DD9 - Merry Christmas Eve! [5/7]
Dec. 24th, 2013 10:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seikilosTitle: The Summer Sun in Winter
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Fluff/AU
Rating & Warnings: PG (language)
Words: This part 1613, 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: Christmas Eve.
Author's Notes: Merry Christmas Eve! I hope all of you have had a good day, whether you celebrate the holiday or not. And if things didn't go so well, I hope Julian and Elim being romantic dorks will bring a smile to your face, because boy do they do a lot of that in this chapter.
<3
(5)
Christmas Eve began with a silly, delightful tussle when Garak inquired a little too incredulously as to whether Julian truly had finished his Christmas shopping. Julian had flipped a corner of the blanket onto his face, Garak had flipped it back, and that had been all the excuse either of them had needed. The tussle had evolved into something else entirely after that, and was eventually followed by a long and lazy breakfast.
They had planned on not doing much of anything all day, which meant Julian had looked quite guilty when, mid-afternoon, he received an invite to go carolling. He would have turned it down, but, setting selfishness aside, Garak had insisted he accept if he wanted to.
Julian had, and so off Garak had sent him. He had stayed behind. Julian's friends presumably did wish to see Julian alone on occasion, and this allowed him both to have cocoa ready for Julian upon his return and to avoid the suddenly much colder weather that had settled in since the night of Jadzia's party.
Julian returned a few hours later, flushed with the cold, energetic from the time with his friends, and sprinkled lightly with snow. It was melting into his coat and perched on the top strands of his hair, and there was even one stray snowflake caught in his eyelashes.
Garak greeted Julian with a kiss, savouring the contrast of cold lips against warm. (Winter could almost be redeemed by moments such as this.) He brought out the cocoa from the kitchen and they both settled in to either recapture warmth or savour the pleasure of having never lost it.
He found himself thinking about the better parts of winter again later that evening, long after supper. It was difficult not to feel more charitable about the season when they sat together with a glass of wine each, all lights save those from the tree dimmed. In the ambience of their glow—which wasn't quite so garish, he found, after all—they existed in a meditative world of each other, for once speaking rarely. Instead, they preferred to simply be, and be with one another.
When it came time to prepare for bed, it took a long time for them to act. Neither of them wanted to break the peace they had created. But, at last, in an unconscious, simultaneous decision, they sighed and rose and left the living room behind.
*
Just before getting into bed, Julian unexpectedly and inexplicably retrieved a pair of bright red socks from his drawer and disappeared from the room.
"What in the world are you doing?" Garak called after him, mystified.
He received no answer until Julian returned with the addition of a roll of masking tape. He tugged off a length. "Hanging our stockings. I considered using tacks, but I thought you wouldn't appreciate it."
Garak watched as Julian proceeded to tape both socks to the end of his bed. All he could think of to say was, "I hope those are clean."
"They are, don't worry. I wouldn't want to chase away Father Christmas with smelly socks—or you, for that matter."
"Thank you. I appreciate your consideration." He watched Julian finish up and join him on the bed, then had to ask: "Might I ask why you've suddenly decided to do this? You hadn't demonstrated any interest in preparing for Father Christmas in previous years."
He had been expecting a flippant response, something light and easily dismissed. Instead, what he received was silence. His eyebrows lifted, then lifted farther when Julian said, "This is going to sound silly."
He could have said: "Sillier than hanging up stockings for Father Christmas?" He didn't. Instead, his answer was, "I hope by now, my dear, that you know you're free to speak your mind with me about any subject, no matter how silly you might think it is."
Julian looked up long enough to give him a brief smile. His gaze went back to the socks at the end of the bed and, after a moment of what appeared to be gathering himself up, said, "Well . . . it's that, when I go back to Andor and everyone at the hospital starts talking about what they did for their holidays, I, um, . . . want all of the memories the conversation brings up to be of you." His gaze slipped over, uncertain, and it was a dagger to the heart in the most exquisite way. "It doesn't matter if they talk about going to a party or going carolling or decorating a tree or anything else—I want you to be there. Even if you're only there in my thoughts."
He abruptly raked a hand through his hair. "God, I sound ridiculous."
"Not in the slightest," Garak said softly as his arms stole around Julian.
It twitched a smile out of him. "Good, because I'm certainly sounding ridiculous to me." He let out a breath. "Anyway . . . I didn't have any memories of doing this with you, so I thought I'd change that. And, um." Julian at last looked him fully in the face, if not the eye. "I'm assuming you don't have any memories of hanging stockings for Father Christmas, so I thought I'd change that, too."
. . . It remained the greatest mystery of his life, how he, Elim Garak, could possibly have won the heart of the man in his arms. It was beyond him even in the ordinary moments—watching Julian eat cereal at the kitchen table in his pajamas, shopping together for groceries. But in this moment of extraordinary kindness, the magnitude of his fortune was, quite simply, beyond his comprehension.
Julian had turned to face him, looking for confirmation that his instincts had been good. Garak gave it to him in the form of a kiss as light as snow.
"That would be a very safe assumption to make," he murmured—and then, suddenly, he laughed.
Julian jumped a little. "What?"
He subdued himself with effort. "Oh, just the thought of" —his chuckles returned, unstoppable— "of Enabran Tain playing Father Christmas."
Julian boggled before he, too, was lost to helpless laughter. "God, can you imagine the beard?"
Garak half leaned, half fell against him; they shook with giggles against each other. "And the mittens?"
"Ho ho ho," Julian wheezed, and that was it for both of them.
Finally, first Garak and then Julian managed to reassert control. With sore stomachs from mirth and cheeks stretched from too wide smiles, they tucked themselves under the covers, said and kissed (and kissed) their good nights, and at last Julian settled down to sleep.
Garak did not. He feigned the slowing of his breath even as he listened to Julian's and deliberately relaxed his limbs. When he felt certain Julian had been asleep for some time, he used every last piece of skill he had to slide from beneath the covers and pad barefoot from the room.
He moved through the apartment as silently as if it belonged to another, thinking at a tremendous rate. All his presents for Julian were wrapped and under the tree. What did he have left that he could possibly give him? What did Father Christmas leave for children in their stockings?
His first two ideas were simple to assemble and, on their own, certainly would have been enough to fill one not particularly large sock. But it was too easy, much too easy, and not at all what Julian deserved. He needed something else.
When the idea came to him, he forced himself not to rush as he assembled his supplies. There was a chance he would be discovered, it was true, but for Julian, he needed to do this right.
Once he was prepared, he went to sit at the kitchen table. He squinted through the darkness without his glasses, his heart beating hard enough to make his hand shake if he let it, and soundlessly, he set himself to his delicate, vital work.
*
Not long after he had returned to bed, he felt Julian attempt to creep away unnoticed. He pretended to come close to waking—he heard Julian hold his breath—before he supposedly settled once more into sleep. There was silence, and then the sound of Julian moving about their room as softly as he was able.
He listened to him rustle about, presumably gathering his gifts. Once he was done, he heard him tiptoe to the end of their bed. Garak smiled to himself when the noises suddenly stopped: Julian had discovered his full sock. It was a few moments before they resumed.
He listened to Julian placing gifts inside his "stocking." He could also hear the sound of masking tape letting go, little by little. Each time it gave, he could hear Julian's breath pause, then resume as the tape held.
. . . Until it didn't. In quick succession was the sound of peeling, a muffled thud, and a whispered "Shit." Now it took everything he had not to let his shoulders shake. Such language.
Off Julian went. In the nighttime silence, it wasn't difficult to pick out the sound of more tape being pulled from the roll one room over, which once again taxed his efforts to remain straight-faced. When Julian returned, he seemed to spend quite a while affixing the stocking before he was satisfied it would remain in place. But at last the task was finished and Julian returned to bed. Garak continue to pretend ignorance to his absence, as difficult as it was not to react when a slim arm curled around him.
He lasted five minutes before he shuffled more comfortably into Julian's arms.
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Fluff/AU
Rating & Warnings: PG (language)
Words: This part 1613, 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: Christmas Eve.
Author's Notes: Merry Christmas Eve! I hope all of you have had a good day, whether you celebrate the holiday or not. And if things didn't go so well, I hope Julian and Elim being romantic dorks will bring a smile to your face, because boy do they do a lot of that in this chapter.
<3
Christmas Eve began with a silly, delightful tussle when Garak inquired a little too incredulously as to whether Julian truly had finished his Christmas shopping. Julian had flipped a corner of the blanket onto his face, Garak had flipped it back, and that had been all the excuse either of them had needed. The tussle had evolved into something else entirely after that, and was eventually followed by a long and lazy breakfast.
They had planned on not doing much of anything all day, which meant Julian had looked quite guilty when, mid-afternoon, he received an invite to go carolling. He would have turned it down, but, setting selfishness aside, Garak had insisted he accept if he wanted to.
Julian had, and so off Garak had sent him. He had stayed behind. Julian's friends presumably did wish to see Julian alone on occasion, and this allowed him both to have cocoa ready for Julian upon his return and to avoid the suddenly much colder weather that had settled in since the night of Jadzia's party.
Julian returned a few hours later, flushed with the cold, energetic from the time with his friends, and sprinkled lightly with snow. It was melting into his coat and perched on the top strands of his hair, and there was even one stray snowflake caught in his eyelashes.
Garak greeted Julian with a kiss, savouring the contrast of cold lips against warm. (Winter could almost be redeemed by moments such as this.) He brought out the cocoa from the kitchen and they both settled in to either recapture warmth or savour the pleasure of having never lost it.
He found himself thinking about the better parts of winter again later that evening, long after supper. It was difficult not to feel more charitable about the season when they sat together with a glass of wine each, all lights save those from the tree dimmed. In the ambience of their glow—which wasn't quite so garish, he found, after all—they existed in a meditative world of each other, for once speaking rarely. Instead, they preferred to simply be, and be with one another.
When it came time to prepare for bed, it took a long time for them to act. Neither of them wanted to break the peace they had created. But, at last, in an unconscious, simultaneous decision, they sighed and rose and left the living room behind.
Just before getting into bed, Julian unexpectedly and inexplicably retrieved a pair of bright red socks from his drawer and disappeared from the room.
"What in the world are you doing?" Garak called after him, mystified.
He received no answer until Julian returned with the addition of a roll of masking tape. He tugged off a length. "Hanging our stockings. I considered using tacks, but I thought you wouldn't appreciate it."
Garak watched as Julian proceeded to tape both socks to the end of his bed. All he could think of to say was, "I hope those are clean."
"They are, don't worry. I wouldn't want to chase away Father Christmas with smelly socks—or you, for that matter."
"Thank you. I appreciate your consideration." He watched Julian finish up and join him on the bed, then had to ask: "Might I ask why you've suddenly decided to do this? You hadn't demonstrated any interest in preparing for Father Christmas in previous years."
He had been expecting a flippant response, something light and easily dismissed. Instead, what he received was silence. His eyebrows lifted, then lifted farther when Julian said, "This is going to sound silly."
He could have said: "Sillier than hanging up stockings for Father Christmas?" He didn't. Instead, his answer was, "I hope by now, my dear, that you know you're free to speak your mind with me about any subject, no matter how silly you might think it is."
Julian looked up long enough to give him a brief smile. His gaze went back to the socks at the end of the bed and, after a moment of what appeared to be gathering himself up, said, "Well . . . it's that, when I go back to Andor and everyone at the hospital starts talking about what they did for their holidays, I, um, . . . want all of the memories the conversation brings up to be of you." His gaze slipped over, uncertain, and it was a dagger to the heart in the most exquisite way. "It doesn't matter if they talk about going to a party or going carolling or decorating a tree or anything else—I want you to be there. Even if you're only there in my thoughts."
He abruptly raked a hand through his hair. "God, I sound ridiculous."
"Not in the slightest," Garak said softly as his arms stole around Julian.
It twitched a smile out of him. "Good, because I'm certainly sounding ridiculous to me." He let out a breath. "Anyway . . . I didn't have any memories of doing this with you, so I thought I'd change that. And, um." Julian at last looked him fully in the face, if not the eye. "I'm assuming you don't have any memories of hanging stockings for Father Christmas, so I thought I'd change that, too."
. . . It remained the greatest mystery of his life, how he, Elim Garak, could possibly have won the heart of the man in his arms. It was beyond him even in the ordinary moments—watching Julian eat cereal at the kitchen table in his pajamas, shopping together for groceries. But in this moment of extraordinary kindness, the magnitude of his fortune was, quite simply, beyond his comprehension.
Julian had turned to face him, looking for confirmation that his instincts had been good. Garak gave it to him in the form of a kiss as light as snow.
"That would be a very safe assumption to make," he murmured—and then, suddenly, he laughed.
Julian jumped a little. "What?"
He subdued himself with effort. "Oh, just the thought of" —his chuckles returned, unstoppable— "of Enabran Tain playing Father Christmas."
Julian boggled before he, too, was lost to helpless laughter. "God, can you imagine the beard?"
Garak half leaned, half fell against him; they shook with giggles against each other. "And the mittens?"
"Ho ho ho," Julian wheezed, and that was it for both of them.
Finally, first Garak and then Julian managed to reassert control. With sore stomachs from mirth and cheeks stretched from too wide smiles, they tucked themselves under the covers, said and kissed (and kissed) their good nights, and at last Julian settled down to sleep.
Garak did not. He feigned the slowing of his breath even as he listened to Julian's and deliberately relaxed his limbs. When he felt certain Julian had been asleep for some time, he used every last piece of skill he had to slide from beneath the covers and pad barefoot from the room.
He moved through the apartment as silently as if it belonged to another, thinking at a tremendous rate. All his presents for Julian were wrapped and under the tree. What did he have left that he could possibly give him? What did Father Christmas leave for children in their stockings?
His first two ideas were simple to assemble and, on their own, certainly would have been enough to fill one not particularly large sock. But it was too easy, much too easy, and not at all what Julian deserved. He needed something else.
When the idea came to him, he forced himself not to rush as he assembled his supplies. There was a chance he would be discovered, it was true, but for Julian, he needed to do this right.
Once he was prepared, he went to sit at the kitchen table. He squinted through the darkness without his glasses, his heart beating hard enough to make his hand shake if he let it, and soundlessly, he set himself to his delicate, vital work.
Not long after he had returned to bed, he felt Julian attempt to creep away unnoticed. He pretended to come close to waking—he heard Julian hold his breath—before he supposedly settled once more into sleep. There was silence, and then the sound of Julian moving about their room as softly as he was able.
He listened to him rustle about, presumably gathering his gifts. Once he was done, he heard him tiptoe to the end of their bed. Garak smiled to himself when the noises suddenly stopped: Julian had discovered his full sock. It was a few moments before they resumed.
He listened to Julian placing gifts inside his "stocking." He could also hear the sound of masking tape letting go, little by little. Each time it gave, he could hear Julian's breath pause, then resume as the tape held.
. . . Until it didn't. In quick succession was the sound of peeling, a muffled thud, and a whispered "Shit." Now it took everything he had not to let his shoulders shake. Such language.
Off Julian went. In the nighttime silence, it wasn't difficult to pick out the sound of more tape being pulled from the roll one room over, which once again taxed his efforts to remain straight-faced. When Julian returned, he seemed to spend quite a while affixing the stocking before he was satisfied it would remain in place. But at last the task was finished and Julian returned to bed. Garak continue to pretend ignorance to his absence, as difficult as it was not to react when a slim arm curled around him.
He lasted five minutes before he shuffled more comfortably into Julian's arms.
