Chapter Text
It was an after-thought in an already overladen meeting. Julian’s mind was only partly on the conversation; while his colleagues debated mining the wormhole, he mentally combed through the staff roster. It was impossible to ever be truly ready for war, but he’d be damned if he didn’t do everything he could to prevent the loss of life. Some of the Bajoran medical personnel had already requested reassignment to the surface, anticipating the inevitable, so he had to determine which of the station’s remaining civilians might be willing to volunteer in case of an emergency. Jake Sisko, for example, had experience with emergency battlefield medicine from Ajilon Prime. Garak could probably be press-ganged into service as a last resort, but only if every other possible option were exhausted. (On the one hand, he knew his way around a wound; on the other, he would purposefully put everyone in the room on edge while he was at it.)
“One last thing,” Commander Sisko said, although the phrase usually meant anything but. “I’ve received a message from Starfleet Intelligence with regards to Garak.”
Julian flinched, startled, as if the name had been pulled from his own thoughts. It was a sign of the gravity of the moment that no one, not even Jadzia, laughed. Sisko barely cast him a sideways glance before continuing.
“It appears he officially applied to the Federation for political asylum from Cardassia.”
Julian only wondered at the timing for the space of a breath. There was at least one man on Cardassia who had publicly announced his intention to have Garak executed, and now he finally had the power to do so.
It was Odo who said what most of the senior staff must have been thinking. “He believes Dukat’s going to retake the station.”
It was not a very enthusiastic or inspiring assessment of Starfleet’s ability to hold their assets. Worf looked outraged, but he had worn that expression since the revelation of the Dominion-Romulan agreement and wasn’t likely to lose it any time soon.
“So it would seem,” Sisko agreed. “Unfortunately for him, he’s been denied refugee status.”
There was no point in asking why. It was possible that Federation bureaucrats didn’t want to further antagonize a delicate political situation, or that they still viewed Garak as a potential enemy spy, or simply that they had caught him lying in some part of the application process. (It went without saying that he would not have told the truth.)
“He’s lucky we’re not planning on handing the station over without a fight,” Kira said grimly.
“That’s not good enough, Major. We’re going to have a war on our hands sooner rather than later, and I’d rather not lose our best source of Cardassian intelligence. I need suggestions for how we can keep our resident tailor by Starfleet’s side.”
They all looked at each other across the table.
“I call dibs on the mines,” Miles muttered, and Julian tried to smile. These days, the action took more effort than it used to.
Lunch was meant to be a break, a chance for Julian’s mind to wander away from work, but there was no such thing under the current circumstances. The constant convoys of Dominion ships and the looming threat of outright conflict hung over the station like a haze of gloom. In the replimat, the conversations were muted, the crowd sparse.
It hadn’t put Garak off complaining.
“Ziyal is still trying to talk to Leeta, although that won’t accomplish anything. I’ve never seen a happy couple so unable to agree on their wedding attire. That’s the trouble with these cross-cultural weddings. At least if Rom had married a Betazoid they could agree on a naked bride, but Bajorans get married in layers of robes.”
“Hm,” Julian said intelligently into his bowl of Andorian cabbage soup. Garak eyed him with distaste, although it was also possible he was directing the look at the soup.
“Then there’s the question of where they’ll live after the wedding. They both have jobs on the station, but personally I’ve never found phaser fire particularly conducive to romance.”
“Hm.”
“If you ask me, they should call off the wedding entirely. I always thought Leeta never quite got over her affection for you.”
Julian finally looked up. “Really?”
Garak gave him him a sour look.
“Doctor, if lunch with me was going to be such an imposition, you could have canceled.”
Julian sighed. “It’s not an imposition, Garak. There’s just a lot on my mind, that’s all.”
“Oh, really? I can’t imagine why. After all, you’re only dealing with an imminent enemy invasion and deploying an impossible minefield.”
“How do you know about the minefield?”
“Someone mentioned it while I was hemming their trousers.” The lie was dismissive and perfunctory. “I understand that sartorial woes are the last thing on your mind. Of course, if you had finished The Buried Mirror, then we would have literature to discuss.”
“I’m working on it,” Julian said defensively. He neglected to mention that working on it had thus far only entailed rereading the same five pages before giving up and opening the emergency supply lists instead.
“I don’t understand how, but being exposed as genetically engineered has actually slowed your reading speed.”
“Maybe if you recommended a more interesting book, I’d be able to find the time for it.”
“Ah, so you admit you’re avoiding it?”
“I’m not avoiding it, I’m just…” Julian ran his spoon listlessly through the bowl of green goop. “I can only read about these loveless marriages for duty so many times. It becomes depressing after a certain point. Mavek and Orra seem nice enough, but they aren’t going to make each other happy.”
He knew that Cardassians didn’t believe in fiction for the purpose of escapism, but the real world had become dismal enough already.
“Their marriage keeps both of their families safe. What could be happier than that?”
“It’s possible for a marriage of convenience to end in love. I should lend you some human books on the subject.” It had never been Julian’s favorite trope, but there was sure to be something he could pull out of a literature database.
“I’m surprised the Federation even has such marriages.”
“Oh, people will always find reasons to get married, I suppose. Not economic ones, at least not on Earth, but religious and cultural factors still carry weight. Plenty of Vulcans practice arranged marriages, although it isn’t quite the same thing. Andorian marriages require four people, so it’s really- that’s it!”
He lifted his spoon aloft, a tableau of victorious discovery, sending a few verdant globs flying backwards.
“What’s it?” Garak inquired, eyes on the dripping spoon.
“The solution the commander was looking for. You and I should get married!”
It was suddenly all as transparent as Tabalian glass. Forget the powerful enemy on the other side of the wormhole and the threat of war on the horizon and the research languishing on his computer station about ketracel white and the Teplan blight. Here was that wonderful, perfect thing: a problem Julian could actually solve!
Garak did not seem to recognize the statement for the brilliant insight it was.
“Doctor, are you feeling well?”
Some of his skepticism probably had to do with the way Julian was still brandishing his spoon aloft like a sword. He hastily put it down.
“Commander Sisko told us that your asylum application had been rejected, but he wanted us to find a way to keep you in Federation space.”
“I’m flattered to be of such high priority,” Garak said flatly.
“Don’t you see? This is the way to do it. You’d have guaranteed Federation citizenship! It would be like Mavek and Orra. Hang on.” Another thought finally permeated the glow of self-congratulation. “Have you been giving me Cardassian literature about political marriages on purpose?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Garak affected his most innocent expression, which meant there was a greater than 50% chance he was lying, but Julian’s mind was already surging forward. After weeks in a cloud of despair, the world was becoming sharper and clearer with the thrill of a problem that was not only fixable, but easily so. When was the last time a senior staff meeting had ended in an ask for something that was actually possible?
“I think I just understood the plot of Shoggoth’s sixteenth enigma tale. Surjak and Lonar aren’t actually lovers, are they? They were trying to unravel the Centuri Conspiracy, and they married so that Surjak could share her father’s shri-tal because he was the sixth man in the Dopterian robbery. Have I got it right?”
There must have been something in his face, or perhaps his glee really was catching, because Garak’s expression softened.
“You’re getting closer.”
Julian had not yet ruled out the possibility that he was, in fact, excellent at solving enigma tales, and Garak just lied about the character’s motivations in order to make himself sound superior, but had deemed it unlikely. He conceded the loss with a grin.
“Anyway, I won’t let you distract me. This is the perfect solution.”
“Doctor, while I’m glad to see you’ve finally become capable of appreciating Shoggoth, there are a few logistical concerns to be considered.”
“Like what?” Paperwork, probably, and knowing Cardassians it was something that would have to be filled out in triplicate, but any Chief Medical Officer worth his salt could hold his own against paperwork.
“Suppose you might one day want to marry someone else,” Garak suggested. “Or you may apply for another posting, and the admiral reviewing your file doesn’t think highly of your decision to marry an enemy agent.”
Julian couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease. “Are you an enemy agent?”
“If an admiral thinks so, who am I to argue?”
Garak’s enigmatic smile was as tantalizing as it was maddening. Julian wanted to kiss it off him.
(That was an old thought, as familiar as the literary criticism. His attraction to Garak was a constant low-level hum that he had learned to mostly tune out. Garak, he had come to realize, was flirtatious as a matter of course. He never meant anything by it.)
“There is such a thing as divorce,” Julian pointed out. “You and I could separate any time we wanted to. Right after the wedding, even, although that would probably look suspicious.”
“I’ll consider it.”
“I’m handing you the solution so that Dukat doesn’t kill you. How much considering do you need to do?”
“I was hoping you would assure me that Dukat won’t be in any position to do so,” Garak said dryly. Julian wished it were that easy.
With Garak, a direct shot could be risky, but sometimes it was worth it.
“Allied Dominion and Cardassian forces are going to attack the station. There’s no point in pretending otherwise. But if you had the protection of marrying me, you could travel somewhere else if you wanted to. It would keep you safe.”
I would keep you safe .
An admiral looking for obstacles to promotion only had to look as far as the latest update to Julian’s genetic record, and the idea of a future partner he would want to tie his life to was too nebulous a fantasy to worry about. But Garak was real, in the present moment, and Julian might have been powerless to stop a war but he would do whatever he could to protect his friend.
Garak took a slow sip of red leaf tea, his expression inscrutable.
“As I said, I’ll consider it.”