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seikilosTitle: Clearing Skies
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Romance
Rating & Warnings: PG
Beta: tinsnip
Words: This part 1551, 6225 overall
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
Summary: As a way to make up for continually running out on Garak at lunch, Julian invites him along to one of his holosuite sessions with Chief O'Brien as a way of patching up their friendship. It doesn't work out quite the way he expected. This chapter: Julian has a lot to consider.
Author's Notes: And here we are: the last chapter! I hope everyone has enjoyed reading along, and I look forward to seeing you all next week with the next fic. <3
As it turned out, the Chief's work finished sooner than he seemed to have been expecting, leaving him able to join them later on. When he arrived at the holosuite sometime later, Julian was treated to the sight of a door opening in the clear blue sky and the Chief entering and walking on nothing at all to Garak's airplane. He knocked on the glass canopy and, after a short exchange, he heard Garak call out, "Computer, freeze program." It was just as well: a German bomber had come up behind him while he had been distracted.
Garak swung out of the cockpit and strolled over to Julian's airplane, neatly stepping around a spray of bullets suspended in midair. Julian slid the canopy back on the Spitfire as he approached.
"I believe I'm going to give Chief O'Brien his turn and leave the two of you to your game," Garak told him. "Good evening, Doctor." He raised his voice. "Computer, exit."
"Good evening—Garak?" he asked. The sight of Garak's uniformed back, his gloved hands tucked around one another, had turned the name into a question without him intending it.
Garak faced him again. "Yes?"
And now he had no idea what to say. His thoughts and feelings were such a mess. ". . . Never mind. I'll see you for lunch tomorrow?"
"Of course. I look forward to it. Until then."
With a small bow, Garak left. Once the doors had disappeared behind him, Julian was partially able to immerse himself in the program again—partially, because everything was still frozen in some sort of non-interactive diorama.
Though not for long. "All set, Julian?" the Chief called.
He sighed and pushed Garak from his mind as best he could in favour of working out how not to get shot down. This . . . was going to be a challenge. "Ready when you are."
*
His lunch with Garak the following day, and for a number of days after, was . . . odd. Oh, on the surface, everything was normal—they discussed their books and plays and politics, sometimes debating, sometimes outright arguing—but if Julian had learned anything from his friendship with Garak, it was that the surface didn't matter. Not nearly as much as what lay underneath, anyway.
And beneath their conversations, they were watching each other. Or, at least, Julian sensed Garak was watching him; he never could catch him at it. Garak caught him, however, and every time, he would smile a harmless smile. That expression, Julian knew, hid the most of all.
He couldn't be sure of what Garak was thinking, but he was sure that he had been left with an important question: Did he want them to stay friends, or did he want to add another layer to their relationship? It wasn't the sort of thing he could answer for himself quickly or simply—it was far too important to rush, and so he made certain to take his time.
At one lunch, his mind had drifted while Garak had been going on about the enigma tale they were both reading, to what their meals together might look like if they became a couple as well as close friends.
Frankly . . . it hadn't seemed to him as though it would be all that different.
At the end of another of their lunches, Julian had deliberately let his fingers brush Garak's as he'd handed over a padd. The first thing he had noticed was how cold the other man's hands had been (he always forgot how chilly the promenade was for him). The second, right on the heels of the first, had been that spark he always felt with anyone he had a real interest in.
He'd then been rather distracted that afternoon, until he'd found the rhythm of his work and settled into it.
*
"Aren't we going to wait for Chief O'Brien?" Garak inquired after they had finished greeting one another and Julian had started toward the holosuites.
"He can't make it. I got a message from him a few minutes ago—something went wrong with the secondary power couplings on the Defiant," he answered. "It's just the two of us tonight."
"One would think the station had only one engineer."
He had to laugh. "I'm sure it feels that way to him sometimes."
Once they were upstairs and Julian was entering his passcode, he found himself sneaking little sideways looks at Garak. Repeated exposure to him in his flight lieutenant's uniform hadn't diminished Julian's appreciation—not by a long shot. At first, he'd wondered if the element of surprise had affected his perception. Now, two weeks and several holosuite sessions later, he felt very safe in concluding that wasn't the case.
"Here we are," Julian said as the doors to the holosuite parted. A smile twitched his lips when, a moment later, an officer caught up to Garak and handed him a sheaf of papers with a "Here you are, sir."
"Thank you, Flying Officer." Garak smiled professionally, then skimmed the top page. "Ah. It seems these are at least partially your orders, Airman."
Julian spared a brief moment to be impressed by how quickly Garak had picked up the ability to recognise Human historical air force rankings by sight—was there anything he couldn't do? —before replying, "Fill me in on the way to the hangar, if you don't mind?"
In contrast to the previous times they had been there, the current weather at Biggin Hill was overcast, with a damp chill that suggested rain was either recent or imminent. It made him not particularly keen to loiter outside.
"Of course. I don't find your supposedly 'green and pleasant land' all that pleasant at the moment, I must say." Garak tucked his chin as a thin breeze chose the appropriate moment to sweep the airfield.
"And nor is it particularly green today, either," he agreed. The clouds were leaching the colour from their surroundings, making everything as drab as a Vulcan landscape—or nearly, anyway.
The hangar, when they reached it, had the usual complement of characters preparing for takeoff. It didn't much matter where he spoke to Garak before he took off and Garak became his radio contact, but all the same, he led the other man behind the body of his airplane for a bit of privacy.
As soon as they were out of sight, Garak straightened and Julian found himself doing the same. The other man's tone was crisp as he said, "Your orders today are to protect the Channel from incursion by the Luftwaffe. The Germans intend to determine how strong our defences are, so I hope you'll leave them with a positive impression—or perhaps I should say a negative one."
"I will. Anything else, sir?" Julian asked, unable to stop himself from smiling at that last little word. Two weeks and he still couldn't keep a straight face.
At least he generally infected Garak with his amusement. Today was no different: he could see a smile playing about the corners of Garak's lips as he responded, "At this juncture, I believe it's traditional to instruct you not to die. I do hope you'll be conscientious about carrying out that order."
"Yessir, will do, sir," he said smartly and was more than pleased to see that hidden smile emerge all the way. It made his heart lift, more than it did when he made his other friends smile, and . . . and really, he should just take his own advice, shouldn't he? If he could tell Odo not even a week ago to speak up and say something about his feelings, he could damn well do the same in his own life.
It was time to stop delaying and going in circles inside his own head. Here was the perfect opportunity—it was even supported by the program's narrative!
Garak seemed about to speak, but he wasn't going to let this opportunity fly past. Instead, he reached out. He curled his fingers at the base of Garak's head into his shockingly soft hair, flicked up the brim of his cap with his other hand, and bent down.
He'd expected to catch Garak off-guard, had expected a delay before Garak either stepped back or returned his kiss. He, then, was the one to be startled when Garak met him halfway, more than ready for the touch of his lips.
Well. That answered that.
Within seconds, another question was also taken care of. As their lips moved, their noses brushed, and Garak took firm hold of his shoulders to pull their bodies together, the matter of whether his level of physical attraction to Garak was substantial enough to merit taking the risk of kissing him was decisively put to rest.
When Garak broke off their kiss after what felt like such a short period of time, he wasn't sure why until he registered the sound of hurriedly retreating footsteps. . . . Ah.
"I believe we've scandalised Airman Brown with our flagrant breach of regulations," Garak commented in his usual flippant manner, but the way his happiness shone through all the same made Julian's already fast-beating heart beat faster still.
"He's a fictional character. He'll adapt," Julian answered just as lightly. He then added, "Computer, freeze program," and once again Garak met him halfway.
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Romance
Rating & Warnings: PG
Beta: tinsnip
Words: This part 1551, 6225 overall
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
Summary: As a way to make up for continually running out on Garak at lunch, Julian invites him along to one of his holosuite sessions with Chief O'Brien as a way of patching up their friendship. It doesn't work out quite the way he expected. This chapter: Julian has a lot to consider.
Author's Notes: And here we are: the last chapter! I hope everyone has enjoyed reading along, and I look forward to seeing you all next week with the next fic. <3
As it turned out, the Chief's work finished sooner than he seemed to have been expecting, leaving him able to join them later on. When he arrived at the holosuite sometime later, Julian was treated to the sight of a door opening in the clear blue sky and the Chief entering and walking on nothing at all to Garak's airplane. He knocked on the glass canopy and, after a short exchange, he heard Garak call out, "Computer, freeze program." It was just as well: a German bomber had come up behind him while he had been distracted.
Garak swung out of the cockpit and strolled over to Julian's airplane, neatly stepping around a spray of bullets suspended in midair. Julian slid the canopy back on the Spitfire as he approached.
"I believe I'm going to give Chief O'Brien his turn and leave the two of you to your game," Garak told him. "Good evening, Doctor." He raised his voice. "Computer, exit."
"Good evening—Garak?" he asked. The sight of Garak's uniformed back, his gloved hands tucked around one another, had turned the name into a question without him intending it.
Garak faced him again. "Yes?"
And now he had no idea what to say. His thoughts and feelings were such a mess. ". . . Never mind. I'll see you for lunch tomorrow?"
"Of course. I look forward to it. Until then."
With a small bow, Garak left. Once the doors had disappeared behind him, Julian was partially able to immerse himself in the program again—partially, because everything was still frozen in some sort of non-interactive diorama.
Though not for long. "All set, Julian?" the Chief called.
He sighed and pushed Garak from his mind as best he could in favour of working out how not to get shot down. This . . . was going to be a challenge. "Ready when you are."
His lunch with Garak the following day, and for a number of days after, was . . . odd. Oh, on the surface, everything was normal—they discussed their books and plays and politics, sometimes debating, sometimes outright arguing—but if Julian had learned anything from his friendship with Garak, it was that the surface didn't matter. Not nearly as much as what lay underneath, anyway.
And beneath their conversations, they were watching each other. Or, at least, Julian sensed Garak was watching him; he never could catch him at it. Garak caught him, however, and every time, he would smile a harmless smile. That expression, Julian knew, hid the most of all.
He couldn't be sure of what Garak was thinking, but he was sure that he had been left with an important question: Did he want them to stay friends, or did he want to add another layer to their relationship? It wasn't the sort of thing he could answer for himself quickly or simply—it was far too important to rush, and so he made certain to take his time.
At one lunch, his mind had drifted while Garak had been going on about the enigma tale they were both reading, to what their meals together might look like if they became a couple as well as close friends.
Frankly . . . it hadn't seemed to him as though it would be all that different.
At the end of another of their lunches, Julian had deliberately let his fingers brush Garak's as he'd handed over a padd. The first thing he had noticed was how cold the other man's hands had been (he always forgot how chilly the promenade was for him). The second, right on the heels of the first, had been that spark he always felt with anyone he had a real interest in.
He'd then been rather distracted that afternoon, until he'd found the rhythm of his work and settled into it.
"Aren't we going to wait for Chief O'Brien?" Garak inquired after they had finished greeting one another and Julian had started toward the holosuites.
"He can't make it. I got a message from him a few minutes ago—something went wrong with the secondary power couplings on the Defiant," he answered. "It's just the two of us tonight."
"One would think the station had only one engineer."
He had to laugh. "I'm sure it feels that way to him sometimes."
Once they were upstairs and Julian was entering his passcode, he found himself sneaking little sideways looks at Garak. Repeated exposure to him in his flight lieutenant's uniform hadn't diminished Julian's appreciation—not by a long shot. At first, he'd wondered if the element of surprise had affected his perception. Now, two weeks and several holosuite sessions later, he felt very safe in concluding that wasn't the case.
"Here we are," Julian said as the doors to the holosuite parted. A smile twitched his lips when, a moment later, an officer caught up to Garak and handed him a sheaf of papers with a "Here you are, sir."
"Thank you, Flying Officer." Garak smiled professionally, then skimmed the top page. "Ah. It seems these are at least partially your orders, Airman."
Julian spared a brief moment to be impressed by how quickly Garak had picked up the ability to recognise Human historical air force rankings by sight—was there anything he couldn't do? —before replying, "Fill me in on the way to the hangar, if you don't mind?"
In contrast to the previous times they had been there, the current weather at Biggin Hill was overcast, with a damp chill that suggested rain was either recent or imminent. It made him not particularly keen to loiter outside.
"Of course. I don't find your supposedly 'green and pleasant land' all that pleasant at the moment, I must say." Garak tucked his chin as a thin breeze chose the appropriate moment to sweep the airfield.
"And nor is it particularly green today, either," he agreed. The clouds were leaching the colour from their surroundings, making everything as drab as a Vulcan landscape—or nearly, anyway.
The hangar, when they reached it, had the usual complement of characters preparing for takeoff. It didn't much matter where he spoke to Garak before he took off and Garak became his radio contact, but all the same, he led the other man behind the body of his airplane for a bit of privacy.
As soon as they were out of sight, Garak straightened and Julian found himself doing the same. The other man's tone was crisp as he said, "Your orders today are to protect the Channel from incursion by the Luftwaffe. The Germans intend to determine how strong our defences are, so I hope you'll leave them with a positive impression—or perhaps I should say a negative one."
"I will. Anything else, sir?" Julian asked, unable to stop himself from smiling at that last little word. Two weeks and he still couldn't keep a straight face.
At least he generally infected Garak with his amusement. Today was no different: he could see a smile playing about the corners of Garak's lips as he responded, "At this juncture, I believe it's traditional to instruct you not to die. I do hope you'll be conscientious about carrying out that order."
"Yessir, will do, sir," he said smartly and was more than pleased to see that hidden smile emerge all the way. It made his heart lift, more than it did when he made his other friends smile, and . . . and really, he should just take his own advice, shouldn't he? If he could tell Odo not even a week ago to speak up and say something about his feelings, he could damn well do the same in his own life.
It was time to stop delaying and going in circles inside his own head. Here was the perfect opportunity—it was even supported by the program's narrative!
Garak seemed about to speak, but he wasn't going to let this opportunity fly past. Instead, he reached out. He curled his fingers at the base of Garak's head into his shockingly soft hair, flicked up the brim of his cap with his other hand, and bent down.
He'd expected to catch Garak off-guard, had expected a delay before Garak either stepped back or returned his kiss. He, then, was the one to be startled when Garak met him halfway, more than ready for the touch of his lips.
Well. That answered that.
Within seconds, another question was also taken care of. As their lips moved, their noses brushed, and Garak took firm hold of his shoulders to pull their bodies together, the matter of whether his level of physical attraction to Garak was substantial enough to merit taking the risk of kissing him was decisively put to rest.
When Garak broke off their kiss after what felt like such a short period of time, he wasn't sure why until he registered the sound of hurriedly retreating footsteps. . . . Ah.
"I believe we've scandalised Airman Brown with our flagrant breach of regulations," Garak commented in his usual flippant manner, but the way his happiness shone through all the same made Julian's already fast-beating heart beat faster still.
"He's a fictional character. He'll adapt," Julian answered just as lightly. He then added, "Computer, freeze program," and once again Garak met him halfway.
