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bijoumikhawal · 3 months

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Bite the Hand that Starves You: Chapter Four

Fic as of this chapter contains: discussion of abortion, references to drug use, intersex and trans characters, torture/graphic violence, colonialism and its aftermath, implied sexual violence, disassociation

Kardasi: Peikirvi - would translate to something like "concubine", specifically refers to an individual that socially presents as male, and was assigned such at birth, but can carry children (and often could impregnate someone else), who is legally bound to someone. Usually this is done with a pre-existing couple who has fertility issues.

---

It wasn't a baby. In terminating it, you were admitting that- it wasn't a baby. It never breathed, thought, or spoke.

Garak wished there was something physical that made sense. He knows if he asked, they'd show him some vial, or petri dish, with an unidentifiable clump, and that didn't feel right. It didn't feel like something worth funding over. In terminating it, you were admitting that it wasn't.

It wasn't a baby, so of course it didn't look like one, and it wasn't worth fussing over. Not once it was gone, anyway.

“Everything checks out.” Dr. Ammshah said. “I also talked over a few options for your care going forward with Dr. Bashir. First, I know you said you wished to keep all your organs, but we still can do a tubal detachment-"

“No.”

“I thought you might say that.” Dr. Ammshah looked away- purposely a display of deference. “In that case, there are implants available which don’t need to be replaced more than once every kashmim. It’s a lot longer lasting than the shots preferred in the Federation, and if you ever want to have children, it’s not too difficult to remove. I know you’ve had issues with an implant before, so let me reassure you: this implant has no electrical components. The worst it can do is move somewhere it shouldn’t.” She's rolled her sleeves up- most likely a nervous habit. It reveals inked scars on her forearms.

Garak thought for a moment. “Doctor Bashir.” The observation of her arms is distant and evokes no feeling in him. He knew from the moment Julian said her name why she had been eager to help him in particular.

His head turned to Garak quickly- he hadn't stopped paying attention, but hadn't expected to be called upon. “Yes?”

“If I were to do shots, would I be allowed to keep the doses on hand and self administer them, or would I have to come to the infirmary every time?” His own arms are unmarked. It was too dangerous, given who would see his bare skin, for Tolan to give into that form of sentiment- to permanently have Garak carry evidence with him.

“Normally I give patients a few doses and they self administer. I see no reason why you'd be different.” It was not said with anything but pure neutrality.

“I wanted to be sure. I'd rather use the shots, in that case.” His name would have become fetid in her mouth if she knew of Garak outside the boundaries of this room and those marks.

“Would you like me to go ahead and give you the first dose?”

Garak nodded. No more incidents like this. At last.

The first time he sees Kel, the stripes of her childhood have faded, and he assumes she is Barkan’s. So did everyone else. As her age of emergence approached, its clear to everyone they'd assumed wrong. One time at Bamarren, in the garden, and Barkan a week late coming back for Palandine's cycle-

It must've been embarrassing, when Barkan realized. Most peikirvi fucked the wife too, at least once. Historically, it was thought all they did was transfer the husband's seed, with a little of themselves- ultimately, they were not recorded as the father in that case. They knew better now.

Barkan never allows the two of them in the same bed without him as a physical barrier. They went back to Prime a few times- Garak has his own room in the historic Lokar home after the ceremony.

Dr. Bashir put the hypospray down next to his hand. “I'll go ahead and have the pharmacy retrieve a few more doses for you so they're ready when you leave.”

Garak’s hand curled around the handle. “Thank you, doctor.”

The round circle of metal (always cold) went a half inch past the end of his neck ridges, under the chin, like always.

He never sleeps well there. He kept remembering- one time he'd been helping prepare guest rooms, and fell asleep on top of an heirloom silk quilt. Mila never locked him in a closet, but she'd roll out a mat of rough sticks and make him kneel on it in front of the estate cenotaphs for hours.

He'd lived decently on his own as an Order agent, but never that decently.

“Do you have any questions for me?” Dr. Ammshah asked.

“No.” He'd already dismissed the one from earlier. Except- “If this happens again, will Dr. Bashir need to call on you?”

She turned to him. Like with now, and the examination, she'd had Dr. Bashir take careful watch. “I think that may be something at his discretion. Normally, I would have someone observe quite a few procedures before trying to undertake one. But usually I'm dealing with residencies, not a full fledged doctor. Most likely, I'd still end up supervising over video at least.”

Dr. Bashir inclined his head. “I do think I’d be able to handle it, but yes, I would most likely call you just in case.”

The Lokars have silk quilts too- they'd been very fashionable, six to eight generations ago. Barkan has him on top of one once. The whole time Garak is thinking about the launderer, a quiet young thing, and wondering how the hell he was going to clean it.

The Garak cenotaph on Tain’s estate was blank in his childhood (Tolan is on it now), but the message was clear- you will die here.

Garak nodded and leaned back. “I don't plan on this happening again.”

It was better if it wasn't a baby. If it was, where would he bury it? Where you buried your dead was your home. What name would be put on the cenotaph he did not have, on a station with no soil deeper than his knee?

---

Jabara sat next to him, jarring him out of his thoughts. “You're three hours into overtime today.”

Julian wished he could say he hadn't noticed, but he had. Perfect internal clock and everything.

Dr. Ammshah would be leaving in a few days. A check up after a day, a few days of buffer in case of a last minute emergency, then she'd be on her way back to Vulcan. Which left him with one less pair of hands soon.

“I'm just trying to make sure everything goes smoothly.” Julian rubbed a hand over his face. “How's setting up the storage bay going?”

“It's going fine. It hasn't really been used since the last time we needed it, so it didn't need to be cleared out.”

He had been to send his earliest cases home with a minder. That freed up eight beds, with more flagged as being viable to go home under the same conditions. However, he still had more patients coming in- both newly ill and those who'd tried to tough out what they'd assumed was a bad dining choice at first. The surgical suite had a few beds in it now.

Calculations in his head guessed that at least they'd seen a slowdown starting the day Dr. Ammshah left. “That's good. Are any beds ready yet?”

“A few. Yaatare wants to move the first patient over in the next hour or so.”

“I'll want to look things over first.”

“I know. And I was hoping I'd have to comm you to tell you instead of finding you still here.” Jabara stared scalpels in the side of his head.

“Everyone's doing overtime right now.”

“When was your last day off?”

Julian sighed. “Jabara-”

“You're comfortable telling off the rest of the medical staff and any Starfleet officer you see for poor work habits like too much overtime, but you set a poor example.” Jabara leaned back. “You asked me to be blunt with you from the beginning sir, so- it gives the impression that you're a hypocrite, or that you don't trust your staff.”

Julian flinched. It wasn't the first time Jabara told him that- the fact that she fully took him up fully on the request to be blunt was why he preferred working with her. “You want me to check on the storage bay and go back to my quarters.”

“At least. I also frankly don't want to hear you came back here any sooner than eight hours from now. Ten would be better.”

Julian put his hands up. “Alright. I'll go.”

---

Quark’s was perhaps not the best place to unwind if your stress came from how busy you were. Normally the sights- bright lights, Dabo attendants covered in glitter and rhinestones, flashes of brilliant color everywhere- sounds- shrieks of delight and anger, the wheels turning, glass clinking, conversations- smells- all kinds of food, astringent alcohol, a bit of sweat, cleaner (Quark never allowed vomit to sit the way he never let a paying customer's glass sit empty)- made it exciting.

Right now, Julian was just regretting his choices, holed up in a corner alone. Quark had taken one look at him and mixed something without even asking what he was in the mood for- it was vaguely reminiscent of a hot toddy. Julian found he didn't mind it.

He wiped the red foam from the corner of his mouth and sighed.

“I don't usually see you here by yourself.”

Julian managed a smile as Jadzia slid into the seat across from him. “Well I'm not by myself now, am I?”

“Mm. Is this how it usually works for you?”

“How what works?”

“Dates. You sit alone, looking sad and pretty, and someone eventually walks over.”

“Ah, so I'm pretty.” Julian said, sipping his drink. “And no, usually I'm here for fun and enjoying myself.”

Jadzia peered at his mug. “Oh, Quark gave you a Sweet Howler.” She grimaced a bit. “I heard kunowaat was going around. I didn't realize it was this bad.”

How badly was this going to hit him in the morning? Julian sighed. “It's not the worst thing to deal with. A steady, high, clean water intake, and a constant drip of diozaine, and basically anyone who catches it will live. It's just resource intensive and… annoying."

“I can imagine. I'm glad I'm vaccinated.”

“We've been working on that.” Julian muttered. “I told other Starfleet Medical doctors on Bajor to make it a top priority, but the problem with Bajorans and vaccines…”

“We still haven't built up everyone's trust after the Occupation.”

“No. Especially not in rural areas, like where it started this time.” Julian looked up at her. “Enough about work. How have you been? Any interesting holosuite programs you've discovered?”

Are you alright after the Joining Council almost let you die to save themselves some face?

“I've been okay. And no, no new interesting programs have made their way into my clutches.”

I've been okay, often meant something very different, Julian found.

“And which ones does the major like?” Julian asked.

“I don't think she has a preference yet.”

“Really?”

Jadzia shrugged. “She likes a little of everything, and nothing in its entirety out of what I've introduced her to. We've been trying out more programs recently…” she cocked her head. “Some people are just a bit picky. That makes it all the more special when you do find what they like.”

Interesting.

“How has Bareil been?”

Jadzia gave him a puzzled look. “Why would I know?”

Julian tapped his fingers on the side of his mug. “You just mentioned you've been with the major a lot lately. I thought she might’ve mentioned something.”

Jadzia doesn't quite buy it, still giving him an odd look. “She hasn't, really. Since when are you interested in what vedeks are doing, Julian?”

“Well, he's not just any vedek. If I'm to live right next to Bajor I ought to know what's going on with… politics.”

Jadzia squinted at him. “Do you know something I don't?”

“About Bareil? No.”

“Hm.” Jadzia leaned back.

“Are you going to report me to Odo?” Julian said lightly.

Jadzia softened a bit, not that she was especially hardened in the first place. “For all I know, he put you up to asking me.” She looked around, then peeked under the table. “Doesn't look like he's nearby, though.”

“You can't tell.”

“Well, not anymore.” Jadzia admitted. “It used to be something was a little off about whatever form he took. He's gotten better recently. A spare jacket in one of the labs turned out to be him and made me jump half a Quark into the air a few days ago.”

Julian snickered. “Half a Quark… I'll have to remember that one.”

---

Garak sat on the floor.

His holding cell was now an apartment. A ransacked apartment- Garak had accidentally slept in his shop last night, and Dukat hadn’t hesitated to seize the opportunity to target him in his tantrum- but just. An apartment.

He wondered if he'd be pushing his luck to request different quarters now.

He looked around, taking stock, and halted on an ajar wall panel. He yanked at it, heart pounding, and the metal bent- the red box was still there. Garak cradled it in his lap for a moment.

The recitation mask stared up at him. And kept staring.

Garak picked it up and threw it at the wall.

It only bounced off. The mask was lightweight, but the stone was strong and resilient.

Garak let out an angry sigh- bordering on a growl, really- as he got up off the floor. He picked up a chair leg that had broken off.

The mask gave him no more satisfaction than a clunk.

Garak tried, all night- throwing it, stomping on it, putting it under a table leg and then pushing down with all he had- the mask did not break.

#ds9 #garashir #Ds9 fic #Fic: bite the hand that starves you #garashir fic #Cipher talk

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misty-feathers · 9 months

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i LOVE fics where garak and julian discuss a fictional work of cardassian literature but i also want to read the cardassian literature it would be SO interesting and im sad it doesn't actually exist :/

#im a bookworm first and a person second #star trek #ds9 #garashir #cardassia #misty.txt #ds9 fic

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walkingstackofbooks · 4 months

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In DS9, what's it called if you're trying to get into someone's quarters. Like, "He rang the bell" or "pressed the buzzer", but neither of those sound correct, and I'm sure I've read it in consistently the same way in fic, I just can't think!

#ds9 #ds9 fic #fic-writing help!#5+1 Visionary fic #WSB

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ds9-polycule-tales · 1 year

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“Aunt Nerys! Uncle Julian!”

They had been expecting Miles and Keiko, but the little brown-haired figure flying out from the shuttle door and flinging herself into Kira’s arms was a shock.

Kira hugged her close, sudden delight warring with her consternation.

“Molly! What are you doing here? I thought you were staying back in Deep Space Nine with Aunt Jadzia and Uncle Worf?”

“Yeah. So did we.”

Miles – looking rather more worn than the journey should have made him – leaned over Molly’s head to kiss Nerys.

“Let’s just say – she missed you both too much to stay behind, for now at least.”

Molly looked up, mouth set stubbornly in a way that transformed her elfin features into a tiny carbon copy of her father’s blunt ones.

“I’m not staying behind. It’s different with Yoshi. He’s just a baby. But I can help. I’m going to help.”

She jumped from Kira’s arms to Julian’s, and her father followed her, stroking Bashir’s thin face gently with his blunt, deft hand.

“You look done in, Julian. Let me guess – you’ve been running yourself ragged doing the work of three people?”

He leaned in to kiss Julian before he could reply. Behind them, Kira had relaxed into Keiko’s embrace, some of the lines of strain on her dusty porcelain face relaxing away as she leaned her chin on her wife’s silken black hair.

Elim was barely further away from Miles and Julian than they were from Kira and Keiko, but it all of a sudden felt like a vast gulf. As though the days of fragile, exhausted joy with Julian had been a dream and he had now awakened to lonely reality, looking in on the closeness of others.

Then he felt a tug on his jacket. He looked down, and Molly raised her arms to him, demanding with the perfect trust of a child who has always been loved and never been betrayed, to be picked up. As he lifted her – as gently as though she had been made of china – she threw her arms around his neck.

“I missed you too, Uncle Elim. You are my Uncle Elim now, aren’t you? Mommy said you were now, and Daddy said Uncle Julian finally got his arse in gear the way everyone had been waiting for him to forever.”

A lump filled Elim’s throat. Even after he swallowed, his voice came out weirdly husky.

“I…yes. Yes, Molly. I…believe he did.”

As he accepted her – slightly sticky – hug, he caught Keiko’s eye over Kira’s shoulder. She gave him a smile just as warm as her daughter’s arms, blossoming across her face.

“Welcome to the family, Elim.”

#ds9 au #ds9 fic #ds9 fanfic #ds9 garak #deep space 9 #deep space nine #post canon cardassia #cardassia #julian bashir #elim garak #miles o'brien #keiko x kira #kira nerys #keiko o'brien #molly o'brien #ds9 polycule tales #garashir

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highlyillogicalandroid · 4 months

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Hey everybody! I blacked out and wrote a Garashir oneshot. Enjoy!

#if anyone knows how to fix the tags on ao3 i would be greatly appreciative #why it says garashir-freeform is beyond me and i can't get it to stahp #garashir #star trek ds9 #ds9 fic

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udaberriwrites · 11 months

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Ultramarine/Humility

(200 words, DS9, gen; spoilers for The Quickening)

When her fellow officers boarded the shuttle from the Teplan homeworld, some of the light in Julian's eyes had snuffed out.

Jadzia had warned her about Julian's futile attempts to eradicate the engineered plague. Kira still hadn't been prepared for the sight he made, with bags under his eyes, refusing to look at her and seeming to try to occupy as little space as possible as he sat on the most isolated seat, no trace of his usual cockiness to be seen.

Kira had seen that kind of defeat before. She had seen it in too-young recruits, in veterans who had been captured, or who had failed an objective and seen the Cardassians retaliate without mercy.

Some of those people lost hope and drifted, too broken to believe again. Some let that bitterness burn up the good they had once had. Still, some rallied and forced themselves to turn that defeat into steel holding their soul together.

Kira engaged the engines, setting course for the station that had impossibly become home, the place where day by day she was earning a victory by reclaiming what her people had once lost.

Silently, she vowed to help Julian find himself again.

#ds9 fic #kira nerys #julian bashir #the quickening #color prompts #day 2 #drabbles

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maeselc · 2 months

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Effective Dose

Worfshir one-shot, rated E, dubcon (aliens made them do it + sex pollen), please mind the tags & note on the full fic.

‘I don’t mean to be crass,’ Bashir said, ‘but frankly, there are worse ways this could have played out.’

Worf nodded grimly. ‘I suppose there are worse people I could be in this situation with.’

He glanced up as he realised, a split second too late, that he had misunderstood the doctor’s meaning.

Bashir smirked, but didn’t meet his eye. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

‘You should not.’

Read more on ao3

#worfshir #ds9 fic #star trek fic #my fic

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cordrazine-official · 1 year

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The Emissary and the Augment (UPDATED)

For Black History Month 2023, we’re celebrating 30 years of Deep Space Nine by running the first ever Sisko/Bashir Big Bang, starting February 19th through February 26th March 19th. If you’d like to participate, rules and prompts below!

Rules:

Dream Big! The goal is to generate a number of long form works for this pairing, so we ask that all entries have a minimum word count of 8k. The story can be posted as a multichapter, a single entry, a collection of drabbles, etc.

Eyes on the Prize! The primary relationship in your story must be Sisko/Bashir. Poly fics are welcome so long as Sisko/Bashir are the focus of your story. The story isn’t required to have a happy ending, but remember - the goal is to create longer works about Sisko and Bashir. A story where, for example, Sisko/Bashir break up and Bashir ends up with Garak might be beautifully written, but in the end counts as a Garak/Bashir longfic. There are many wonderful Garak/Bashir longfics in the Archive already and still more being written, so we would like this event to focus as exclusively as possible on Sisko/Bashir.

Sharing is Caring! Please make sure your stories or art are appropriately tagged both on tumblr and AO3. Any rating, from General to Explicit, is welcome. We also welcome stories exploring dark and complex themes, including but not limited to Dubious/Non Consent, Violence, Gore, Kink, etc, but want to offer a caveat. Many of these themes remain historically loaded not only for Black/POC characters, but for Black/POC readers. As you craft your story, be thoughtful, be engaged, be critical, and be honest. And whether you’re participating as a writer, reader, or both: be generous in how you engage.

If you’d like to participate but your talents lie in the visual arts, either drawing, gif making, or photo editing, go ahead and drop your creations in the tag! Make sure to post it with the #siskoshirbigbang2023.

Prompts

If you already have an idea for a sisko/bashir longfic, go for it! If you’d like to participate but need ideas, try one of these!

Post Canon Bajor (tending the garden, children, building the house, prophecy and change, learning Bajoran, senior citizens, new skill)

Summertime (Hammocks, Romance on Risa, Heatstroke, Summer Storm, Beach Volleyball, Family Camping)

Halloween (Vampires, H(a)unted, Mystery & Crime, In the Dark, Premonition, Out of Body/Unreality, Abandoned, Experiment Gone Wrong, “Unnatural, meaning not from nature. Freak or monster would also be acceptable.”)

The Emissary Collection (a fantastic bit of worldbuilding by Lenn (Eitch) on AO3 TR: Re: Re: Re: EMISSARY - launch press release - Lenn (Eitch))

Questions? Comments? Feel free to reach out to @cordrazine-official, @nerdy-flower, @fancy-a-dance-brigadier, @enterprisery or @stopthatbluecat!

#star trek #ds9 #deep space nine #benjamin sisko #julian bashir #siskoshir #star trek fic #ds9 fic #siskoshirbigbang2023

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sourb0i · 10 months

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Two fics in one day??? It's more likely than you think.

Anyway Hard Time was super fucked up and I'm still not over it

#my writing #my fanfiction #star trek #star trek fic #ds9 #ds9 fic #julian bashir #jadzia dax #angst #hurt/comfort

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elemental-queen-writes · 2 years

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Title: Not Again

Rating: T

Pairing: Garak/Bashir

Summary: Julian Bashir has, yet again, wandered onto a Starfleet ship that has left with him. Captain Sisko has to find out which ship to get him back. Again.

Inspired by a tumblr post:

#ds9 fic #garashir fic #elim garak #garak #julian bashir #garashir #benjamin sisko #sisko isn't paid enough for this bull #julian needs a little beeper device he can set to go off #like maybe a computer?

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bijoumikhawal · 3 months

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Bite the Hand that Starves You: Chapter Five

Kardasi: peikirvi- would translate to something like "concubine", specifically refers to an individual that socially presents as male, and was assigned such at birth, but can carry children (and often could impregnate someone else), who is legally bound to someone. Usually this is done with a pre-existing couple who has fertility issues.

Cheoche and cheyeda: could be translated as something like "patron" and "vassal". "Che" in Kardasi refers to charity, which is viewed as a duty to society rather than a choice made of good will. More specifically, a cheoche is a wealthy family/clan who takes on the affairs of a poorer or weaker one (the cheyeda), legally binding the two together for several generations. This can be typified in three ways: the cheyeda being a family who was once great and has become destitute, the family of a beloved artist, or a family of the "service class". For the latter, having a cheoche often provides a stable income, food, housing, and better schooling and training. Some cheyeda even have inheritance rights from their cheoche. However, while the relationship is glorified as going above and beyond ones duty, it is a system rife with abuse. The Tain and Garak families are bound this way.

Kisam- a matchmaker

kashmim- Cardassian time unit roughly equal to nine years

---

“I’ll be just a moment.” Garak said, sensing someone enter the shop and hearing the small noise maker he’d attached to the door be set off by the sliding motion of the door.

He finished the slight adjustment of the clothing in front of him, and turned around. “What can I-“

The words died In his throat when he saw just who had walked into his shop. Suddenly he was both full of white hot anger, and felt like a young, easily manipulated schoolboy again. “What are you doing here, Lokar.” He leaned into the anger. There was no time to question why he was alive, or how. The fact that his punishment had initially been execution still was within reason, given this… sight.

“Lokar? Oh, Elim, we were much closer than that, weren’t we?” Barkan leered at him, his voice, once simply gruff, now like sandpaper over the ears. A lesser man wouldn’t have noticed the hatred burning under his gaze. He looked around. “Charming little shop. I expected you to be up your elbows in soil or circuitry the next time I saw you.”

Garak moved so that the display table in the middle of the room was solidly between the two of them, and his way into his backroom was clear.

Not for the first time, he wished there was more than one entrance and exit to his shop. It had after all, been purposely designed so any proprietor within could be easily cornered by the Cardassian soldiers sent to fetch him. Almost all the shops had similar design features. He simply was unfortunate enough to be more intimately acquainted with them than the other merchants. The only other that had been there in those days was Quark, and his establishment had the privilege of at least one exit on every level.

“There isn’t much soil here I’m afraid, and I doubt Starfleet would allow a random civilian to get his hands in their circuitry.” He quashed the temptation to ask after Paladine and Kel. Barkan would only lie, and mock him all the while.

Barkan tilted his head. “A shame. You looked so at home when you were tending orchids on Romulus.”

Something about that made Garak snap. “You’re begging for an assassination, coming here.” Garak snarled. “The Bajorans did not forget who started ore processing here.”

Barkan sighed. “Such a shift in conversation, and here I was being civil.” He started to stalk in front of the table, not leaving Garak with a clear shot out the door. “And frankly, I’m surprised you’d say such a thing. After all, there are Bajorans that certainly remember you, yet look at you- sitting so nicely in your shop.”

Oh yes, they remembered him- that first morning, after the withdrawal, they certainly remembered him. In his low moments, he used to wish Odo hadn't interfered.

“You're being horribly cold to me, you know.” Barkan chided him. “A good Cardassian would be hospitable, even to a stranger.”

“I could hardly afford the hospitality you're used to.”

Loudly, someone cleared their throat. Garak saw Odo filling the doorway now, and had rarely felt such relief in his life. “Garak, is there a problem here?” He eyed Barkan suspiciously.

“No, constable.” He said in a tone that doubtlessly would only convince Odo that there was, in fact, a problem. “Lokar here was simply lost. He was looking for Del Floria’s, I believe.”

Barkan clearly recognized Odo, eyes flicking down to his Bajoran uniform with distaste. “It's nice seeing you again, Odo.”

Odo crossed his arms. “Del Floria’s is on the other side of the Promenade.”

Barkan smiled. “Thank you. Always helpful, aren't you?” He began walking out. “I’ll be on the station for the next few days, Elim.” He clapped Odo on the chest. “I have a great deal of catching up to do with Dukat, now that I’m returning to public life.”

Odo rubbed his chest, staring after him.

---

One could say Barkan Lokar possessed certain characteristics. Among them, unfortunately, was persistence. Going about his day, Barkan kept appearing just on the edge of his vision. Often, Odo was there as well.

Garak acted as though he hadn't noticed either of them. Things were stabilizing, now. He was able to (mostly) focus on work again. The outbreak of kunowaat- which he'd noticed, but hadn't been able to concern himself with- had no new patients, according to the station rumor mill. A Ferengi festival was upcoming.

It had been three days since Dr. Ammshah left.

Garak had a special delivery to pick up. He'd placed it before this whole mess, knowing it would take awhile back then. He'd almost forgotten it until today- when he got a message from the vendor saying it'd be dropped in corridor J, not too far from where it connected to the promenade. Little foot traffic to worry about, but still accessible.

Unfortunately, that made it an excellent tome for Barkan to be direct in his efforts once more. The seeming lack of presence as he entered the hall gave no comfort. Garak often regretted teaching Barkan what he'd learned from the regnar.

He could delay- his delivery wasn't out in the open- but it wasn't just that.

He had no desire to wait for Barkan to act.

He sensed the shift as the lights changed- they were kept dim here, due to the lack of traffic. It saved a bit of power. He kept walking.

With more time to plan, he could have put himself at great advantage. But then… he'd have to explain himself, after. And no matter what, that would go very poorly for him.

Barkan formally announced himself with a hand on Garak’s wrist.

Garak turned, twisting his way out of the grab. “Rather forward, aren't you?”

“Did you hit your head, Elim? I'm rather curious about where this amnesia of yours has come from.”

“I had hoped for your death. I think you'll find a better answer in that than playing doctor.” Garak said. And yes, he had. He’d felt foul and yet he knew that best outcome would be this man’s blood on his hands.

“You did a lot more than hope.” Barkan stepped forward. Perhaps he was goading Garak to run further down the corridor, away from the promenade.

“And was about as effective, it seems.” Garak didn't give in, standing firm.

“Oh, I wouldn't say that.” Barkan lunged forward him. Garak ducked, punching him in the ribs. Barkan wheezed out a laugh, catching himself. “I've learned my lesson about underestimating you.”

Garak waited. Watched. It was almost like the pit- his energy crashed against Barkan's, even as he stayed against the wall, catching his breath from the blow. Then- his foot came out, catching Garak’s weaker leg, and sending him back against the opposite wall.

Barkan turned, lunging again. He seemed more intent on grappling Garak than striking him. Garak dodged him again, this time not bothering to try and hit him.

That changed things. Garak had expected a fight- a most likely deadly one, yes, but something he could get it over with. Barkan was a hitter when angry, and not especially good with self control in private. He normally had no plan, simply seeking a way to satisfy his anger. Going with a grapple meant he had one.

He had to get out of here.

Barkan had kept him with his back facing more corridor- to get to the promenade, Garak had to get past him.

They both stayed locked in stance. Seeing what move the other would make- had Barkan figured out Garak had switched expectations?

Garak moved first, aiming to hit Barkan on his left arm and get past him.

The blow landed, but Barkan pivoted, turning and slamming them both against the wall.

Barkan’s hand moved to his chest, as though to press his comms for the Cardassian ship docked, when an alarmed voice called out.

“Garak!” Julian was quickly making his way towards the two of them.

Barkan startled at the interruption, and Garak took the opportunity to send him down to the floor by elbowing him in the face. He moved quickly, grabbing the doctor by the arm and steering the both of them to the more populated parts of the station.

“Garak, what was that about? Do you want me to call security? God, you’re bleeding!”

Garak touched his neck. It seemed at some point, Barkan had managed to scratch the unprotected skin in the center. “Doctor, in the future I would advise against you walking around near derelict parts of the station by yourself.” He stole a glance behind them, turning his torso. No sign of Barkan. Unfortunately, he knew Garak’s favorite trick, so that couldn’t be assured.

“Me?! Garak, I came looking for you. It was halfway through our usual lunch appointment, you hadn’t shown up, you weren’t in your shop, you hadn’t messaged me to say you had to miss it this week-“ Julian took a breath. “And I either found you being attacked, or…”

“The first option, I assure you.” It wasn't really soothing, Garak could tell, but it gave Julian more time to breathe instead of talking.

“My question stands about security, then.”

By now there were at least a dozen other people milling about, and Garak allowed himself to relax into his usual state of awareness. “No, I do not want to report this to security.” Dimly, he realized that Barkan had seen Julian with him. If Dukat hadn’t told him about the incident with Rugal, then surely now he would be on Barkan’s radar. “I might perhaps discuss it with constable Odo, off the record.”

Julian stopped him. “I doubt you’ll go to the infirmary with me to get your neck seen to.”

“You would be correct.”

Julian sighed. “Will you wait outside while I grab some equipment and let me do it in your shop, then?”

Garak considered it. “Yes, doctor.”

---

Sisko was going over his weekly communique from Starfleet went Odo came in early. He set aside the padd. "Constable. I've been eager for our daily meeting."

"Did something happen?" Odo tilted his head slightly.

"Dr. Bashir made a report today regarding something he hoped we'd coordinate on."

"A report about Garak." Odo harrumphed. "Coincidentally, that's why I'm here early today. One of Dukat's guests is someone you need to be aware of."

"Sounds like this is going to be a long talk. Take a seat, Constable."

Occasionally, Odo would remark that neither made any difference to him and remain standing, but not today. "Barkan Lokar was murdered close to three years ago. Today I saw him on the promenade."

Sisko sat up a little straighter at that.

Odo took a breath, considering. More out of imitation, Sisko guessed. "Lokar was the mastermind of the mining operation on Terok Nor, though he left the day to day to Dukat. His presence on the station, for that reason alone, is a security threat."

"And then there's the reason Dr. Bashir made his report." Sisko tapped his fingers on this desk. "He said he suspected they knew each other."

"He suspected correctly. Garak was Lokar’s… the closest translation would be concubine, peikirvi. His wife stayed on Prime, but Garak traveled with Lokar while he was on duty. Back then I only knew of Garak as “Elim”."

Sisko didn't hide the displeasure on his face at hearing the closest translation of the word. "I see."

"Garak was also supposed to have killed him. At the beginning of peace talks with the Federation, when the military was starting the evacuation of all non-essential personnel, Lokar stayed to help Dukat close out the mines. I was ordered by both to keep Garak confined to quarters, ostensibly for his own safety. A week later, he was found trying to steal a runabout by a patrol. The officer who found him tried to return him to his quarters, where they found Lokar's body, strangled." Odo paused. "No close examination of the body was allowed. Garak was incredibly agitated and bore injuries. I suspect he may have been intoxicated as well, but no testing was carried out. Dukat decided no further investigation was needed- to him, it was obvious there was a fight, and Garak had gone too far. Something about how the two had known each other since military school, and that Garak must have let old grievances get to him."

"I presume he was more biased than that." Garak at military school… now there was an odd picture.

Odo hmphed. "Of course. Lokar was his closest friend that wasn't a subordinate. He'd requested that the Central Command allow him to handle things personally. Garak was sentenced to labor under military detention after execution was denied for whatever reason, and Dukat assigned him to work as a tailor. Then he was intentionally left behind during the final evacuation."

Sisko gave in to the urge and grabbed his baseball. "So. I have a dead man walking, who happens to be one of the most hated men on the station, if not all of Bajor, and he has a personal violent history with one of our primary informants on Cardassia, who he's harassed today already."

"Twice."

"Twice." Sisko repeated, rubbing his temple. "First, keep an eye on Garak, but be subtle about it. Second, look into Lokar's whereabouts between now and then. Third, keep an eye on him, and don't be subtle. Increase security around the meeting tomorrow. Try to leave any investigation of the murder aside until Lokar is off the station. The rest, I leave to you."

Odo nodded. "As for my usual report…"

---

They'd tentatively resumed lunch. A day off from their usual schedule, unfortunately. There was a relieving quality to it- just like how the ones between the incident with the implant and this one had been, though stained with tension.

Three days worth of meetings... then Barkan would be off the station. He'd still be Garak’s problem... but at a distance.

Garak put that out of his mind. He had a young man to castigate. "As usual, it seems you don't understand your own literature. It's incredibly obvious that-" Garak stopped.

"Garak? Cat got your tongue?" Julian asked, amused.

Garak didn't bother chastising him for using idioms that gave the universal translator trouble. His attention had been pulled away by his parasite. Not only was Barkan around- he was walking toward them, which was what bothered Garak enough to stop.

Was he really going to do this in public?

The look in Barkan's eyes was cold, the way it was the first night Garak had navigated out of the wilderness successfully. Barkan’s gaze somehow became more cruel upon seeing Julian. “Ah. And here I had hoped you had some sense of properity within you.”

Julian tensed, recognizing the voice. "I didn't know Dukat had adopted the policy of giving his crew shore leave while a meeting is currently in progress."

Ignoring Julian, Barkan continued. “I never released you, Elim.”

“Never released me? I wasn’t aware I was a game bird.” Garak didn't deny the implication- the kind of person Barkan was, he'd take that as proof. The best thing to do was step around it, distance yourself from it.

"Game birds are better behaved."

The rest of the replimat was unsubtly looking over at them. Was that his game? After all, there are Bajorans that certainly remember you, yet look at you- sitting so nicely in your shop.

Many of the Bajorans previously on the station had left after withdrawal. Most of the people who associated Garak and Lokar that Garak still had to interact with weren't Bajoran- Odo, Quark and his staff, and so on.

It wasn't that Garak had never been publicly accosted by another Cardassian before. Most ignored him, but a few lacked the self control. What was making this differ was that anyone listening- even if they didn't quite get the implications, and many Bajorans did- could tell this was personal.

It was hard to predict how this would impact him down the road.

"Game birds don't follow orders, Lokar. They fly out of instinct. Perhaps you can relate." Garak turned away from him. "Speaking of, do mind your manners, doctor."

Dr. Bashir had been staring at Barkan the whole time. His attention snapped to Garak once called upon, eyes shifted, but still visibly thinking about how to get rid of Barkan. It was charming.

"I'm sorry, Garak. At my age I should know how to focus on a conversation, and not ignore someone."

Garak didn't laugh, but he did smile a bit. "Being aware of your flaws is good, but you need to act against them." He chided. "What would you do if you were at a medical conference, and ended up snubbing someone important because there was a fight at the snack bar you couldn't ignore?"

"How crass, Ten Lubak." Barkan said, sounding genuinely disappointed as he stalked away. He'd gotten what he wanted, after all- no need to linger.

---

Pay me a visit. And do not dress ostentatiously. The message read.

Garak frowned at it. When he was younger, he would have wondered if being ordered to return to his childhood home was a test, given that he was not to do so unless under specific circumstances. At this point, he knew the summons themselves were not the test.

He had a green outfit that would work well enough. It was a nice day- he might as well walk.

His mother was the one to greet him. "They're in the study." she told him. No recognition beyond what she'd give a normal guest- this was not a personal visit on Tain’s end, then. And, he already had a guest.

He nodded to her. “Thank you.”

Garak had not often gone upstairs when he lived here, and even less often to the study. He opened the door himself- he was allowed to, after all. Tain had his guests escorted if he felt guarded about such a thing as them opening doors by themselves.

He'd already had on a smile, and kept it firm even upon seeing the other guest.

He had expected Barkan would check if his “Elim Vronok” story was true, but this seemed a little much. At least he knew the role to play now; Elim Vronok, disgraced Bamarren washout who found out he was a bastard, changed his name, and now was a service class gardening drone. That still left the test…

“Barkan Lokar. I didn't expect to see you again so soon after our last meeting.” He gave it a formal distance, with a little warmth. He turned to Tain and bowed forward. “Patron.” Most likely, Lokar was here because Tain was officially the Garak family’s cheoche (this branch, anyway).

“You're being terribly formal, Elim. Sit, we have kanar.” Tain gave off the appearance of being relaxed, his presence withdrawn. And he did indeed, have a bottle of Kanar out and open. The two of then had each already poured a glass.

Garak did as he was told (it was never a request) and sat in the spare chair, pouring himself some kanar. Owing to the status of Elim Vronok compared to the room, he poured just half of the usual amount. “Might I ask what the occasion is?”

“How long has it been since Bamarren, Elim?” Barkan asked, looking into his drink.

“About two kashmim.”

“Two kashmim.” Barkan repeated. “As you know, Palandine and I were already betrothed back then. We formalized our relationship after completion of our studies at Bamarren. Two kashmim… and we only have one child.”

Garak bowed his head. “My condolences.” It was terror, to have just one child- that was only one opportunity for your hopes, ambitions, continuation of your name, and of course, only one opportunity for Cardassia. It would weigh especially heavy on Barkan, the man who taught Garak the real meaning of the word opportunity.

Deaths had decreased from what they'd been just before Garak was born, with hunger and illness rampant before the state made reforms. But both still hounded children in particular. And war…

Barkan sighed. “I love Kel dearly. The responsibility of being the only Lokar of her generation would crush her. Seeing you on Romulus reminded me… that I have options.”

The artifacts Tain kept on the walls suddenly made the room feel smaller.

So. That was what he'd come for. A slight panic must have appeared somewhere in him- his eyes, his posture. Barkan set down the glass, making a beseeching gesture. “I've been perfectly formal in discussing the matter before you arrived.”

Of course he had. He was wearing his newfound refinement like a shawl. Garak hadn't even been worried about Tain hearing of his school boy liaisons until it was alluded to.

Garak smiled as though relieved. “As fits the occasion.”

How did Barkan know? Had it come up while he was checking his Vronok story or had it been known at Bamarren and kept quiet as future leverage?

“Why me?” Garak asked, cloaking the question in a blend of bashfulness and humility. “Surely your family could find you a peikirvi, or a kisam could look further afield.”

Barkan smiled- the same smile he'd used on Garak at Bamarren. “I already know you, Elim. I came to like you and respect you during our time at school. I know you and Palandine won't destroy the household with petty strife. Those are guarantees I cannot get, no matter how clever my family or a kisam is, if I am marrying a stranger.”

“Well argued. Don't you agree, Elim?” Tain looked to him.

Barkan was friends with Skrain Dukat. Son of Procal Dukat, the would be coup leader. That was Tain’s angle here. Keep close to Barkan to keep aware of the Dukats.

How funny. Procal would despise his son's friend if he could see this now. An aristocratic military man raising a service class bastard to the honor of his peikirvi- what a fit he and every other member of the True Way would have.

“Very well argued.” How fortunate for Tain, that Barkan had thought of this himself and come to Tain as Garak’s cheoche. The latter was no matter of fortune, of course. Just good planning. As was this: positioning Garak this way had the potential to be very good planning.

Who was Garak to deny the will of his father, patron, head of the Order?

---

Julian knocked on the door frame to alert Sisko of his presence. "I have forms for you to sign." This was the last thing he needed to do- then he was off to bed.

"Oh, wonderful." Sisko lowered the padd he was looking at. "Inventory reports?"

"Among other things." Julian replied. He handed the data rod over to Sisko. "There's also requisition forms and a post-hoc form for that medical consult I had to call in." Normally, Julian would have done that before whoever he'd called in arrived, but Dr. Ammshah had caught him off guard.

"Did that go well?" Sisko connected the rod and the padd.

"Confidential." Julian said.

Sisko's brows raised as he skimmed the papers. Julian could pinch himself- normally, he would at least say if something went well. His knee jerk response gave the opposite impression, and he couldn't correct it. Sisko could probably guess who the consult concerned, and of course, had just reported to Odo the other day...

"This... is a long set of requisition forms." Sisko said after a moment. "Even for how many people have been ill."

"That's just how this disease is. It doesn't help that it's one of those where people tend to catch something else while already sick." Julian leaned on the back of the chair across from Sisko.

"How have you and the infirmary staff been holding up? Anyone giving you trouble?"

"No, no trouble- it's about as you'd expect." Julian replied. "We aren't being pushed to our limits yet, but we'll all be very glad when this is done with."

Sisko's eyes lingered on him, not bothering with subtlety as he squinted at Julian's face, then his uniform. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure. I'm very careful to make sure I don't give anyone more work than they can handle, and we managed to borrow a few nurses from the nearest outpost planetside." This was true- and key to this, just as much as the extra nurses, which of course no one else knew, was that Julian could do the work of two people in the infirmary. He was careful about it. No one noticed anything obviously unusual. "It's under con-"

A yawn rudely interrupted him. Julian felt his face warm slightly.

Sisko sighed. "Don't be over eager, doctor. It's better to ask for help early on if you need it, and to overestimate."

Julian laughed. "Thank you, sir, but I know my limits, and the limits of my staff."

"Good. Keep them in mind, and don't be shy to ask when you need something." Sisko nodded at him and raised the padd in Julian's direction. "I'll send these off once I'm done."

Julan inclined his head. "Thank you again."

#ds9 #garashir #garashir fic #Ds9 fic #Fic: bite the hand that starves you

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misty-feathers · 8 months

Text

new fic! inspired by this post by @pacificsaury

featuring: the cardassian version of goodreads, a two-person love triangle, and garak and julian arguing over literature

thanks also to @ettaberrytea for a bunch of the cardassian usernames :)

#star trek #ds9 #julian bashir #elim garak #garashir #misty.txt #garashir fic #star trek ds9 #star trek fic #ds9 fic #deep space nine #ds9 fanfic #fanfic #my fic #my writing #writing #ao3

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walkingstackofbooks · 1 month

Text

Just a little ficlet that I doubt will make it into anything larger.

Post-canon Cardassia: Julian asks Ezri (and Dax) to be a part of his and Garak's wedding.

It had been lovely to properly catch up with Julian, and see how happy he was now. Conversation had flowed as easily as ever as they ambled along; it was hard to believe they'd once thought that dating-and-breaking-up would stop them from being friends.

Ezri wasn't sure how long they'd been walking when Julian came to a sudden stop, flexing his hands in that way he did when he was worried about something.

"Actually, there was something I wanted to ask you. Well, you and Dax. If that makes sense? A couple of things, really," he said. Ezri wondered how many times he'd silently rehearsed that, only for it still to come out so awkwardly.

"Go on?"

"Um, first of all - will you be my best man? At the wedding?"

Ezri laughed, taken aback, but Julian seemed completely serious. "Me?" she said, incredulously. "I mean, I'm flattered that you're asking - but I'd have thought you'd have wanted Miles?"

Julian nodded, chuckling through gritted teeth. "Yes... and no - I was trying to decide who of you I'd ask. No offence!" he added hurriedly, probably realising how that sounded. "But, you see, the thing is that Garak asked Miles before I could."

"Garak? Why?"

Julian sighed, rolling his eyes. "Garak says that since it's a human tradition, he felt it was only proper to ask one of his human friends - actually, "acquaintances" was how he put it. Personally, I think he's just doing it to irritate both of us - but I don't have any proof. Yet."

Although he had tried to sound cross about it, Julian couldn't stop a fond smile breaking across his face. "I still can't believe I'm going to marry him," he mused, looking off into the distance contentedly before snapping back to face Ezri. "Well, anyway - will you do it?"

"Of course," she replied warmly, taking his hands in her own. "I'd love to."

He squeezed her hands tightly in gratitude. "Great," he grinned. "That's... that's really great, Ezri. Thank you."

As she stepped back, letting go of him, she could see that despite his happiness, there was still an air of anxiety around him.

"And the second thing?" she prompted, assuming that was the cause.

"Ah, yes," Julian said, smile slipping for a moment, some heaviness stealing into his expression. His gaze wandered off over her shoulder.

"Julian?"

Unexpectedly, he laughed, straightening up as he looked at her again. "I'm sorry, it's just that I really don't have any right to ask this of you," he said, hands - as usual - accompanying his words with haphazard gestures. "But... well... I wanted to ask if you'd plan the afterparty?"

"Me?" she asked, laughing again, unable to think of a different way to reply. "Julian, I'm not really a party person. I'm sure you could find someone who would actually know what they're doing. I wouldn't know where to start!"

"I know," he replied, "but Dax does, right?"

She frowned, trying to work out what he was getting at. Julian closed his eyes for a moment, sighing.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, "I was just hoping I could ask you as Dax..." He trailed off and looked away, shrugging. "It's probably silly, really. But I haven't been able to shake the thought that if Jadzia were here, nothing would have stopped her from taking over the party plans. And I just thought that maybe, if you did it, it would be like having a little bit of her, there, too."

"Oh, Julian," she breathed, allowing the strangeness of feeling like she was being mourned to wash over her. It was a familiar sensation, but it was far easier to hang on to her own Ezri-ness nowadays, and she shook herself back into the present.

"Well, I can't guarantee it'll live up to your expectations - but I'll do my best," she promised sincerely. "For you, and for Jadzia."

He smiled back, shakily. "It's not too much to ask?"

"Not at all," she reassured him, although she wasn't entirely certain that was true. She'd cross that bridge when she came to it. "I'm just sorry that you still miss her so much."

He turned his head sharply, as though she'd said something confusing. "I'm not," he said, his wet eyes catching hers with an unusual intensity. She tilted her head, raising her eyebrows in her own silent question.

"I'm not sorry that I miss her, I mean," he explained, voice rough, but steady. "If I didn't, it would mean that I'd forgotten how important she was to me when she was alive - and I'd never want that to happen. Even if it still sometimes hurts to remember her. I wouldn't give up those memories for anything. Not that I can, of course" he added, tapping his forehead. "Perfect recall has to count for something."

Ezri wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. The counsellor part of her wanted to ask if he'd spoken to anyone about how his enhanced memories had impacted on his grief... but she figured now wasn't the right time, and tabled that thought for a future conversation.

"Come on," she said instead, linking her arm through his. "I don't know how much further we've got to walk to get there, but I know we're not there yet."

Like I said, I don't expect to write this into a whole story - but this conversation was partly the inspiration for the song I made about grieving Jadzia, if you're interested at all :)

(But I can't regret missing you / Even when I know it means / That my heart won't lighten again. / Even losing one memory / Would be the death of me - / You were magnificent / And I won't forget that.)

(Yes, I am having FEELINGS about Jadzia's death and I want to share them so badly 😅😅😅)

#ficlet #ds9 spoilers #Julian Bashir #Ezri Dax #very implied Garashir :P #Andi writes #my trek musings #ds9 fic #mourning the magnificent Jadzia Dax #I hope I've done Ezri justice here #Like I love Julian and it is ultimately about him #(what isn't 😅)#but i do love Ezri and want her to be her own bean #WSB

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ds9-polycule-tales · 1 year

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14 - 2375

The wind had risen to a gritty, howling scream outside the family hut. Elim was sitting quietly in the main living room, working on another pair of the adjustable shoes that half the children in the camp were now wearing. He felt an obscure flash of pride at that. He had found capacity to replicate some screws and other components that were fiddly and difficult to make by hand, and between that and practice he was able to turn out two or three pairs in an evening now. They were rather smarter than his first, slightly clumsy pair now, though; he had even been able to add small decorative patterns burned into the material with a soldering iron.

The wind howled louder, rattling the windows, and he froze, suddenly, in the middle of his work, as a child’s cry rose above that of the wind. Molly. It was Molly, presumably woken by the noise of the storm.

The first time he ever recalled Tain locking him in a cupboard had been a night like this. He had still been rather small – no more than six or seven, probably – and Tain was newly returned to he and Mila’s lives. He had awakened in the dark of his bedroom in the storm, cried out for Mila as he had so many times. Instead of her, the huge shape of the unknown man appeared; yelled, voice booming out in the darkness. He still remembered the further fear when he had always had comfort; the unstoppable tears that had elicited further fury from the unknown man, the cycle of lost control until he was yanked from the bed by irresistibly giant, rough hands and shoved into the cupboard. The door slammed, the key turned, and he was alone in a darkness thick as velvet and a jumble of unknown objects made dangerous and terrifying by it. He had wanted to cry out for Mila again, but he was almost as afraid of the yelling giant by then; the screams died in his throat. Instead he sobbed near- silently until he retched and choked, spitting bile down his nightwear, and huddled into a corner, shuddering. He had half-slept for a bit, nightmare mixing with waking terror, until, finally, Mila released him in the grey dawn.

The adult Elim looked around as the cry came out again. But Julian and Miles were out in the District Hall teaching darts to some of Julian’s walking wounded; Keiko was away overnight on an expedition to test the soil in the next valley over, and Kira was on a long call to a Bajoran colony administrator in the Project office trying to access more aid. The only person was him.

He fought a sudden moment of panic. “I don’t know how to parent!”

But there was only him, or Molly crying out into the night alone.

He put down the little shoe and stood up. “She won’t want me,” he reassured himself silently. “She’ll want someone else, and I can call them, and then she’ll be safe and comforted and I can get on with my shoe.”

He knocked lightly on the door before going in.

“Molly, it’s E…it’s Uncle Elim. Are you all right?”

A burst of relieved-sounding weeping brought him cautiously in. There was a small, glowing nightlight shaped like a delicate winged little creature casting a soft warm light on the walls, and Molly’s little bed was piled so high with pink and purple patterned cushions and blankets that he had a moment of panic that she wasn’t even there. And then she sat up, clutching a stuffed animal, and when he sat down a little gingerly on a white cushioned chair next to the bed she crawled right into his arms and began to cry into his shoulder; more violently but with an unmistakable note of relief. He carefully put his arms around her and let her weep, gently shushing her.

After a bit, he could make out words in the sobs, and slowly pieced together a nightmare of huge faceless, brutal figures coming into the camp, killing everyone, pulling down the buildings as Molly hid in terror. Though her bedroom was so soft and safe, and Molly older than he had been, that her nightmare had so much to realistically fear in it unexpectedly wrung his heart. He couldn’t shush these terrors away. Dismissing realistic fears is not kind. It is cowardly.

Instead, he ended up sitting and telling her – in some detail – about the security plan he and Kira and Miles had worked out for the camp. How they met up every two weeks to discuss and update it. How there were weapons in safe places they could access around the camp if they were needed, but how they had never yet needed them. The groggy fear drained out of her expression as she listened, to be replaced by caution and interest.

He ended up going to the kitchen with her to make her the milky powdered root drink she had become fond of from her friends; she wanted it with a sprinkle of spice they kept mostly for him, the way Mila had made it for children.

She dragged a blanket out with her, wrapped over her shoulders and trailing behind her; took it to the couch, asking more questions; first about the plan, then about the little shoes. The storm was still loud; she talked a little louder, trying to drown it out. Eventually, she rested her head against his shoulder and dozed off.

He thought he would carry her back to her bed, but perhaps he would just finish the little shoe first. In just a moment…

Miles and Julian found them snoring gently together after the storm died down enough for them to get home.

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