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DD9 - ...and continues.... [3/7]
Title: The Summer Sun in Winter
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Fluff/AU
Rating & Warnings: PG (references to alcohol)
Words: This part 2125, appr. 14.5k overall
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
Summary: Julian has spent the last six months working as a doctor at a hospital in Andor. Now he's home for the holidays, to the joy of all of his friends--but especially Garak. This chapter: Jadzia's Christmas party.
Author's Notes: And in this chapter I continue to enjoy including cameos from the other characters, because DS9 has such a great cast. A tip of the hat goes to tinsnip's delightful "Dancing in a Dance Club" for a certain part of this, which should be immediately obvious upon reading. ♥
(3)
This time, not long after Garak woke the next morning, Julian did as well. As he was sliding silently out of bed, long-fingered hands curled around his arms, long limbs drew him close, and it was a long time before he left the bed again.
He'd had to rush through breakfast and rush through dressing and his toilette. It left him dreadfully untidy, but the lingering glow from their time together made the disarray worth it.
Over the next couple of days, he and Julian continued to settle into a routine . . . as far as the actions of such a short period of time could be considered such. While Garak worked in his shop, Julian caught up with his friends and continued his increasingly despairing quest to find gifts before the inexorable deadline of Christmas. They took turns selecting where to eat lunch—Julian's choice, when it came up, was once again Deep Dish Nine—and they spent at least part of every evening together.
Their routine changed when Friday, the night of Jadzia's party, arrived. Garak had decidedly mixed feelings about the whole affair, but if the choice was a boisterous Christmas party with Julian or peace and quiet without him . . . well, his decision had already been made, hadn't it?
He began reevaluating said decision when, out of the scattered mass of belongings that had once somehow fit into a single large suitcase, Julian produced a garish Santa hat.
Garak felt his nose wrinkle all on its own. "Tell me that isn't part of the dress code."
"It could be." And before he could stop him, Julian had plopped the hat onto his head. His partner immediately was rendered helpless with laughter.
Garak let him have his fun for one stoic-faced moment before removing the hat from his head in the sort of pincer grasp most people reserved for handling dead fish.
"I believe if anyone is to submit himself to this commercialised horror, it should be you," he informed Julian as he returned the hat.
Julian placed it on his head. "Thanks for the compliment, Mr. Grinch."
"I'm always happy to oblige," he replied with a sweet smile that earned him a grin and a kiss on the cheek.
He felt his expression relax. Even if the party turned into a test of his endurance, that moment had already paid for all of it.
It didn't take either of them long to finish preparing, and soon they were out the door—once Julian had snagged a case of beer from the fridge that Garak certainly hadn't put there.
On the drive over and during a brief pause in the conversation, Julian asked, "Who's driving home tonight?"
"I assume I am," Garak answered.
There was a bit of guilt in his partner's voice when he next said, "It's all right—I don't mind being designated driver if you'd like to try the eggnog this time. Or anything else, for that matter."
There weren't any stop signs or lights for a while, and so Garak kept his eyes on the road. He did, however, take one hand from the wheel to set it on Julian's knee. "Not to worry, my dear. My interest in drinking tonight is minimal. Even had I wanted to, I need to be at the shop and reasonably alert tomorrow morning, so either way, I can't afford a hangover. Feel free to indulge yourself to your heart's content."
"Thanks, Elim."
He felt a mittened hand cover his; the corners of his mouth lifted quite without his permission.
The party wasn't being held at the Dax sisters' apartment, as he'd initially expected. Apparently not only was their home too small for the number of people Jadzia had invited, but their landlord had threatened to evict the pair of them if things got too noisy "again."
Instead, Mr. Sisko was the host. Though Garak had never been to his house, it was simple to find: it was the one lit top to bottom with holiday decorations almost as tacky as Julian's hat. It was also the one with cars packed in the driveway and lined up on either side of the street for what seemed to be half the block.
There was no place near the house to park, although Garak certainly tried to find something. The overcast skies had at last cleared late in the afternoon, just in time for him to soak up the golden day's-end sunlight. Once the sun had gone down, however, the temperature had followed, leaving the air unpleasantly sharp.
As they approached the house, the sounds of chatting, Christmas music, and laughter floated from a couple of slightly-opened windows on the second floor. It appeared the number of people inside was such that there was quite a bit of body heat being generated—a neat bit of furnace oil savings for the Siskos.
At Julian's knock, the door was opened by, unexpectedly, Nog. Though, then again, Garak supposed his presence made sense: he and Jake Sisko had been friends for years. As well, he'd heard Mr. Sisko had recently taken Nog under his wing, so to speak.
"Julian, Garak, welcome. May I take your coats?" Nog asked with more than a touch of self-importance.
"Oh, thanks."
"Yes, thank you."
Julian zipped off his jacket and rammed his scarf and mitts into his sleeve; Garak removed his coat, folded his scarf, and placed it and his gloves in the deep side pockets.
"Not a problem. Just leave the beer by the door and I'll take care of it," Nog added.
"Not by drinking it, I hope," Julian joked as he complied.
He got a weary look in reply. "Very funny. Mr. Sisko would like me to tell you to make yourselves at home, and if you need anything, talk to one of his family, myself, or Jadzia. Now if you'll excuse me."
Off he went with their coats. Garak kept an eye on him as he departed. His car keys were safe in the pocket of his trousers and he had worn outdoor clothing he wouldn't mind losing, but that didn't mean he was going to be careless with his belongings—particularly when the young man handling them had once had a reputation for being light-fingered.
"So, where to first?"
Julian's voice brought back his attention from Nog's attempted progress through the truly impressive crowd, and he transferred his gaze accordingly.
"To wherever you like. I have no particular plans."
"Well. . . ." Julian craned his neck, but before he could do more than start scanning the living room, there was a squeal loud enough to rise over the background din.
"Julian!"
This time, instead of Ezri, Leeta came charging forward, unhesitatingly scattering partygoers around her.
"Jadzia told me you were back—welcome home!" she exclaimed while wrapping up Julian in an enthusiastic hug. She seemed ready to hug Garak, too, but apparently thought better of it at the last minute.
"Thanks, Leeta," Julian answered with plain fondness. "How've you been?"
A few moments into the conversation, Garak left the pair to their reunion and let himself be carried away by the current of the celebration. Already things were proving to be more promising than he had initially expected. When Ezri had made the invitation, he had envisioned himself being the oldest present by a solid fifteen years: not an enjoyable state of affairs by any definition. He had been somewhat relieved to hear later that Mr. Sisko would be the host: at least there would be someone within five or six years of his age present.
But once again, he had misjudged Jadzia. As far as he could determine, her friends ranged in age from seventeen to seventy. He even saw one or two grey heads amidst the mass of people, and while the majority of attendees his age and older were unfortunately Klingons, it was certainly better than nothing.
And speaking of Klingons . . . . There was Worf, scowling away in the corner with a red plastic cup in hand. A redheaded woman he didn't know seemed to be attempting to coax him into the festivities and was obviously having little success. All she appeared to be doing was ensconcing him more firmly in his little domain.
Garak waited until he had caught Worf's eye, then feigned an expression of happy surprise and took a few steps in his direction. Worf didn't quite crush the cup in his hand, which was a shame, but his expression was so murderous that it more than made up for the disappointment. Garak laughed, bowed slightly, and then moved on.
After a little more drifting, he came ashore near the refreshments table and in the company of a Klingon with an eyepatch, Martok. They had just gotten a really satisfying argument going when Jadzia stopped by, no doubt to make certain he wasn't about to be thrown over a table.
Martok's expression switched from the deepest of glares to the widest of grins, as quickly as if the man had changed masks. "Jadzia! There you are!"
They embraced fiercely (Jadzia's friends were a very physically demonstrative group), and Jadzia somehow had enough air left to reply, "Here I am, and here you are! You're not giving Julian's boyfriend a hard time, are you?"
Garak just barely managed not to wince at the descriptor, even when Martok repeated it.
"His boyfriend, eh? I was wondering why you'd thought it a good idea to invite such an argumentative fellow."
"Funny," Garak inserted before Jadzia could speak. "I had just been wondering why Jadzia had seen fit to invite someone with no sense of fun."
"Boys, boys, settle down, now," Jadzia told them. Though she sounded amused, the hands she laid on their forearms were firm. She gave Martok a significant look before turning to him. "I don't suppose I could convince you to dance with me, could I, Garak?"
Garak glanced over to where space was being cleared with difficulty for a dance floor. Already, several couples had paired off, including the Siskos. He returned his gaze to Jadzia and said mildly, "I doubt it."
"What if I said it would make Julian very happy?" she asked.
"How do you know I can dance at all?" he asked right back.
"Because Julian told me. He says you're good."
Garak sighed and spared a moment to regret his betrayal. Then, ignoring Martok's grin, he conceded, "Very well—on one condition."
Jadzia's own grin was just as wide as her Klingon friend's. "Name it."
"We wait until after 'Jingle Bell Rock' is over."
There was only so far he was willing to compromise his dignity, and that did not include dancing to a sixty-year-old novelty song.
Jadzia laughed. "All right. But you're mine for the next one."
When 'Jingle Bell Rock' was mercifully over and they took their place on the dance floor, he wasn't surprised to find Jadzia both a skilled and an energetic dancer. They attracted a fair number of second glances—or rather, he did—but as one of them was from a delighted-looking Julian, he didn't particularly mind. After, Julian insisted on stepping in (he didn't need to insist very hard to get Jadzia to bow out), and from then on, they stayed together for number after number.
Dance floors possessed their own particular brand of anonymity, and though Garak had been expecting otherwise given small size of this one, it turned out to be no exception. Despite knowing many of the people present by sight and even name, once the novelty of him dancing had worn off for his observers, he and Jlian were quite simply ignored. It left Garak feeling very nearly free to accept Julian's affection and even, sometimes, return it.
When music for a slow dance began, Garak came as close as he could to forgetting everyone else in the room. A small part of him remained aware, assessing proximity and risk, making calculations over and over again. But the majority of his focus was on the warmth of Julian in his arms, the synchronised movements of their bodies, the way the lights of the Christmas tree in the corner made the soft look on Julian's face even softer.
When the dance ended, they left the floor hand in hand. They went upstairs, where even the Siskos' office had been opened to guests. A pair Garak didn't recognize left just as they arrived; once they were outside and he and Julian were inside, he closed over the door, ignoring the start of Julian's protest at the selfish gesture.
But then, again without any sort of discussion, they drifted to the window. There they stayed for some time, arms around one another, silently watching the crisp and far-off stars.
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Fluff/AU
Rating & Warnings: PG (references to alcohol)
Words: This part 2125, appr. 14.5k overall
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
Summary: Julian has spent the last six months working as a doctor at a hospital in Andor. Now he's home for the holidays, to the joy of all of his friends--but especially Garak. This chapter: Jadzia's Christmas party.
Author's Notes: And in this chapter I continue to enjoy including cameos from the other characters, because DS9 has such a great cast. A tip of the hat goes to tinsnip's delightful "Dancing in a Dance Club" for a certain part of this, which should be immediately obvious upon reading. ♥
This time, not long after Garak woke the next morning, Julian did as well. As he was sliding silently out of bed, long-fingered hands curled around his arms, long limbs drew him close, and it was a long time before he left the bed again.
He'd had to rush through breakfast and rush through dressing and his toilette. It left him dreadfully untidy, but the lingering glow from their time together made the disarray worth it.
Over the next couple of days, he and Julian continued to settle into a routine . . . as far as the actions of such a short period of time could be considered such. While Garak worked in his shop, Julian caught up with his friends and continued his increasingly despairing quest to find gifts before the inexorable deadline of Christmas. They took turns selecting where to eat lunch—Julian's choice, when it came up, was once again Deep Dish Nine—and they spent at least part of every evening together.
Their routine changed when Friday, the night of Jadzia's party, arrived. Garak had decidedly mixed feelings about the whole affair, but if the choice was a boisterous Christmas party with Julian or peace and quiet without him . . . well, his decision had already been made, hadn't it?
He began reevaluating said decision when, out of the scattered mass of belongings that had once somehow fit into a single large suitcase, Julian produced a garish Santa hat.
Garak felt his nose wrinkle all on its own. "Tell me that isn't part of the dress code."
"It could be." And before he could stop him, Julian had plopped the hat onto his head. His partner immediately was rendered helpless with laughter.
Garak let him have his fun for one stoic-faced moment before removing the hat from his head in the sort of pincer grasp most people reserved for handling dead fish.
"I believe if anyone is to submit himself to this commercialised horror, it should be you," he informed Julian as he returned the hat.
Julian placed it on his head. "Thanks for the compliment, Mr. Grinch."
"I'm always happy to oblige," he replied with a sweet smile that earned him a grin and a kiss on the cheek.
He felt his expression relax. Even if the party turned into a test of his endurance, that moment had already paid for all of it.
It didn't take either of them long to finish preparing, and soon they were out the door—once Julian had snagged a case of beer from the fridge that Garak certainly hadn't put there.
On the drive over and during a brief pause in the conversation, Julian asked, "Who's driving home tonight?"
"I assume I am," Garak answered.
There was a bit of guilt in his partner's voice when he next said, "It's all right—I don't mind being designated driver if you'd like to try the eggnog this time. Or anything else, for that matter."
There weren't any stop signs or lights for a while, and so Garak kept his eyes on the road. He did, however, take one hand from the wheel to set it on Julian's knee. "Not to worry, my dear. My interest in drinking tonight is minimal. Even had I wanted to, I need to be at the shop and reasonably alert tomorrow morning, so either way, I can't afford a hangover. Feel free to indulge yourself to your heart's content."
"Thanks, Elim."
He felt a mittened hand cover his; the corners of his mouth lifted quite without his permission.
The party wasn't being held at the Dax sisters' apartment, as he'd initially expected. Apparently not only was their home too small for the number of people Jadzia had invited, but their landlord had threatened to evict the pair of them if things got too noisy "again."
Instead, Mr. Sisko was the host. Though Garak had never been to his house, it was simple to find: it was the one lit top to bottom with holiday decorations almost as tacky as Julian's hat. It was also the one with cars packed in the driveway and lined up on either side of the street for what seemed to be half the block.
There was no place near the house to park, although Garak certainly tried to find something. The overcast skies had at last cleared late in the afternoon, just in time for him to soak up the golden day's-end sunlight. Once the sun had gone down, however, the temperature had followed, leaving the air unpleasantly sharp.
As they approached the house, the sounds of chatting, Christmas music, and laughter floated from a couple of slightly-opened windows on the second floor. It appeared the number of people inside was such that there was quite a bit of body heat being generated—a neat bit of furnace oil savings for the Siskos.
At Julian's knock, the door was opened by, unexpectedly, Nog. Though, then again, Garak supposed his presence made sense: he and Jake Sisko had been friends for years. As well, he'd heard Mr. Sisko had recently taken Nog under his wing, so to speak.
"Julian, Garak, welcome. May I take your coats?" Nog asked with more than a touch of self-importance.
"Oh, thanks."
"Yes, thank you."
Julian zipped off his jacket and rammed his scarf and mitts into his sleeve; Garak removed his coat, folded his scarf, and placed it and his gloves in the deep side pockets.
"Not a problem. Just leave the beer by the door and I'll take care of it," Nog added.
"Not by drinking it, I hope," Julian joked as he complied.
He got a weary look in reply. "Very funny. Mr. Sisko would like me to tell you to make yourselves at home, and if you need anything, talk to one of his family, myself, or Jadzia. Now if you'll excuse me."
Off he went with their coats. Garak kept an eye on him as he departed. His car keys were safe in the pocket of his trousers and he had worn outdoor clothing he wouldn't mind losing, but that didn't mean he was going to be careless with his belongings—particularly when the young man handling them had once had a reputation for being light-fingered.
"So, where to first?"
Julian's voice brought back his attention from Nog's attempted progress through the truly impressive crowd, and he transferred his gaze accordingly.
"To wherever you like. I have no particular plans."
"Well. . . ." Julian craned his neck, but before he could do more than start scanning the living room, there was a squeal loud enough to rise over the background din.
"Julian!"
This time, instead of Ezri, Leeta came charging forward, unhesitatingly scattering partygoers around her.
"Jadzia told me you were back—welcome home!" she exclaimed while wrapping up Julian in an enthusiastic hug. She seemed ready to hug Garak, too, but apparently thought better of it at the last minute.
"Thanks, Leeta," Julian answered with plain fondness. "How've you been?"
A few moments into the conversation, Garak left the pair to their reunion and let himself be carried away by the current of the celebration. Already things were proving to be more promising than he had initially expected. When Ezri had made the invitation, he had envisioned himself being the oldest present by a solid fifteen years: not an enjoyable state of affairs by any definition. He had been somewhat relieved to hear later that Mr. Sisko would be the host: at least there would be someone within five or six years of his age present.
But once again, he had misjudged Jadzia. As far as he could determine, her friends ranged in age from seventeen to seventy. He even saw one or two grey heads amidst the mass of people, and while the majority of attendees his age and older were unfortunately Klingons, it was certainly better than nothing.
And speaking of Klingons . . . . There was Worf, scowling away in the corner with a red plastic cup in hand. A redheaded woman he didn't know seemed to be attempting to coax him into the festivities and was obviously having little success. All she appeared to be doing was ensconcing him more firmly in his little domain.
Garak waited until he had caught Worf's eye, then feigned an expression of happy surprise and took a few steps in his direction. Worf didn't quite crush the cup in his hand, which was a shame, but his expression was so murderous that it more than made up for the disappointment. Garak laughed, bowed slightly, and then moved on.
After a little more drifting, he came ashore near the refreshments table and in the company of a Klingon with an eyepatch, Martok. They had just gotten a really satisfying argument going when Jadzia stopped by, no doubt to make certain he wasn't about to be thrown over a table.
Martok's expression switched from the deepest of glares to the widest of grins, as quickly as if the man had changed masks. "Jadzia! There you are!"
They embraced fiercely (Jadzia's friends were a very physically demonstrative group), and Jadzia somehow had enough air left to reply, "Here I am, and here you are! You're not giving Julian's boyfriend a hard time, are you?"
Garak just barely managed not to wince at the descriptor, even when Martok repeated it.
"His boyfriend, eh? I was wondering why you'd thought it a good idea to invite such an argumentative fellow."
"Funny," Garak inserted before Jadzia could speak. "I had just been wondering why Jadzia had seen fit to invite someone with no sense of fun."
"Boys, boys, settle down, now," Jadzia told them. Though she sounded amused, the hands she laid on their forearms were firm. She gave Martok a significant look before turning to him. "I don't suppose I could convince you to dance with me, could I, Garak?"
Garak glanced over to where space was being cleared with difficulty for a dance floor. Already, several couples had paired off, including the Siskos. He returned his gaze to Jadzia and said mildly, "I doubt it."
"What if I said it would make Julian very happy?" she asked.
"How do you know I can dance at all?" he asked right back.
"Because Julian told me. He says you're good."
Garak sighed and spared a moment to regret his betrayal. Then, ignoring Martok's grin, he conceded, "Very well—on one condition."
Jadzia's own grin was just as wide as her Klingon friend's. "Name it."
"We wait until after 'Jingle Bell Rock' is over."
There was only so far he was willing to compromise his dignity, and that did not include dancing to a sixty-year-old novelty song.
Jadzia laughed. "All right. But you're mine for the next one."
When 'Jingle Bell Rock' was mercifully over and they took their place on the dance floor, he wasn't surprised to find Jadzia both a skilled and an energetic dancer. They attracted a fair number of second glances—or rather, he did—but as one of them was from a delighted-looking Julian, he didn't particularly mind. After, Julian insisted on stepping in (he didn't need to insist very hard to get Jadzia to bow out), and from then on, they stayed together for number after number.
Dance floors possessed their own particular brand of anonymity, and though Garak had been expecting otherwise given small size of this one, it turned out to be no exception. Despite knowing many of the people present by sight and even name, once the novelty of him dancing had worn off for his observers, he and Jlian were quite simply ignored. It left Garak feeling very nearly free to accept Julian's affection and even, sometimes, return it.
When music for a slow dance began, Garak came as close as he could to forgetting everyone else in the room. A small part of him remained aware, assessing proximity and risk, making calculations over and over again. But the majority of his focus was on the warmth of Julian in his arms, the synchronised movements of their bodies, the way the lights of the Christmas tree in the corner made the soft look on Julian's face even softer.
When the dance ended, they left the floor hand in hand. They went upstairs, where even the Siskos' office had been opened to guests. A pair Garak didn't recognize left just as they arrived; once they were outside and he and Julian were inside, he closed over the door, ignoring the start of Julian's protest at the selfish gesture.
But then, again without any sort of discussion, they drifted to the window. There they stayed for some time, arms around one another, silently watching the crisp and far-off stars.