DD9 - Merry Christmas!

[seikilos]

Title: The Summer Sun in Winter
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Fluff/AU
Rating & Warnings: PG
Words: This part 2567, 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 Day.
Author's Notes: Merry Christmas! I hope Santa was kind to those of you who left their metaphorical chimneys open for him, and all the best wishes to those of you who don't celebrate the holiday. To those of you for whom this is a difficult time of year, I hope you find peace.

This chapter, of all of them, is made of spun sugar--but if you've read this far, I'm going to assume you don't have any objections to that sort of thing. I wrote this well before propheticfire submitted a certain headcanon to the Deep Dish Nine blog on tumblr, and so I was greatly amused when it turned upon my dash. We went sort of in completely opposite directions with it, though.

Thank you to Lady Yate-xel, who was kind enough to loan me a certain idea of hers. <3

Once again, all my love and gratitude to everyone who's read my fics and supported me this year. All of you are awesome and I'm so lucky to have each and every one of you in my life. <3

(6)

"What a surprise!" Garak exclaimed the following morning. "It seems Father Christmas has paid a visit to both of us."

"And he didn't even bring you a lump of coal—he must have been feeling forgiving this year," Julian teased as he left the bed with considerably less care than he had in the middle of the night.

"I would be careful if I were you, my dear," Garak warned, doing the same. "Otherwise, that may be your fate next year."

"I can't imagine Father Christmas has that long of a memory."

"You might be surprised."

He went to investigate his stocking. He had been expecting tiny, silly trinkets—how much could anyone fit in a sock, truly? —and so he was very pleasantly surprised to find a high quality and lightly scented bar of soap, a tiny matching bottle of lotion, and a number of his favourite chocolates. The last was particularly fortunate, as. . . .

"Elim, did you give me your chocolates?"

"I did, yes," he said on a sigh. "You must admit, you didn't precisely leave me with much time to prepare."

"Well—thank you, but here." Julian held out a fistful.

But Garak raised a hand. "I gave them to you, and I intend for you to have them. Take them and enjoy."

He hesitated, then set all but one of the chocolates in a pile on the floor. "Thanks. I promise I won't eat them all at once." He untwisted the foil on the chocolate he held and popped it into his mouth; his eyes widened. "Mm! I'm already seeing why you like them so much."

Julian reached into his stocking again, and the most entertaining startled look crossed his face. ". . . Elim, why is there a clementine in my sock?"

"It should be an orange, but it would have stretched your sock out of shape and would have been too much for the tape." As he assumed the soap had been the previous night for his own stocking.

"All right, but why an orange?"

"It's a traditional gift for children on Cardassia, albeit one usually given on birthdays. Oranges used to be a rarity—they require far too much water to be a viable crop—and so they were considered food for special occasions. I realize in the Federation, citrus fruits are plentiful, but I thought this would be an interesting curiosity, if nothing else."

"Thank you. I'll make sure to savour it," he promised.

Then he slid his hand into his sock one last time and Garak didn't hold his breath.

"Hm?"

Julian withdrew his hand, a scrap of paper caught between his index and middle fingers. When he unfolded it and took in the blocky Cardassian letters, his expression brightened. "Oh, it's another note! What does this one say, 'Happy Christmas'?"

Garak smiled widely to erase any nerves he felt from not only his expression but his body as well. "You know very well you won't get so much as a hint from me."

"I know, but it was worth a try." He folded the note again and set it on his bedside table, then returned to look down at Garak with the most appealing expression of anticipation. "All right, let's go open our other gifts."

Garak pushed off from the floor (surviving on reduced sleep was getting more difficult by the year). Feigning surprise, he asked, "Aren't you going to have breakfast first?"

Julian snorted. "As tempting as the thought may be, no, I don't think so."

"Well, I believe I will. A long, leisurely breakfast sounds ideal this morning." He began strolling toward the bedroom door. "You can simply wait while I—oof!"

He nearly took a spill from the sudden shove he received, but kept and maintained his balance as he was pushed right out the bedroom door and toward the living room.

"Oh no," Julian said firmly. "We are opening our gifts now and that will be that."

"If you insist," he relented, doing his best to sound weary in spite of the smile he hid. It was, naturally, an impossible task.

There was a very respectable pile of presents under the tree, more than any previous year. The majority of them, as always, were for Julian, but Garak still hadn't done too badly for himself. There was the gift Ziyal always insisted on giving him, as well as numerous small treats from his recent and regular customers. Odo had given him nothing, as he didn't celebrate the holiday, but he had made his usual point of stopping by the shop to give his uncomfortable and short holiday greetings. As far as Garak was concerned, that was a present in itself.

And there were also the holiday cards. Even years after the first one addressed to "Julian and Elim" had arrived, he still considered each one among his gifts. There had been a particularly large flurry of them this year, and they dusted most surfaces save the floor in the living room. His collection of cards from previous years was about to undergo a great expansion.

Julian, of course, had been showered with presents. As always, they had come from a plethora of sources: close friends, such as Jadzia and the O'Briens; former coworkers, such as Kira; and even close acquaintances, such as Mrs. Yates-Sisko. Julian was simply the sort of person one wanted to give gifts to. Small wonder his holiday shopping caused him so much suffering when he had so many people to buy for in return.

For all Julian's earlier enthusiasm, unwrapping the presents was a relaxed affair. They took their time opening the packages, holding up each item as it was revealed for the other to admire. But when one of Julian's gifts to him came to hand, he paused, then set it aside before searching out one of his own for Julian.

"Here you are, my dear," he said as he handed over Julian's gift.

"Oh! Thanks."

He finished up a square of fudge that had been part of the gift the O'Briens had given him, then wiped his fingers on his pajama bottoms. (Garak failed to suppress his expression of distaste.)

"On three?" Julian suggested.

"You can count if you like, but given you'll be examining your new gift before I've finished untying the ribbon, I don't particularly see the point."

"All right, so you start and then I'll count to three for myself."

"Ten might be better."

"Ten it is."

Garak began unwrapping his gift to the sound of counting, smiling as he did. This was the one that Julian had made an attempt to conceal its shape, but judging from the weight and the little he could feel through the paper, it seemed to be a bottle of some sort. That left him in a state of trepidation. Julian's taste in alcohol had improved over the years, but there had still been some spectacular misfires. He braced himself as he pulled away the last of what seemed to be fifteen layers of paper, a grateful smile at the ready.

It fell away unused as his mouth dropped open.

"1966 kanar—Julian, where on Earth did you find this?" With wide eyes, he looked up into the smug face of his truly extraordinary partner.

"Oh, I have my ways," he said, sounding extremely pleased with himself.

As well he should: "But the government severely limits how much kanar leaves the Union, particularly kanar of this quality. Where—how did you get it?"

"You're just going to have to work that out, aren't you?" Julian told him loftily.

Garak set aside the bottle with the sort of reverence usually given to holy objects. Then he bowed as far as his seated position allowed. "Thank you."

Julian flushed. "You're welcome." He lowered his gaze to his mostly opened gift in his lap and tore off the remaining piece of paper. "Ah—oh, thank you."

He held up a pile of soft, steel blue wool, then started unfolding it. When he was finished, he held a scarf, mittens, and a hat, all of which were both thick and delicate. He proceeded to pop the hat onto his head. "These should go perfectly with the coat you made me."

"They ought to," he replied, "since that was my intent when I made them."

Now it was his turn to be smug as Julian did a visible doubletake and checked for tags that weren't there. "You made these?"

"That's right."

"Since when do you know how to knit?" he demanded as he turned the scarf over and over in his hands.

His smile was very nearly a grin. "Come now, my dear, I can't tell you all my secrets, can I?"

"You could tell me this one," he grumbled, though it was obvious he wasn't serious. His expression soon melted into a smile of his own. "Thank you, Elim. From the bottom of my heart—and the tips of my ears."

He raised his eyebrows. "Tell me you haven't been going out without a hat in Andor."

"Well . . . only sometimes? Phew." He removed the hat, thereby adding still more volume to his voluminous bedhead. "I don't think I'm ever going to be cold again."

"Good, as now there's no longer any excuse for you to be," he said tartly and reached for the next present under the tree.

Since he'd wrapped an extra, merely practical gift for Julian, when his partner came across it, he told him to simply go ahead. Inside were three dress shirts for work, all perfectly tailored to fit Julian's unique shape.

"I'm going to be the best-dressed doctor in Andor at this rate," he remarked as his hand smoothed over the front of one of the shirts for approximately the fifth time. (Apparently, he approved of Garak's fabric choice.)

"I hope so. That is my goal, after all," he answered.

Julian smiled, but with a distracted air. He reached under the tree, hesitated, and then brought out the second gift he'd wrapped. Garak had originally assumed this one was a book, but given Julian's demeanour, he was revising his conclusion.

"Ah, here. You may as well open this now."

His words were awkward, as were his movements, and accordingly, Garak took the gift with great care. However, rather than begin to open it, he set it in his lap. "Then it seems it's time for me to give you this."

He had kept a careful eye on the exact location of his final gift to Julian, so that the moment of its presentation wasn't marred by him scrabbling through the remaining packages beneath the tree. Now he held it out for Julian to take, which his partner did with just a touch of uncertainty.

This gift had been the last one he had made appear beneath the tree. His timing had been deliberate. It was by far the smallest, a box perhaps eight centimetres on each side. Very little could fit in something that small, and he didn't want to unsettle Julian over a period of days if his mind jumped to the most obvious conclusion.

"Why don't you open your gift first?" Garak suggested, watching him cradle it in long, suddenly slack hands.

"Oh, uh, all right." Somewhat slower about it than usual, Julian pulled the wrapping from the package to reveal a small, blue velvet box with a hinged lid. Julian made a noise at the sight—of what type, Garak couldn't say—then took in a silent breath and opened the case.

It didn't contain a ring. Instead, two cufflinks rested inside, each shaped like a circle with a single twist. They were made of half copper and half silver, two distinct parts that joined at the twist and directly opposite.

Julian looked up. The gratitude on his face was shaded with another emotion, and though they had been partners for over four years now, he was utterly unable to say whether that emotion was relief—or regret.

"Thank you," he said as he reached over to momentarily cover Garak's hand with one of his. "These are—well, beautiful."

He nodded, but his heart was beating no slower at the positive reception of his gift. "You should look them up sometime in that book I gave you. There's more to them than first appears."

The book he was referring to was one he had given Julian their second Christmas together. It was a guide to Cardassia and its history, cultures, and current affairs up to the date of publication that he had spent weeks annotating with most of a block of sticky notes. He had been sarcastic and as witty as possible by turns, and even, occasionally, genuine. And tucked away somewhere in the book's five hundred pages was the key to that symbol.

Julian laughed, the sound achingly fond. "Isn't there always?" He started to get up. "I'll just go—damn. The book is back in Andor!"

He smiled as his heart gave one more leap, then settled back into its usual rhythm. "Then it seems the second piece of your gift will have to wait."

"Can't you just tell me?" Julian pleaded. His quick fingers had already freed the cufflinks and now he was pooling them from hand to hand.

His smile grew. "I could, but I won't. You'll simply have to find out."

"Oh, very well." He sighed, caught up the cufflinks in a fist, then set them aside. (Garak marked their place attentively.) "Then I suppose you may as well have your gift now."

"I suppose I may."

He slid open the taped-down fold at one end of the present, but, mindful of the anxious look on Julian's face, he didn't take his time. He even consented to letting the paper rip somewhat.

He had been right to wonder whether his gift was in fact a book. Once he had discarded the wrapping paper, he found himself holding something he hadn't seen for years: a photo album. The cover was generic splashes of colour and told him nothing, and so he opened it.

There were four pictures on the first page, held in place by thin plastic. They showed a neighbourhood in what had to be Andor, judging from the slate blue tinge to the grey stone of the apartment building featured in the top two photos. And the moment his mind made that connection, it was right there that Garak realised what he was holding.

He looked up suddenly to Julian. His partner had gone slightly tense and his hands were wrapped around his ankles.

"I wrote captions on the back of the photos. You can take them out and read them if you like," he explained. Despite his obvious nervousness, his gaze held steady.

Garak shifted along the polished floor until he sat next to Julian. His partner released an ankle to curl his arm around him and Garak settled the album across their laps.

"If it's all the same to you," he said, "I'd rather hear it from the source."

He watched Julian's eyes flick back and forth, taking in the images in front of both of them as he composed what he wanted to say.

Then he began to speak—to draw Garak into his new life.

"Well, this is where I'm living at the moment. It's in one of the newer sections of the city, and I have to say, I like it. . . ."