ficcage
So nostalgia_lj mentioned something about posting old fic... this is just a very short piece I did a while back. Bashir/O'Brien. Post-What You Leave Behind.
Reunion
He stands at the airlock waiting. His foot taps against the ground impatiently and he clenches and unclenches his fists in frustation, even though he knows the ship's arrival has only been delayed by minutes. It feels longer.
He knows it's childish but he wants to scream out loud and demand why they haven't arrived yet. He wonders what Ezri would say about that, this desire of his to act like a five-year-old. Probably something deep, meaningful and scientifically proven, no doubt. He loves her for it, though.
That's the thing. He loves her, he truly does. But this - the reason he's waiting here so anxiously - is different. A love of a different kind.
Not that he'd ever use the word "love" around the chief, of course. He knew exactly what Miles would think if he said that. He'd take it the wrong way, and then their friendship would be - well, different.
Awkward. Like that night during that away mission - but they never discussed that, either. A mistake. A misunderstanding.
Neither of them wanted that. He was sure of it. It was just that, in certain situations, it was so easy to mistake trust and camaraderie for something more.
The thought has crossed his mind, naturally, that maybe he secretly does want more. But he has had seven years to turn this idea over in his mind and consider it from every angle, and he doesn't think that's it. Maybe he should talk to Ezri about it, but he worries that she wouldn't understand - that she'd start to feel like she wasn't enough for him. And he doesn't want to hurt her. He would do anything not to.
He thinks the world of her. Even thinking about her makes him grin idiotically, as he is doing now. He then gets self-conscious, and forces himself to stop. People might get the wrong idea. Or the right one. He has been known to beam for the chief, too, but that's . . . different.
The door opens. Julian cranes his neck to see past the first few coming through. There he is. It's been too long.
Miles grins as Julian catches his eye, and walks towards him.
They hesitate for a moment before hugging, taking longer than is strictly necessary to part.
fin
Oh, and why not, a little Garak/Bashir as well. Set during In Purgatory's Shadow.
Truth
When I see him in the internment camp my heart skips a beat. Not now. I can't take this. Already I have my father, the father who has refused to acknowledge the blood tie for so long, lying stiller than he ever has before. Isn't this enough for me to bear without seeing him? Julian?
I love him. Yes, dear doctor, I love you, although I have no doubt what you'd say if you knew the truth. You wouldn't believe me. You'd think I was making up another one of my elaborate lies, and who could blame you? For years now I've kept to my habit of only telling the truth when it's absolutely unavoidable.
This is one of those times when I want so badly to be able to stop lying, but it's grown so hard to even accept what is fact and what is fiction. I've tried to deny my feelings for him for so long.
But I love him. I have loved him ever since I first saw him, my beautiful, naïve, arrogant doctor. He was scared of me then, at our first meeting. It hurt me more than I would admit to myself. I knew he saw me as a mystery. I liked it. I just didn't want him to fear me.
All those lunches, all those conversations about literature and sociology and so many other subjects . . . does that mean anything to him? Is he still friends with me merely because I'm still an enigma, and the good doctor can't resist a mystery?
Please let it be more. Please.
Julian and his women . . . do any of them mean anything? I get jealous. I try so hard not to. I cover up my true feelings, something I like to think I do well, but as I grow older and my years in the Obsidian Order become further away, I slip up occasionally.
Not that he'd notice. In many ways he's as naïve as he was five years ago.
And now I see him here, in the place where we are doomed to spend what little remains of our lives - and all he can do is talk about blood tests and prison conditions and what has been happening on the station.
Doctor, please. Look into my eyes. Tell me that you love me.
Like the way your replacement did when I finally confessed my feelings. The way his face lit up in delight like a child getting an unexpected present, and then his lips parting to say, "I feel the same way."
Of course, it was that which made me suspicious of him. It was that which led me to keep a closer eye on him until I eventually discovered he was a shapeshifter. I never thought Julian would still be alive. I assumed the changeling had killed him before assuming his form.
And then when the message came from Tain - I had to go to him. I was grasping for someone, something tangible to make it all better, to make the pain go away.
Now he's alive, and I don't know how I'm supposed to handle this. My initial instinct is to cry with relief, to tell him in no uncertain terms how much I care about him.
In the Obsidian Order you learn to suppress your instincts.
We might die here. No. We're going to get out. We're going to escape. If only so that I can avoid having to tell the truth.
fin
Reunion
He stands at the airlock waiting. His foot taps against the ground impatiently and he clenches and unclenches his fists in frustation, even though he knows the ship's arrival has only been delayed by minutes. It feels longer.
He knows it's childish but he wants to scream out loud and demand why they haven't arrived yet. He wonders what Ezri would say about that, this desire of his to act like a five-year-old. Probably something deep, meaningful and scientifically proven, no doubt. He loves her for it, though.
That's the thing. He loves her, he truly does. But this - the reason he's waiting here so anxiously - is different. A love of a different kind.
Not that he'd ever use the word "love" around the chief, of course. He knew exactly what Miles would think if he said that. He'd take it the wrong way, and then their friendship would be - well, different.
Awkward. Like that night during that away mission - but they never discussed that, either. A mistake. A misunderstanding.
Neither of them wanted that. He was sure of it. It was just that, in certain situations, it was so easy to mistake trust and camaraderie for something more.
The thought has crossed his mind, naturally, that maybe he secretly does want more. But he has had seven years to turn this idea over in his mind and consider it from every angle, and he doesn't think that's it. Maybe he should talk to Ezri about it, but he worries that she wouldn't understand - that she'd start to feel like she wasn't enough for him. And he doesn't want to hurt her. He would do anything not to.
He thinks the world of her. Even thinking about her makes him grin idiotically, as he is doing now. He then gets self-conscious, and forces himself to stop. People might get the wrong idea. Or the right one. He has been known to beam for the chief, too, but that's . . . different.
The door opens. Julian cranes his neck to see past the first few coming through. There he is. It's been too long.
Miles grins as Julian catches his eye, and walks towards him.
They hesitate for a moment before hugging, taking longer than is strictly necessary to part.
fin
Oh, and why not, a little Garak/Bashir as well. Set during In Purgatory's Shadow.
Truth
When I see him in the internment camp my heart skips a beat. Not now. I can't take this. Already I have my father, the father who has refused to acknowledge the blood tie for so long, lying stiller than he ever has before. Isn't this enough for me to bear without seeing him? Julian?
I love him. Yes, dear doctor, I love you, although I have no doubt what you'd say if you knew the truth. You wouldn't believe me. You'd think I was making up another one of my elaborate lies, and who could blame you? For years now I've kept to my habit of only telling the truth when it's absolutely unavoidable.
This is one of those times when I want so badly to be able to stop lying, but it's grown so hard to even accept what is fact and what is fiction. I've tried to deny my feelings for him for so long.
But I love him. I have loved him ever since I first saw him, my beautiful, naïve, arrogant doctor. He was scared of me then, at our first meeting. It hurt me more than I would admit to myself. I knew he saw me as a mystery. I liked it. I just didn't want him to fear me.
All those lunches, all those conversations about literature and sociology and so many other subjects . . . does that mean anything to him? Is he still friends with me merely because I'm still an enigma, and the good doctor can't resist a mystery?
Please let it be more. Please.
Julian and his women . . . do any of them mean anything? I get jealous. I try so hard not to. I cover up my true feelings, something I like to think I do well, but as I grow older and my years in the Obsidian Order become further away, I slip up occasionally.
Not that he'd notice. In many ways he's as naïve as he was five years ago.
And now I see him here, in the place where we are doomed to spend what little remains of our lives - and all he can do is talk about blood tests and prison conditions and what has been happening on the station.
Doctor, please. Look into my eyes. Tell me that you love me.
Like the way your replacement did when I finally confessed my feelings. The way his face lit up in delight like a child getting an unexpected present, and then his lips parting to say, "I feel the same way."
Of course, it was that which made me suspicious of him. It was that which led me to keep a closer eye on him until I eventually discovered he was a shapeshifter. I never thought Julian would still be alive. I assumed the changeling had killed him before assuming his form.
And then when the message came from Tain - I had to go to him. I was grasping for someone, something tangible to make it all better, to make the pain go away.
Now he's alive, and I don't know how I'm supposed to handle this. My initial instinct is to cry with relief, to tell him in no uncertain terms how much I care about him.
In the Obsidian Order you learn to suppress your instincts.
We might die here. No. We're going to get out. We're going to escape. If only so that I can avoid having to tell the truth.
fin