G/B fanfiction for the show Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. Garak breaks into Dr. Bashir’s quarters to get some medical attention, and gets a bit more than he bargained for.
Tropes and warnings: Discussion of sexual harassment, protectiveness, references to drug use and impaired states of mind, age difference, pre-slash
Additional commentary: Banged this one out while stewing about how If Wishes Were Horses portrays Julian being harassed and almost assaulted and some people act like he’s a bad person in the situation. Set between the episodes IWWH and Cardassians. I tried to also fill in that “Garak educating and protecting Julian from the perspective of an older GNC queer man to a younger one” niche that I love while I was here. This can also be read on AO3 under the username deathlybijoumme, and can be cross posted to other sites and archives/translated/etc so long as you ask first.
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It was not a lie to say that Starfleet security had the tensile strength of Risian gossamer. Any security system that could be broken into whilst the uninvited had an incapacitated arm and an altered mental state proved its designers should be fired, if not worse. Never mind that the uninvited had spent the last few weeks in a constant altered mental state that he’d prior built up a tolerance to and had been trained to hack security systems in various states of physical and mental distress. It should still have taken him close to an hour instead of a matter of minutes.
Given why he was breaking in, Garak supposed he ought to be grateful.
Dr. Bashir’s quarters were interestingly sparse, outfitted with the basic furniture, and not much else. Even the doctor’s bed only had a relatively thin regulation blanket and a single pillow.
Garak lightly touched Dr. Bashir on the arm, and was greeted by a sharp flash of endorphins as he was struck across the face. Dr. Bashir looked up at him, wild eyed as he scrambled to sit upright.
“Garak! What on earth are you doing?”
Garak put a hand up to his cheek. No lasting injury- though what a hit it had been! The admiration that colored his voice was genuine. “I must say doctor, that was an impressive reaction from such a young man, considering the situation.”
Dr. Bashir puts his hands over his face. “You… startled me.” There’s a tremble to his shoulders, voice. Not indicative of a honed knee jerk reaction.
“I should have stood further away when waking you.”
“Or given me prior notice.” he snapped, then sighed. “You do understand that under Federation law there’s such a thing as breaking and entering?”
“That seems rather unfair given how easily accessible quarters are under Federation protocol.” Garak did his best to look offended. “All I had to do was walk right up to the door! On a starship would you hit a night time visitor across the face?”
“No, normally I’d have woken, asked how you got in and what you were doing, and moved on.” Dr. Bashir was still trembling. That wouldn’t do. He needed him focused.
“Has someone else broken into your quarters recently, doctor?” He intended it as something of a joke. For the doctor to simply state no, he just had fraying nerves or something of that sort.
Instead, the young man slumped. “She wouldn’t stop touching me.”
One thought makes itself coherent at that: he’s so terribly young. And trusting. “Who?” A name, a face, a target.
“You might remember that a few weeks back the promenade was covered in snow.”
“I was ill for days afterwards, but I don’t see the relevance.” A target damn it, give him something he can do.
Dr. Bashir bit his lip. “Well, what caused that also created a… facsimile of a woman I’d been fancying. Which only acted with the knowledge that I was supposed to like her and didn’t understand why I didn’t immediately fall into her arms when she appeared in my quarters while I was asleep.” He gave Garak a pointed look then.
“I see.” Little he could do on that front, then. An itch filled the space under his skin.
“Why did you break in, anyway?” Dr. Bashir eases minutely, his mind switching track.
“I don’t own a dermal regenerator.” Not that it would help much. For a Cardassian, this is the kind of wound that needs stitches.
Dr. Bashir looks confused, then focuses on Garak’s arm, which is pressed tight across his chest, and the dark fabric looks a bit wet in the low light. “Oh God, Garak.” He rushes to get out of bed. “You do know the infirmary is open all 26 hours, don’t you?” He presses his palm to Garak’s lower back and ushers him into the refresher. Dreadfully tactile, and for once Garak felt some guilt regarding it.
“No.” Garak lied. It was a simpler lie than coming up with a reason why he wouldn’t go to the infirmary, and right now he needs simple lies. His attention right now is being pulled in too many directions for anything else.
Dr. Bashir turned on the tap and rolled up Garak’s sleeve, running water over the wound until it could be clearly seen. The sting translated into a respective sharp pleasure. He nudged Garak’s arm so it rested on the counter and washed his own hands. “Out of curiosity, what were you doing when this happened?” No flinch at the reveal. Then again, he was a doctor.
“One does not argue with the machines one uses.” It was true enough, by the doctor’s standards.
“Should O’Brien be expecting a work order from you, then?”
“No, this was personal equipment. I will defer to your judgement, doctor, but I expect this will need stitches.”
Dr. Bashir chuckled and opened the drawer his hand had just alighted on. “I figured.” He pulled out an autostitcher.
“Dare I ask why that’s in your refresher drawer and not in a medkit?”
“Just regular preparedness, Mr. Garak.”
“As always, it’s just Garak.”
“Well Garak, I apologize but I don’t have local anesthesia in here, and I doubt you’ll wait for me to go and get some, so this will hurt a bit.” Dr. Bashir stitches up the wound with the fast steadiness one gains after years of familiarity with their tools. By the time he’s dressing the wound, the sting is no longer strong enough to translate to pleasure, leaving only the dull hum of the wire on its usual setting.
Garak runs a fingertip over the edge of the dressing. A perfectly smooth seal.
“Do you know how to change dressings?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Well then, call me or one of the other doctors if it splits, there’s inflammation, or it starts bleeding again and won’t stop. Though I would greatly appreciate you not breaking into anyone’s quarters to do do.” A light tone now regarding the incident.
“Doctor, you could change your quarters’ security back to Cardassian settings.” Dr. Bashir gave him a rueful smile.
“So the only person who breaks into my quarters is you?”
“I’m surprised you think I could. Federation security is so lax that a flutterby could break into your quarters.”
“And who would be helping me change my quarters security? You?”
“Oh, Chief O’Brien. Of course I would help in any way I could, but I’m a tailor, not an engineer.”
Dr. Bashir tilted his head. “I’ll think on it. Sadly it… wouldn’t have helped, last time.”
“I see. Well, doctor,” Garak rolled his sleeve down. “I’ll bid you goodnight and not disturb your rest any longer.”
“Any longer in general or shall I expect another visit from you eventually?” Dr. Bashir leaned against the door and watched as he left.
It was very strange that after that first meeting, Dr. Bashir seemed almost completely at ease with him.
Young. Trusting.
Someone needed to give the young man a political education. Or else he would forever be remembered as a young man.
“Only time will tell, my dear doctor.”
dzhooles 