Chapter Text
Elim Garak returned to his home, alighting from the skimmer, and bidding good evening to his driver. He made his way to his study, setting down what he had brought back with him from work, then glancing briefly at a padd, examining the new Cardassian novel he promised both Julian and Kelas he would read. After refreshing himself, he approached their living room, and as he drew nearer, he perceived voices; habit caused him to slow his pace and hang back. He listened to the sounds of Cardassi spoken by two voices, one measured and gentle, the other lighter and quicker, which ground to a halt on occasion or was caught by a certain scratchiness before resuming its regular pattern.
“- so the description of these items does nothing to serve the furthering of the text?” Kelas enquired.
“Not in that sense, no, but in another, absolutely.”
“But Julian, I am aware of what Terran trees look like, and flowers. To accord such an object a detailed description indicates to me as a reader that the tree or the flower will later be revealed to play a significant role in the resolution of the story or that it is a hint as to something else in the narrative, an undercurrent.”
“Those are of course relevant arguments and do serve as good tools in crafting a text.” Julian conceded. There were still moments when Garak was struck by how his partner's Cardassi reflected his own manner of speaking: so strange to hear oneself echoed back in the speech of another. “But in this case, the tree will never appear in the text again, nor will the gillyflowers really.”
“So, what purpose do they serve then?”
Garak listened to Julian sigh, good-naturedly, with fondness in his voice.
The growing intimacy between Julian and Kelas had at first unsettled Garak more than he wished to admit. He disliked being reminded that he was as fallible as anyone and could fall prey to such bouts of irrationality. He trusted Kelas implicitly, and he did want Julian to form friendships, as they had always played such a significant role in his life previously. Julian was still hesitant to contact his old friends, not because he did not care for them or miss them; he simply did not know how to begin the conversation with them, how to encounter those who knew him from what now felt to him to be a previous life. He would reconnect with them one day, Garak was convinced of this, but currently Julian was not equal to the task of witnessing his friends relearning their relationship, discovering and negotiating it all anew. Kelas was the first new friend he had made in this life and Garak could see how at ease his partner was in his company. Kelas had noticed the other Cardassian's struggle and had reassured him one quiet morning, placing his hand over his.
“Elim, I am very aware that you love Julian, and that you also view him as having very particular aesthetic charms. Though I find Julian's company wonderful, and satisfying in many ways, please do not get any false impressions. I have no designs on your partner and he has not the faintest interest in me in that way either. Furthermore Elim, you do know how deeply I value our own friendship, and that I care for you a great deal too.”
Garak had been uncomfortable at the beginning of Kelas' speech but as it progressed, he lifted his other free hand and covered Kelas' with it, holding his hand now in both of his.
Recalling this moment, Garak hung back no longer, and entered the room. Julian and Kelas both looked up, happy to see him. He noted Doctor Parmak's stick propped against his arm chair. Julian wheeled himself over to the cabinet and poured a kanar for his partner.
Julian continued his recovery at an unhurried pace and Garak read the influence of Kelas in this. He knew himself the strength of Kelas' kindness when he had not been able to be kind to himself. Julian was usually the one who gave unstintingly of his own compassion but in relation to his own recovery certain internalised attitudes inherited from his parents had not been fully eradicated, and perhaps never would be. But both Elim and Kelas were there to counter them when they arose; particularly, Kelas' own situation made the older Cardassian's words on this more acceptable to Julian. He continued with his physiotherapy, making progress, but he allowed himself to continue to use his wheelchair, even if he could have, with great difficulty, perhaps have got by without it at this point.
“What are we discussing?” Garak enquired as he settled himself near Julian.
“Terran literature.” Kelas supplied. Garak discreetly looked sideways at the older Cardassian, silently asking for confirmation whether this meant Julian had not only returned to reading Terran authors, but had also returned to reading them in the original Federation Standard. A barely perceptible movement indicated Kelas' positive response to this.
This was the first time since coming out of his catatonic state that Julian had even read Federation Standard. He still spoke only Cardassi but this newest development hinted that Julian was at least beginning to feel comfortable enough to read the language once again. Garak wondered exactly what happened to Julian when he thought of his first language. His relationship to it would be forever changed, even if he began to return to speaking it.
“Oh poor Kelas, is he attempting to convince you of the qualities of Terran literature?”
“My dear Mr. Garak, I seem to recall a Cardassian tailor who was more than happy to discuss Terran literature with me, many years ago.”
“That particular Cardassian tailor's motives may not have been entirely pure.” He sipped at his Kanar. “Was there any work in particular being discussed?”
“'Brideshead Revisited'.”
“Hm.” Garak savoured his mouthful of kanar. Since Julian's return, in both senses of the word, he had taken the greatest pleasure in sharing the choicest vintages of kanar from Tain's cellar.
“You do not care for the work?”
“No, you misunderstand me, Dr. Parmak; rather, my trouble is that I too easily fall into the trap of the writing and it means I cannot engage with it properly.”
“How so?” Kelas looked intrigued now.
“To my mind, it is a critique of nostalgia. However, it deploys this critique by creating such langurous, beautiful prose, seeping the sentences and atmosphere in rose-golden light that one, or rather I, end up luxuriating in it, as if stupified. I cannot produce an actual response to it; as I said, I fall into its trap.”
“That sounds dangerously akin to sentiment, Elim.” Julian said.
“Sentiment, my dear Doctor, not sentimental.”
Julian raised his glass slightly in acceptance of this qualification. “However, I do agree with your assessment. The main character, Charles, calls his memoirs 'sacred and profane'. That means they are untouchable, to be preserved as in an ancient tomb. He looks back but he looks back only to relive, to repeat. He can never critically look back for if he did, he would have to recognise that his misery was of his own making. Because that is Charles's, and his lover, Sebastian's, great flaw, that their tragedy is something they do to themselves. They fail each other in their own way and so all they have left are their memories, and if they were to look critically upon their happy times then they would have nothing.”
“A highly sensible lesson, if perhaps the harshest one there is to learn.” Kelas added.
“Are you saying, Julian, that we must learn to relinquish our illusions?” Garak queried.
“Yes. And our myths.”
“I am yet to understand where the flowers come into it.” Kelas' voice was amused; his thorough enjoyment was evident, and Garak fed off of it and Julian's energy too.
“But that is the point, Kelas.” Julian responded. “The gillyflowers are simply there. They become associated with this golden period of Charles' life, his relationship with Sebastian. They have no meaning outside of this context. They gain meaning from Charles' subjectivity, from the significance he accords to them, nothing further. That is the beauty of them.”
“As charming as that is, I do take issue with it, Julian dear.”
“And I in turn insist, like Charles, on my being able to read the gillyflowers as subjectively as I wish to and I will not even attempt to put forth any evidence as to this.” Julian's brown eyes were filled with warmth and interest, a light touch of fun too. He appeared, in spite of his greying stubble, to be almost coquettish to Garak in this moment. It was a wonderful sight to behold.
“What interpretation do you have of these flowers, Elim?”
“Gillyflowers are given to those who mourn, Kelas. Their relationship is doomed from the start.”
“That does give it a slightly different colouring.”
“I will not bother to discourse on the other more typically received and understood symbolism attributed to flowers in general as I would only be making speculation based off of something too unprecise.”
“How Cardassian.” Julian laughed. “To view the future as set and inevitable.”
“Oh, don't forget that it is also destined to repeat itself.” Kelas added and Julian laughed again at this.
“Well, in that respect, I do admit, Doctor, that perhaps some of our literature has been mistaken.” Garak poured another round of kanar for them, and he observed how the bottle emptied, the decades old liquor disappearing into the mouths of his friend and partner, respectively.
-
Garak was in his study when he heard the high-pitched beeping noise announcing an incoming call. It was not on his private devices, it was in the living room. He listened as Julian wheeled himself over to answer it. There were irregular messages from Julian's colleagues at the hospital, politely enquiring as to his well-being. It was clear from these personal calls that his former Cardassian colleagues esteemed him greatly. No mention was made by any of them as to when and if the Doctor would return to his work.
Julian had accepted the call. The next moment, Federation Standard boomed out into their home, clearly audible through the walls. Garak gripped the desk, his sight almost going dark with rage.
“- do you know what I had to do to even get a hold of these contact details? I used every connection and skill I had to get it, I can't understand why Star Fleet wouldn't just give it to me when I asked, after all, I was trying to find my own son, the embarrassment of the situation you put us in, looking like we didn't know anything about your life -”.
Garak heard Julian's voice, much quieter, making an attempt to respond, to stem the onslaught of words. He snapped into action then, taking some measured deep breaths before rising and making his way to the study.
“- why are you coming through in Cardassi, is there some sort of planet wide filter? Jules, Jules, what – are you in a wheelchair? What in the hell happened? How could that happen? Don't they have hospitals and treatments on Cardassia that would cure that? How could that happen with your enhancements, surely they would recover quickly? There can't be something wrong with them, can there? Dear God, what have they done to you?”
Garak entered the room; Julian had simply fallen silent now, his shoulders hunched as the small image of Richard Bashir continued to flicker and move on the screen.
“Who in God's name is that? Who are you? What happened to Jules? Why don't you get him proper treatment? That's it, we're coming there, only family can look after family, we'll get you to the right people -”.
Garak stood in front of the screen and fixed Richard Bashir with a look he had not had cause to use for many years.
“Oh, I don't think so.”
And he ended the call.
The silence in the room after this incident was almost obscene. Garak turned to his partner. Julian shakily raised his head and struggled to give his partner a weak smile. He indicated he was going to refresh himself and once he was gone, Garak called up his most trusted colleague and gave him an order, highly classified, to intercept and halt two certain persons from entering Cardassian territory.
This discharged, he went in search of Julian and found him outside in the garden. The beginnings of a garden, at least, Garak told himself. Julian liked to come out here and read, particularly in the early mornings or as evening began to close in. His partner's visceral affinity for his home planet always gave Garak a strange but warm sensation in his chest. Julian had never had such a love for a place called home, a connection to a certain world or planet, and yet he was clearly drawn to the dry heat and stark shapes of Cardassia Prime. Garak examined his partner as he gazed out on the stripped-back landscape, sublime in its expanses, uncomfortable in its bareness.
“Would you care to check on the orchids with me?”
Garak had erected a small greenhouse to cultivate these blooms, his particular favourites. It sometimes seemed a folly to him, to erect a structure to house flowers which would not otherwise be able to survive in this landscape. They required such care, even without the added challenge of attempting to take root in an environment as unhospitable to them as Cardassia. He touched the orchids gently, examining them, attending to them, spraying them lightly with water, pruning them, giving them extra supports to encourage them to grow. Garak admired them, their complexity, their fragility. Then he turned to his partner, and was confronted with the sight of Julian bent forward, hands covering his face as he shook with silent sobs.
“Julian.” He whispered and in one movement was in front of him, on his knees, taking his hands from his face, clasping them in his own, pressing his face to his partner's wet cheek.
“I didn't – I didn't feel broken like this. Until now. When will they stop breaking me, Elim?”
Garak's own eyes burnt at Julian's words.
“They are the ones who are broken, my love.”
Julian continued to cry and Garak wished he could get Kukalaka for him. He wished he could tell Julian, and be assured he heard him and believed him when he told him that truly it was Richard Bashir, and Amsha who were broken. Their marriage would not have survived this. Yes, Kelas had assessed correctly, he found Julian beautiful, he always had, but that had not changed and never would. In some ways, he found Julian more beautiful today than he had the first time they had met and that was because this Julian was his in ways the young Doctor had not been. This was his love and they were necessary to one another. Life did not make sense without him. Richard Bashir would never understand the beauty in this. Garak had not allowed the Bashirs to enter Cardassia because of what they would do to Julian; however, he had also felt a rush of protective anger for his planet which he knew Richard Bashir would have gazed upon and scorned, he would have recoiled from it, not understood it, and he had found himself wanting to protect her from this ignorance and hurt as much as he wanted to keep Julian away from them.
-
“So, eh.” Miles O'Brien began awkwardly. “What are you doing with yourself these days anyway?”
A few days previous, Julian had received a call from his old friend, and he had once more declined to answer. After this a message had come through; he and his family were coming to Cardassia for a period, Keiko's expertise once more being sought out in assisting the planet with its flora and irrigation. Garak had been aware of this but he had not revealed it to Julian; he had wanted to wait for the two to come into contact themselves.
It had taken Julian a day and a night but he had finally responded, typing to his old friend, attempting a brief explanation of how he would perhaps find him somewhat changed. Indeed, upon arrival, Miles had not quite been able to cover the shock on his face, however this was almost instantly replaced with true joy in seeing his old friend again. Garak had turned his attentions to Mrs. O'Brien and her two charming children, leaving the other two to themselves. He showed her his orchids and they discussed his attempts to create a new garden in this climate, and he discussed her own work on Cardassia. Kelas had arrived at some point, and was soon deeply involved in the conversation, Keiko evidently taking to him quickly.
As they were preparing to leave, Miles had asked this question of Julian. He answered it lightly yet Garak sensed a certain hesitancy to his tone.
“Oh, not much. Considering my options, I suppose.”
“Just that – well, if you had time, mind, I've been reading up on Cardassian history.”
Garak tilted his head quite sharply out of genuine surprise.
“Ah here. Look, what I mean to say is.” He was refusing to let himself get flustered and ploughed on ahead. “That there are actually some decent parts that come up. Reminds me a bit of parts of Irish history.”
“Oh?” Julian had not immediately spoken to Miles with his usual speed and fluency, leaving the other man to take on the majority of the talking. Even though the O'Briens would have had to have their universal translators on in any case, it seemed Julian was self-conscious about talking to his friend through a filter.
“Just if you wanted to ever look at doing some kind of holosuite programme with me or making models, it doesn't have to be from Earth history only, you know? It can be Cardassian too.”
Julian's smile was wide and bright. Keiko and Garak caught one another's eye and had to look away for fear of their smirks being noticed. Aside from his mirth, Garak was also touched by Miles' attempts to reach out to Julian in this manner.
“Miles, of course I'll play with you.”
“Jesus, I didn't – look, fine, alright, we can pick something.” His face was growing increasingly red and Julian appeared to want to take pity on him.
“We can also have you take the Bajoran side if you wish.”
He only went redder at this. “But then we'd be fighting on different sides Julian, the whole point is that I'm on your side.”
-
“Julian, my dear.”
“Mm? Sorry, I was just caught up in this enigma tale. I do wish you'd hurry up and read it too, I want to discuss it with you.”
“I promise I will endeavour to get to the work as soon as I can. I rather had something else I wanted to ask you about.”
“I see.”
“I do not wish to presume and so first I thought it best to enquire as to how you are feeling.”
“Come, Elim, that is far too vague, and you know it. How I feel in relation to what, how I feel physically or how I feel mentally?”
“A valid criticism.”
“Elim. You want to ask me if I want to have sex again.”
“A somewhat inelegant sentence, however, that is the essence of it. Well.”
“Elim, don't be so worried. You are entitled to ask.”
“Entitled is the absolutely last thing I want to be when it comes to you, and especially when it comes to our lovemaking.”
“Come closer to me, love. Yes, I would very, very much like to resume having sex with you. It might be a bit different, though.”
“We have always been somewhat creative in our intimate moments, so this will not be unknown territory to us.”
“That more creative aspect – is that also something you wanted to resume?”
“Oh, Julian, you have no concept.”
“You've missed it desperately, haven't you? Oh, Elim.”
“I must admit I have felt the absence of it more and more recently. It had at one time become a regular part of our lives and it in a way had become a part of myself.”
“Then shall we? Tomorrow, if you like?”
“You mean, not just in the bedroom but the way -”.
“Yes, outside too, the whole day long, you will be mine, Elim Garak, and will have to do as I order you.”
“Oh, Doctor.”
“Elim?”
“I apologise, I have not heard you speak in that tone for so long, and now – to hear you say those words in Cardassi, unfiltered, it is having a rather powerful effect on me. Please. Tomorrow would – thank you.”
-
Elim Garak awoke early and yet his partner was still up before him; he was laying out clothes for Garak to wear. Garak noted the fineness of the ensemble. He noticed Garak was awake and he wheeled himself over to him.
“Elim.”
“Yes, Doctor?”
“What is your safe word?”
“Invoices.” He almost sighed the word, not having used it for so long, in this context.
He looked at his Doctor – there was uncertainty present in him, his fingers quivering almost, an apprehension evident, as if he was waiting for Garak to break and laugh at the situation, how it had changed. He hoped he would be able to demonstrate to his Doctor that this was not the case.
“Elim.” He attempted to school his voice. “You are to strip for me.”
Garak got to his feet and swiftly removed his nightclothes, disposing of them neatly before turning back to the Doctor, his scales shivering lightly at the initial sensation of being uncovered.
“Kneel.”
Garak gratefully sank to his knees, his head heavy, bowing, beyond his control. He felt the Doctor wheel himself closer to him before he reached down and tilted his face up towards him.
“Elim. Why do you kneel for me?”
“Doctor?”
“You are to answer.”
“I – because I want to. I need to. Because you order me to.”
“There is another reason. Because you are mine. And only I can give you what you need.”
“Yes, Doctor.” He gasped.
“Repeat it, Elim.”
“I am yours, Doctor. Only you can give me what I need.”
The Doctor's fingers moved, stroking his cheek. Garak leaned into the touch. His mind and body felt so open, ready to receive everything his Doctor would bestow upon him, needing to soak it up like a plant in the desert rain. He anticipated the day ahead of them, obeying the Doctor's demands, allowing his mind to sink into this particular space, having to request permission from him for the most personal of needs, constantly aware that he was the Doctor's. Even the slightly altered situation and the logistics it might present only elicited curiosity from Garak as to how they would negotiate this. He ached to see the Doctor fully in this role again, to witness him once more as he rained down blows against his scales, the look that came into his eyes when he bound his hands. Already he wanted to perform any number of services for his Doctor, just to see him above him, to hear him using those words on him.
“Look at how well you kneel for me, Elim. You would kneel there until I told you not to, no?” He continued to caress his cheek and Garak nodded against him.
“You have to answer me, Elim.”
“Yes, Doctor. I would kneel here until you gave me permission to do otherwise.”
“Well, then, Elim – let us begin.”