Chapter Text
From: J. Bashir — Sent: Stardate 54691.7 - Subject: Updates
Dear Ezri,
I hardly know where to start.
I suppose I could start a week ago, when I moved into Garak’s home in Cardassia City, but that seems to gloss over a few details.
Perhaps instead I’ll go back to two weeks ago when I arrived here on Cardassia and immediately got arrested for harassment of a senior official & resisting arrest. Really, it was immediately. About two hours elapsed from Cardassian soil to Cardassian jail. This is where you can pretend to be surprised, by the way. I was surprised: two hours is a new record for me. I’m putting a brave face on it, in case you can’t tell. It turns out I do not at all like Cardassian jail.
Garak's just passed by and has asked that I put in a hello, and has also charmingly added that given that it was me, he would have expected the arrest in closer to one hour, and also that no one likes Cardassian jail, particularly compared to Federation jail, which is closer to a hotel stay than any form of meaningful attempt at social redirection, etcetera, etcetera. Ho ho. He hasn’t changed.
Actually, he has changed. But I don’t know what to say about that yet.
I’ve only been here in person for two weeks, and we’ve seen each other surprisingly little over that period. It turns out that being a person of seemingly some importance in the local government eats up a great deal of his time. He doesn’t sleep much.
But he does make time to cook dinner for us - actually cook! (He won't let me, as I’m awful at it, which I agree with wholeheartedly.) We have a very small replicator, honestly quite the step down from even the worst standard repli on DS9 - but it can spit out a reasonable variety of ingredients I don’t recognize, and even a sort of facsimile of a tomato, which Garak managed to turn into something surprisingly close to a nice spicy arrabiatta. That was a treat (once I managed to forget that the pasta was some kind of fungus). And I’m getting used to a mostly-strict standard Cardassian breakfast and lunch regimen, as Garak’s not around when I wake up (or for most of the day), and the replicator’s pre-made selection is minimal. And bland. Fish soup is prevalent. Lots of little dry cakes. Not all awful, though - have you ever heard of ikri buns?
I keep putting this letter down and picking it up again. It's so hard to put how I’m feeling into words.
First of all, I’m happy. It doesn't sound it, but I am, I’m so happy. I’m warm through with it, I’m drunk on it when I let myself think about being with him. But I know myself, I know that’s me, new in love, here in a dangerous place where I don't fit in and head over heels in the most idiotic way...
I know new love fades. I know things get in the way of love. I know I don’t see him much, and here I am on a planet that hasn’t had a particularly good introduction to me - a criminal record after two hours, remember - and also I stand out, and for a variety of reasons it’s not good for him to have a partner that stands out, especially a sort of quasi-Starfleet Human physician - not so much not good for him as not good for his position. Which is him, actually. That’s how he is. You know that about him, too, and how he feels about Cardassia. You know what it means for him to choose to be with me, openly with me, despite what it could do to his possible influence here.
You knew him better than I did, I think. In that way, anyway. It really is unthinkable that somehow, here I am in his house. Here I am, very happy, and also afraid.
I thought about crossing out that last bit, or at least rewording it, but it's true. And anyway, I don’t need to watch my words with you, do I? I think you’re the only person I know who could understand what I’m getting at. Miles barely knows about any of this - he’ll be flattened when I next write to him and casually drop my new address (and the letter I get back will burn off my eyebrows, I expect). And Rijal doesn’t like Garak, and is also quite upset with me for leaving—
I'm on indefinite leave, by the way. I’ve taken leave from Starfleet Medical (hence the ‘quasi’ above). I can apply for re-entry at any time within the next two years, the form letter assures me, as I’ve not been discharged or formally resigned my commission. My former duty spot is, of course, not guaranteed, but they promise they’ll make every effort to accommodate my preferences. Once two years are up, it gets a bit more complicated. Manageable, but complicated.
I can't imagine my position will go unfilled for long. Dr. Girani could take over easily.
So that's that.
(God, that doesn't seem to carry nearly enough weight for what it’s summing up. “That’s that.”)
Anyway, here I am, no longer responsible to anyone and far from what was home, without much of anyone to talk to except Garak. And I find I don't quite know how to talk to him about this.
He's changed. And I’ve changed. Or perhaps I’m changing.
Ezri, I am terrified.
Everything has changed for me. I still can’t believe how this started out with something so small, with a letter and with you leaving (and I still miss you, by the way, and hope you’re well and happy, forgive my parentheses as I’m a bit all over the place). And then things got extremely complicated. A year ago I could never have predicted how things would change, how my life would suddenly seem to shrink to something so small, and then be so weirdly … expanded.
I think I have some idea how you felt when you were joined with Dax. If that's not too presumptuous, which it probably is, but… I could never have imagined myself doing this, a year ago. I thought I could see my life rolling out comfortably in front of me.
And now this.
I’ve leapt before I looked, just the way you knew I would. And I told myself I’d sort things out when I landed. But instead I seem to still be falling, with no idea where or when or even if I’m going to land at all.
But, and please forgive my tortured metaphor, he’s here with me, and we’re falling together, and I know I’m being sappily romantic and this might not end well, and I know I’m scared and he’s scared too even though he’d never admit it, and I also know that I am damned well going to try.
Cardassia can take all the shots it wants at me. I'm ready. Bravery is being afraid and doing it anyway, right? (Garak is now reading over my shoulder, and he says that no, that is not bravery, that is stupidity. He’s also put his arms around me, so I suppose my stupidity is either expected or forgiven.)
Right now Garak and I have agreed that our best bet for this to all work out, both politically and for the two of us, is for me to be harmless and ornamental and not at all dangerous (I will never forgive you for the way I know you're grinning). Garak can’t afford for me to be any kind of target, and a practicing Human physician here… might not be a very safe thing to be, just now.
And so I'm not a doctor anymore. Not forever, I hope. I'm… I don't know what I am. I'm loud. And I smile a lot. And I wear outfits that would make you scream with laughter. So maybe I'm not all that different after all. (Ho ho.)
I’m spending a lot of my time at home. I don’t go out alone. And when I’m at home, I’m learning - by books, by vids, by the ever-present audio shows that are apparently very popular here. I’m a quick learner - even Garak admits that. And what I’m learning is how to be palatable to Cardassia.
So: when I do go out, I’m on Garak’s arm. I never fully unfold my arms when I’m in public - in second-tongue, bent elbows are seen as respectful, apparently. I also tip my head to the side a lot, which Garak tells me is well-received although I don’t yet quite understand the nuances of why. I’ve done two public appearances at local reading-groups, and I’ve been a guest on an audio gossip show, which has already invited me back. I've got a social calendar. I’ve been told my looks are exotic and my smile is charming and my vocal timbre is almost Cardassian and I’m honestly one of the nicest Humans they’ve ever met, once one gets past the smell and the way we shed.
I'm realizing as I write that in addition to idiotically happy and stomach-churningly frightened, I sound resentful. And I can't be, not if this is ever going to work. I knew what I'd be giving up if I wanted to be with him. I think I knew, anyway; or perhaps your letter helped me to understand it.
It's a lot to give up. But he's a lot to get. So it's a fair trade, and I'm going into this with my eyes open.
I'm glad I decided to write to you. I wasn’t going to, yet. I was going to wait until things felt settled. But who knows when that will be? You won’t get this letter for at least five weeks, so perhaps it will be then. Perhaps by the time I get your letter back, I’ll laugh at how worried I was. But somehow, I don’t think so.
Garak agrees, eternal pessimist that he is. But he’s brought me a cup of redleaf tea, and now he’s sitting next to me with his head on my shoulder, and suddenly it all seems worth it again.
It has to be.
Thank you for warning me, Ezri. Thank you for telling me to be careful. And thank you for supporting me when you realized I was going to do whatever I wanted, no matter the consequences.
Perhaps in a year, when things settle down a bit, you could come visit? I know Garak would like to see you too. We could take you to see the Alik Dunes, not far from the city. It's a walkable distance from the furthest train stop, actually. They’re the site of the first successful regreening project in this area after the Fire. There’s a little tea shop, and an area where one is encouraged to walk barefoot. The plants feel very good on the soles of one’s feet. Garak and I went there yesterday, and almost no one took pictures of us - apparently it’s a bit vulgar to take pictures there at all. It’s sort of a special place now, I think. To Cardassians, and to me. You’d like it.
I miss you. I hope you're well. I hope you’re having grand adventures. I hope you can lend me your courage as I start out on this one. I honestly have no idea how it will end. But that’s the point, isn’t it: you can never know unless you try.
Write back soon. Best wishes, and all my love,
Julian Bashir
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strange attraction spreads its wings - it varies but the smallest things
you never know how anything will change
strange attraction spreads its wings and alters but the smallest things
and you never know, and you never know, and you never know …
—the cure, “strange attraction”