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DS9 - Part two arrives!
Title: Connections
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Romance
Rating & Warnings: G
Words: 4622 this part; 8707 overall.
Disclaimer: I don't own the above media.
Summary: To repair the damage done by its interference with its colonists in the Demilitarised Zone, the Cardassian government has proposed a marriage-enjoinment between one of its citizens and one of the Federation's to symbolise the renewed relations between the two governments. Julian had gladly agreed to marry Garak, Central Command's "volunteer," but now he's learning all over again that nothing to do with Cardassians in general and Garak in particular is as simple as it appears on the surface. This chapter: The wedding-enjoinment ceremony.
Author's Notes: Holy shit, y'all. I had not been expecting this level of response. I'm very glad to see that this has been well received, and I can only hope the concluding chapter is a satisfying one.
Anyone who's curious about the song Garak sings in this, click here once you've finished the chapter.
Thanks for reading!
(2)
Whoever had come up with the tradition of not seeing your partner before the wedding, Julian decided, had been a sadist. There was no other explanation.
Right now, as the anthem of the Cardassian Union was playing at the commencement of the ceremony, he could really have done with a few witty remarks or even teasing from Garak. His nerves were a wreck; he couldn't remember the last time he'd been so wound up. He hadn't been this jittery conducting brain surgery on Garak last month, for god's sake! He'd almost knocked over a flower vase when the music had started playing, and that would have been exactly the sort of incident he'd been constantly warned to avoid.
If only he weren't stuffed into the florist's!
It had been discovered very early on that everyone's first choice, the wardroom, was too small to comfortably hold the ceremony. Garak had absolutely refused to be enjoined at Quark's and nothing could sway him. That left the replimat—an appropriate choice, actually.
There was only one problem with the location, and it was that, in order to stay hidden before it was his cue to emerge, he had to wait inside the florist's shop. Lucky Garak had been assigned interstellar travel—there was a lot less to run into and no chance of spilling water on himself and having to go through the entire ceremony with a great splotch down his front.
Thank god he'd caught that vase in time. Not only would he have humiliated himself, he'd have put Garak in a snit, and if that wasn't starting off his marriage on the wrong foot he didn't know what was. He was wearing his dress uniform for the ceremony, but weeks ago, Garak had made Julian agree to hand it over to be tailored. Garak wouldn't ever forgive him if he didn't show off his work to its advantage today of all days.
Not that Garak's work needed any help. Once Garak had given the uniform back, Julian had almost hired him to tailor his entire wardrobe on the spot. He'd never looked better. That knowledge was a bolster—a small bolster, but a present one—against the knowledge of what he was about to undergo.
. . . How long was the Cardassian anthem, anyway? The urge to steal a glance outside was ferocious, but he forced himself to resist. As he fidgeted, he hummed along with the hymn under his breath and tried to figure out what to do with his hands.
Finally, after what seemed to be an outrageously long time, the song came to a close. There was a pause. And then the anthem of the Federation began.
His mouth was too parched for him to swallow. He pulled himself up straight, took in a deep breath, and began the slow, dignified step he'd rehearsed more times than anyone sober ever really needed to practice walking in a straight line.
As soon as he left the florist's, his relief at being out of that cramped space evaporated. It was true that inside it, there were vases to be broken and water to be spilled, but on the promenade were representatives of two governments, nearly all of Starfleet and Bajoran Security, every single non-Bajoran civilian, and all offduty Starfleet personnel. Apparently, his wedding was the most interesting event to happen in weeks.
He knew he was supposed to keep his eyes straight ahead, but he couldn't stop himself from scanning for familiar faces. If only he were giving a lecture! All of this would be laughably easy if he were speaking about Bendii Syndrome or the pathology of Orkett's Disease.
After a moment, he caught Commander Sisko's eye. His commanding officer (and best man) was wearing a sympathetic expression; apparently he wasn't covering his nerves as well as he'd thought. Damn it, he had to do better—he didn't want to make any of these Cardassian officials think he was regretting his decision. He'd got the sense that none of them liked Garak very much for whatever reason, and he'd be damned if he was going to give them a chance to look down on his friend!
The thought stiffened his resolve and his spine, and it allowed him to complete the remainder of his march to Admiral Nechayev with the dignity expected of him.
When he stopped next to Garak, he made sure to "accidentally" give him a little bump with his shoulder, then glanced over to catch his smile. It was a surprisingly warm one (did Garak think he needed reassuring, too?), and also . . . surprisingly attractive. He could see now why Garak had insisted on having input on every step of the design process for his own outfit: he certainly knew how to dress to his advantage. While the dark colors and strict lines of Cardassian formal wear weren't his thing, on Garak, they looked—well, good.
He turned his attention forward again to find Admiral Nechayev regarding him with one eyebrow raised. He couldn't quite stop himself from ducking his head, but immediately after, he pulled back into position.
The Admiral waited a beat, then spoke. "Peoples of the Cardassian Union, of the United Federation of Planets, and of all interstellar bodies present with us today. We have come together to bear witness to the enjoining of Julian Bashir and Elim Garak in marriage, a physical symbol of the enjoinment of these two governments in peace and friendship. . . ."
The ceremony was long—somehow even longer than the rehearsals—and full of speeches from just about every single participant. He had been assuming the Cardassians involved would go on the most, but some of the Federation members gave them real competition.
He and Garak were expected to make a speech as well, about their reasons for marrying-enjoining with each other. For his part, he kept his as short as he could get away with. That way, there was far less chance of him tripping over his tongue, or leaving out a crucial bit, or otherwise spoiling things. Fortunately, he managed to get through it even with some dignity. Garak seemed to approve, judging from the unusually warm look bestowed upon him at the end.
And then, at last, at such long last, the ceremony was over. He and Garak were facing each other, hands held in the air between them and fingers woven together. When Julian met Garak's eyes, their sharp blue was almost too brilliant in contrast with the dark clothes he wore. It was a fascinating sight—so fascinating that he nearly missed Admiral Nechayev saying, "By the power invested in me by the United Federation of Planets and temporarily granted to me by the Central Command of the Cardassian Union, I hereby pronounce you enjoined and married. You may seal this union with a kiss."
And here it was: the unrehearsed moment he at last needed to face. It might have been from his own culture, but as far as he was concerned, this was going to be the most alien part of all.
Time to stop hesitating. He looked directly at Garak (then had to stifle a giggle when Garak actually batted his eyelashes at him), gave his hand a squeeze, and leaned in.
The moment their lips touched, his eyes snapped open, because there had been a spark, there had been a real spark, and—he couldn't pull back, it hadn't been long enough yet. He closed his eyes and pressed in again. He was unaware of his hands tightening on Garak's, didn't realise his body had swayed forward of its own accord until he felt Garak break the kiss and step back, and only then did he hear the applause and cheers from the attendees. He had to remind himself to let go of one of Garak's hands and, accompanied by a blend of the anthems of the Federation and the Union, together they went to sign the register.
As he pressed his thumb against the padd, there was room for only one thought in his mind:
What on Earth had just happened?
*
It wasn't that he couldn't stop thinking about the kiss at the reception afterwards—there were dozens of important people offering their congratulations and holoimages to pose for. (At least he didn't have to swear any vows of loyalty, by dint of Garak having no family present.) But in every spare moment, from one handshake to the next, in the time it took to bow, back his mind would go to that kiss and the puzzle he suddenly needed to pull apart.
It only grew worse, not better, when it came time to cut the wedding cake. His heart was already pounding as he took up the knife; Garak's hand settling over his did not slow its beat. How a hand that cool could make him this warm was beyond him.
He was able to calm himself as he and Garak took their seats side by side at the table of honour (in Quark's—Garak had lost that battle). He was even able to bring his breathing back to normal as still more speeches ensued.
When it came the Commander's turn, that was enough to make him forget about Garak entirely. He had no idea Commander Sisko thought so highly of him, let alone that he'd be willing to say as much in front of so many people. It was . . . it was extremely touching.
But then, his period of distraction came to an end. As the Commander sat down, there was the sound of ringing glass.
He searched the room, his eyes darting from table to table as most non-Human species traded confused looks. Who was it—who had . . . ?
Jadzia. Of course. She'd spent so much time around Humans over the course of her lifetimes that it made sense she'd pick up even one of the more obscure customs—particularly that one. And now others were joining in, grinning Humans beating away against their glasses with forks and those who wanted in on the joke tapping with somewhat less certainty, and there really was no escape now, was there?
"What is it, Julian?" Garak leaned in to murmur beneath the chiming that now filled Quark's. "You look quite stricken. Would that have anything to do with the sudden noise?"
He gave in to the inevitable. "Yes, it's, um, a cue for us to kiss."
"Is it, now?" Garak rose as he did. "Then we shouldn't ignore such a . . . musical request."
Garak smiled around the room—Julian tried—and then he took Julian by the shoulders (a few Cardassians made startled sounds).
He knew Garak was playing to the audience. If either of them acted as though they were embarrassed or shy, they'd only get more demands to kiss. It was a sound strategy.
And those facts vanished from his mind as soon as Garak's lips met his for the second time that day.
The last kiss had been a formality to seal an agreement. This one wasn't. It was hard, aggressive, and Julian did his best to match it as heat flashed through him His hand came up to Garak's shoulder to steady himself half without his awareness; when Garak's hand cupped his neck, he squeezed. Garak gasped against his mouth and instantly broke the kiss.
Julian stared at him as once again applause and cheers rang around them. Garak's eyes were just slightly widened and his breathing was shallow and fast.
He sat down harder than he'd meant to and winced. Chuckling replaced cheering, but right now, he didn't care. He tried to slip a gaze to Garak, to meet his eye, but Garak was focused on Legate Etan, who was rising to make the next speech.
Then again, he didn't really need any further confirmation, did he? He had all the evidence necessary to prove his hypothesis: that it wasn't only him who had been affected by their kisses. But acting on what he had learned would have to wait. It would be hours before he could speak with Garak alone, before they could decide just what they wanted to do. Somehow, he was going to have to last.
*
At the very least, Garak's plan had paid off. There was only one other occasion when the air filled with the sound of cutlery against glass, this time thanks to one of the younger members of the Cardassian delegation. Now that he was prepared for what would happen, Julian was actually able to relax a bit and even enjoy the kiss, and it seemed Garak did the same. Apparently, that took the fun out of the game for the spectators, since there were no further requests. As much as it was a relief, it was also somewhat disappointing.
Once the speeches were finally over (was this honestly what Cardassians thought was romantic?), it was time for the post-meal dance. He'd stayed out of the planning—he had enough to do preparing for his own part in the wedding and doing his actual job as CMO without getting involved in someone else's work—but apparently, someone or several someones had worked very hard to pull off this portion of the ceremony. They had compared Cardassian and Human dances, compiled and posted a list of what was compatible, and had instructed the musicians to play selections that could more or less serve as a background for both. It had clearly been a Herculean effort, and he made a mental note to find and thank whoever had been responsible.
But before that was the matter of getting through the first dance.
He and Garak had of course rehearsed together many times over the past month; Cardassian dance styles had only some steps in common with the Human dances he knew. It had been perhaps the most pleasant part of the endless preparations. At the time, he'd thought that had been due to getting to spend time in close contact with a good friend. Suddenly, however, he wasn't so sure that had been the only reason.
As he and Garak took their place in the centre of the designated dance floor, he made certain to fold his fingers around Garak's, not through. Through was for unions: all right for weddings, less so in other contexts. He wouldn't soon be forgetting the startled look on Garak's face at their first rehearsal, that much was certain.
Once they were ready, the musicians began the introduction to "Of All the Worlds." Very lightly, he gave Garak's hand a squeeze. Garak's smile flicked from pleasant to warm, and just as lightly, he squeezed back. Julian had time for only a steadying breath before the musical cue came for them to take the first step together.
After that, he was concentrating much too hard on not trodding on Garak's toes to pay attention to much else. But from time to time, he was able to focus properly on Garak, and always it was to discover that Garak watching him.
It wasn't unusual, really. Dance partners were supposed to pay attention to each other. But he simply couldn't work out what Garak was thinking. Of course, that wasn't unusual either—he almost never could tell what his friend had on his mind. This time, though, was different. He didn't get the sense that Garak found something funny (or him funny, for that matter). His expression was much . . . quieter, he supposed. But what it meant was beyond him.
When the first dance came to a close, still hand in hand, he and Garak turned and bowed to their assembled guests. After that, they were free to part ways, and so with another bow, to each other this time, off they went.
Over the course of the evening, Julian managed to get a dance with all of the senior staff—with the exception of Odo, which was fine with him. He wasn't sure anything could induce Odo to dance and if the Constable actually tried, it would probably be the most awkward affair imaginable. A bit like dancing with Major Kira, really. She was coordinated, at least, though she was clearly concentrating hard. She also didn't seem happy to be the only Bajoran in a room full of Cardassians. At the end of their dance, he decided against asking her again.
When he snatched a dance with Jadzia (a difficult feat, given her popularity), he led with an accusatory, "You had fun making Garak and me kiss, didn't you?"
"Of course." She raised her eyebrows. "And you had fun kissing him, didn't you?"
There wasn't a chance he was answering that. "Wh—I have no idea what would give you that impression."
"Mmhmm. Let's just say it felt like a pretty safe bet. Are you planning on kissing him again?"
"I. . . ." Lying to Jadzia was impossible. "I'm—not sure."
"I would. He looked like a pretty good kisser." She winked.
His blush was instant. "I . . . I couldn't say. "
Jadzia's laughter made him wonder if it were possible to spontaneously break one's own ankle as a means of escape. The infirmary would be a haven.
"Go ahead and take advantage of it, as long as he's up for it, too. He is your husband."
"Jadzia, I can't just. . . ."
When it was clear he'd given up speaking, she answered, "If you say so. But if you ask me, I think Garak would be happy to give you as many kisses as you could handle. And maybe some other things besides."
"Jadzia!" He had to stop this before it got even more out of hand than it already was! "Let's, uh—you've had a lot of dance partners tonight, haven't you?"
Fortunately for him, not only did Jadzia accept his frankly pathetic attempt at a subject change, but their dance together came to an end shortly after that. Once he found himself another dance partner—an older Cardassian woman, and now he was really glad he knew about no interlacing fingers—he used the opportunity to get his blushing back under control. It took longer than he'd hoped, to the point where his partner asked, amazed, if he was actually feeling warm in "this frozen wasteland of a station." That hadn't been much of a help with his embarrassment.
A few dances later, he had shoved Jadzia's comments far enough aside to find Garak and suggest another dance with him. Garak agreed, and soon they had found a place near the edge of the dance floor. (The centre had been fine for the first dance, but he would prefer not to be on display for the entire evening.) They assumed a fairly standard couple position and waited for the music to begin.
Within the first six notes, Garak got the strangest look on his face.
"What is it?" Julian asked, first looking at him, then at the other Cardassians, who all had similar expressions. A few of them were even giggling.
"I think—yes, it is." Now Garak's shoulders were shaking and his head bowed slightly. "It's 'Sweet Sweetmelon,' a children's game song."
". . . You're joking."
"Of course I'm not. You know very well, my dear, that I'm always completely serious." Garak raised his head to smile widely at him.
Julian didn't bother to contradict such an obvious lie. Instead, he consulted the screen that had been installed above the dance floor to provide information about which dances were compatible with the music being played at any given time. He read the current suggestion—and then it was his turn to fight against laughter.
"What is it, Julian?" Garak asked.
"We're supposed to dance a double waltz. To a children's song!"
He couldn't help himself any longer: laughter sprung from him, and he grabbed Garak's arm for support.
Laughter shook Garak's voice, too, as he attempted to say with his usual detachment, "How compatible our two species are! Our music and dance blend seamlessly."
"They must have been desperate at this point," he said and, before anyone could crash into them, took the lead and started moving.
It was hands down the most surreal dancing experience of his life. He and Garak could barely look at each other without breaking down, but at the very least, they made a game effort of it.
That is, until Julian overheard Garak murmuring under his breath, "Sweet sweetmelon, sweet sweetmelon, Ikuvik's three sweet sweetmelons."
And that was it. The laughter he'd been mostly keeping bottled up exploded as he came to a dead halt mid-dance. All he could do was lean against Garak and giggle, listening to and feeling Garak's laughter in return. Every bit of stress and nerves of the past month came free and it felt wonderful.
He had just enough attention left to watch other couples around them give up the battle. A few more fought the good fight and tried to finish the dance, but when he heard a few squawks from the musicians' instruments that he was positive weren't part of the music, it was plain all was lost.
After that, finally, the guests began to relax. The atmosphere lost its formality and the noise level rose as the conversation (and the drinks) flowed much more naturally. And, amazingly enough, Julian—and just possibly Garak—started to have a good time.
*
It was considerably later than he'd expected when he and Garak left the reception. As they walked along the mostly empty corridors of the habitat ring, Julian's state of relaxation ebbed away and he was left sending little sideways glances at Garak. At the very least, they were going back to his quarters instead of somewhere completely new (given he was an officer, his quarters were the same size as a double room anyway), but . . . yesterday, a second bed had been delivered to his bedroom. He'd had to spend the night trying not to stare at the space where his brand new husband was going to be in a very short period of time. And now, he was realising, that short period of time had got a great deal shorter.
"Here we are," he said needlessly as they stopped outside his door; he unlocked it. "I suppose I'll need to give you the passcode before I go on duty tomorrow."
"What makes you think I don't already have it?"
He stopped after barely few steps and turned to find an expression of perfect innocence on Garak's face. In spite of his once again jumpy stomach, he smiled.
"I'll give it to you anyway, for the look of thing." He continued inside. Garak followed, and the door slid shut behind them. "I'm going to get changed and go to bed—unless there's, um, anything you'd rather . . . ?"
He let the sentence trail off, rather than add "be doing." The contents of a typical wedding night were pushing themselves forward in his mind, and now that he had kissed Garak and found it not an odd obligation to get through, those thoughts were difficult to ignore.
"No, there isn't," Garak replied, thankfully not commenting on his near innuendo. "I may read before bed, but feel free to go to sleep whenever you like."
"All right. I'll just go—get ready now."
He'd hoped retreating into his bedroom would give him some time to think and to become a little less tongue-tied. But—it wasn't his bedroom anymore. The closet was filled with Garak's clothes and on his dresser lay a brush with long black hair caught in its bristles. And, of course, the so-called elephant in the room was Garak's bed.
Julian took his time dressing, trying not to be conscious of Garak next door as the now much warmer air of his quarters wrapped around his skin. It was, of course, an impossible task. But at the same time, it was that impossibility that finally allowed him to make up his mind.
"Elim," he said as he stepped back into the main living area.
Garak looked up from where he was sitting on the couch with a padd he must have just replicated. "Yes, Julian?"
Julian crossed the room and sat down next to Garak. Now he was devoutly wishing he'd not changed—it was difficult to feel in control of a situation when you were the only one in pyjamas.
"I was thinking about earlier today, when we, ah . . . when we kissed," he began. Why was this so hard? He never got this tongue-tied with women—at least not since Palis, and that was years ago!
Garak shut off his padd and set it aside. Julian couldn't say whether having his full attention was better or far worse.
"Yes?"
. . . He was just going to say it. There was no other way this was coming out in the open, and he didn't want to spend months guessing and second-guessing.
"You . . . liked it, didn't you?"
Nothing about Garak's expression changed. He kept watching him with that same mild, sharp expression. "I didn't dislike it. You aren't an unpleasant person to kiss, Julian, if that's the source of your concern."
It wasn't, of course, and he couldn't say he was terribly fond of Garak's wording—but that was a distraction. He had to press on.
"Well, I did. Like it, I mean."
There: a widening of Garak's eyes. It was slight, but he caught it, and that let him finish his sentence all in a go.
"And I was thinking I'd rather like to do more of it."
Garak sat back in his seat for only a very few moments. Then he leaned forward again with purpose, making Julian's breath catch.
"I believe I would be amenable to that," he replied, his voice low, and how had he not realised this sooner?
Rather than waste time wondering, he leaned forward as well. This time, without an audience, he could really take his time to focus on Garak, the oddly smooth texture of his lips, the faint scent of his shampoo or hair oil or whatever it was (he'd learn soon), and what it was like to bring his hand to Garak's cheek and feel his ear ridges beneath his fingers.
When he felt cloth beneath his hands instead, he broke the kiss. It was a familiar pattern his hands were following, but one that needed to be preceded by a long discussion with a clear head. That wasn't going to be happening tonight.
He gave himself just enough time to press the sight of Garak's still-closed eyes and their short black lashes into his memory before he rose from the couch.
He cleared his throat. "I'm going to—sleep. Good night, Elim."
Garak opened his eyes and looked up at him. Were it not for his intense gaze, he might have believed Garak had been unaffected.
"Good night, Julian. Sleep well."
"I'll certainly try," he said. The honesty twitched a smile from Garak.
He returned to his—their bedroom, got under the covers, and turned out the lights. He spent a while lying on his side, facing the empty bed, before rolling onto his back and closing his eyes.
He'd thought last month, when he'd agreed to marry Garak, that all in all, his life would remain largely the same. That it would be like being back at the academy with a roommate. Now, he very much doubted the situation would be similar at all.
Things had changed. While that was an intimidating idea, he thought . . . it was for the better.
He let out a long breath and settled more comfortably beneath his blankets. It was time to sleep, so that tomorrow, he could meet those changes head on.
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Romance
Rating & Warnings: G
Words: 4622 this part; 8707 overall.
Disclaimer: I don't own the above media.
Summary: To repair the damage done by its interference with its colonists in the Demilitarised Zone, the Cardassian government has proposed a marriage-enjoinment between one of its citizens and one of the Federation's to symbolise the renewed relations between the two governments. Julian had gladly agreed to marry Garak, Central Command's "volunteer," but now he's learning all over again that nothing to do with Cardassians in general and Garak in particular is as simple as it appears on the surface. This chapter: The wedding-enjoinment ceremony.
Author's Notes: Holy shit, y'all. I had not been expecting this level of response. I'm very glad to see that this has been well received, and I can only hope the concluding chapter is a satisfying one.
Anyone who's curious about the song Garak sings in this, click here once you've finished the chapter.
Thanks for reading!
Whoever had come up with the tradition of not seeing your partner before the wedding, Julian decided, had been a sadist. There was no other explanation.
Right now, as the anthem of the Cardassian Union was playing at the commencement of the ceremony, he could really have done with a few witty remarks or even teasing from Garak. His nerves were a wreck; he couldn't remember the last time he'd been so wound up. He hadn't been this jittery conducting brain surgery on Garak last month, for god's sake! He'd almost knocked over a flower vase when the music had started playing, and that would have been exactly the sort of incident he'd been constantly warned to avoid.
If only he weren't stuffed into the florist's!
It had been discovered very early on that everyone's first choice, the wardroom, was too small to comfortably hold the ceremony. Garak had absolutely refused to be enjoined at Quark's and nothing could sway him. That left the replimat—an appropriate choice, actually.
There was only one problem with the location, and it was that, in order to stay hidden before it was his cue to emerge, he had to wait inside the florist's shop. Lucky Garak had been assigned interstellar travel—there was a lot less to run into and no chance of spilling water on himself and having to go through the entire ceremony with a great splotch down his front.
Thank god he'd caught that vase in time. Not only would he have humiliated himself, he'd have put Garak in a snit, and if that wasn't starting off his marriage on the wrong foot he didn't know what was. He was wearing his dress uniform for the ceremony, but weeks ago, Garak had made Julian agree to hand it over to be tailored. Garak wouldn't ever forgive him if he didn't show off his work to its advantage today of all days.
Not that Garak's work needed any help. Once Garak had given the uniform back, Julian had almost hired him to tailor his entire wardrobe on the spot. He'd never looked better. That knowledge was a bolster—a small bolster, but a present one—against the knowledge of what he was about to undergo.
. . . How long was the Cardassian anthem, anyway? The urge to steal a glance outside was ferocious, but he forced himself to resist. As he fidgeted, he hummed along with the hymn under his breath and tried to figure out what to do with his hands.
Finally, after what seemed to be an outrageously long time, the song came to a close. There was a pause. And then the anthem of the Federation began.
His mouth was too parched for him to swallow. He pulled himself up straight, took in a deep breath, and began the slow, dignified step he'd rehearsed more times than anyone sober ever really needed to practice walking in a straight line.
As soon as he left the florist's, his relief at being out of that cramped space evaporated. It was true that inside it, there were vases to be broken and water to be spilled, but on the promenade were representatives of two governments, nearly all of Starfleet and Bajoran Security, every single non-Bajoran civilian, and all offduty Starfleet personnel. Apparently, his wedding was the most interesting event to happen in weeks.
He knew he was supposed to keep his eyes straight ahead, but he couldn't stop himself from scanning for familiar faces. If only he were giving a lecture! All of this would be laughably easy if he were speaking about Bendii Syndrome or the pathology of Orkett's Disease.
After a moment, he caught Commander Sisko's eye. His commanding officer (and best man) was wearing a sympathetic expression; apparently he wasn't covering his nerves as well as he'd thought. Damn it, he had to do better—he didn't want to make any of these Cardassian officials think he was regretting his decision. He'd got the sense that none of them liked Garak very much for whatever reason, and he'd be damned if he was going to give them a chance to look down on his friend!
The thought stiffened his resolve and his spine, and it allowed him to complete the remainder of his march to Admiral Nechayev with the dignity expected of him.
When he stopped next to Garak, he made sure to "accidentally" give him a little bump with his shoulder, then glanced over to catch his smile. It was a surprisingly warm one (did Garak think he needed reassuring, too?), and also . . . surprisingly attractive. He could see now why Garak had insisted on having input on every step of the design process for his own outfit: he certainly knew how to dress to his advantage. While the dark colors and strict lines of Cardassian formal wear weren't his thing, on Garak, they looked—well, good.
He turned his attention forward again to find Admiral Nechayev regarding him with one eyebrow raised. He couldn't quite stop himself from ducking his head, but immediately after, he pulled back into position.
The Admiral waited a beat, then spoke. "Peoples of the Cardassian Union, of the United Federation of Planets, and of all interstellar bodies present with us today. We have come together to bear witness to the enjoining of Julian Bashir and Elim Garak in marriage, a physical symbol of the enjoinment of these two governments in peace and friendship. . . ."
The ceremony was long—somehow even longer than the rehearsals—and full of speeches from just about every single participant. He had been assuming the Cardassians involved would go on the most, but some of the Federation members gave them real competition.
He and Garak were expected to make a speech as well, about their reasons for marrying-enjoining with each other. For his part, he kept his as short as he could get away with. That way, there was far less chance of him tripping over his tongue, or leaving out a crucial bit, or otherwise spoiling things. Fortunately, he managed to get through it even with some dignity. Garak seemed to approve, judging from the unusually warm look bestowed upon him at the end.
And then, at last, at such long last, the ceremony was over. He and Garak were facing each other, hands held in the air between them and fingers woven together. When Julian met Garak's eyes, their sharp blue was almost too brilliant in contrast with the dark clothes he wore. It was a fascinating sight—so fascinating that he nearly missed Admiral Nechayev saying, "By the power invested in me by the United Federation of Planets and temporarily granted to me by the Central Command of the Cardassian Union, I hereby pronounce you enjoined and married. You may seal this union with a kiss."
And here it was: the unrehearsed moment he at last needed to face. It might have been from his own culture, but as far as he was concerned, this was going to be the most alien part of all.
Time to stop hesitating. He looked directly at Garak (then had to stifle a giggle when Garak actually batted his eyelashes at him), gave his hand a squeeze, and leaned in.
The moment their lips touched, his eyes snapped open, because there had been a spark, there had been a real spark, and—he couldn't pull back, it hadn't been long enough yet. He closed his eyes and pressed in again. He was unaware of his hands tightening on Garak's, didn't realise his body had swayed forward of its own accord until he felt Garak break the kiss and step back, and only then did he hear the applause and cheers from the attendees. He had to remind himself to let go of one of Garak's hands and, accompanied by a blend of the anthems of the Federation and the Union, together they went to sign the register.
As he pressed his thumb against the padd, there was room for only one thought in his mind:
What on Earth had just happened?
It wasn't that he couldn't stop thinking about the kiss at the reception afterwards—there were dozens of important people offering their congratulations and holoimages to pose for. (At least he didn't have to swear any vows of loyalty, by dint of Garak having no family present.) But in every spare moment, from one handshake to the next, in the time it took to bow, back his mind would go to that kiss and the puzzle he suddenly needed to pull apart.
It only grew worse, not better, when it came time to cut the wedding cake. His heart was already pounding as he took up the knife; Garak's hand settling over his did not slow its beat. How a hand that cool could make him this warm was beyond him.
He was able to calm himself as he and Garak took their seats side by side at the table of honour (in Quark's—Garak had lost that battle). He was even able to bring his breathing back to normal as still more speeches ensued.
When it came the Commander's turn, that was enough to make him forget about Garak entirely. He had no idea Commander Sisko thought so highly of him, let alone that he'd be willing to say as much in front of so many people. It was . . . it was extremely touching.
But then, his period of distraction came to an end. As the Commander sat down, there was the sound of ringing glass.
He searched the room, his eyes darting from table to table as most non-Human species traded confused looks. Who was it—who had . . . ?
Jadzia. Of course. She'd spent so much time around Humans over the course of her lifetimes that it made sense she'd pick up even one of the more obscure customs—particularly that one. And now others were joining in, grinning Humans beating away against their glasses with forks and those who wanted in on the joke tapping with somewhat less certainty, and there really was no escape now, was there?
"What is it, Julian?" Garak leaned in to murmur beneath the chiming that now filled Quark's. "You look quite stricken. Would that have anything to do with the sudden noise?"
He gave in to the inevitable. "Yes, it's, um, a cue for us to kiss."
"Is it, now?" Garak rose as he did. "Then we shouldn't ignore such a . . . musical request."
Garak smiled around the room—Julian tried—and then he took Julian by the shoulders (a few Cardassians made startled sounds).
He knew Garak was playing to the audience. If either of them acted as though they were embarrassed or shy, they'd only get more demands to kiss. It was a sound strategy.
And those facts vanished from his mind as soon as Garak's lips met his for the second time that day.
The last kiss had been a formality to seal an agreement. This one wasn't. It was hard, aggressive, and Julian did his best to match it as heat flashed through him His hand came up to Garak's shoulder to steady himself half without his awareness; when Garak's hand cupped his neck, he squeezed. Garak gasped against his mouth and instantly broke the kiss.
Julian stared at him as once again applause and cheers rang around them. Garak's eyes were just slightly widened and his breathing was shallow and fast.
He sat down harder than he'd meant to and winced. Chuckling replaced cheering, but right now, he didn't care. He tried to slip a gaze to Garak, to meet his eye, but Garak was focused on Legate Etan, who was rising to make the next speech.
Then again, he didn't really need any further confirmation, did he? He had all the evidence necessary to prove his hypothesis: that it wasn't only him who had been affected by their kisses. But acting on what he had learned would have to wait. It would be hours before he could speak with Garak alone, before they could decide just what they wanted to do. Somehow, he was going to have to last.
At the very least, Garak's plan had paid off. There was only one other occasion when the air filled with the sound of cutlery against glass, this time thanks to one of the younger members of the Cardassian delegation. Now that he was prepared for what would happen, Julian was actually able to relax a bit and even enjoy the kiss, and it seemed Garak did the same. Apparently, that took the fun out of the game for the spectators, since there were no further requests. As much as it was a relief, it was also somewhat disappointing.
Once the speeches were finally over (was this honestly what Cardassians thought was romantic?), it was time for the post-meal dance. He'd stayed out of the planning—he had enough to do preparing for his own part in the wedding and doing his actual job as CMO without getting involved in someone else's work—but apparently, someone or several someones had worked very hard to pull off this portion of the ceremony. They had compared Cardassian and Human dances, compiled and posted a list of what was compatible, and had instructed the musicians to play selections that could more or less serve as a background for both. It had clearly been a Herculean effort, and he made a mental note to find and thank whoever had been responsible.
But before that was the matter of getting through the first dance.
He and Garak had of course rehearsed together many times over the past month; Cardassian dance styles had only some steps in common with the Human dances he knew. It had been perhaps the most pleasant part of the endless preparations. At the time, he'd thought that had been due to getting to spend time in close contact with a good friend. Suddenly, however, he wasn't so sure that had been the only reason.
As he and Garak took their place in the centre of the designated dance floor, he made certain to fold his fingers around Garak's, not through. Through was for unions: all right for weddings, less so in other contexts. He wouldn't soon be forgetting the startled look on Garak's face at their first rehearsal, that much was certain.
Once they were ready, the musicians began the introduction to "Of All the Worlds." Very lightly, he gave Garak's hand a squeeze. Garak's smile flicked from pleasant to warm, and just as lightly, he squeezed back. Julian had time for only a steadying breath before the musical cue came for them to take the first step together.
After that, he was concentrating much too hard on not trodding on Garak's toes to pay attention to much else. But from time to time, he was able to focus properly on Garak, and always it was to discover that Garak watching him.
It wasn't unusual, really. Dance partners were supposed to pay attention to each other. But he simply couldn't work out what Garak was thinking. Of course, that wasn't unusual either—he almost never could tell what his friend had on his mind. This time, though, was different. He didn't get the sense that Garak found something funny (or him funny, for that matter). His expression was much . . . quieter, he supposed. But what it meant was beyond him.
When the first dance came to a close, still hand in hand, he and Garak turned and bowed to their assembled guests. After that, they were free to part ways, and so with another bow, to each other this time, off they went.
Over the course of the evening, Julian managed to get a dance with all of the senior staff—with the exception of Odo, which was fine with him. He wasn't sure anything could induce Odo to dance and if the Constable actually tried, it would probably be the most awkward affair imaginable. A bit like dancing with Major Kira, really. She was coordinated, at least, though she was clearly concentrating hard. She also didn't seem happy to be the only Bajoran in a room full of Cardassians. At the end of their dance, he decided against asking her again.
When he snatched a dance with Jadzia (a difficult feat, given her popularity), he led with an accusatory, "You had fun making Garak and me kiss, didn't you?"
"Of course." She raised her eyebrows. "And you had fun kissing him, didn't you?"
There wasn't a chance he was answering that. "Wh—I have no idea what would give you that impression."
"Mmhmm. Let's just say it felt like a pretty safe bet. Are you planning on kissing him again?"
"I. . . ." Lying to Jadzia was impossible. "I'm—not sure."
"I would. He looked like a pretty good kisser." She winked.
His blush was instant. "I . . . I couldn't say. "
Jadzia's laughter made him wonder if it were possible to spontaneously break one's own ankle as a means of escape. The infirmary would be a haven.
"Go ahead and take advantage of it, as long as he's up for it, too. He is your husband."
"Jadzia, I can't just. . . ."
When it was clear he'd given up speaking, she answered, "If you say so. But if you ask me, I think Garak would be happy to give you as many kisses as you could handle. And maybe some other things besides."
"Jadzia!" He had to stop this before it got even more out of hand than it already was! "Let's, uh—you've had a lot of dance partners tonight, haven't you?"
Fortunately for him, not only did Jadzia accept his frankly pathetic attempt at a subject change, but their dance together came to an end shortly after that. Once he found himself another dance partner—an older Cardassian woman, and now he was really glad he knew about no interlacing fingers—he used the opportunity to get his blushing back under control. It took longer than he'd hoped, to the point where his partner asked, amazed, if he was actually feeling warm in "this frozen wasteland of a station." That hadn't been much of a help with his embarrassment.
A few dances later, he had shoved Jadzia's comments far enough aside to find Garak and suggest another dance with him. Garak agreed, and soon they had found a place near the edge of the dance floor. (The centre had been fine for the first dance, but he would prefer not to be on display for the entire evening.) They assumed a fairly standard couple position and waited for the music to begin.
Within the first six notes, Garak got the strangest look on his face.
"What is it?" Julian asked, first looking at him, then at the other Cardassians, who all had similar expressions. A few of them were even giggling.
"I think—yes, it is." Now Garak's shoulders were shaking and his head bowed slightly. "It's 'Sweet Sweetmelon,' a children's game song."
". . . You're joking."
"Of course I'm not. You know very well, my dear, that I'm always completely serious." Garak raised his head to smile widely at him.
Julian didn't bother to contradict such an obvious lie. Instead, he consulted the screen that had been installed above the dance floor to provide information about which dances were compatible with the music being played at any given time. He read the current suggestion—and then it was his turn to fight against laughter.
"What is it, Julian?" Garak asked.
"We're supposed to dance a double waltz. To a children's song!"
He couldn't help himself any longer: laughter sprung from him, and he grabbed Garak's arm for support.
Laughter shook Garak's voice, too, as he attempted to say with his usual detachment, "How compatible our two species are! Our music and dance blend seamlessly."
"They must have been desperate at this point," he said and, before anyone could crash into them, took the lead and started moving.
It was hands down the most surreal dancing experience of his life. He and Garak could barely look at each other without breaking down, but at the very least, they made a game effort of it.
That is, until Julian overheard Garak murmuring under his breath, "Sweet sweetmelon, sweet sweetmelon, Ikuvik's three sweet sweetmelons."
And that was it. The laughter he'd been mostly keeping bottled up exploded as he came to a dead halt mid-dance. All he could do was lean against Garak and giggle, listening to and feeling Garak's laughter in return. Every bit of stress and nerves of the past month came free and it felt wonderful.
He had just enough attention left to watch other couples around them give up the battle. A few more fought the good fight and tried to finish the dance, but when he heard a few squawks from the musicians' instruments that he was positive weren't part of the music, it was plain all was lost.
After that, finally, the guests began to relax. The atmosphere lost its formality and the noise level rose as the conversation (and the drinks) flowed much more naturally. And, amazingly enough, Julian—and just possibly Garak—started to have a good time.
It was considerably later than he'd expected when he and Garak left the reception. As they walked along the mostly empty corridors of the habitat ring, Julian's state of relaxation ebbed away and he was left sending little sideways glances at Garak. At the very least, they were going back to his quarters instead of somewhere completely new (given he was an officer, his quarters were the same size as a double room anyway), but . . . yesterday, a second bed had been delivered to his bedroom. He'd had to spend the night trying not to stare at the space where his brand new husband was going to be in a very short period of time. And now, he was realising, that short period of time had got a great deal shorter.
"Here we are," he said needlessly as they stopped outside his door; he unlocked it. "I suppose I'll need to give you the passcode before I go on duty tomorrow."
"What makes you think I don't already have it?"
He stopped after barely few steps and turned to find an expression of perfect innocence on Garak's face. In spite of his once again jumpy stomach, he smiled.
"I'll give it to you anyway, for the look of thing." He continued inside. Garak followed, and the door slid shut behind them. "I'm going to get changed and go to bed—unless there's, um, anything you'd rather . . . ?"
He let the sentence trail off, rather than add "be doing." The contents of a typical wedding night were pushing themselves forward in his mind, and now that he had kissed Garak and found it not an odd obligation to get through, those thoughts were difficult to ignore.
"No, there isn't," Garak replied, thankfully not commenting on his near innuendo. "I may read before bed, but feel free to go to sleep whenever you like."
"All right. I'll just go—get ready now."
He'd hoped retreating into his bedroom would give him some time to think and to become a little less tongue-tied. But—it wasn't his bedroom anymore. The closet was filled with Garak's clothes and on his dresser lay a brush with long black hair caught in its bristles. And, of course, the so-called elephant in the room was Garak's bed.
Julian took his time dressing, trying not to be conscious of Garak next door as the now much warmer air of his quarters wrapped around his skin. It was, of course, an impossible task. But at the same time, it was that impossibility that finally allowed him to make up his mind.
"Elim," he said as he stepped back into the main living area.
Garak looked up from where he was sitting on the couch with a padd he must have just replicated. "Yes, Julian?"
Julian crossed the room and sat down next to Garak. Now he was devoutly wishing he'd not changed—it was difficult to feel in control of a situation when you were the only one in pyjamas.
"I was thinking about earlier today, when we, ah . . . when we kissed," he began. Why was this so hard? He never got this tongue-tied with women—at least not since Palis, and that was years ago!
Garak shut off his padd and set it aside. Julian couldn't say whether having his full attention was better or far worse.
"Yes?"
. . . He was just going to say it. There was no other way this was coming out in the open, and he didn't want to spend months guessing and second-guessing.
"You . . . liked it, didn't you?"
Nothing about Garak's expression changed. He kept watching him with that same mild, sharp expression. "I didn't dislike it. You aren't an unpleasant person to kiss, Julian, if that's the source of your concern."
It wasn't, of course, and he couldn't say he was terribly fond of Garak's wording—but that was a distraction. He had to press on.
"Well, I did. Like it, I mean."
There: a widening of Garak's eyes. It was slight, but he caught it, and that let him finish his sentence all in a go.
"And I was thinking I'd rather like to do more of it."
Garak sat back in his seat for only a very few moments. Then he leaned forward again with purpose, making Julian's breath catch.
"I believe I would be amenable to that," he replied, his voice low, and how had he not realised this sooner?
Rather than waste time wondering, he leaned forward as well. This time, without an audience, he could really take his time to focus on Garak, the oddly smooth texture of his lips, the faint scent of his shampoo or hair oil or whatever it was (he'd learn soon), and what it was like to bring his hand to Garak's cheek and feel his ear ridges beneath his fingers.
When he felt cloth beneath his hands instead, he broke the kiss. It was a familiar pattern his hands were following, but one that needed to be preceded by a long discussion with a clear head. That wasn't going to be happening tonight.
He gave himself just enough time to press the sight of Garak's still-closed eyes and their short black lashes into his memory before he rose from the couch.
He cleared his throat. "I'm going to—sleep. Good night, Elim."
Garak opened his eyes and looked up at him. Were it not for his intense gaze, he might have believed Garak had been unaffected.
"Good night, Julian. Sleep well."
"I'll certainly try," he said. The honesty twitched a smile from Garak.
He returned to his—their bedroom, got under the covers, and turned out the lights. He spent a while lying on his side, facing the empty bed, before rolling onto his back and closing his eyes.
He'd thought last month, when he'd agreed to marry Garak, that all in all, his life would remain largely the same. That it would be like being back at the academy with a roommate. Now, he very much doubted the situation would be similar at all.
Things had changed. While that was an intimidating idea, he thought . . . it was for the better.
He let out a long breath and settled more comfortably beneath his blankets. It was time to sleep, so that tomorrow, he could meet those changes head on.