The BLTS Archive - Sere
by Charlene (charlene.vickers@gmail.com)

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Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek, but I own this.

Archive: Trekiverse.org, others please ask

Written for Kat in the Summer Lovin' Fic Exchange. Requested
was: Garak/Bashir, tropical.

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"This is not," Julian said as he glared at the back of
Garak's head, "my idea of tropical." He blinked as a rivulet
of sweat escaped the band of fabric tied around his forehead
and trickled into his eyes.

Garak stopped in his tracks on the narrow path between the
rocks to look back at him. "Then you'll just have to adjust,
my dear," he said with a joyful lilt, handing him the
canteen. "After all, wasn't one of Captain Sisko's favourite
sayings, 'When in Rome, do as the Romans do'?"

Bashir swallowed the by now hot liquid and cast his gaze
over the outcroppings of red sandblasted rock that poked out
of the sand and stretched to the horizon. When in
Rome...well, this was hardly Rome, and was also hardly the
'tropical resort' he had imagined when Garak arrived on the
station unannounced and suggested they take a short vacation
together to reconnect. Kira wasn't nearly as shocked as he
thought she would be, but Ezri had her nose out of joint.

He hadn't brought much, just a few changes of clothing and
Kukaluka. Perhaps Ezri would simply assume he'd finally
thrown him out, like she'd been nagging him to.

Ezri Dax was a brilliant woman, but even after a year she
didn't know him at all.

"I distinctly remember you saying," Garak had been saying,
"that you wished to visit a 'traditional Cardassian vacation
destination'. Granted there are no resorts remaining on
Prime, but this," and he gestured around him, "was a popular
destination for those wanting to get away from Prime, at
least before the war."

"Have you been here before?" he asked as he slung the
canteen over his free shoulder.

Garak shook his head as he pushed himself up an especially
steep section of the path. "It was recommended to me by the
Minister, of all people. He comes from this part of the
Empire..." He looked back and shrugged. "The Republic;
forgive me. A habit."

Bashir nodded. Habit: deadly, enticing, inescapable habit.
It could lead a man to put up with the simply tolerable, he
mused, or it could make him take the utterly amazing for
granted.

His gaze returned to the back of Garak's head as the
Cardassian turned back to the trail.

As they reached the summit of the fourth (and highest)
outcrop and neared a narrow passageway that looked to have
been carved into the rock eons earlier, Garak stopped again
and said, "As you will see, we Cardassians are as austere as
Federation propaganda would have you believe."

"Well, given the architecture I've seen on Prime, I'm not
sur-" but he was brought up short by the vision before him.

On Earth they would call it an oasis, he thought: in the
middle of an endless desert, an explosion of life in an area
no more than a kilometre in circumference. Tall trees of
species he'd never seen before; thousands, myriads of birds
hovered over the speckled adobe buildings clustered in the
north section, where the ancient builders obviously took
advantage of the shade afforded by the impossibly tall
cliffs that surrounded the area; and in the centre of it
all, a perfectly circular azure lake. A single narrow
pathway led down from their perch high above the oasis,
ending mere metres from a white sandy beach. He stepped
forward past his friend, inhaling as the scent of
wildflowers perfumed the air.

He should feel something, he told himself. He would have
eight years ago, or even two years ago.

"Heveron is an artesian spring," he heard Garak say from
behind him. "The water was once diverted to an irrigation
project several kilometres away, but since the war the
population has returned to the temperate areas. It's
believed that Heveron Lake is the remnant of a meteor
crater-"

"I can believe that." His gaze was riveted on a small herd
of knee- high ruminants placidly feeding only a short
distance away. "Why didn't we just land your shuttle here?"

Garak said nothing; the mere whisper of a touch at the small
of Bashir's back, though, commanded him to descend.

"It truly is beautiful," Bashir said in a monotone as they
reached the lake's edge and they dropped their packs to the
sand.

Garak's voice held no more wonder, no more real appreciation
for the vista than did his. "Lovely. I thought we'd like
it."

Miles had once said to him that you had to see Hell before
you could appreciate Heaven. Then why, Bashir thought, could
he not appreciate the hell of peace after having lived
through the-

No, he told himself: that wasn't right. It should be the
heaven of peace.

But it wasn't.

And Garak appeared to be of the same mind. "Why is it that I
cannot simply enjoy this?" he murmured, more to himself than
to Bashir. "After everything you would think I'd be relieved
to be in a place of plenty and beauty and comfort, not..."

"Apathetic," Bashir supplied.

"Sere."

"Useless."

"Withered."

"Settling."

Garak frowned. "Settling?"

"Settling." He met Garak's eyes. "Settling for a boring
life, for a boring career, for..." and he sighed. "I just
feel as if the war was the most important thing I'll ever be
involved in, so why does anything else matter? Why should I
try? Why not just settle? Be mediocre. Follow the status
quo. Not care."

"Perhaps that's the nature of war: it's horrible but at the
same time it can provide such thrills that one never really
feels alive again."

Their gazes held.

"When you say settle," Garak continued, his words as sharp
as any obsidian blade, "does that mean - everything about
your life on Deep Space Nine?"

He nodded, knowing what he was really asking. "My life over
the last 14 months has been nothing but a long parade of
settling. I don't want to settle any more. I want to be
needed again. I want to be part of something that matters,
where there's real risk. Even if it gets me killed."

"Something like spying on the Dominion," Garak suggested.

"Or stealing a runabout and escaping to the Gamma Quadrant
to take them on."

"Or sabotaging a warship."

"Or kissing you."

"You-"

Julian proceeded to do just that.

As their lips met, he was certain Garak would push him away
or at the very least pat him on the head and call him 'dear
boy'. But instead he felt Garak's lips soften, then open,
and suddenly every thought he was trying to form simply flew
out of his mind. He ran his fingers through Garak's hair as
they explored each other's mouths. They finally broke away,
panting, their eyes meeting again.

"How long have you wanted-" Garak began.

"Since the first day I met you."

"And have you ever-"

"Yes, desperately."

"And do you-"

"Elim," Julian spat out, "I'm trying to tell you that for
the last eight years I've been too damned stupid or
oblivious or handcuffed by Starfleet regulations or societal
constraints or bloody *habit* to do anything about the fact
that I am in love with you!"

Garak looked up at him, shock in his eyes.

He panicked. Oh God, had he screwed this up? Had he mistaken
simple teasing or friendship for something more? "Garak!" he
all but shouted. "If you don't - I mean-"

But the Cardassian's voice was low. "I feel alive."

"You-"

Garak raised a hand and caressed Julian's cheek. "For the
first time since the war ended - perhaps for the first time
since I blew up my shop-"

Julian grinned.

"-I feel completely alive. I didn't think you would ever
feel the way that..."

Their lips met again.

"So every time I kiss you," Julian asked after they
separated, "you'll tell the truth?"

Garak looked up ruefully. "You noticed that."

"Oh, yes," he replied. "So I suppose that means you'll be
telling the truth quite frequently in the future."

"Why, Julian." One eye ridge rose. "Are you trying to make
an honest man out of me?"

He laughed.

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The End