I knew it was you out there. You have a distinctive and easily recognisable stride pattern. Although, the semantics are beside the point. I can handle myself, alright?"
Garak's eyes narrowed and he smirked to himself, deciding to succinctly and definitively prove his point. He moved swiftly and had the Doctor pinned against the wall, by his throat, within seconds. Garak smugly noted that all Bashir had offered in his own defence was a small gasp of surprise. "Tell me, Doctor. At what point would you have started 'handling' me?"
Julian was still catching his breath and fought to bring his racing heart rate down. Garak had moved quicker and more fluidly than he'd ever witnessed. It was impressive. He'd always known that Garak was skilled, but it was thrilling to see his gentle façade momentarily peeled back. As he struggled uselessly against Garak's unrelenting hold, the Cardassian applied more force to still his movements. The hand on his airway dropped to tightly grip his shoulder and he felt Garak pitch his weight forward, pressing his physical advantage and bringing them closer.
As Julian looked into Garak's triumphant eyes, he found himself disinclined to fight this newfound contact between them. His competitive side wanted to prove that he wasn't helpless, but even he could admit that he'd lost this round. Losing to Garak, as it turned out, felt remarkably good. It wasn't the first time he'd been bested by the man and, presumably, wouldn't be the last. He could feel the latent power of Garak's strong body against his and knew that he was holding back, careful not to hurt him. His cheeks flushed a violent shade of red as it dawned on him that he'd envisioned such a scenario between them before. Initiated under different circumstances, of course, and heading in a significantly alternate direction than their real-life friendship had ever ventured. Was it possible that he wasn't the only one who craved more?
Julian made his decision and relaxed into the embrace, lowering his resistance completely. He still had the mobility of one arm and wriggled it down between them, resting the tips of his fingers on Garak's abdomen. Drifting lower with his hand until he reached the edge of his tunic, he locked eyes with Garak and breathlessly murmured. "I could handle you right now… if you'd like?"
Garak's mouth dropped open in shock. Utterly caught off guard, he released the Doctor immediately and took an unsteady step backwards. He was suddenly all too aware of Bashir's openly submissive stance and the pull of his warm, delicate skin. The young man's scent was everywhere, and it was completely intoxicating. So much so, that he was finding it difficult to think clearly.
Garak had almost forgotten himself and needed to regain his composure at once. What had possessed him to accost the good Doctor in such a way? Ignoring the fact that he shouldn't have grabbed Bashir to begin with, he could have at least let him go in a timely fashion. There was no excuse for keeping the man restrained and then practically grinding himself against his person. So blatant was his conduct that he'd practically shouted his affections from the rooftops. No wonder the Doctor had drawn his attention to the inappropriateness of his actions. His companion had been cornered and left with no other option. To jokingly play along, in order to highlight how ludicrous he was being, was a smart move. Kinder than rebuking him directly, anyway. Bashir had always been far too good for the likes of him.
Embarrassed at having been flustered by their proximity enough to act on his desires, Garak painted on a smile and let out a hollow laugh. "You got me there, Doctor. Well done."
Julian was dismayed to see the blank expression that Garak used for his customers. He hadn't wanted to make his friend uncomfortable; this was supposed to be a nice evening for the two of them. Why had he made the situation awkward by pushing for something that wasn't on the cards? Him and Garak were just friends. The sooner he accepted that, the better. Hadn't he already learned this lesson, the hard way, with Jadzia? Friends could be innocently flirtatious with each other; it didn't guarantee the existence of deeper feelings.
Feeling disgusted with himself for the overt nature of his actions, Julian hung his head. "Please accept my apologies, Garak. I took things too far. I'd like for you stay. If you're still open to spending time in my company, that is?"
Garak frowned, unsure as to why the Doctor was seeking penance when he was the one who'd lost control and physically attacked him. Confused, but happy for them to call the matter resolved, he tilted his head in acquiescence. "Of course, Doctor. Shall we sit down?"
Julian breathed a sigh of relief and plonked himself down on his sofa, gesturing the space next to him with his hand.
Garak followed his lead and gently took a seat beside his companion. Clearing his throat, he glanced at Bashir who had leaned over to fetch a blanket. As the Doctor turned around, he spotted several drops of red on the exposed skin of his neck. Stricken, he reached out his hand to check the wound. Had he hurt Bashir before? He certainly hadn't meant to.
Julian flinched at the unexpected motion, still a little overstimulated. Much to his chagrin, Garak's face fell at his reaction. Dammit, he didn't want Garak to think he was scared of him or that he wouldn't appreciate his touch. Trying to improve the mood, he chuckled. "Sorry, Garak. You just made me jump is all. I'm still on high alert."
Garak eyed Bashir, looking for signs that he was tense or agitated. Finding none, he resumed his assessment and dutifully showed the Doctor the blood from his neck. "You appear to have been injured. Nothing life-threatening but probably best to get that fixed before you start to drip. We don't want to ruin that lovely jumper of yours now, do we?"
Grimacing, Julian took Garak's grey hand delicately in his own to study the droplets himself. "How strange, I must have caught myself on something. It was probably the Christmas wreath hanging on the wall. We were stood right by it before…"
Garak reluctantly pulled his hand back and rose to his feet to examine the circular arrangement of flora. He was intrigued to discover that most of the leaves were immensely prickly. The plant's spines did little to trouble his scaled skin, but clearly the good Doctor hadn't been so lucky. Why would humans choose to use such an aggressive and unfriendly plant in their celebratory garlands?
Shaking his head, Garak voiced his concern. "One of these plants is unnecessarily well armoured and hostile. How did you manage to wrangle it into such an elaborate display?"
Julian laughed. "With great difficulty, lots of help from Keiko, untold amounts of swearing, and more than one turn with my dermal regenerator. The sprigs of holly are the troublemakers, the evergreen plants were traditionally used to symbolise the change of seasons as well as everlasting life. As you can see, they are also visually appealing. The unusual shapes and deep colours are striking against the ivy, so much so that even my poor effort looks respectable."
Humming, Garak retook his seat. "An odd concept, to willingly invite into your home something so obviously unsuitable and dangerous. It doesn't seem to be worth the risk."
Julian grinned broadly, knowing the potential duality of Garak's words. "Maybe, it's that we can see past all the sharp edges and appreciate that beauty comes in many forms."
His friend appeared suspicious but rolled his eyes and reclined on the sofa, Julian thought he heard a muttered mention of idealistic Federation nonsense. When he didn't immediately disagree with Garak's grumblings, a contemplative look crossed the Cardassian's distinguished features and the silence between them grew heavier.
Julian took the opportunity to withdraw, he needed some air. After he'd healed the scratches on his neck, he prepared their refreshments. Handing Garak a mug, he sat back with his own serving of mulled wine and breathed in the spicy aroma.
Julian glanced sideways at his friend, excited to get the night back on track. "Ready to be wowed?"
Garak took a cautious sip of his wine, happy at the soothing temperature. It was a little sweet for his taste but, having watched the Doctor overly sweeten his Tarkalean tea for years, he shouldn't have expected anything less. Focusing on the screen that had been set up in front of them, he raised his drink to his companion. "Please, go right ahead my Dear."
Julian's face warmed at the familiar nickname, although he told himself that it was just the alcohol. He'd sourced a bottle of Kanar for Garak, in case he objected to the wine, but it didn't look like they'd be needing it. Garak seemed content enough. Well, he hadn't immediately cast the beverage aside anyway. Getting comfy under the blanket, Julian dimmed the lights and started the film. He let out a happy little sigh as the music kicked in and the black and white credits started to roll. It finally felt like Christmas. Sat here with his wine, his favourite person, and one of the best holiday movies of all time. What more could he ask for?
Garak felt the Doctor relax next to him and allowed himself to do the same. He was dumfounded to discover that he was entirely at ease here and was immensely thankful he hadn't had to endure the holosuite. Admittedly, the hot drink certainly helped, but that wasn't the only contributing factor. He tried not to react as Bashir brought his feet up onto the sofa, resting his shoulder and knees softly against his. The good Doctor hadn't recoiled from him earlier and was clearly more than comfortable in his presence. How bizarre. He had no idea what to make of it all. Bashir had always been quite tactile with his friends and colleagues, apparently that now extended to include him. Surprisingly, he didn't mind in the slightest. He'd worried that he might start to feel trapped, but the enclosing panic never came.
Garak's attention was drawn to the old-fashioned opening sequence, which he found to be quite charming. He had no idea what this feature was about, but he trusted Bashir. No matter what he'd said to the contrary during their literary discussions, the young man knew a good story when he saw one. Garak was happy to take a chance that whatever this film was, the pair of them were going to enjoy watching it together.
Garak manoeuvred his free arm up past his companion to rest along the back of the chair. The vacated space allowed the Doctor to tentatively snuggle that little bit closer to his chest. Feeling brave, Garak brought his arm down to rest around Bashir's shoulder. As the name of the film materialised, Garak considered that perhaps his life wasn't as bad as he'd thought. Sitting here with the good Doctor, the term 'wonderful' didn't seem out of place at all. He must be going soft in his old age, and right now, that was fine with him.
"It's A Wonderful Life"
