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seikilosTitle: Clearing Skies
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Romance
Rating & Warnings: PG (sexual references, alcohol)
Beta: tinsnip
Words: This part 2400, 6233 overall
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
Summary: Over the past weeks, without realising it, Julian had been taking Garak's company for granted. But no longer: he's going to make certain to properly include Garak in his life from now on, and the first way he intends to do so is--to invite him along to one of his holosuite sessions with Chief O'Brien.
Author's Notes: This fic comes from two sources: an incredibly awesome commission I ordered from petaq (art journal at dziwaczka), and from reading A Stitch in Time by Andrew Robinson, specifically the parts where Garak gets jealous of Julian and Miles' holosuite sessions. With both of those things in mind, I ended up writing this last May, although I haven't had time to clean up and post it until now. I had a lot of fun writing this and learned quite a bit about the Battle of Britain into the bargain, so I hope everyone enjoys the piece!
Thank you to tinsnip for checking this over to make sure relationship things unrolled realistically. I owe you one. <3
Julian gusted through the promenade, slipping through this gap in the crowd here, blowing past strolling shoppers there. He was due back in the infirmary in two minutes—thank goodness for Dr. Rawat staying on past the end of his shift or he wouldn't even have that—but he just had to make this last quick stop, at Garak's Clothiers.
He could have contacted Garak by computer, of course. But if he was going to be cancelling lunch on him, the least he could do was deliver the message in person. And, well, he hadn't seen Garak in nearly three days now. It just didn't seem right.
He felt a little guilty when he jogged into Garak's shop to find his friend on the verge of exiting—though that was quickly supplanted by alarm at being suddenly on a collision course. Garak fortunately made a neat sidestep in time, saving them both from visiting the infirmary as head injury patients.
"Ah, Doctor, there you are," Garak began but Julian didn't have time to let him get any further.
"Sorry, Garak, I have to cancel—what about tomorrow?"
Garak's smile stilled for a moment. His eyelids dropped a fraction. "Of course. My schedule is as always completely open. Did you forget you had promised Chief O'Brien a game of darts?"
And there it was, just as Jadzia had said. How had he not noticed before?
But he'd think about this later, when he wasn't testing the limits of Dr. Rawat's kindness. "No, the entire crew of the Ferengi vessel that just docked needs to be treated for Tokassan flu. Half of them are sneezing themselves crosseyed and if we don't look after them now, the whole station will be infected by tomorrow evening."
"Well, far be it for me to interfere. I'll see you tomorrow, then—provided you aren't afflicted by the same malady as your patients." Garak widened his eyes in an expression of utter sincerity. "The life of a physician on the frontier truly is a glamorous one. You have my deepest envy."
"Garak. . . ." Was no one going to let him forget that?
And damn, damn, damn, he never could have a short conversation with Garak. He needed to run, now!
He spun on the balls of his feet to dash away. "Have a good afternoon—oh!" He spun right back around again, because this was the perfect time to act on his idea. "Garak, what are you doing this evening?"
Garak's expression was an entertaining mix of amusement and mild confusion. "I had been planning on watching that recording of Romeo and Juliet you had given me, but that can wait for another time. Why do you ask?"
"The Chief and I were planning on giving the Battle of Britain another go. Why don't you join us?"
"Oh, I don't think so," Garak immediately said, as Julian knew he would. "I couldn't possibly intrude on your time together."
"It's not intruding if I ask you. I want you there, Garak—it would be fun," he insisted.
Garak lowered his chin. "Does Chief O'Brien want me there, I wonder."
"He'll be fine." He fought the urge to fidget. He was going to owe Dr. Rawat so many favours after this! "Come on, Garak, if you don't like it, you can leave. Just try it this once. I've been so busy lately—I want to spend a little time with you that doesn't involve me running out halfway through."
He could see Garak changing his mind and—in for a penny, in for a pound. . . . "I've missed you."
A beat, then Garak sighed. "I'm afraid I don't have anything to wear."
"You still have the patterns for my costume and the Chief's, don't you? You can just replicate something for now and fix it later." And now he really had to go. "I'll meet you at nineteen hundred hours at Quark's—see you then!"
He didn't wait for Garak's answer but sprinted out of the shop. Whining patients and spraying bodily fluids, here he came.
*
It had been Jadzia who had noticed it first, which he could still barely believe. She and Garak spent no more time together than it took for Garak to make her the occasional offduty outfit or holosuite costume, but after witnessing just one interaction between himself and Garak, she had picked up on something extremely important.
"Julian, I think Garak is jealous of the time you and the Chief spend together," she had said once they'd sat down at Quark's with their drinks.
It had seemingly come out of deep space, and for one bewildered moment, he had only blinked at her. "Jealous? Jadzia, you can't be serious."
"I am."
She'd nodded at where Garak had been making his way out of the bar and onto the promenade; they had run into each other as he'd been on his way to meet Jadzia. Julian had taken the opportunity to explain that he would need to cut their lunch short the next day as he'd promised the Chief a pint and darts that afternoon. The Chief was so busy now, given his family had at last returned to the station, that Julian needed to snatch whatever time with him he could. He'd thought Garak had understood, but according to Jadzia, he'd only been pretending.
"No offence, but I believe you're mistaken," he'd said (thinking back to that still made him wince). "I've known Garak for years. He was perfectly fine with making the change to our schedule."
"Mmhmm." Jadzia's skepticism couldn't have been plainer. "Out of curiosity, how many times lately have you rescheduled on him for the Chief's sake?"
He had frowned. "Not . . . too many." At first, he hadn't been able to recall more than one or two other instances. But the more he'd thought. . . . "I, um, don't think."
Jadzia hadn't scolded him. She hadn't done anything but say kindly, "I think Garak might be feeling a little left out. Next time, you probably should be a little more careful with your scheduling."
All the same, Julian had been struck through with guilt. Did Garak think he was being taken for granted? Of course it wasn't true—Julian prized his friendship just as highly as he always had—but it was possible Garak had gotten the wrong impression.
If that were the case, though, why hadn't Garak said anything?
"I will," he'd answered distractedly.
A hand squeezing his arm had made him look up into Jadzia's understanding smile.
"Try not to worry about it," she'd said. "Now that you know, you can start making amends."
"Yes, of course, you're right." He'd had to sit hard on the need to run out right then and there to patch things up, but he'd managed it. He had even produced a smile. "Why don't we go order our meal before I start making you feel neglected?"
Jadzia had laughed, and spending a few hours with her had done much to lift his spirits, but he hadn't forgotten her words. From that point on, he'd told himself, he'd kept a sharp eye out for any jealousy on Garak's part. And he would make certain Garak felt every bit as as valued as he was.
*
"All set to defend England's mountains green?" Chief O'Brien asked cheerfully that evening.
"Almost." Julian glanced about—no sign of Garak yet—then seated himself at the Chief's table at Quark's, stretching out his booted feet. "You're a bit early, aren't you?"
"It was either leave now and finish up later or bring the whole bloody conduit down around my ears out of sheer frustration. I was ready to tear the damn thing to pieces, so I decided to give it a rest."
"Very good. I'm glad to hear you're taking the advice of your physician and looking out for that blood pressure of yours."
"Don't you start." The Chief took a gulp of the pint he'd presumably ordered while waiting. "Now instead of sitting around talking, why don't we continue our noble battle?"
. . . Ah. Julian pulled in his feet to let a few other patrons pass. Things were about to get a little delicate. "Actually, I invited someone to join us this evening. I hope you don't mind."
"Yeah?" The Chief looked surprised, but not yet unpleasantly so. "Who is it, Dax?"
"It's, um. Garak."
"Garak?" So much for that lack of unpleasant surprise. "You invited Garak?"
This was not going well.
"Yes, I, ah—"
"Good evening, gentlemen."
They both turned . . . and even though Julian was well aware he was in hot water, he just couldn't help but smile.
"Adorable" was never, ever a word he'd have thought would apply to Garak under any circumstances, but right now he was having trouble making anything else fit. It seemed Garak had gone ahead and replicated a copy of his and O'Brien's uniforms in his size, and he made the tidiest pilot World War II had ever seen. The string to his flight cap was tied neatly beneath his chin instead of being left to dangle, his trousers were pressed, and he had even gone so far as to shine his boots. It was the most bizarrely endearing thing Julian had ever seen.
"Hello, Garak," he greeted him, not even trying to keep a straight face. "All ready to go?"
"Yes, provided Chief O'Brien is as well," Garak answered.
Julian looked over at the Chief. They held one another's gaze for a long moment—come on, Chief, just this once? —before Miles broke eye contact and sighed. "I'm ready."
Julian grinned and started for the holosuites. "Then our Spitfires await!"
"Doctor," he heard Garak begin as he followed. It sounded as though, in contrast with Julian, he was taking the stairs at a sedate one at a time. "Forgive me my ignorance, but what is the Battle of Britain? I assume it was an important and honourable battle, as Commander Worf might say, but I'm afraid that's all I know."
Julian glanced behind him (the sight of Garak in that cap was one he would never forget) then said, "Actually, the Battle of Britain was the name of a campaign that took place hundreds of years ago. It was to protect Britain from the German air force, the Luftwaffe, over a period of—four months, was it?"
"Three months and three weeks," the Chief corrected from the rear.
Julian shrugged a little. Close enough. "The war was going very much in Germany's favour at that point and the Germans thought England's surrender was going to be quick and inevitable. But the English held the line and defended their island and handed the Germans a resounding defeat!"
"I see. It sounds as though this is a very exciting program. But I do hope it's forgiving of newcomers—learning to fly ancient Earth aircraft wasn't precisely part of my training as a . . . tailor," Garak said, making Julian grin again. Of course that pause was deliberate; it couldn't be anything else.
Once he'd reached his and the Chief's usual holosuite, Julian keyed in his passcode and started the program running. "There's nothing to worry about. All the controls for the planes are vastly simplified. The Chief and I don't have enough time to go through full flight training on top of our usual duties."
"Damn right we don't," the Chief agreed.
"I'm glad to hear it. I'll do my best not to be too much of an impediment." Garak smiled.
And Julian grinned again. "You'll do fine." He took one last look at the Chief and Garak and tried not to laugh at the contrast between his friends. If there were two more different men on the station, it would be a real challenge locating them. "All right, then! For King and Country!"
"For King and Country!" the Chief echoed, finally cracking a smile, and off they all went.
*
"Tell me you're not planning on inviting Garak to all of our holosuite sessions," the Chief demanded the moment Garak had left Quark's.
Julian frowned. He'd thought that hadn't gone too badly, all things considered, but it appeared his opinion wasn't unanimously shared. "No, of course not—the holosuite is our thing." He drew in a breath. "Look, Chief, I know you don't like Garak, but—"
"It's not that," Miles interrupted. He dropped onto a barstool. "The man shot down more planes than the two of us put together! On his first try! 'Newcomer' my arse."
Suddenly feeling much lighter, Julian joined him. He caught Quark's eye (and the eyeroll at their costumes), then replied, "Cheer up, Chief. At least you downed the second-highest number of planes."
As competitive as Julian could be, he found he didn't mind being figuratively blown out of the water—er, air—today. There was just something so . . . riveting about the efficiency with which Garak picked the enemy bombers out of the sky. It also could have been rather alarming, had it been anyone but Garak piloting the Spitfire.
Chief O'Brien did not cheer up. On the contrary, he grunted. "It's not even his bloody planet."
"So give him a higher difficulty setting next time."
"Two pints of bitter for the 'flyboys,'" Quark interrupted, setting one mug apiece before them. He then glanced about. "Wasn't Garak with you earlier?"
"He said he needed to be going," Julian answered. He was assuming Garak had wanted to give him and the Chief some time together, which was kind of him and probably also prudent.
"Some people have the sense not to sit around in silly costumes," Quark commented, then leaned forward. "Hey, tell him to have a celebratory glass of kanar next time, will you? I still have a lot of stock to move."
"He tells us this after making fun of our 'silly costumes,'" Miles said to Julian.
Quark held up his hands. "I'm not judging. I'm being objective here. Really, though, talk to him. It'll do him good to get out more."
He headed off for the dabo tables; Julian shook his head. Somehow, he didn't think he'd be passing that message on.
"Anyway. How are Keiko and Molly doing?"
The rest of the evening passed very pleasantly and, after some time in Quark's, a little fuzzily. All in all, Julian was pleased with how things had turned out. They really would have to do this again sometime.
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Romance
Rating & Warnings: PG (sexual references, alcohol)
Beta: tinsnip
Words: This part 2400, 6233 overall
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
Summary: Over the past weeks, without realising it, Julian had been taking Garak's company for granted. But no longer: he's going to make certain to properly include Garak in his life from now on, and the first way he intends to do so is--to invite him along to one of his holosuite sessions with Chief O'Brien.
Author's Notes: This fic comes from two sources: an incredibly awesome commission I ordered from petaq (art journal at dziwaczka), and from reading A Stitch in Time by Andrew Robinson, specifically the parts where Garak gets jealous of Julian and Miles' holosuite sessions. With both of those things in mind, I ended up writing this last May, although I haven't had time to clean up and post it until now. I had a lot of fun writing this and learned quite a bit about the Battle of Britain into the bargain, so I hope everyone enjoys the piece!
Thank you to tinsnip for checking this over to make sure relationship things unrolled realistically. I owe you one. <3
Julian gusted through the promenade, slipping through this gap in the crowd here, blowing past strolling shoppers there. He was due back in the infirmary in two minutes—thank goodness for Dr. Rawat staying on past the end of his shift or he wouldn't even have that—but he just had to make this last quick stop, at Garak's Clothiers.
He could have contacted Garak by computer, of course. But if he was going to be cancelling lunch on him, the least he could do was deliver the message in person. And, well, he hadn't seen Garak in nearly three days now. It just didn't seem right.
He felt a little guilty when he jogged into Garak's shop to find his friend on the verge of exiting—though that was quickly supplanted by alarm at being suddenly on a collision course. Garak fortunately made a neat sidestep in time, saving them both from visiting the infirmary as head injury patients.
"Ah, Doctor, there you are," Garak began but Julian didn't have time to let him get any further.
"Sorry, Garak, I have to cancel—what about tomorrow?"
Garak's smile stilled for a moment. His eyelids dropped a fraction. "Of course. My schedule is as always completely open. Did you forget you had promised Chief O'Brien a game of darts?"
And there it was, just as Jadzia had said. How had he not noticed before?
But he'd think about this later, when he wasn't testing the limits of Dr. Rawat's kindness. "No, the entire crew of the Ferengi vessel that just docked needs to be treated for Tokassan flu. Half of them are sneezing themselves crosseyed and if we don't look after them now, the whole station will be infected by tomorrow evening."
"Well, far be it for me to interfere. I'll see you tomorrow, then—provided you aren't afflicted by the same malady as your patients." Garak widened his eyes in an expression of utter sincerity. "The life of a physician on the frontier truly is a glamorous one. You have my deepest envy."
"Garak. . . ." Was no one going to let him forget that?
And damn, damn, damn, he never could have a short conversation with Garak. He needed to run, now!
He spun on the balls of his feet to dash away. "Have a good afternoon—oh!" He spun right back around again, because this was the perfect time to act on his idea. "Garak, what are you doing this evening?"
Garak's expression was an entertaining mix of amusement and mild confusion. "I had been planning on watching that recording of Romeo and Juliet you had given me, but that can wait for another time. Why do you ask?"
"The Chief and I were planning on giving the Battle of Britain another go. Why don't you join us?"
"Oh, I don't think so," Garak immediately said, as Julian knew he would. "I couldn't possibly intrude on your time together."
"It's not intruding if I ask you. I want you there, Garak—it would be fun," he insisted.
Garak lowered his chin. "Does Chief O'Brien want me there, I wonder."
"He'll be fine." He fought the urge to fidget. He was going to owe Dr. Rawat so many favours after this! "Come on, Garak, if you don't like it, you can leave. Just try it this once. I've been so busy lately—I want to spend a little time with you that doesn't involve me running out halfway through."
He could see Garak changing his mind and—in for a penny, in for a pound. . . . "I've missed you."
A beat, then Garak sighed. "I'm afraid I don't have anything to wear."
"You still have the patterns for my costume and the Chief's, don't you? You can just replicate something for now and fix it later." And now he really had to go. "I'll meet you at nineteen hundred hours at Quark's—see you then!"
He didn't wait for Garak's answer but sprinted out of the shop. Whining patients and spraying bodily fluids, here he came.
It had been Jadzia who had noticed it first, which he could still barely believe. She and Garak spent no more time together than it took for Garak to make her the occasional offduty outfit or holosuite costume, but after witnessing just one interaction between himself and Garak, she had picked up on something extremely important.
"Julian, I think Garak is jealous of the time you and the Chief spend together," she had said once they'd sat down at Quark's with their drinks.
It had seemingly come out of deep space, and for one bewildered moment, he had only blinked at her. "Jealous? Jadzia, you can't be serious."
"I am."
She'd nodded at where Garak had been making his way out of the bar and onto the promenade; they had run into each other as he'd been on his way to meet Jadzia. Julian had taken the opportunity to explain that he would need to cut their lunch short the next day as he'd promised the Chief a pint and darts that afternoon. The Chief was so busy now, given his family had at last returned to the station, that Julian needed to snatch whatever time with him he could. He'd thought Garak had understood, but according to Jadzia, he'd only been pretending.
"No offence, but I believe you're mistaken," he'd said (thinking back to that still made him wince). "I've known Garak for years. He was perfectly fine with making the change to our schedule."
"Mmhmm." Jadzia's skepticism couldn't have been plainer. "Out of curiosity, how many times lately have you rescheduled on him for the Chief's sake?"
He had frowned. "Not . . . too many." At first, he hadn't been able to recall more than one or two other instances. But the more he'd thought. . . . "I, um, don't think."
Jadzia hadn't scolded him. She hadn't done anything but say kindly, "I think Garak might be feeling a little left out. Next time, you probably should be a little more careful with your scheduling."
All the same, Julian had been struck through with guilt. Did Garak think he was being taken for granted? Of course it wasn't true—Julian prized his friendship just as highly as he always had—but it was possible Garak had gotten the wrong impression.
If that were the case, though, why hadn't Garak said anything?
"I will," he'd answered distractedly.
A hand squeezing his arm had made him look up into Jadzia's understanding smile.
"Try not to worry about it," she'd said. "Now that you know, you can start making amends."
"Yes, of course, you're right." He'd had to sit hard on the need to run out right then and there to patch things up, but he'd managed it. He had even produced a smile. "Why don't we go order our meal before I start making you feel neglected?"
Jadzia had laughed, and spending a few hours with her had done much to lift his spirits, but he hadn't forgotten her words. From that point on, he'd told himself, he'd kept a sharp eye out for any jealousy on Garak's part. And he would make certain Garak felt every bit as as valued as he was.
"All set to defend England's mountains green?" Chief O'Brien asked cheerfully that evening.
"Almost." Julian glanced about—no sign of Garak yet—then seated himself at the Chief's table at Quark's, stretching out his booted feet. "You're a bit early, aren't you?"
"It was either leave now and finish up later or bring the whole bloody conduit down around my ears out of sheer frustration. I was ready to tear the damn thing to pieces, so I decided to give it a rest."
"Very good. I'm glad to hear you're taking the advice of your physician and looking out for that blood pressure of yours."
"Don't you start." The Chief took a gulp of the pint he'd presumably ordered while waiting. "Now instead of sitting around talking, why don't we continue our noble battle?"
. . . Ah. Julian pulled in his feet to let a few other patrons pass. Things were about to get a little delicate. "Actually, I invited someone to join us this evening. I hope you don't mind."
"Yeah?" The Chief looked surprised, but not yet unpleasantly so. "Who is it, Dax?"
"It's, um. Garak."
"Garak?" So much for that lack of unpleasant surprise. "You invited Garak?"
This was not going well.
"Yes, I, ah—"
"Good evening, gentlemen."
They both turned . . . and even though Julian was well aware he was in hot water, he just couldn't help but smile.
"Adorable" was never, ever a word he'd have thought would apply to Garak under any circumstances, but right now he was having trouble making anything else fit. It seemed Garak had gone ahead and replicated a copy of his and O'Brien's uniforms in his size, and he made the tidiest pilot World War II had ever seen. The string to his flight cap was tied neatly beneath his chin instead of being left to dangle, his trousers were pressed, and he had even gone so far as to shine his boots. It was the most bizarrely endearing thing Julian had ever seen.
"Hello, Garak," he greeted him, not even trying to keep a straight face. "All ready to go?"
"Yes, provided Chief O'Brien is as well," Garak answered.
Julian looked over at the Chief. They held one another's gaze for a long moment—come on, Chief, just this once? —before Miles broke eye contact and sighed. "I'm ready."
Julian grinned and started for the holosuites. "Then our Spitfires await!"
"Doctor," he heard Garak begin as he followed. It sounded as though, in contrast with Julian, he was taking the stairs at a sedate one at a time. "Forgive me my ignorance, but what is the Battle of Britain? I assume it was an important and honourable battle, as Commander Worf might say, but I'm afraid that's all I know."
Julian glanced behind him (the sight of Garak in that cap was one he would never forget) then said, "Actually, the Battle of Britain was the name of a campaign that took place hundreds of years ago. It was to protect Britain from the German air force, the Luftwaffe, over a period of—four months, was it?"
"Three months and three weeks," the Chief corrected from the rear.
Julian shrugged a little. Close enough. "The war was going very much in Germany's favour at that point and the Germans thought England's surrender was going to be quick and inevitable. But the English held the line and defended their island and handed the Germans a resounding defeat!"
"I see. It sounds as though this is a very exciting program. But I do hope it's forgiving of newcomers—learning to fly ancient Earth aircraft wasn't precisely part of my training as a . . . tailor," Garak said, making Julian grin again. Of course that pause was deliberate; it couldn't be anything else.
Once he'd reached his and the Chief's usual holosuite, Julian keyed in his passcode and started the program running. "There's nothing to worry about. All the controls for the planes are vastly simplified. The Chief and I don't have enough time to go through full flight training on top of our usual duties."
"Damn right we don't," the Chief agreed.
"I'm glad to hear it. I'll do my best not to be too much of an impediment." Garak smiled.
And Julian grinned again. "You'll do fine." He took one last look at the Chief and Garak and tried not to laugh at the contrast between his friends. If there were two more different men on the station, it would be a real challenge locating them. "All right, then! For King and Country!"
"For King and Country!" the Chief echoed, finally cracking a smile, and off they all went.
"Tell me you're not planning on inviting Garak to all of our holosuite sessions," the Chief demanded the moment Garak had left Quark's.
Julian frowned. He'd thought that hadn't gone too badly, all things considered, but it appeared his opinion wasn't unanimously shared. "No, of course not—the holosuite is our thing." He drew in a breath. "Look, Chief, I know you don't like Garak, but—"
"It's not that," Miles interrupted. He dropped onto a barstool. "The man shot down more planes than the two of us put together! On his first try! 'Newcomer' my arse."
Suddenly feeling much lighter, Julian joined him. He caught Quark's eye (and the eyeroll at their costumes), then replied, "Cheer up, Chief. At least you downed the second-highest number of planes."
As competitive as Julian could be, he found he didn't mind being figuratively blown out of the water—er, air—today. There was just something so . . . riveting about the efficiency with which Garak picked the enemy bombers out of the sky. It also could have been rather alarming, had it been anyone but Garak piloting the Spitfire.
Chief O'Brien did not cheer up. On the contrary, he grunted. "It's not even his bloody planet."
"So give him a higher difficulty setting next time."
"Two pints of bitter for the 'flyboys,'" Quark interrupted, setting one mug apiece before them. He then glanced about. "Wasn't Garak with you earlier?"
"He said he needed to be going," Julian answered. He was assuming Garak had wanted to give him and the Chief some time together, which was kind of him and probably also prudent.
"Some people have the sense not to sit around in silly costumes," Quark commented, then leaned forward. "Hey, tell him to have a celebratory glass of kanar next time, will you? I still have a lot of stock to move."
"He tells us this after making fun of our 'silly costumes,'" Miles said to Julian.
Quark held up his hands. "I'm not judging. I'm being objective here. Really, though, talk to him. It'll do him good to get out more."
He headed off for the dabo tables; Julian shook his head. Somehow, he didn't think he'd be passing that message on.
"Anyway. How are Keiko and Molly doing?"
The rest of the evening passed very pleasantly and, after some time in Quark's, a little fuzzily. All in all, Julian was pleased with how things had turned out. They really would have to do this again sometime.
