Chapter Text
Julian leaned toward the shuttle window and though he knew his eyes would not find the station, they hunted for it nonetheless. How he wished he were there already! But they were 42.5 minutes out and there was nothing he could do to speed the shuttle's progress -- to his frustration.
In the two months since he'd been exiled from Starfleet and the Federation, the doctor had visited Deep Space Nine four times -- chiefly to see Garak. Now that they’d entered into a relationship, they had a great deal of lost time to make up for. During his visits he'd also assisted the station's CMO and met up with a couple of old friends. None of these trips had even been spontaneous or made in a hurry, but had been scheduled during break periods in his job on Bajor, overseeing the planning of a major new clinic in the capital. He was enjoying his new life on the planet, but also found relief being able to get away every so often.
But this fifth trip to the station was different. It had not been planned, and was essentially in response to a medical emergency. Yes, he probably would have gone and visited Garak once he returned from his unusual "away mission" with O'Brien to the station's twin, Empok Nor, but he hadn't expected to be called up by Dr. Vakat, DS9's Vulcan doctor. "Your companion Elim Garak was exposed to psychotropic drugs and is currently under treatment," he'd messaged. "Your immediate presence here on the station would be advisable."
He'd pumped Vakat for more information of course, but the doctor had politely refused, saying the details would have to wait until he arrived on the station. O'Brien, or perhaps Garak, once he was in back in his right mind, would fill him in. Now, closing in on DS9, his mind whirled with possibilities. "Exposed" to psychotropic drugs? How? Deliberately? By whom? What specific drugs? How had he reacted?
As the station at last came into view, Julian forced himself to break off this line of thought. He knew plenty of techniques to stave off anxiety and snapped a basic one into place, telling himself he would only know the answers when he reached the infirmary, so there was so use tearing himself up with questions over and over. He consciously slowed his breathing. He would arrive as a doctor, not as a panic-stricken partner.
Once docked, Julian disembarked and made his way to the infirmary as quickly as he could. On a regular visit his pace would've been more leisurely, with a stop at the replimat for raktajino, chatting with friends or acquaintances on the Promenade, and finally heading to Garak's Clothiers or up to the Cardassian's quarters. But not today.
Arriving at his former place of work, Julian as usual had to steel himself a bit. With only a couple of months behind his abrupt departure from the service, the wounds were still raw. But today was not about himself. It was about Garak. Time for professional doctor demeanor.
He was greeted by Nurse Jabara, who smiled warmly at him and gestured toward one of the patient rooms in back. "Dr. Vakat is dealing with a recalcitrant patient," she informed him. "He's told me to let you in. I believe he requires extra assistance."
"—must disagree!" Garak sputtered as Julian stepped into the room. "I assure you I'm sufficiently recovered to leave this miserable clinic and return to the relative comfort of my own quarters."
The Cardassian was sitting on the biobed facing away from the door and had not heard Julian come in. Vakat however raised an eyebrow and subtly tilted his head in an invitation to approach.
"So you have repeated several times now, Mr. Garak," the doctor said patiently. Vulcans had patience in abundance. "However, I do not believe you can be released without medical supervision." When a "but" immediately emerged from Garak's mouth, Vakat gracefully lifted a hand to stave off his protest. "There is good news, however."
Julian, having made a silent approach to the biobed, now made his way to the end. "Ah, Dr. Vakat. I believe I can take over from here?"
The Vulcan nodded curtly. "Yes, I believe that will work perfectly." Moving from the bed, he quickly transferred data from a console to a PADD and handed the device over. "This will provide you will all the details of his condition from the time he arrived at the station until the last readings just minutes ago. I will trust you to monitor Mr. Garak's condition while he rests in his quarters, where I would advise he remain, away from his work, for at least the next two days."
"Two days!" Garak protested. Both doctors raised their eyebrows and huffed. Their patient scowled, then drew his lips into a flat line. "Hmmph. We'll see about two days."
Julian reached for his partner's nearest hand and tugged. "Come, Mr. Garak. Let me escort you up to the habitat ring and get you settled in your quarters." Once Garak had slid down from the biobed, Julian walked with him toward the door. Turning back, he held up the PADD to Vakat. "Thank you, doctor."
"You're welcome. Please let me know at once if you require any further assistance."
As he turned back toward the door, Julian caught Garak rolling his eyes.
Julian didn't even attempt to break Garak's predictable silence as they made their way up to the habitat ring. Nor did he fill in the silence with chatter -- updates from his work on Bajor, new research projects, and the like. Garak wouldn't be interested in anything but personal privacy at the moment, and so the sooner they were behind closed doors, the better.
Not that his companion opened up once they were in his quarters. After Julian offered to fix dinner, Garak excused himself, saying he was long overdue for a shower. "And I must divest myself of this horrid Federation-issue patient wear. A shame my own clothes were ruined, but ah well."
Before the doctor could ask what happened to Garak's clothes, the man disappeared into the bathroom. Reminding himself to be patient, Julian set his mind to creating a simple but pleasing meal, along with an inviting nest of blankets and pillows for cuddle-up time on the sofa afterward. Assuming he could coax his partner that far and, hopefully, get him to talk.
He was curled up on the sofa reviewing Garak's medical records -- and beginning to wonder if Garak was coming out again -- when the bedroom door opened and the tailor emerged, perfectly coifed and dressed in a suit of dark green.
"I believe I smell dinner," he announced. "Thank you. Shall we sit?"
Julian rose, noting Garak's cheerful visage and knowing it was a sham. He'd seen it before, on more than one occasion. For example, the time Garak had joined him in the replimat after recovering from the deactivation of his cranial implant and a near-death experience. "How's the Idanian spice pudding?" he'd asked. As if nothing whatsoever had happened. But that was three years ago. Julian would not let him sweep trauma under the rug so completely.
But first there was dinner. As Garak sat down at the table and tucked a napkin into his collar, Julian laid out a spread of Romulan food he knew Garak enjoyed and poured two glasses of the springwine he'd brought up from Bajor on his last visit.
"Cheers," he said, raising his glass briefly. Garak didn't respond in kind; he'd noted on several occasions that he found the idea of toasts, however brief, gratingly saccharine. "I'm glad you're back, and I get to see you, even if I was called up for an emergency."
"Yes, I'm lucky to see you a few days earlier than expected," Garak allowed, once again laying on the cheer most people, but not Julian, would take as genuine. "Although aside from the fact that Vakat wouldn't have left let me out of the infirmary, you could've waited."
Julian tilted his head and frowned. "Elim, Vakat asked me to come up because it was an emergency. I still don't have the faintest idea what went on, but I do know, as a doctor, that the type of psychotropic drugs you were exposed to are no joke. They knocked you out of commission for hours after you had returned from an away mission."
At this Garak's mouth drew itself into the little crescent moon it assumed when he was either affronted or shocked. And then he picked up his knife and fork and began to eat. Dinner conversation was evidently at an end.
As they passed the meal in silence, Julian tried not to stare at his partner, instead looking down at his food or glancing out towards the porthole. He did of course study Garak, looking for clues that might tell him what was going on behind that ridged forehead and inscrutable face. In the short time they'd been a couple, Julian felt he'd made a surprising amount of progress getting to know Garak and reading him. However, with so many different, opaque layers to work through, he still had a long way to go.
When it looked like Garak had finished eating, Julian decided it was time to make his move. He finished off the last of his current glass of springwine, stood and walked in the direction of the sofa. "Come over here, dear. I'd like to talk."
He wrapped half of a blanket around himself, sat down and draped the second half of the blanket across the back of the sofa. He gestured to the handful of pillows and lap blankets strewn on the seat. "It's cozy here."
Garak had at first looked ready to make an excuse not to talk or come over, but on seeing the blankets, and possibly Julian's pleading look, left the table and settled down on the sofa.
"I don't--"
"Want to talk about it," Julian finished for him. He wrapped the blanket around Garak's shoulders. "Yes, I know. But you will. However, first, tell me, how are you feeling now?"
"Better," he said, though he was sitting stiff-backed, hands in his lap. "The drugs have worn off, and I'm not aggressive anymore. Not threatening. Not up for a killing spree."
A killing spree? Julian wanted the details of the mission now, but again, clung to patience.
"You killed someone, Elim?" he asked softly.
"Yes," he sighed, and Julian heard regret in his voice. "They say it was because of the drugs."
"I see," Julian murmured.
Garak turned abruptly. "Not that I need drugs to kill. As I'm sure you know, or have guessed."
He nodded. "Of course. And I've seen you violent."
Garak looked puzzled for a moment, then frowned in distaste. "Oh, the incident with the implant. It was lucky your augmented strength allowed you to fend off my attack."
A detail Julian had forgotten but a thought he'd had in the immediate aftermath. Of course he hadn't been able to share that truth.
He stretched his arm around Garak's shoulders and pulled him back into the sofa. "Yes, my augmented strength did protect me. And my compassion will protect me from whatever story, and I hope it will be the true story, you have to tell me now. You don't have to protect me."
Garak, muscles still tense, huffed. "Your nosiness will never end, will it?"
Julian turned and dared to nuzzle his partner's neck. "It's not nosiness, Elim, it's concern. You're not accustomed to such a thing, so you get the two confused."
Hesitantly, Garak reached up and stroked Julian's hair. He was silent for perhaps half a minute. Then he said, "I really don't want to talk about it, but I will. I... probably do need to and since you put up with me, I may as will talk about it with you."
Julian's immediate reply was to kiss Garak's neck ridge. "Go on."
Garak withdrew, then turned sideways and scooted over so his head was on the armrest and his feet on Julian's lap.
"There’s an adage on Cardassia. 'Every tool is a weapon, if you hold it right.' Well, that saying played out in truth on this mission."
And Garak told his tale.