The Subtext Is Rapidly Becoming Text

It would be terminally embarrassing, and he had no filter around Clay, so it was better he just stayed over here in the corner, where no one could see him, and--

"Please tell me you're not planning to hide over here behind the poinsettias and make moon eyes at Clay all night." The slightly irritated voice of his older sister yanked Aidan's attention to his left, where Daria stood, one of her twin sons on her hip, his head on her shoulder and looking like he'd been crying, recently.

"Hey, there, Zach-attack. What's the matter?" Aidan ignored his sister, stroking the back of one finger over his three-year-old nephew's tear-stained cheek.

"Ubba fee gu," Zachary garbled around the thumb in his mouth.

Daria -- easily distracted by her children -- lifted her free hand to smooth over Zachary's head, and planted a kiss on his brow Aidan already knew was meant to test the child for fever as much as offer comfort. "My little lovebug has a bug of his own, apparently. He got sick all over the car on the way to his Great-Gramps and Grams' for the night, and I knew I'd just spend the evening worrying about him, so the other three are happily with Jordan's grandparents, being spoiled rotten, and this little man had to come hang out with all us boring grown-ups."

Aidan's heart broke for the little boy. He knew what it was like to miss out on the fun because his health was too delicate. Aidan had been a preemie, himself, and a little frail of health as a baby. Fortunately, he'd grown out of most of the breathing and immunity problems, though he'd never managed to put on the height or muscle tone he'd wished for.

"Here." He set his wine glass on a nearby table and reached for Zachary. "Why don't you let me take him, and you go find your husband? Enjoy having an evening kid-free. You know Zach's in good hands with me, sis."

"Oh, no, you don't." Daria stubbornly retained hold of her son, turning so her body blocked Aidan's access. He might have three inches in height on his sister's curvy 5'3" frame, but Daria was by far the more stubborn of the two of them. "You aren't going to use my child to hide from your chance at happiness, Aid."

He sighed and rolled his eyes. Daria had taken to smothering him with concern ever since he was diagnosed with ADHD and high-functioning Anxiety as a kid. "I'm happy, 'Ria. Honest."

"Bull--" she glanced at her son, "pucky. Aidan, I love you dearly, but you are not happy. You've been pining over that man since you were eight years old, but for some reason, you won't make a move to get out of the friend zone."

Aidan glanced toward where Clay was as the sound of the other man's laugh carried to him. That sound always did this strange clenching thing in his gut and chest. He wanted to know what that laugh felt like, rolling along his skin. However... He sighed. "I'm not his type, 'Ria."

She cocked one dark eyebrow at him that silently called him ridiculous, even as she said, "Really? Because I don't think he dates much, either. And it's not like he's ever made a secret of being gay. So, what's the problem?"

"The problem is that he no doubt likes club boys, who are confident, capable of managing their own lives, and are... experienced. No one in their right mind wants saddled with a neurotic, anxious," he glanced around, then at Zach, and lowered his voice to a near-whisper, "v-i-r-g-i-n, like me."

Daria's dark grey eyes grew sad, and she reached her free hand to cup his cheek, looking at him with so much pain, Aidan's own throat tightened. "I'm sorry I never knew how to help you, when we were young, Aidan. I should have been a better sister. I should have investigated mental health more, listened more. I knew you were struggling, but I just didn't know this would happen. You're not a mess, Aidan. You're my baby brother, and I really, really want you to be happy. We both know that's never going to happen if you don't go over there and talk to Clay. Tell him how you feel -- at least, that way, you'll know. You won't have this big question mark hanging over you. I know what that feels like. You know how many years I spent questioning Jordan's feelings, all because I was too afraid to just confront him."

Aidan drew a breath and sighed again. He was out of arguments, and he knew it. Daria had found the courage to track Jordan down across the whole damn country, as a teenager, just to get an answer once and for all. All he had to do was cross the room, and then somehow figure out how to tell his best friend he'd spent most of his life half in love with him.

The anxious flutter in his chest -- always the precursor to a panic attack -- had Aidan feeling like he was about to shake out of his skin.

Just breathe. Count each breath. In, one, two, three, four. Out, one, two, three, four. Focus on two stationary things you can see, he silently went through all the calming steps Daria's mother-in-law, Doctor Jaye Watkins, had been teaching him since he was a kid, to help manage his anxiety.

After a long moment, he let out a final deep exhale, feeling the fluttering in his chest recede.

"I can't," he mumbled to his sister. "If he tells me no, I think I might just fall apart."

Daria leaned in and kissed his cheek. "No, you won't. Because he's not going to tell you no. No man in his right mind would say no to someone as cute as you. Now, scoot."

With a gentle nudge from her hand, she pushed him a step toward Clay. Snatching up his wine glass for the illusion of normalcy, Aidan swallowed hard and squared his shoulders. Daria was right. He could do this. He had to do this, if only so he'd know, once and for all.

He just hoped hitting rock bottom wouldn't hurt too bad.

Of course, just getting close to Clay nearly gave him another panic attack. And the moment Clay saw him, and that familiar smile curved Clay's lips, Aidan was sure he was seconds from hyperventilating.

"Hey, mouse," Clay greeted him, his pleased tone full of genuine warmth. But of course it would be. Clay was a friendly guy, and they were friends. They'd once been best friends -- at least, that's what Clay claimed when they were just entering their teens. Of course, Clay hadn't known Aidan was half in love with him, back then, either. "I wasn't sure you were ever gonna come out of the corner and say hi."

Mortification complete. Clay saw him. Shit, shit, shit. Aidan, you idiot, of course he saw you. Probably everyone saw you and wondered why you were lurking around like some weirdo.

Aidan opened his mouth to say what he came to say, before he completely lost his nerve. Instead, his brain disconnected from his mouth, and he blurted, "I'm surprised to see you here at all." 

Clayton's eyebrow raised in question, displaying the rakish slash of a scar there, his lips tipping up at one corner in an amused smirk. Aidan cringed inwardly, aware it was too late to stop this train wreck in the making.

"Why's that, mouse?" 

Clay had called him that since they were kids – probably because he was always so timid and cautious. He wished he could say he hated it, but the soft, gravelly way Clay always said it set Aidan's heart fluttering, instead.

Licking his lips, he stammered, "I just... It's New Years... I thought... well," he squeezed his eyes closed. For the love of Ishtar, Raleigh, get it together! He drew a deep breath, and blurted, "I thought you'd be at a club, tonight."

Silence answered him. Carefully, Aidan cracked one eye open to gauge Clay's reaction. He expected amusement, or for Clay to have walked away. Both eyes snapped open when he saw neither. Clay was staring at him in utter confusion, his dark green eyes harboring just a touch of hurt. As if he saw he had Aidan's attention, he shook his head with a sigh.

"You think I got leave, and flew halfway around the world, to spend my holidays in clubs filled with too much alcohol, potential drug use, and guys on the prowl, just looking for a quick, meaningless fuck? Seriously, mouse -- is that how you see me?"

Aidan's mouth moved silently for a moment. Did he see Clay that way? He didn't want to. He wanted to see Clay as his. Always had. Only problem was, Clay was outgoing, extroverted, and could make friends anywhere. All of the things Aidan wasn't. So, yeah, much as he hated it, he could see Clay at what he imagined gay clubs looked like, surrounded by a bevy of gorgeous men. Not that he'd ever worked up the courage to step foot in a club of any kind, to actually know what went on in one.

He wasn't looking for sex with a stranger. He was looking for forever -- with Clay.

You read too many romances. His inner voice always managed to sound like his brother, but it wasn't wrong. But he'd also watched real-life romance, his whole life. His parents were like watching a freaking fairy tale. Even when they argued, the love they had for each other was palpable to anyone around them. His sister and her husband, too. Everywhere he looked around him, people were in love. Daria was right. It wasn't too much to ask for that, himself.

A nauseating knot tightened in Aidan's gut, right along with the painful lump lodged in his throat as he realized it just might be too much to ask for with this man. This was a bad idea. He had to get out of here before he really embarrassed himself. So, shaking his head, he managed a croaked, "Sorry."

Turning on his heel, he fled, shooting his sister a baleful, watery glare on his way out the door. He would deal with her meddling tomorrow. Right now, he just wanted out of here, to go home and have a good cry before his parents got home and his mother started fussing over him. Much as he loved his parents, he just wanted to be alone with his mortification, and the fact he'd just managed, in true Aidan fashion, to insult his friend and the man he'd spent half of his life in love with.

Blessed Ishtar, why does love have to be so hard?

*****

Clay stared after his slight, dark-haired mouse in shock, uncertain what just happened. It took a full minute, and his lungs burning for oxygen, before he realized he wasn't breathing. Aidan had that effect on him. Just the sight of that curly mop of dark hair or those intelligent but oh-so-innocent hazel eyes made Clay forget anything but Aidan existed.

Always had.

A chuckle sounded beside him. "I know that look. What was that all about, anyway?"

"Dunno," he answered his twin absently, shoving his beer toward Colby. "Hold this for a minute."

He barely waited to make sure Colby had hold of the bottle before charging off the way Aidan went. He did, however, catch the sad smile on Daria Watkins' face as he passed her. He didn't like that look. It told him whatever was going on, his little mouse was hurting, and that was simply unacceptable.

He pushed through the double doors out into the dimly lit main lobby of the Project Prometheus Mission Control building, and pulled up short when he saw Aidan, curled up on a bench seat in the corner behind the large Christmas tree, its blinking, multicolor lights giving away his position in the shadows. Clay stopped, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans, as an affectionate smirk tugged up one side of his mouth.

"If you're looking to hide, mouse, the one lit place in the entire dark lobby is probably not the best place to do it."

"I'm afraid of the dark," came the mumbled reply, before Aidan groaned and buried his face against his upraised knees, hugging his arms tighter around them. "It's stupid. Please go away."

Surprise shot through Clay. Not at Aidan's confession he was afraid of the dark, but at the way he called his very rational fear stupid. Clay knew the Raleigh kids grew up under serious threat of kidnapping and death. Daria had nearly been abducted several times, and if the rumors were true, Gabriel had physical scars from when an assassin tried to outright kill him when he was just a kid. Clay had no idea what Aidan might have gone through. No one would ever tell him -- and he'd asked, repeatedly -- and he didn't want to ask Aidan for fear of setting off whatever trauma he had. The level of anxiety and fear Aidan lived with didn't come from nowhere. It had a source. Which meant anything he was afraid of, there was probably a very good reason for it.

"It's not stupid, mouse. C'mon. I came all this way to see you."

That earned him a scoffing snort. "You're full of shit, Clay."

Clay shrugged, unwilling to be deterred. After all, despite what Aidan believed, he really had agreed to come back to DC for the holidays on the hope he'd get a chance to see Aidan.

"I'm serious, mouse." He moved around the tree more, until he could slide onto the bench where Aidan was all scrunched up. "C'mon out of here, and let's go somewhere, huh? You can't be comfortable like that, and I really do want to spend time with you, before I have to go back to Africa."

"Can't we just talk like this? Then I can pretend I didn't make an absolute ass out of myself, back there."

Clay laughed. God, could Aidan get any more adorable? "Who said anything about making an ass out of yourself? Besides, have you seen your ass?"

Aidan winced. "That bad?"

That startled Clay. Bad? God, if Aidan knew how much he wanted to see him naked, the little mouse would probably run in terror. "Baby, you look positively delectable."

That got a splutter of real laughter from Aidan. "Gods, Clay, you really are full of shit! Please tell me those kinds of lines don't actually work on the guys you date."

Seriously? Were they going to have to keep doing this dance? "Dunno. I don't date."

"Oh. Sorry." The very air between them changed, and he swore Aidan's melancholy was suddenly a living, breathing wall between them. "The guys you hook up with, then."

"For the last time, I don't do hook-ups, either. I haven't been with anyone in years." Clay reached out and gently peeled one of Aidan's hands free of its death-grip around his knees, stroking his fingertips over the back, and then over Aidan's palm, watching a fine shiver go through his best friend's body. Hell, yeah. Aidan wasn't nearly as immune to him as he thought. "What I would like is to date you. Think we can manage that?"

A panic he didn't like flashed across Aidan's face, before the other man managed a whispered, "W-what?"

Determined to not let Aidan see how much his reaction hurt, Clay forced a grin and teased, "Come on, mouse. Can't be the worst idea I've ever had."

"It's not that!" Aidan blurted, then flushed and looked away. He was worrying his lower lip between his teeth in that way he always had as a kid when something made him anxious. Aidan probably had no idea how much that little motion affected Clay.

Clay stayed where he was, barely daring to breathe, as he let Aidan work through whatever was going on in his brilliant mind. He wasn't going to ruin this by hurrying Aidan.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Aidan sighed and met his gaze.

"I don't know what this," he waggled his hand between them, "is, anymore. I'm not sure I have for a long time. Seriously, though, can we really... can we talk, first? Before we make any decisions?"

Relief washed through Clay, tugging an easy, affectionate smile to his face. So, it was just nerves. This was still the Aidan he knew -- cautious, but far braver than most people -- Aidan included -- gave him credit for.

"Sure. You want to stay here behind the Christmas tree, or...?" He flashed Aidan a genuine, teasing grin.

"Smartass," Aidan grumbled with a roll of his eyes as he uncurled from his spot, his foot nudging Clay to scoot back out so he could follow. A small smile tugged at that gorgeous face as Aidan slid forward on the bench, and Clay's chest tightened until he wasn't sure he was breathing. Hopefully, Aidan wouldn't make him wait too long for a kiss.

He rose to his feet and stepped back to give Aidan space, swallowing back his own nerves as he watched that slim body wriggle along the bench before Aidan gained his feet. Then, before Clay could get himself together enough to speak, Aidan nearly knocked him flat by turning and leaning back along the bench to grab the winter coat he'd apparently been leaning against. Clay could only stare at the world's most perfect ass and remind himself Aidan was shy and likely inexperienced. But still, that ass...

Glancing away before Aidan could catch him staring like a pervert, he cleared his throat and asked, "So, where should we go to talk, then?"

Aidan flashed him a small, shy smile as he tugged on his coat, before heading across the lobby toward the front doors. "I know just the place. It's a bakery and cyber café, and they're a safe harbor place for LGBTQ+ teens with nowhere to go, so they're open twenty-four hours a day, every day of the year."

Now, I don't doubt that Aziraphale does have self loathing associated with eating food and not being what Heaven deems a 'good' angel. But he has struggled with 6000 years of that, and he ultimately hasn't let it stop him from enjoying the world.

This is the same Aziraphale that tempts a despondent Crowley to oysters in Rome, and the same Aziraphale that gets himself captured in Paris just so Crowley can buy him crepes. The same Aziraphale that in 1967 uses the future prospect of picnics and dining at the Ritz to signal to Crowley what he really wants.

Crowley buying Aziraphale food was one of the unspoken ways they showed each other that they cared.

So why in s3 would Aziraphale initially reject Crowley's offer of a meal and say that it would be a good, upstanding choice to abstain? A better written season would use his reluctance to show how deeply traumatic it was for Aziraphale to be back in Heaven. To show how undeserving he feels of Crowley's affection and forgiveness.

Instead, it just feels like another instance where s3!Aziraphale has been reduced to a caricature of himself and it's no surprise it is only used as a lead in for Crowley to then attack him ("Does that include choosing Heaven over me?").

I Capture the Castle

Starbase 375, 2372

The first thing Garak registered on arrival at Starbase 375 was that this was the most incontrovertibly Starfleet place he’d ever set foot in. The second thing he registered was the two yellow-shirted officers bearing down on him. His arms went up – straight out, palms flat, as if to push them away – and he took a step back. He’d had nightmares that started like this, and they never ended well.

“Julian—” he hissed, regretting the slip as soon as the word was out and, seeing Sisko move to intercept the two men, covered quickly (and loudly) with, “Captain Sisko,” (yes, better), “am I being detained? This was not what we discussed—”

He heard Bashir say, “What?” and O’Brien, of all people, say, “They’re arresting Garak? That’s not on—” before Sisko cut in. “Nobody is arresting anybody.” He moved himself between Garak and the – well, what were they? Security? Military police? Some hitherto unmentioned clandestine outfit? “Garak,” said Sisko, in the kind of voice you might use to persuade someone to step back from a significant drop, “it’s all right. Just… relax, will you? Put your hands down.”

Garak did no such thing. If anything, his stance hardened. Both feet planted firmly on the ground. He was absolutely ready for this, whatever this was, and while he mightn’t get far, he wasn’t going down without a fight. In between scanning for exits and anything that might work as a weapon, he was aware of Bashir, arms folded, moving to stand beside Sisko, and O’Brien (of all people), arms akimbo, moving to stand next to Bashir. It all gave the vague impression of a defensive wall, but Garak dismissed that thought before it had time to take hold and persuade him into doing something rash. Like relaxing. Bashir, turning his head to look back at him, said, “It’s okay. We’ll sort this out.”

One of the yellow-clad officers, a clean-cut dark-haired man whom, by the end of his time on Starbase 375, Garak would rather like, was speaking to Sisko. “I think our intentions here might have been misconstrued—”

“You think?”

“We were just—”

“Whatever it was, you got it wrong.”

“So it seems.” The officer took a step back. Everyone relaxed except Garak. “How about you all find your quarters,” he said, “and we introduce ourselves properly later?”

“How about we do that?” murmured Sisko.

The officer nodded. He looked past the human fortification and nodded. “Mr Garak,” he said. “My name’s Blok. Welcome to Starbase 375. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Welcome indeed. “It’s just Garak,” muttered Garak, not taking his eyes off the man until he and his companion moved away.

Everyone in uniform breathed out. Garak lowered his arms and clenched his fists. O’Brien, eying him, said, “Never a dull moment with you, is there?”

~~~

Sisko, heading off for a ‘quick word’ with Blok, handed management of the other half of this situation over to his chief medical officer. Whether this made Bashir his doctor, his handler, or his custodian, Garak wasn’t sure. This was uncharted territory.

“Let’s find your quarters,” said Bashir, and led him off further into this alien stronghold. Everything was unfamiliar, with the occasional connection to a previous reality, like the voice of the computer that kept piping up at intervals. Fancy meeting you here… Caught up in how cold DS9 had been, how bright, Garak had not until now appreciated the extent to which the simple fact of the architecture had kept him from becoming completely detached. This went beyond disconcerting. This was a plunge into the unknown. Perhaps I’ve finally gone mad, he thought, as they stepped into a turbolift and went down a few levels. The idea was rather appealing. Presumably because it was better than the alternative, which was that he lived here now.

“Here we are,” said Bashir. “Level 5.” The turbolift doors opened to reveal a wall upon which was embossed a big circle overlaid with a delta, just in case he’d forgotten where he was.

“Right,” muttered Bashir, “what are we looking for…?

Garak didn’t reply. Bashir would start gabbling soon, to fill the gap, which would save him from making any further effort.

“Thirty-seven, thirty-eight…” Here it came. “Oh here we are, thirty-nine… I’m four along from here, by the way, that’s handy… I mean, in case of emergencies… Or whatever…” He unlocked the door and they went inside. “Oh, it’s not too bad in here… Not too small… Er, what have we got... Bed looks comfortable…”

It didn’t. Also, the air was freezing.

“Better than usual, actually… There’s the replicator… Mm, though, I doubt there’ll be much in there you’ll like… Oh, I know, I’ll get the patterns from the Defiant, fix you up with some rokassa juice… Er, clothes, how do we go about sorting out clothes—”

“Doctor,” said Garak. “I’m a tailor.”

“Oh! Of course… I’m banging on again, aren’t I—?”

“Also, I know how a replicator works.”

“These are Federation—”

“I came here on the Defiant.”

Bashir stopped flapping. They stood looking at each other.

“Are you all right?” said Bashir, voice low.

“Yes.”

“Have you got your—”

“Yes.”

“All right. Good.” Bashir chewed his bottom lip. “Sorry about earlier. I didn’t think—”

No, thought Garak. 

“I forget sometimes, you know, that you’re not…”

“Not what?”

“Not…” Bashir suddenly saw the drop opening up in front of him. “Oh, you know what I mean.”

“Not one of you?”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“Not at all, doctor,” said Garak, turning away. “On the contrary. Very wise.”

“All right,” said Bashir, after a moment. He moved back towards the door. “How about I swing by in an hour?” he said. “We’ll find the mess and get something to eat. Yes?”

Garak, rubbing his right thumb around his left palm, nodded his consent.

“You’re perfectly safe here, you know,” said Bashir. “Nobody’s going to do anything to you.”

That, thought Garak, remained to be seen. Bashir, realizing that he wasn’t going to get a response, sighed and went out. When the door closed behind him, Garak locked it, changed the passcode, and put a chair in front for good measure. Then he lowered the lights, and went in search of the temperature controls.

~~~

True to his word as ever, Bashir reappeared an hour later and together they located the mess. O’Brien was there already, drinking raktajino.

“Not locked up then,” observed O’Brien, as Garak sat down next to him.

“So it seems,” agreed Garak, pleasantly.

“Well,” said O’Brien, “I suppose they haven’t talked to you yet.”

~~~