The BLTS Archive- Swimming against The Tide
by Invicta (invicta11@yahoo.com)

---

Disclaimer: Star Trek DS9 and the Star Trek characters are owned by
Paramount Pictures. All rights are reserved and no infringement is
meant.

Author's website: http://www.yowf.clara.net

Archiving: Sure, as long as the full header and disclaimer are both
included.

This story is copyright (c) Invicta, December 2000. Feedback is most
welcome.

Many, many thanks to the three kind people who found the time to be my
beta readers for this story - Kathryn Ramage, Mosca and Java Green.

---

Julian Bashir felt as if he was sweeping along inside a huge tornado
made of pure anger. It was a long time since he had last been this
furious with life. Today was the shittiest of shitty, fucked up,
shit-like days. He hated today with a passion, but tomorrow would be
even worse... because tomorrow was Christmas Day.

He knew that his foul mood wasn't going to dissipate until Christmas
was completely over and done with. But even so, this part of the
quadrant (once so refreshingly Christmas-free) was now forever sullied
in Julian's eyes. And it was all Chief O'Brien's fault. His young
daughter Molly, very conscious that she was missing out on the many
Yuletide events which took place on Earth at this time of year, had
been pestering him. She wanted a special seasonal experience, and as
her father couldn't take her back to Earth to have it, then she wanted
him to create it for her on DS9. ("Look Molly, it's just not
possible." / "But Dad-eeeee, you're an engineer - you can build
anything. Pleeeeeaaaase...")

Julian had spent enough time with Molly to appreciate that, having
really made up her mind to get something, she would not let the matter
drop. That child had pestering down to a fine art. And she had indeed
kept on going, nagging both of her parents every chance she got, using
more force than the average photon torpedo. Kids could not be reasoned
with easily when their little hearts' desires were at stake, Bashir
admitted to himself grudgingly. But still, Miles could have just kept
saying no... or Keiko could have done *something* to talk her out of
it...

But instead, the worn-out and defeated parents had eventually taken
their case to Captain Sisko. Could they have permission to put up a
few decorations on the Promenade, in honour of the Christmas season?
And Sisko had agreed to this; he'd even offered to help out. But then
something totally unexpected had occurred. As Sisko and the O'Briens
had begun assembling their modest display of lights, tinsel and
baubles, some Bajorans had noticed this and asked what they were
doing. Upon learning that the Humans were planning to honour an
important festivity from their Emissary's home world, they had
replicated some decorations and joined in. Then some more people did
the same, and some more, and some more...

By the end of the day, thanks to the enthusiastic assistance of
hundreds of Bajorans, the Promenade looked like a massive Santa's
grotto. Bright, garish, vulgar, flashing and clashing decorations were
everywhere. At last count, there were twenty-nine Christmas trees. It
was perhaps unfortunate that many of the Bajorans had replicated
decorations similar to Molly's screamingly gaudy choices, instead of
the more sober and dignified ones used by her parents. And even Sisko
had admitted (privately, of course) that there was clearly a total
lack of planning or co-ordination in the final product. But he had
liked the goodwill shown by the Bajorans in helping out, seeing it as
pleasing evidence of inter-species tolerance and acceptance. The
Bajorans too were satisfied, for they had pleased their Emissary. They
all assumed that the tasteless final result was what the Humans had
been striving for anyway. Molly was also satisfied (for the moment)
and as for Keiko and Miles, they were just glad to have some peace in
their home once more.

Julian had not been one of the enthusiastic decorators that day -
instead, he had watched with horror as Christmas invaded DS9 for the
first time. He had never expected this to happen. In previous years,
those Humans who celebrated this holiday had done so quietly, in their
own quarters. Now it was big and bold, demanding more attention than a
drunken, just-been-hugely-victorious-in-battle Klingon. Julian hated
it.

In the week after the ornamental enhancement of the Promenade had
taken place, Bashir's mood had steadily worsened. Even the fact that
the first anniversary of his marriage to Elim Garak was only a few
days away could not distract him. Needless to say, the seasonal plague
had spread to every shop and restaurant; there was no getting away
from it, he might as well be on Earth. The Christmas decorations
multiplied like tribbles, sneaking into bits of the station where
Bashir indignantly thought they had no bloody right to be. Ops, the
cargo bays, the Defiant. It was rumoured that someone had even put a
Christmas tree in Odo's office. Then today, the nurses had asked his
permission to decorate the infirmary. To them this had been a mere
courtesy, and they were all astounded when he said no. But Julian had
stood firm against the tide, determined not to crack, refusing all
requests. And when he'd been at lunch, they had gone and done it
anyway. SHIT, SHIT, SHIT. Only in his quarters could he find an escape
now.

As far as Julian was concerned, his beloved infirmary now looked like
something out of a Picasso painting. He was so angry with the nurses
about it. They had presented him with a fait accompli, because he
could hardly rip the damn things down from the walls, could he? Of
course not. It would seem cruel - even the patients seemed to find
them cheering, for some unknown reason. Probably they were all
suffering from delirium. Maybe he should run a scan of the whole
station, since Christmas fever seemed to be highly contagious.

Julian buried himself in his work for the rest of that day. He did not
want to tell the nurses or anyone else about his hatred of Christmas,
because they would not understand. Nobody else ever had. ("You don't
like it? How weird!" / "Not enjoy Christmas - you can't be serious!" /
"But what's not to like?" / "You scrooge!" / "Oh, lighten up Julian,
it's just a bit of fun...")

Over the last week he had let the anger build up, while carefully
hiding it behind a facade of cheeriness. Elim had not been fooled, of
course; he knew that something was wrong, and had tried to find out
what the problem was more than once. But Julian had used the
convenient excuses of tiredness, pressure of work and so on, and
fortunately his husband had not questioned him further on the subject.

---

Julian made his way home at 2000 hours. He was looking forward to a
quiet night in with Garak, hopefully doing very unseasonal things.
They had not discussed the temporary madness on the Promenade very
much. Garak had made a few acerbic comments, of course, but Bashir had
quickly changed the subject each time and the matter had been dropped.
Julian realised that the only time he had felt good in the past few
days was when Garak had taken him in his arms at night, and reminded
him that there were a few things to be thankful for after all...

He input his security code and stepped through the door. "Oh shit, not
here too!" he exclaimed with disgust. For the festive season had
somehow breached this last sanctuary. Garak was standing waiting for
him next to a large Christmas tree, and there were garlands, tinsel
and wreaths hung on every wall. The bright smile on his face quickly
faded as he took in Bashir's unexpectedly negative reaction.

"I wanted to surprise you... don't you like it?"

Julian made a supreme effort to look pleased, anxious not to give
himself away. "Like it? Of course I do, it's wonderful. You've gone to
so much trouble! I just didn't expect it, that's all - you really took
me by surprise, Elim."

But Garak was not deceived. "You hate it," he said.

"No, honestly I don't," Julian lied.

Garak smiled. "You need a lot more preparation time than I gave you to
dissemble effectively, Julian, so I really wouldn't bother to try. Is
it the design? I can change that, make it better. Or the colours,
perhaps? I know this ensemble doesn't look quite like the vision of
discordance on the Promenade, but I do believe that when one uses
alternate shades and textures, then some colour co-ordination can be
helpful."

"Elim, there's absolutely nothing wrong with either the colours or the
design," he replied, sincerely this time. Garak's chosen decorations
were simple, tasteful and pleasing to the eye. In terms of aesthetics
alone, Bashir couldn't fault them. "In fact, I think you've created a
truly beautiful tableau; it's as good as anything one might see back
on Earth, and better than most."

"But you still hate it. Why?" Garak asked curiously.

Julian flopped down onto the sofa and sighed. "I'm sorry. You must
have spent hours making our quarters look this exquisite, and I've
ruined your big surprise."

Garak walked across and sat down next to him. "Don't evade the
question," he said, giving him a stern glance.

Julian looked at his lover with some trepidation. "Are you angry with
me?"

"No, I'm not. What do you feel?"

Julian smiled faintly. "I am angry, but not with you. I... that you
would go to such effort, for an alien tradition... I'm very honoured."

"And so you should be," Garak replied with a wry grin. "But it would
appear that I have miscalculated. I observed your withdrawn and moody
behaviour over the past few days and drew the wrong conclusion from
it. I thought that you were upset because we were not celebrating your
people's Christmas tradition. I also decided that you felt unable, for
some reason, to discuss this with me. Perhaps you assumed that I would
refuse to have anything to do with it? I admit that I have been
somewhat scathing about certain other Human customs in the past--"

"No, it wasn't that. In fact, I was very glad that you didn't mention
it much."

"But that was because I was waiting for you to tell me what you
wanted! I expected hints about preferred gifts, demands to go carol
singing and so on. I was fully prepared to complain about your
outrageous demands and then grudgingly give way, thus making you feel
even more beholden to me than you do already."

"You little schemer," Julian said affectionately as he took Elim's
hand.

"Always, my dear. But as I say, the days passed and you said nothing.
And then I realised that last year, when we were already living
together and due to marry very soon, Christmas passed through without
even one mention of it from you. Now I have done some research, and I
found that this festival is very popular in the region of Earth where
you were brought up. So what else could I conclude but that you
believed I wouldn't tolerate having Christmas as a part of our life
together?"

"That isn't what I thought at all, but I suppose I can understand how
you came to that conclusion," Julian said as he laid his head against
Garak's shoulder and closed his eyes. He sighed softly as he felt his
lover's strong arms wrap around him.

"Even so, I want you to believe, as I do, that there is room for both
Human and Cardassian traditions in our marriage. Why else did I ask
you to join me in the Dzall'krintab, the month after we were married?"

"I loved the Dzall'krintab," Julian said with a reminiscent smile.
"Incense, chants, colours, singing, reading, meditation - it all
seemed to blend together somehow. Although you know, I still don't
understand the idea which underpins it; how can I be your husband,
your ancestor and your descendant all at the same time?"

"As you very well know, only the relationship of husband exists on the
physical plane. The others are spiritual and reflect the whole
relationship concept, where we are everything to one another. I will
teach you more about it at this year's Dzall'krintab, Julian; it is
supposed to be a progression, after all. Each year, our relationship
deepens and we move further onwards in understanding. And you are
still evading the question; don't think I didn't notice."

"I knew you would... and I guess you do have a right to an
explanation. The truth is that I hate Christmas," he admitted. "I have
always hated it, Elim."

"Why? I thought it was important to Humans."

"It's..." Julian sighed. "To some Humans, it is important. And as you
said, in the places where I grew up, it was a very significant event -
but not to me. I was devastated when those damn decorations went up on
the Promenade; they took away my ability to ignore Christmas."

Garak frowned. "But why is it so crucial that you are able to do that?
You have me baffled, Julian - I don't like it when that happens."

Julian couldn't help but smile. "I guess I caught you on the hop this
time, huh? The truth is, the whole thing always did seem meaningless
to me. I'm sure you're aware that it has it's origins in the Christian
religion, but I'm not a religious man so it can't act as an
affirmation of my beliefs."

"But I understood that during the festive month, Humans often give
charitable gifts and do good deeds. Surely you should approve of
that?"

"Well of course, but now that poverty is eliminated on Earth, even
those customs have stopped."

"Then I assume that your people don't feel the need to extend any aid
to those less fortunate planets in the quadrant where poverty is still
very much in evidence," Garak commented tartly. "What's that saying
Humans have - charity begins at home?"

Julian looked uncomfortable. "Elim, I won't try and defend this Earth
practice because I agree with you. My people stopped making donations
to other planets a long while back because some species were offended
by our offer of help. Perhaps we weren't tactful enough when we made
the offer, I don't know. I do believe that we should have kept trying,
and I personally give 10 per cent of my salary to a poverty relief
organisation, not just at Christmas but every month."

"Julian, you really need to reassess your priorities. Just think how
many sex toys and sessions in the holosuite we could buy with an extra
10 per cent of your salary, and here you are just throwing it away on
aid to the needy!"

Julian grinned. "I am *not* going to rise to the bait this time,
Elim."

Garak sighed theatrically. "In that case, let's get this discussion
back into focus. You were in the process of telling me why you dislike
Christmas."

Julian sighed. "It's just that there's nothing to it any more, Elim.
All that is left of a once great festivity is shallowness and tawdry
surface glitter. People say that Christmas has a warmth about it, that
it brings people together. The season of goodwill, it's often called.
That is a deeply ironic title as far as I'm concerned; to me, it's
always been just the opposite. There are so many bad memories
associated with this particular holiday season..."

Like being taken to make annual duty visits to distant relatives who
didn't know about his genetic enhancements. While there, he would
always be required by his parents to tell lie after lie about himself
to family members, all learned by rote in advance. As a child he had
not understood why it was so vitally important to his parents that he
narrated these untruths perfectly, but he'd still felt terrified at
the idea of making a mistake.

And then there was the gift exchange process, always a guaranteed
source of anguish. Receiving presents that didn't fit or which related
to interests he'd left behind years ago from his father. Knowing that
everything his mother gave him had a serious purpose, usually to
develop his mind or body, and never getting anything which was just
for fun. Spending many hours choosing a present for his parents, only
to find that his father didn't like it and said so, without bothering
to use any tact.

And finally, there had been the ever-painful comparisons. Watching
other families interact and becoming distressed by the knowledge that
his family was different, in some way which must be bad and shameful,
because nobody ever talked about it - although he often felt the
tensions, hovering silently in the air. Everything had been out of
proportion and twisted during the Christmas season.

"You've kept this a secret up to now, I assume?"

"Yes, Elim."

"Do you want to discuss your memories with me?" Garak asked carefully.

Julian looked alarmed. "No, I'd rather not."

"You should talk them through with someone, even if it isn't me. Chief
O'Brien, perhaps." Reluctant as he was to encourage Julian to confide
in anybody else, Garak knew that he discussed most things which were
important to him with O'Brien anyway.

Julian rolled his eyes. "Are you kidding? Tell someone like Miles that
I loathe Christmas? What a waste of time that would be!"

"He'd disapprove?" Garak asked with surprise.

Julian sighed. "Yup. It's just so damn frustrating to be treated like
some kind of freak because you prefer to avoid turning your life into
a three-ring circus at this time of year. I mean, really! I know that
children love Christmas, but if you're an adult who doesn't have any
kids then why bother with it at all? It's pointless, no more than the
herd mentality at work. And all that pressure to get the right gifts,
to find that perfect, special, one of a kind present every bloody
year; it just depresses me."

Garak made a mental note to put away the perfect, special, one of a
kind present that he had recently bought for Julian until his
husband's next birthday. Despite the fact that his surprise had not
exactly been well received, he wasn't too annoyed by the way things
had turned out. He'd know better than to waste his time like this in
future years, and anyway it was always entertaining to watch his young
husband slip into full-on rant mode.

"It is traditional, and thus it continues to have a purpose.
Traditions help to mould a bunch of disparate individuals into a
cohesive and focused society," he commented mildly.

"Well, some traditions should be left behind in the past where they
belong!" Julian almost yelled. Then he sighed and looked contrite.
"I'm really sorry, Elim. No matter what my personal feelings are, I
shouldn't have spoiled this for you."

Garak shook his head briskly. "But this wasn't *for* me. I allowed
Christmas entry into our quarters to please you. It didn't work and
you told me so, quite rightly. This is not a problem."

"Yes it is. All of your work and effort and creativity--"

"It doesn't matter," Garak assured him. "Besides, it won't go to waste
- I have plans. Now, here is what we will do. You go and visit the
Chief and his family for an hour. By the time that you return, I will
have dealt with everything."

"You're sure?" Julian asked doubtfully.

"Definitely. Now, I have a lot of work to do, so get out and don't
come back before the hour. I'll engage the privacy lock, so you won't
be able to get in if you do." Garak kissed him on the cheek. "One day
we *will* discuss those bad memories of yours in more detail, but I
appreciate that you are not ready for that yet. I'll see you later."

"Thank you for your understanding, Elim," Julian said.

"I'm a Cardassian - understanding is what we do."

*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Julian did not go to visit the O'Briens after all, fearing that his
bad temper had not retreated sufficiently to withstand the experience.
He liked all of the O'Brien family and Miles was a good friend, but if
he showed up there then Molly would almost certainly latch onto him.
And she would, of course, talk of nothing but Christmas. Instead, he
retreated to the replimat (which was almost empty at this time of
night, as most people preferred to visit Quark's in the evening) and
moodily sipped a cup of raktajino. Bashir felt really guilty now for
spoiling Garak's thoughtful surprise. He really had done a wonderful
job with the decorations; it was a great shame. Right now, Garak would
be stuffing the whole lot into the waste disposal unit, probably
cursing his ungrateful husband as he did so. Julian decided that he
really would have to make it up to him in some way...

After an hour had passed, Julian walked back to his quarters. He
pressed the door chime in case the privacy lock was still on. When the
door swished open, Garak quickly dragged him in and kissed him with
such fervour that Bashir began to think that maybe, his Cardassian
lover wasn't  so angry with him after all. Julian closed his eyes,
relishing the closeness of his body to Garak's. He felt very thankful
to be a happily married man. It was thus some time before Julian had a
chance to open his eyes and take a look around their quarters.

"Elim... they're all still here."

"I know," Garak replied with a mysterious smile.

"You said you would deal with them."

"That was a lie," Garak admitted calmly. "In fact, *you* will deal
with them."

Julian nodded. It seemed quite fair that he should dispose of the
Christmas decorations himself. After all, he was the one who had
wanted them gone, after Garak had done all the work to put them there
in the first place.

"All right, that's more than reasonable. But if I'm on clean-up duty,
then why was I banished for an hour?"

Garak looked surprised. "Do you really think that the replicator
pattern for a swampcutter can be obtained right away? After all, there
aren't that many uses for swamp equipment on a space station. And
besides, there were one or two security restrictions to bypass..."

Julian looked blank. "Elim, what the hell is a swampcutter?"

"I'll show you." Garak went over to their dining table and picked up a
metal worktool of some kind; it was about a metre long with a handle
at one end and dozens of razor-sharp, interlocking circular blades
along the rest of it.

"This is normally used for hacking through tropical swamp terrain - it
deals very effectively with tall plants, tree branches and so on.
That's why I thought it would be suitable for use on a Christmas tree.
The rest of this creation of mine, you can destroy by hand."

"Destroy?"

Garak turned the swampcutter on, smiling beatifically. Bashir watched
with awe as the deadly blades began to rotate. "When you hate
something this badly, you really have to do something about it,
Julian. Let these petty trinkets and baubles symbolise your dark
thoughts; obliterate them, and the painful things you remember just
might fade away slightly for a while. And even if they don't, you'll
at least have a pleasant Christmas memory to balance against all of
the unpleasant ones."

"Are you really suggesting that I smash all of this up?" Julian asked
incredulously.

Garak turned off the swampcutter, then placed it in Bashir's hand.
"Don't prevaricate, don't reason, don't doubt - just enjoy yourself."

Julian looked at him, and slowly a grin spread across his face. He
hefted the swampcutter, balancing it in his hand and feeling the solid
weight of it. As he switched the tool on and the blades started to
rotate, Julian could feel the vibrations running through his body.
Garak had sat down on the sofa, a one person audience who was clearly
waiting for the show to start.

"This is insane," he breathed. Garak merely smiled.

The tree was a real one, obviously imported from Bajor. The ornaments
were beautiful things,  small and fragile; most were made from glass,
metal or wood. Julian lifted the swampcutter with both hands so that
it hovered within inches of the tree and held it there, wondering if
he could really commit such an act of senseless destruction. Then he
thought - hell, yes! And within minutes, the tree was in twenty pieces
on the floor. The swampcutter went through it like a knife through
butter.

"That was fun!" Julian exclaimed in surprise.

"You wish there was more of it to destroy, don't you?" Garak said with
a confident smile.

"Yes," Bashir admitted. "I'd like to take this little weapon down to
the Promenade right now and wave it about menacingly until every
little morsel of Christmas was gone for good."

Garak leered at his beautiful lover; he was enjoying the sight of
Bashir's heavy breathing and excited face. "But if you did that, then
you would most certainly be locked in a cell tonight, and we would not
be able to make love. So therefore, I think I must insist that you
only use the swampcutter within the confines of our quarters."

"You prioritise so well, Elim," Julian said dryly.

"Thank you. It's a talent that I've always been adept at. But this
isn't over," Garak told him. He gestured at the walls and the
decorations from the tree, many of which had fallen from the branches
before they were cut off and were lying intact on the floor.

"I see your point," Julian replied. He turned off the swampcutter and
laid it on the table. As Garak watched with satisfaction, Julian
ripped the rest of the Christmas decorations to bits. His movements
became faster and more ferocious as he stomped on glass figurines,
ripped the heads off angels, tore tinsel strands apart and threw
porcelain ornaments against the wall. When he was finally done, and
the room was filled with debris, Julian threw himself on top of Garak
and hugged him ferociously.

"I feel a lot better," he said in awe. "How did you know that this
would be good for me?"

"I know *you*. I have already made one mistake this evening; there
wasn't going to be another."

"We mustn't tell anyone," Julian said with a giggle. "They'd all be
horrified."

"Naturally, we will keep it a secret every time."

"Every time?"

"Yes. The residents of DS9 will honour the occasion of Christmas in
future years also," Garak whispered to him as they snuggled close
together. "I know this because it has been a success, and people
always want to repeat their own successes."

"So I'll probably get just as upset in another twelve months," Julian
said ruefully.

"Oh, I don't think so. For do we not also have our own Christmas
tradition now, my love? When the rest of DS9 is celebrating 'the
season of goodwill', we will spend our time symbolically and secretly
annihilating it. Not in the same way as we did tonight, of course. I
like to be original so we won't do the same thing twice. Next year I
will find something else for you, something even better. So, every
time people talk about Christmas, I want you to remember this
experience... and be happy."

"Elim, you really do the most fabulous, unusual things for me."

Garak smiled. "Well you see, I love you, my dear."

"I love you too."

"That is just how it should be. Happy non-Christmas, Julian."

"And a very happy non-Christmas to you!"

---




The End