⋆˚꩜｡whirlwind passions

given what i've argued about his sense of belonging being strongly tied to people, it stands to reason that the places he would feel drawn to would be the places his friends live. o'brien, of course, is on earth, but considering his tenuous relationship with his parents and his past trauma, and how much he has been able to let go of all that and actually be himself on ds9, i can't imagine it being a place he would be drawn to return to long term. what's more, a human dominated post-scarcity planet would hardly be a challenging environment for him medically. turning to his other strongest relationship brings us to garak on cardassia.

i think cardassia itself would appeal to julian somewhat after spending years slowly learning about their literature and culture through garak. i also think an alien planet would be oddly freeing for him, giving him a chance to live among a population who consider him strange by virtue of being human rather than because he's an augment or because he is (unbeknownst to them) quite an odd human so to speak. I've always seen julian and garak as providing each other a space free of the typical judgements they face from everyone else, and i can totally imagine julian having that association with the planet because of it.

my favourite reason, however, goes back to the ds9 pilot and julian's infamous 'frontier medicine' line. because post-war cardassia, with its bombed out infrastructure and millions dead and displaced, is exactly the kind of situation that would challenge him in that way. except now, julian is older, wiser, and has years of combat experience under his belt. his time on ds9 is what changed him into the person he dreamed of being, and while the reality is much grimmer than he ever imagined, he's now ready to be the person who can go to this devastated planet and help them rebuild from the ground up. in the Our Man Bashir episode of the Delta Flyers podcast, alexander siddig mentioned how the show watches julian grow up over its course. ds9 was a transitional period for julian, and moving on to cardassia is exactly the sort of thing that would allow those changes to be put to use.

Cold Heaven

Starbase 375, 2372

They were in the turbolift together, just the two of them, heading up to the observation deck. Bashir, falling back loose-limbed against the wall, said, “Bit much, isn’t he?”

“Who?”

“Lieutenant Tunok.”

“Oh,” said Garak. “Him. Yes. What did you say to get him to go away?”

“I said I’d be with you the whole time. And that I’d let them know when I’d delivered you back in your quarters.”

“I’ve slipped my collar at last. Shall we seize a runabout and make our bid for freedom?”

“Not today,” said Bashir.

The lift stopped, the doors opened, and they came out onto the observation deck.

“Nice view,” said Bashir. “If you like watching ships come and go.”

Garak hadn’t, in fact, liked watching the only thing left to care about fly off into peril, but he’d come and watched anyway. “This way.”

“Where are you taking me now?”

“You’ll see.”

Early on during this period of confinement to Starbase 375, Garak had found himself staring at the reflections on the windows of the observation deck and thinking, idly, with some small part of his frenetically overactive brain, that something didn’t quite compute. It hadn’t been easy catching Tunok looking the other way, but Garak was a patient man, not to mention conniving, and that was how he’d learned that, through some error of construction, there was a piece of wall jutting out which, when combined with the curve of the station, created a small dead space into which he could slip and be entirely concealed.

Garak had been surprised and rather pleased about this. His impression of the Federation in general and Starfleet in particular had always been that everything was a perfect fit. It had been comforting to discover that sometimes they didn’t get the measurements right either. As he led Bashir over, he explained all this to the doctor, and found, to his delight, that it still lay within his power to make Julian Bashir laugh.

The space wasn’t particularly large, but they could sit on the floor together, side-by-side, quite comfortably and look out into the darkness.

“This actually worked?” said Bashir.

“Incredibly, yes.”

“Tunok must have done his nut.”

“Oh, I only did it once or twice,” said Garak. Three times, to be precise, but who was counting? Apart from Tunok. Who didn’t count.

“Took pity on him, did you?”

“Doctor, I thought you knew by now that there’s no pity in me.”

“Hmm.”

In fact, Garak had stopped amusing himself this way because he’d been afraid. Afraid that if he misbehaved too much they might decide he was far too much trouble after all and pass him up the line. Pack him off to Earth, perhaps, or worse. A shame, really, since the peace and quiet – and the simple fact of knowing he was not under direct observation – had been helpful. He had no intention of saying any of this to Bashir.

Garak sat with his hands resting on his knees. Bashir leaned his back against the wall, folded his arms, and said, “What was that about earlier?”

“What?”

“All that guff about people putting gadgets in your brain.”

“It’s… happened before, Julian.”

“Yes. When you were in the Order.”

“Meaning…?”

“This is Starfleet we’re talking about—”

“You don’t think Starfleet would cross a line like that?” Garak felt a familiar sinking feeling. He hadn’t been able to get Sisko to listen, not really, and he’d been hoping for more from Bashir.  

The younger man sighed. “You know, Garak, I’m absolutely knackered. So, for one night only, how about we cut to the chase and you tell me what’s really worrying you?”

Garak looked at the stars. The stars, which had – until quite recently – been completely unfamiliar, glinted back, but, as usual, gave no helpful insight. “Two men arrived,” he said. “They wanted to take me away with them.”

“Take you away? Where?”

“I don’t know, doctor.”

“Who were they?”

“I don’t know that either.”

There was a pause as Bashir digested this. “What’s your best guess?”

Garak, in turn, gave some thought as to how he should answer. Bashir already had some questions about his state of mind. He didn’t want him dismissing his worries out of hand. “If I said…”

“Go on.”

“If I said that I thought they were from a clandestine intelligence organisation operating within your government about which even Captain Sisko seems unaware, what would you say?”

“I’d say…” said Bashir, after a moment or two, “that I need to give that scenario some consideration.”

“Yes?”

“I mean, some careful consideration.” Bashir rubbed his hand across his mouth. “Have you been all right here on your own?”

Ah, so first they must indeed establish the current extent of his paranoia. Good luck with that, doctor. I’m increasingly unable to judge. “I’ve not been on my own,” Garak pointed out. “I’ve had a lengthy conversation every day with Lieutenant Commander Blok.”

“I’m not talking about your interrogator, Garak.”

“Oh, so I am being interrogated? And everyone was quite insistent earlier that it was a debriefing—”

“Garak—”

“I’ve also had the company of the relentlessly attentive Lieutenant Tunok.”

“Well, he’s not turned up dead yet, so you must be getting something out of the relationship.”

“He doesn’t read, he doesn’t listen to music, he’s not interested in politics, and his conversational skills appear to have atrophied before he learned to speak. We’ve had a marvellous time together. I imagine he admires me as much as I admire him.”

“Yes, you sound like peas in a pod. You still haven’t answer my question.”

“I know.”

“Have you been all right here on your own?”

Well, really, what did Bashir think? He’d been cold, alone, afraid, and under constant supervision. He’d spent a large portion of each day in an interrogation room. There was practically nothing available that he liked to eat or drink, nor had he found any books or music on file that were familiar. His wider computer access was severely restricted, and they were cagey about talking to him about the progress of the war. He’d thought about asking if there was any sewing around the place that needed doing, but he didn’t want to sound like he’d gone mad. Which he hadn’t. He was fairly sure he hadn’t.

“I’ve been fine,” he lied.

Bashir gave him a look. What was that word the Chief sometimes used? Oh yes. Bollocks. “Oh well,” said the doctor, dryly. “Could be worse.”

Garak nearly laughed. “You know, doctor, I’ve stopped saying that to myself.”

“Oh yes?”

“Every time I do, things take a turn for the worse.”

“Huh,” said Bashir. “Maybe that thing Starfleet’s put in your head has given you the power to alter reality with your thoughts. You should start saying, ‘Could be better’. See where that takes us.”

“If only that were true. Can we change the subject?”

“Sorry.”

They sat and stared at nothing. Garak focused on his breathing.

“You know,” said Bashir, “I would’ve assumed this space would be too tight for you.”

This wasn’t, Garak thought, a little impatiently, changing the subject. “Sometimes, doctor, it seems to me it would help enormously if the whole world disappeared, or at least shrank to something more manageable.”

“Ah,” said Bashir, nodding wisely. “A paradox.”

“Life’s never straightforward, is it?”

“No,” agreed Bashir. They sat quietly until Garak’s breathing steadied, and then the doctor said, “Did I ever tell you about the time I did a runner?”

“You did what?”

“Two days after I found out what my parents did to me. I ran away from home.”

Oh, thought Garak, he does understand… And he felt in that moment that he had never loved this man more.

“I didn’t get very far. I wasn’t really making an effort. I just… didn’t want to be around them. So I ambled off one evening. Hadn’t packed anything. Thought I’d see how far I got. I was only gone a day, if that. My dad found me walking down the road. Gave me the bollocking of my life. What did you think you were doing. Imagine if we’d had to call the authorities, that kind of thing. Heaven forbid we attracted the wrong kind of attention. Anyway. I didn’t do that again.”

“Until you joined Starfleet, you mean.”

Bashir turned his head to look at him. “Yes.” He seemed to sound pleased. To be understood, Garak assumed. Or hoped. “Until then.”

I knew I could trust you, thought Garak.

“Are you coming with us?” said Bashir.

“What?”

“When we set off for DS9. I’m assuming you want to come along?”

“Yes. Well. I hope so. I asked the captain if I could.”

“Want me to have a word?”

Garak thought about that. “No,” he said. He’d rather know where he stood with Sisko on his own terms.

“Mm, well, try not to worry either way. Because I’m not leaving you here.”

On your own.

“I believe you, you know,” said Bashir.

“What?”

“I believe you.”

People didn’t say that very often to Garak. But other people didn’t matter. “Yes,” he said. “I know.”

“After careful consideration,” said Bashir.

A whole five minutes, thought Garak. No, this was the most he’d ever loved this man.

They leaned against each comfortably. Garak, warmed, let his mind wander. What would he do, he wondered, if those people ever tried to come at him through Bashir? He didn’t have to think long or hard for the answer. He’d kill them, of course, with his bare hands… Would they try that? Would they harm him? Or, worse, would they try to recruit him to their cause? Bashir would make a good agent. Not that stupid holosuite game. Everything else. The intelligence, the quick thinking, the nerve, the practiced concealment, the ability to live life between the lines… Yes, they’d probably try to recruit him. Wasn’t that what Garak had intended, back at the start of all of this? Good luck with that, he told his shadow colleagues. This man has his own agenda when it comes to people like us. He’s more likely to recruit you…

Garak closed his eyes. Put his head against the young man’s shoulder. Felt Bashir’s hand upon his arm. He tried to pretend that they were sitting under the sun on the vast empty shores of the southern continent, but some reason he couldn’t summon up the image as easily as he might have done in the past. All that came to mind was his quarters on DS9. The rest, it seemed, was slipping away, like a dream that could not withstand the harsh light of morning.

I don’t know about you, Julian, he thought, but I’m long past ready to go home.

Wherever that was these days.

~~~

The Cold Heaven by WB Yeats.