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It’s a minor diplomatic incident, really, the kind that Starfleet stumbles into all the time. Honestly, Julian’s surprised it’s taken this long for someone on the station to accidentally propose to an alien due to a cultural misunderstanding.
Of course it’s just Julian’s luck that he’s the one their very important guest fell into in a flail of limbs and tentacles, prompting him to lift his hands to her first set of shoulders, automatically, to steady her—which was apparently an intensely ardent request for marriage. At least Miles would have had a ready made excuse in the form of already having a wife; all Julian could do is stutter out that he’s terribly sorry, really, it was all a big mistake, and when it was clear that wasn’t enough, that he’s actually taken, you see, really he is—
They demanded proof, because of course they did.
And that’s how he came to be standing awkwardly next to the bar in Quark’s, being glared at by his unintentional paramour’s very large and apparently equally angry bodyguard, while they wait for Jadzia to arrive with his “proof.”
“‘Nother of those situations where I'm reminded how much less trouble that Changeling was,” Miles comments.
“Didn’t go around getting accidentally engaged?” Julian guesses.
“Not even a little,” Miles replies, and nudges Julian with a smirk. He’s in a great mood, presumably because for once he isn’t the one stuck in the middle of a comical cultural mishap, but Julian is still glad for the moral support.
“You know this is really, incredibly rude,” Julian says to Miles, but he also doesn’t bother to lower his voice any. “Who demands proof of a marriage? When you introduced me to Keiko, I simply took your word for it that you’re lawfully wedded, like a reasonable person.”
If the bodyguard does hear him, they don’t take the hint. They just glower, which is genuinely very intimidating coming from a being roughly the size and shape of an industrial refrigeration unit. Miles claps a hand to his shoulder.
“Nice try,” he offers, and Julian sighs.
Mercifully, at that moment, salvation arrives in the form of Jadzia and a PADD. “Thank goodness,” Julian says, and pushes off the bar to go meet her.
“Very well,” the bodyguard says, a few minutes later, after they’ve paged through whatever form Jadzia cooked up. “You are released from your obligation to Her Grace.”
“Thank you for being so understanding,” Julian says, though he’s really just grateful that Her Grace’s species doesn’t practice polygamy. “If there’s any sort of reparations I need to make—”
“Just mind yourself,” the bodyguard says, and stalks away with Her Grace—who, unless Julian is very much mistaken, seems rather relieved as well—in tow.
“I’ll do that!” Julian says, and then he sags with relief. He flashes Jadzia a smile. “Thanks for the save.”
Jadzia, worryingly, looks far more capricious than Julian thinks a minor diplomatic misunderstanding warrants. “Oh, don’t thank me,” she says, cryptically, and offers him the PADD.
Confused, Julian takes it—and only needs one look for his jaw to drop. “Jadzia,” he hisses. “You faked a form saying I’m married to Garak?”
“Oh, no,” Jadzia says, smirking. “I was going to fake a form saying you were married, but then I found this already in your file, along with about twenty more. According to Starfleet, you are married, and you have been for several months.”
Julian ends up excusing himself rather quickly after that. He needs to think, and he can’t do that while also dealing with Jadzia’s palpable amusement and Miles’ curiosity.
He goes back to his quarters, instead, only belatedly remembering to at least try to keep an eye out for their alien visitors, lest he knock into them again and start a whole new round of nonsense. Jadzia, an old hand at shenanigans, wisely only brought the one form to Quark’s; once he’s in his room, Julian gets into his personnel file and downloads all twenty-plus onto his personal device, and then he sinks into a seat on the couch, flipping through them, trying to figure out what he’s looking at and what he should do about it.
Well. Probably he should simply report it as some sort of surreal glitch and ask to have them deleted. Or, well, that might lead to some investigation as to how it even happened, given that it wouldn’t be the first time an anomaly affected their computer systems—but Julian can think of a much likelier culprit, and that’s a headache none of them need, so probably he should just go ahead and delete them himself…
But instead of doing any of that, he stays right where he is, flicking through form after form proclaiming that he and Garak were married, by Captain Sisko, on stardate—
Julian blinks, and his brow furrows. He flicks forward to the next form, then the next, until he’s seen them all, and then he does it one more time, just to be sure. He lifts his head and stares blankly out a window for a few long moments—and then he gets up and leaves.
Garak resides in a rather nice set of quarters by dint of having already occupied them when the Federation arrived, though Julian rather suspects, given how personally Dukat hates Garak, that he actually snuck into some former Gul’s suite after the Cardassians departed and simply claimed it. Julian has only visited a few times, and has only had occasion to enter them during the situation with Garak’s implant, but he knows the way by heart, and not just because of his augmented memory.
Julian hadn’t even thought to check where his friend actually is before he left—but, thankfully, it turns out that Garak is in his quarters, and he answers Julian’s chime quite promptly, though he seems very subtly surprised when he does.
“My dear doctor,” he says. “What can I do for you at this advanced hour?”
Belatedly, Julian realizes it is late—he had been in Quark’s for a nightcap when everything happened. At the very least Garak doesn’t look like he was sleeping; he’s dressed down to an underlayer the way he only ever is in his warmer quarters, but otherwise as seamlessly put-together as ever, not a hair out of place.
And, well, it’s too late for Julian to back out now—even if he were inclined, which he isn’t. If he has to take this back to his quarters until tomorrow he’s liable to vibrate out of his skin. “I—apologize,” he says. “But there’s something I need to talk to you about. Er, now, I mean. Can I come in?”
“Of course,” Garak says, and Julian hopes the slight pause was a reaction to the unfamiliarity of the situation, as opposed to genuine hesitancy. Either way, Garak steps back to allow Julian in. “You’ll have to excuse the mess, however.”
Honestly, Julian has seen messes, and Garak’s quarters are nowhere near. They’re simply the habitat of a neat but not overly fastidious man with a profession that lends itself to a certain amount of clutter—a rack of excess fabric bolts here, a collection of various threads there. There’s also a PADD sitting on Garak’s coffee table, next to a glass of what looks like kanar, which probably explains what he had been doing before his evening was interrupted by Julian.
“I must admit, if you’re here to find out what I think of The Phantom of the Opera, I’ve only just begun,” Garak offers, as the door closes behind them. “Though I will say I always appreciate starting off on the right foot with a good murder.”
A fond smile tugs at Julian’s lips, but he refuses to let himself get distracted. “I haven’t,” he says, turning to face Garak. “But if you’re having a night in, that means you presumably haven’t heard about what happened in Quark’s tonight.” Garak inclines his head in agreement, starting back towards his seat, and so Julian continues. “I proposed to one of our Vitruvian guests.”
Garak’s ocular ridges rise. “Oh, even for you, doctor, that is moving a bit fast.”
“Accidentally, of course,” Julian says. “And of course, they wouldn’t take an apology and ‘I’m really not interested in marrying a being I just met, however fetching her tentacles’ for an answer, so Jadzia went off to conjure up a marriage form for me. Except it turns out she didn’t need to, because I’m apparently already married.”
Garak freezes. Only for a moment, but it’s there. “Oh?” he says, casual as anything. Julian shoots him a very brief glower.
“Garak.”
Garak heaves a sigh. “I was wondering when you would notice,” he says, voice still light. “A bit of an unsuccessful joke, I suppose. You can see why I'm not terribly inclined to pranks.”
“Uh-huh,” Julian says. “That was my first thought—well, that or it was some really round-about way to lay claim to me.” Garak gives him a sharp, startled look, but Julian is already moving on. “But that seemed a bit dramatic and circumspect even for you, and besides—it would only take one form to do that. Not over twenty.”
Garak doesn’t have an excuse, this time. He’s abandoned his efforts to return to his seat; instead, he faces Julian, and waits. Which is perfectly fine, because Julian isn’t finished.
“So then, I thought, a glitch,” he continues, glancing down at the PADD he’s still carrying. “But that would have just copied the exact same file, and none of these are identical. Oh, some things are—you and me, married by the captain. But different times, different witnesses. All on the same day.” He tosses the PADD to the couch, and looks up at Garak. “I suppose I can’t blame you for not expecting the computers to have evidence of a temporal loop, when no one else remembered.”
“I should have known better,” Garak comments, ruefully. “Cardassian technology being what it is.”
“Did you take a run on the whole station, make a game of it?” Julian asks, tilting his head.
“Doctor.” Garak’s expression goes somewhat baleful.
“No,” Julian says. “I suppose not. But what was I to think, Garak? You married me twenty times, and then you never said anything about it.”
“And what exactly did you expect me to say?”
“Anything?” Julian repeats. “Hell, you might as well have started with ‘oh, Julian, by the way, I spent over three weeks in a time loop marrying you over and over, how about that?’ As you can see, I have opinions about it.”
“My dear doctor—that wasn’t you,” Garak says. “You aren’t the same man.”
“Garak, I’m never going to change so much that I’d simply fall out of love with you one day.” Garak’s eyes go wide, and Julian can’t help but laugh, throwing up his hands. “Why did you think I said yes every time?! Obviously I was in love with you. I am in love with you.”
“I—” How strangely exhilarating it is to see Garak even briefly lost for words. He has to pause to collect himself, licking his lips. “I suppose I didn’t think at all. It had been—some time in the loop, the first time I asked. It didn’t feel real any longer. It felt as if I was in a dream, and you agreeing certainly didn’t help. Afterward—” His eyes leave Julian’s, flicking about the room, before they settle once more. “It was more difficult, when I knew I would have to live with the consequences.”
Julian flinches—Garak might as well have pulled out a phaser and shot him, the blow is so unexpected and painful. “The consequences of actually being with me.”
“No,” Garak says, immediately, stepping closer and taking hold of Julian’s arms. “Frankly the only reason I was ever able to stop is because I couldn’t suffer the thought of continuing on waking up without you.”
“But you got out, and that’s exactly what you did,” Julian points out. Garak squeezes his arms, and then rubs them gently. Regrettably, it does a remarkable job of making Julian feel better.
“As I said,” Garak offers. “The loop had long ceased to feel like any sort of reality. Once I got out, it was significantly harder to believe you would return my affection. I thought it prudent to—assess your feelings, at least for a bit. Make somewhat subtler overtures. But shortly thereafter, you began to distance yourself.”
Julian’s brow furrows—and then he remembers the stardate on the form. He sucks in a breath, and lets it out as a hiss. “The Changeling.”
Garak nods. “At the time, I assumed I had lost my opportunity.” He tips his chin, then, gaze suddenly avid. “With everything that’s happened—it hadn’t occurred that I might have been incorrect.”
“Might have—” Julian echoes, with another incredulous little laugh. Might have, as if he hasn’t already confessed his ongoing love. But Garak’s expression is warm and intent, fingers still tracing over Julian’s arms, absently affectionate.
“I believe my making certain assumptions is what got us into this situation in the first place,” he notes, softly.
“You’re impossible,” Julian says, not without fondness. “Garak. I don’t make a habit of lying to you—I told you how I feel. If you’re wanting to hear it again, possibly some reciprocity is in order—”
Possibly he has more to add, but it’s driven out of his mind entirely when Garak finally, finally uses the hold he has on Julian to pull him into his arms for the sort of knee-weakening, toe-curling kiss that Julian would have, until mere moments ago, sworn up and down doesn’t happen in real life. Under such circumstances, he feels that the only reasonable response is simply melting into Garak’s embrace as he’s kissed within an inch of his life.
Julian has no idea how long it lasts—of course it doesn’t stop with the one kiss, and it’s certainly long enough for him to do his level best to return the favor with all the passion he’s spent the last… well, however long sublimating into lunchtime arguments. But eventually Garak does pull away, just enough to speak, breath warm against Julian’s jaw as he noses there gently.
“My dear,” he murmurs. “I was trapped in a situation I was unsure I would ever leave, and for days of it I could think of no better use of my time than pledging myself to you.”
“Oh,” Julian sighs. His hands had ended up pressed to Garak’s chest, because apparently that kiss had just turned him into some sort of swooning Victorian maiden—he finds better things to do with them, now, sliding one around Garak’s shoulders and letting the other cup his jaw, fingertips resting gently against his aural ridges. “I’m so glad you got your priorities in order and got out, so you can live with those consequences I mentioned.”
“I can think of nothing I want more,” Garak confesses, and Julian can’t help but smile.
“I do love you,” he says. “I did then and I do now and I don’t plan on stopping. Though for future reference—I’d prefer courtship before a proposal.”
“Is that a requirement?” Garak teases, and Julian pulls away enough to look him in the eye.
“Not really,” he admits, and relishes the sight of Garak’s expression slipping into startled pleasure—if only for a moment, before he leans right back in for another kiss.
