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doctor_tailor2012-02-16 10:47 am
crowdog66) wrote in doctor_tailor2012-02-16 10:47 am
Entry tags:
Fic: "Three and a Half Days" 7/9
Title: Three and a Half Days 7/9
Pairing: Garak/Bashir
Rating: R
Word Count: 1640
Summary: Sabotage leads to a quarantine, and Garak is trapped on the Promenade for three long days — but the situation might have an unexpected upside.
Notes: Set post-"The Wire".
Part One here.
Part Two here.
Part Three here.
Part Four here.
Part Five here.
Part Six here.
*************************************
2.5
It was really quite heartening, what having something to look forward to could do for one's general disposition. Garak's soft humming as he plied his embroidery needle was genuinely upbeat today, a change of mood that seemed in tune with the aggregate of his fellow prisoners. Nobody had taken sick since early the previous afternoon and the crowd was abuzz with speculations that they might be released from quarantine early. Garak, who had some idea how such things worked, smiled to himself and did nothing to disabuse them of their hopeful notions.
The day was rendered even brighter by a spot of friendly interest: Ms. Fedaro, the generous lady of the bright pink shawl, came by just before lunch with her daughter, a little girl of equivalent development to a Cardassian six year old — cute as a button and charmingly shy, clutching a rag doll in a bright red dress with one arm and clinging to her mother's leg with the other, and peeking at Garak from behind it in spite of Garak's donning of his most unthreatening expression.
"And how are you doing today, Mister Garak?" The young woman's smile was openly kind, but she looked rather tired and he decided not to correct her on the point of address.
"Very well, thank you," he smiled in return, setting down the embroidery frame (which was now almost full of bright patterns of colored thread) on his lap and moving over slightly to provide her with plenty of room to sit down. "I hope your husband is feeling better today…?"
"He is, thank you." She picked up on the signal and shook her head. "Oh no, we're just here for a moment — Ajara was getting restless, cooped up in that Infirmary, so we're going for a little walk, aren't we, precious?"
Araja nodded, but her eyes were now fixed on the embroidery in Garak's lap. He turned his attention to her and used his softest voice: "Hello, Araja. It's very nice to meet you." He tilted the frame so that she could better see the fruits of his labours. "You like that, do you? Isn't it pretty?"
She nodded tentatively, glanced up at her mother's encouraging smile, then moved out from behind her the tiniest bit, looking into Garak's face with a child's solemnity. Gazing back into her wide green eyes, he was struck by a generous impulse: "You know your mother's been very kind to me, don't you? She loaned me this lovely shawl to help me keep warm, and I've been thinking about what I could do to return the favour." He leaned a little nearer and was pleased to see her move back an equivalent amount: sometimes children perceived things so much more clearly than adults, and he thought she could see what he was beneath his amiable exterior. "Why don't you come by the shop with her tomorrow morning, the sooner after the quarantine is lifted better, and I'll have something nice embroidered for your dolly — just for you. How does that sound?"
Her mother's eyes widened. "Oh, that's really not —"
"It's the least I can do, madam," Garak insisted — gently, but firmly. "You can pick up the shawl, and Araja can have some embroidery of her very own to take home with her." He smiled at the child again, this time with genuine kindness: training and vocation aside, he appreciated the innocence of the young mind, untainted by unpleasant experiences. "It won't be much — just a sash for her doll — but it will give me something else to do to occupy my time."
After a moment's thought, Ms. Fedaro nodded and glanced down at her daughter, who was firmly attached to her leg again. "If you'd really like to… How does that sound, darling?"
"That sounds nice," Araja whispered, then reluctantly tore her eyes away from Garak — she was, he suspected, watching him with the same fascination a mouse accords to a snake — and looked soulfully up at her mother. "Can we go back now?"
"Of course we can! Maybe Doctor Bashir has some more news about Papa." She turned her smile on Garak again. "He's a friend of yours, isn't he?"
Garak nodded, reflecting that the term "friend" now covered quite a bit more territory than it had only forty-eight hours ago.
Ms. Fedaro nodded in turn, as if unsurprised. "Well, he's a very nice man."
"The nicest man I know," Garak agreed, and for once he was telling nothing more nor less than the absolute truth.
********************************
A winding design of green leaves and purple flowers, he decided, would go best with the ill-sewn crimson dress that the doll had been clad in: the dress looked like it wasn't attached to the poppet, so perhaps if he had time he could even whip up a better one to go with the pretty sash he was making. He'd automatically taken the doll's measurements by eye and was confident he could produce something that would please the little girl, and by extension her mother.
Feeling genuinely virtuous for a change, he went back to work on a new frame of material, one wide enough to take the narrow design in three segments which he'd stitch together on a velvet backing once he had access to his shop again. With such pleasant employment the afternoon seemed to go by in a minute, marring his good mood only when the lights flickered back to full strength at intervals, a development greeted with cheers by everyone else followed by mutters of disappointment when they faded to Terok Nor levels again. Things were still dark when Quark announced that dinner was ready, and Garak entertained hopes (unspoken, of course) that Chief O'Brien and his redoubtable engineering crew wouldn't solve the issue before lights-out: he'd gotten used to doing fine needlework in the bright illumination that was now Deep Space Nine standard, but that didn't mean he liked it.
As he was waiting in line to pay for his meal, he was passed by Lesta Nol, who paused long enough to nod at his unmarked cheek. "You got that looked after, I see."
"Indeed," Garak smiled; he wasn't sure he trusted the Bajoran's support, but it wouldn't hurt to cultivate it. "I certainly appreciated your help, by the way. If you hadn't pulled him off of me…"
Lesta nodded. "He'd have been in real trouble, that's what."
Garak made his smile even smoother and more innocuous. "Oh, I sincerely doubt that!"
After a glance round, which revealed that the people in front of and behind Garak were engaged in their own conversations, Lesta leaned a little closer to speak in a lower voice. "And I saw that Doctor Bashir came by after hours to take care of you."
A tiny alarm began to go off in the back of Garak's mind. "To my considerable surprise, yes, he did."
"Well good," Lesta smiled, and actually winked at him, and set off toward the tables on the Promenade, leaving Garak staring after him and wondering just how far that particular piece of speculation had already gotten around. The vendor was a man known for keeping his mouth shut when it came to spreading gossip, but still…
… who else had noticed the good Doctor's nightly visits, and drawn a similar conclusion?
********************************
After an hour or so of worrying the subject while eating and embroidering, Garak came to a pragmatic conclusion: if anyone else had noticed, which was virtually inevitable given the close quarters they were all stuffed into, there wasn't much he could do about it at this stage. He would, however, be very careful not to do anything too physically overt when Bashir — no, Julian, he supposed he was entitled to call a man who had surreptitiously fondled him by his first name — came by this evening.
The slow burn of desire had indeed lingered all during the day and now, as lights-out approached, it began to flare and simmer under his cold grey skin. He'd found himself considering the matter while he worked, analyzing Bashir's — Julian's — actions and responses. The man had been surprised by Garak's acceptance of his arousal, and hadn't taken long to come to a decision to explore the possibilities of that acceptance: perfectly in-character for a brash young Starfleet officer, and for this officer in particular. Finishing the final flower, Garak found himself smirking fondly at the thought of Julian's willingness to throw himself into new experiences: he had a thing or two to teach the boy that, he suspected, Julian had never imagined possible…
… if Julian wanted a sexual relationship beyond the period of quarantine, that is. Perhaps he was a man who only thrilled to illicit homosexual contact with the possibility of being discovered — well, if that proved to be the case, Garak knew all sorts of games he could play with the lovely Doctor. There were plenty of places on the station that counted as "public" while being relatively out of the way, places perfect for a covert assignation and swift panting bursts of lust. He rather hoped that Julian would prove amenable to more than that, though: the prospect of having those long beautiful limbs splayed out on a full bed, with plenty of time and leisure to play with their owner, filled Garak with a fierce joyful anticipation he hadn't experienced in far too long.
He even went up to the bar and bought himself a glass of kanar when Quark declared a ten percent discount on drinks all evening, sitting and sipping and letting the jubilant atmosphere of anticipation for tomorrow's end of the quarantine swirl around him, and if he smiled more widely than was his wont, no one knew the real cause of his happiness but himself.
[TO BE CONTINUED…]
Part Eight here.
Pairing: Garak/Bashir
Rating: R
Word Count: 1640
Summary: Sabotage leads to a quarantine, and Garak is trapped on the Promenade for three long days — but the situation might have an unexpected upside.
Notes: Set post-"The Wire".
Part One here.
Part Two here.
Part Three here.
Part Four here.
Part Five here.
Part Six here.
*************************************
2.5
It was really quite heartening, what having something to look forward to could do for one's general disposition. Garak's soft humming as he plied his embroidery needle was genuinely upbeat today, a change of mood that seemed in tune with the aggregate of his fellow prisoners. Nobody had taken sick since early the previous afternoon and the crowd was abuzz with speculations that they might be released from quarantine early. Garak, who had some idea how such things worked, smiled to himself and did nothing to disabuse them of their hopeful notions.
The day was rendered even brighter by a spot of friendly interest: Ms. Fedaro, the generous lady of the bright pink shawl, came by just before lunch with her daughter, a little girl of equivalent development to a Cardassian six year old — cute as a button and charmingly shy, clutching a rag doll in a bright red dress with one arm and clinging to her mother's leg with the other, and peeking at Garak from behind it in spite of Garak's donning of his most unthreatening expression.
"And how are you doing today, Mister Garak?" The young woman's smile was openly kind, but she looked rather tired and he decided not to correct her on the point of address.
"Very well, thank you," he smiled in return, setting down the embroidery frame (which was now almost full of bright patterns of colored thread) on his lap and moving over slightly to provide her with plenty of room to sit down. "I hope your husband is feeling better today…?"
"He is, thank you." She picked up on the signal and shook her head. "Oh no, we're just here for a moment — Ajara was getting restless, cooped up in that Infirmary, so we're going for a little walk, aren't we, precious?"
Araja nodded, but her eyes were now fixed on the embroidery in Garak's lap. He turned his attention to her and used his softest voice: "Hello, Araja. It's very nice to meet you." He tilted the frame so that she could better see the fruits of his labours. "You like that, do you? Isn't it pretty?"
She nodded tentatively, glanced up at her mother's encouraging smile, then moved out from behind her the tiniest bit, looking into Garak's face with a child's solemnity. Gazing back into her wide green eyes, he was struck by a generous impulse: "You know your mother's been very kind to me, don't you? She loaned me this lovely shawl to help me keep warm, and I've been thinking about what I could do to return the favour." He leaned a little nearer and was pleased to see her move back an equivalent amount: sometimes children perceived things so much more clearly than adults, and he thought she could see what he was beneath his amiable exterior. "Why don't you come by the shop with her tomorrow morning, the sooner after the quarantine is lifted better, and I'll have something nice embroidered for your dolly — just for you. How does that sound?"
Her mother's eyes widened. "Oh, that's really not —"
"It's the least I can do, madam," Garak insisted — gently, but firmly. "You can pick up the shawl, and Araja can have some embroidery of her very own to take home with her." He smiled at the child again, this time with genuine kindness: training and vocation aside, he appreciated the innocence of the young mind, untainted by unpleasant experiences. "It won't be much — just a sash for her doll — but it will give me something else to do to occupy my time."
After a moment's thought, Ms. Fedaro nodded and glanced down at her daughter, who was firmly attached to her leg again. "If you'd really like to… How does that sound, darling?"
"That sounds nice," Araja whispered, then reluctantly tore her eyes away from Garak — she was, he suspected, watching him with the same fascination a mouse accords to a snake — and looked soulfully up at her mother. "Can we go back now?"
"Of course we can! Maybe Doctor Bashir has some more news about Papa." She turned her smile on Garak again. "He's a friend of yours, isn't he?"
Garak nodded, reflecting that the term "friend" now covered quite a bit more territory than it had only forty-eight hours ago.
Ms. Fedaro nodded in turn, as if unsurprised. "Well, he's a very nice man."
"The nicest man I know," Garak agreed, and for once he was telling nothing more nor less than the absolute truth.
********************************
A winding design of green leaves and purple flowers, he decided, would go best with the ill-sewn crimson dress that the doll had been clad in: the dress looked like it wasn't attached to the poppet, so perhaps if he had time he could even whip up a better one to go with the pretty sash he was making. He'd automatically taken the doll's measurements by eye and was confident he could produce something that would please the little girl, and by extension her mother.
Feeling genuinely virtuous for a change, he went back to work on a new frame of material, one wide enough to take the narrow design in three segments which he'd stitch together on a velvet backing once he had access to his shop again. With such pleasant employment the afternoon seemed to go by in a minute, marring his good mood only when the lights flickered back to full strength at intervals, a development greeted with cheers by everyone else followed by mutters of disappointment when they faded to Terok Nor levels again. Things were still dark when Quark announced that dinner was ready, and Garak entertained hopes (unspoken, of course) that Chief O'Brien and his redoubtable engineering crew wouldn't solve the issue before lights-out: he'd gotten used to doing fine needlework in the bright illumination that was now Deep Space Nine standard, but that didn't mean he liked it.
As he was waiting in line to pay for his meal, he was passed by Lesta Nol, who paused long enough to nod at his unmarked cheek. "You got that looked after, I see."
"Indeed," Garak smiled; he wasn't sure he trusted the Bajoran's support, but it wouldn't hurt to cultivate it. "I certainly appreciated your help, by the way. If you hadn't pulled him off of me…"
Lesta nodded. "He'd have been in real trouble, that's what."
Garak made his smile even smoother and more innocuous. "Oh, I sincerely doubt that!"
After a glance round, which revealed that the people in front of and behind Garak were engaged in their own conversations, Lesta leaned a little closer to speak in a lower voice. "And I saw that Doctor Bashir came by after hours to take care of you."
A tiny alarm began to go off in the back of Garak's mind. "To my considerable surprise, yes, he did."
"Well good," Lesta smiled, and actually winked at him, and set off toward the tables on the Promenade, leaving Garak staring after him and wondering just how far that particular piece of speculation had already gotten around. The vendor was a man known for keeping his mouth shut when it came to spreading gossip, but still…
… who else had noticed the good Doctor's nightly visits, and drawn a similar conclusion?
********************************
After an hour or so of worrying the subject while eating and embroidering, Garak came to a pragmatic conclusion: if anyone else had noticed, which was virtually inevitable given the close quarters they were all stuffed into, there wasn't much he could do about it at this stage. He would, however, be very careful not to do anything too physically overt when Bashir — no, Julian, he supposed he was entitled to call a man who had surreptitiously fondled him by his first name — came by this evening.
The slow burn of desire had indeed lingered all during the day and now, as lights-out approached, it began to flare and simmer under his cold grey skin. He'd found himself considering the matter while he worked, analyzing Bashir's — Julian's — actions and responses. The man had been surprised by Garak's acceptance of his arousal, and hadn't taken long to come to a decision to explore the possibilities of that acceptance: perfectly in-character for a brash young Starfleet officer, and for this officer in particular. Finishing the final flower, Garak found himself smirking fondly at the thought of Julian's willingness to throw himself into new experiences: he had a thing or two to teach the boy that, he suspected, Julian had never imagined possible…
… if Julian wanted a sexual relationship beyond the period of quarantine, that is. Perhaps he was a man who only thrilled to illicit homosexual contact with the possibility of being discovered — well, if that proved to be the case, Garak knew all sorts of games he could play with the lovely Doctor. There were plenty of places on the station that counted as "public" while being relatively out of the way, places perfect for a covert assignation and swift panting bursts of lust. He rather hoped that Julian would prove amenable to more than that, though: the prospect of having those long beautiful limbs splayed out on a full bed, with plenty of time and leisure to play with their owner, filled Garak with a fierce joyful anticipation he hadn't experienced in far too long.
He even went up to the bar and bought himself a glass of kanar when Quark declared a ten percent discount on drinks all evening, sitting and sipping and letting the jubilant atmosphere of anticipation for tomorrow's end of the quarantine swirl around him, and if he smiled more widely than was his wont, no one knew the real cause of his happiness but himself.
[TO BE CONTINUED…]
Part Eight here.
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