Chapter Text
As a doctor, Julian Bashir knew better than to indulge in unhealthy habits– but sometimes the urge to do something decadent was overpowering. And even though he was by nature a gregarious person, he had to admit that the prospect of spending the evening at home smoking a little shisha alone had a decided appeal. So, instead of a few synthahols and a friendly game of darts with Chief O’Brien down at Quark’s, he headed back to his quarters for the evening.
He looked at the collection of flavored tobaccos he had, (hoping they were still good), and decided on a combination of mint and orange. From the replicator he ordered orange slices, mint leaves, and very cold water, combining them in the vase of the ḡalyān.
He remembered the day his aunt Fatima had sent him the hookah- It had been in a care package sent to him a few years after he and his parents had left earth. There had been the ḡalyān, a hand-sewn tunic with gold threads (that had been way too big for him at the time, but fit well now), a well-thumbed collection of real-paper books, and a package of Mozafati dates. The arrival of the package on Adigeon Prime had made him feel more homesick for a while, but he quickly came to treasure the small collection of items –they had become a sort of memorial to the boy who had been “Jules,” and had helped him remember the strong connection he had had with his aunt before he had become “Julian.”
Even though she was very traditional, and certainly didn’t have the latest gadgets that his father reveled in, he had always enjoyed the afternoons he had been able to spend with Aunt Fatima. She would read to him, or they would tend to her garden- simple, uncomplicated activities.
His father hadn’t liked him spending time with his aunt. He considered his sister-in-law backwards in her ways. But to Julian, it didn’t matter that she didn’t have a replicator, or that she washed her clothes by hand. All he knew was that the time he spent with her had been a source of happiness in his often confusing young life.
She had been so patient with him- even when he couldn’t get simple concepts though his head. Where his father showed either anger or embarrassment, and his mother despaired, his aunt had simply smiled and would attempt to show him things in a different way.
He remembered eavesdropping on the fight that had taken place between his father and his aunt before they left earth…
“Perhaps Allah has a different path for him. We should give him time to realize what it is,” he had heard Fatima say through the closed door. “Give him more time. If you do this thing, you will be changing him forever. There won’t be any going back.”
His father had been emphatic, though. They were to leave just before his 7th birthday for reasons he didn’t understand until much later.
Bashir fastened the hand-knotted buttons of the tunic she had made him. Sitting on the floor, he took a deep drag from the hookah, listening to the familiar gurgling sound.
DaDing.
Bashir opened his eyes, annoyed. No one ever came to his quarters unless he invited them. Why did someone have to decide to just drop by now? He waited for a moment, debating what to do. I’ll just pretend I’m not here, he thought, settling back a little bit and hoping, illogically, that the computer wouldn’t betray his location.
DADING.
Gah! Bashir stood up, listening.
A playful voice sneaked through his door. “I know you’re in there, doctor.”
Garak. He should have known.
No doubt he’ll use a Cardassian door override, too, if I don’t let him in. he thought.
Bashir pressed the panel and the door slid open, Garak standing primly on the other side.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you, doctor,” The Cardassian said sweetly, his eyes running over Bashir’s form, appraising his outfit. “My, and here I thought you lived in your Starfleet uniform. This is a vast improvement.”
“Come in, Garak,” Bashir said, feigning frustration. In truth, though, he had to admit that he wasn’t entirely displeased at seeing his friend. It was always something of a special occasion when they saw each other outside of their customary weekly lunches in the replimat, and seeing Garak at his door made his heart feel very light indeed.
“Thank you,” Garak said. Once inside, though, his eyes shifted nervously. “My dear doctor, I hate to arouse panic, but I do believe your quarters are on fire.”
Bashir laughed. “Nothing to be alarmed over. I’ve just been enjoying an old Terran vice.” He walked over to the ḡalyān and inhaled deeply, enjoying his friend’s look of mild confusion- no doubt feigned. He blew different sized smoke rings, (something that his aunt had taught him to do, much to his mother’s horror), and offered the mouthpiece to Garak. “I only have the one hose, but you’re welcome to try it if you like.”
Garak looked at him incredulously. “A vice, doctor? I thought Starfleet eliminated all forms of vice.”
Bashir smiled. “Nearly. But I am only human.” He sat back down on the floor, gesturing for Garak to do the same. The Cardassian paused a moment, then folded himself into a seated position. Bashir was amazed by the unexpected grace with which his friend seated himself – the movement was almost serpentine - like a snake coiling itself.
“So what is it?” Garak asked.
“It’s shisa - Earth tobacco. It really is terrible for you. It’s a carcinogen, negatively affects the heart and lungs, and tends to be highly addictive.”
“My, that sounds delightful.” Garak took the hose. “So, just inhale?”
“Deeply.”
The Cardassian coughed after the first lung-full, but attempted a second try. Bashir found his glance drawn to his friend’s mouth as he exhaled the smoke, lips puckered, blowing the smoke out in a narrow stream. After a moment, Garak opened his eyes. “I must say doctor that is rather enjoyable.”
Bashir smiled. “I’m glad you like it.”
Garak made a little noise of assent as he handed the hose back. “And what inspired this thoroughly unhealthy and decadent activity?”
“I just felt the need to relax a little”
“And the outfit?”
“A bit of nostalgia. It’s a traditional outfit from the region my family originally hails from on Earth. It was a gift from my aunt.”
“Well, she obviously had an excellent eye for fabric.” Bashir felt a brief thrill when Garak reached out towards him to rub the glowing white cloth between his fingers. “The weaving is beautiful. The hems are slightly uneven, though.”
“My aunt never had a very steady hand with a needle and thread.”
The Cardassian looked at him incredulously. “She sewed it by hand?”
“Yes. She did everything by hand – she was a part of the Beledi community.”
“And what is a “Beledi”?’”
“It means “of my homeland.” It was a sect on Earth. They don’t use modern technology.”
Garak rolled his eyes. “How inefficient.”
“Very. But, they don’t mind it - and it wasn’t all bad. I remember my aunt would get up well before the sun had risen and start cooking the meals for the day. All day long the smells from her kitchen would be amazing, and it made us anticipate the food more. And no one ever seemed quite as busy. I mean, they worked very hard, but no one rushed around.”
“So where did you ever learn the habit of inhaling your food?”
Bashir grimaced. “That would be from my parents.”
Garak looked at the doctor curiously. “You’ve never talked about your family before.”
Coming back to himself, Bashir’s stomach clenched and he deflected. “Neither have you.”
The Cardassian smiled – that particular smile that Bashir knew shielded a thousand secrets. “True.”
Changing the subject, the doctor went back to his aunt. “One of the things I loved most was when my aunt’s dates ripened.”
Garak quirked an eye ridge. “I’m sorry, doctor, I don’t think the interpreter translated correctly… when your aunt’s “evenings out” ripened?”
Bashir laughed- universal translators were good, but not perfect. “Not quite! No, dates were a fruit on Earth. They were small, about six centimeters long, most often with brown wrinkled skin. They’re usually very sweet, especially after they have ripened. There are many different types, but her tree produced these amazing Mozafati dates. They were delicious”
“They sound similar to Cardassian seth’tels,” Garak said, “Which are an indulgence that I enjoyed very much as well in my youth.”
Bashir smiled. “My aunt and I would spend a lot of time cultivating her tree. Even back then I tended to have more of a black thumb, but she tried her best to teach me how to care for the palm. Thankfully nothing I ever did damaged it. As a child I was so impatient…” Garak snorted an incredulous laugh.“…even more than I am now…” Bashir amended “and it felt like it took forever for the dates to ripen. I would climb up onto the roof when she wasn’t looking and steal unripened dates. I can still remember the taste- bitter and crunchy. She would laugh when she saw my face- she was never angry when she caught me, but would tell me “the sweetest things are the ones you have to wait for.”
Garak’s gaze lingered on him, and the doctor felt himself blush. “I must say that I agree with your aunt wholeheartedly.”
* * *
It was late when Garak returned to his quarters- the station was quiet except for slurred sounds coming from Quark’s. He and Bashir had spent the evening engaged in their usual banter, enjoying the hookah, and just generally enjoying each other’s company.
Even after so many years, it always surprised Garak just how much he did enjoy being with the doctor. While he would never have anticipated that their association would have continued after their first few encounters, their intellects and senses of humor were complimentary. There was just something about the human that the Cardassian found enticing. Something that transcended mere physical attraction, (which was what he had assumed his interest to be confined to the beginning). Something deeper in their connection that kept him enthralled to the young man.
When he had initially approach the doctor, he hadn’t anticipated finding any depth in the conceited young Starfleet officer. He had viewed the whole interaction as just a momentary distraction from his excruciating exile, and perhaps a way of gaining a little more information on the new Federation interlopers. Certainly he could see that the young doctor had many of the traits the Cardassian had come to expect from Starfleet personnel. There was the overly outgoing attitude, the exaggerated friendliness, the arrogance ungracefully disguised as humility. The doctor struck Garak as a boy trying desperately to be a man. His startling beauty only added to Garak’s assumption that he was simply a prettily wrapped package that ultimately held nothing. But at the time, the Cardassian had not been opposed to the idea of unwrapping the package just for the pleasure of it. It had been a while since something so lovely had crossed his path.
Yet Garak was a trained observer of humanoid behavior, and he shortly became convinced that there was more to the doctor than his overly-enthusiastic exterior let on. Like a Cardassian enigma tale, Garak was convinced that everyone was guilty of something- it was just a matter of figuring out what each person’s particular crime was; what specific part of their personality they kept hidden from even their closest confederates. Even years later, Garak was not sure what Bashir was hiding, but he was thoroughly enjoying the investigation.
In his quarters, Garak sat with a cup of red leaf tea and wondered: When exactly had he started not absolutely hating every moment on the station? He supposed that it had been about six months after he had met the doctor. Once they had fallen into their easy rhythm of weekly lunches and playful repartee. He had grown to look forward to their conversations- even though the doctor was thoroughly naïve and his taste in writing tended regrettably towards the sentimental. These traits in another would have been cloying to him… yet in the doctor they were strangely…endearing.
Endearing, Elim? Really? You have been around humans too long. He thought wryly.
But there had been a change when Bashir had stayed with him during his withdrawals from the cranial implant. The sting of the Cardassian’s words had not forced the doctor away– in fact, when the whole thing was over, the bond between them seemed even stronger. It was perplexing. His weakness had been appalling, and yet the doctor hadn’t left in disgust.
Memories of the incident still made Garak feel uncomfortable when he thought about how he had allowed himself to exhibit his vulnerabilities. Where was your placid exterior there, Elim? he heard the reprimand in Tain’s voice.
The worst part, though, was that he not only felt bad for having shown a more genuine side of himself, but that he actually felt bad at how he had treated the sincere young man who had tried to help him. The man who had entered Cardassian space - had intruded on Enabran Tain himself! - just to save his worthless life. The whole situation was unbelievable.
And it was then that Garak’s feelings had truly changed. No longer did he hate every moment on the station. After those events, he only loathed most of his time on the station. The one hour that he spent with Dr. Bashir one day a week was a respite. Almost a gift. For one hour he actually felt that there was one person on that whole station that considered him a friend. That there was another being that actually, on some level, cared about him - who wasn’t bothered by what had been, but was simply pleased to spend time with who he was now.
He shook his head, finishing off the tea. Since when had the desire for companionship even entered into his consciousness? Such longing was dangerous – a weakness waiting to be exploited. It was one thing to indulge in lust with a willing partner. It was another to actually care.
And it was this thin line that he had straddled ever since the time of the implant incident. Before, when their acquaintanceship was still young, he had felt comfortable openly flirting in the human manner with the beautiful young man. There was nothing to lose. Either his advances wouldn’t work- in which case he could continue with impunity and simply enjoy making the doctor blush and stutter. Or his advances would work and he could indulge himself with a pretty plaything. But now, after all that they had been through, he felt he had to be more careful. Oh, he would continue to act as though nothing was different… but there was a small part of him that worried. For the first time in a long time, he actually had something more to be taken from him. He didn’t wish to lose the companionship of the young man who had crept into his heart and who seemed to have taken up a permanent residence there.
He refused to give a name to the emotion he felt. It was unacceptable, and he quickly wiped it from his mind.
Garak settled himself into bed and thought about how long it was before his next lunch with Bashir. He sighed and closed his eyes.
When Garak finally drifted off into sleep, his overwrought mind allowed itself a brief moment of happiness; he was back on Cardassia Prime, walking through the gardens of the Beltet desert - a beautiful, hopelessly oblivious, doctor at his side.