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wreck-that-twink · 5 months ago

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✮ Dreamer’s Ball ✮

(Julian Bashir x Elim Garak)

Star Trek Masterlist

Summary: (MY FIRST GARASHIR) Garak is getting slightly jealous that Bashir is spending more and more time with O’Brien. He’s afraid it will ruin his chances of getting into a beyond platonic relationship with him. (This is set in season 2) (mainly from Garak’s narrative) (Before ‘The Wire’)

A/n: Garak is so complex to write so im so sorry if he is mischaracterised , and Garak is like never jealous so this was EXTREMELY difficult to write. And writing this man pining and yearning is even harder.

~“If I can’t have you while I’m waking…”

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Garak sat at their usual table at The Replimat, holding his Tarkalean tea in hand. Watching as Julian comes down the promenade with a little bounce in his step, a buoyancy that seemed almost irritatingly effortless. The Chief next to him, looking slightly annoyed and sweatier than Julian.

'They were only playing racquet ball, not doing nefarious acts. The Chief has a wife.' Garak’s brain talks to itself. 'Having a wife hasn't stopped Gul Dukat before.' he rolls his eyes internally at himself. 'The Chief is not Gul Dukat.'

Julian pats Miles on the back as they part ways, and with that boyish smile. That damn smile that could charm a Borg into submission. Julian comes over to where Garak is sitting and waiting for him at The Replimat. That racquet ball outfit is a disgrace to fashion. But damn if he doesn't look good in it. Garak looks at him with the whites of his eyes showing and an undecipherable smile, watching as Julian sits down with a sigh in his chair. “You’re late.” Garak says with a lilt, schooling his expression into one of polite curiosity., though internally there is a flicker of something deeper. “Oh yes, apologies.” Julian responds like it’s no big deal, as he puts the serviette on his lap.

‘Tsk, what a child.’ The devil on his shoulder says. ‘Now, now that would be calling yourself old, and you are of perfect middle age for a Cardassian’ The other devil on his shoulder tries balancing out his rationale.

"The Chief wanted one more game with me and I couldn't resist." He says with that god damn goofy smile and nonchalance as he bites into his food. "Ah, how noble of you Doctor, and how did that go?" Garak says with some fake intrigue, but you can never tell with him. "Beat him. I mean you have to give him credit, he’s nothing if not stubborn." He says through a chew, smiling to himself thinking of Miles trying to beat him. A twitch in Garak's jaw as it tightens. "Yes, uh, indeed..." Garak trails off. Julian notices the slight change in his demeanour. Analysing how his eyes aren’t on him, how he looks off to the Promenade floor, his mouth covered by his clasped hands in front of him as his elbows are propped on the table. “Is something wrong Garak?” Julian asks putting down his sandwich. Garak snaps back into his practised persona in a flash. “My dear Doctor what would have ever given you that impression?” He leaned back in his chair with a gesture of casual ease. “I was merely occupied with the thought of how much work I have to catch up on in my shop, as a result of our delightfully extended lunch.” He says as he makes the excuse to leave. Standing up and pushing his chair back with an effortless fluidity. “Ehm, good day to you Doctor, and next time might I suggest that you arrange your sporting endeavours for after lunch. The smell of sweat is not the best when someone has appetite.” “Garak- “But it’s too late, the Cardassian is out of the Replimat, down the Promenade, and into his shop.

In the small sanctuary of his shop, the mask slips. Garak’s movements were quick, sharp, and imprecise as he folded a bolt of fabric with uncharacteristic clumsiness. His chest felt tight, his thoughts swirling in chaotic disarray. He reached for the next garment on the table… a pair of pants Julian had dropped off for hemming.

His grip tightened on the fabric. Why was he so... affected?

Jealousy. The word slithered into his mind, unwelcome and uninvited. No, no, not jealousy. Envy, perhaps. But Elim Garak did not get jealous. He prided himself on his control, his composure, his detachment. And yet here he was, his hands trembling as he clutched a pair of Julian’s pants to his chest like some lovesick fool. He could even rip it with ease if he gripped tighter. He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to release the garment and smooth the wrinkles he’d left.

“This is absurd,” he told himself. “He’s a colleague. An acquaintance. A... friend, at best.” The thought made him pause, his hands stilling.

Was that it? Was it the simple fact that Julian had friends? That he belonged here, on this station, among its people? No, it was more complex, Garak frankly didn’t have friends on the station. Only Julian, like a handsome (slightly annoying) pillar of warmth and light in this dreary cold station. The fact that Julian has other friends, where it seemed like he was more attached to them than him, that Julian cared more about them, or even the flicker of a thought that Julian would choose them over him. Garak would never ever admit it, not even to himself, but it hurt. he forced himself to refocus, meticulously folding the pants with the precision they deserved.

But even as he returned to his work, a single, treacherous thought lingered at the edge of his mind: Julian Bashir was not just a friend. He was something else entirely. Something that made Garak feel alive in a way he hadn’t felt in years. And that, more than anything, terrified him. Yes sure his first thoughts when seeing Julian was ‘wreck that twink’ but he never thought Julian would be the one wrecking him so emotionally.

For the next few days, Garak kept their lunches brief, making polite excuses. 'urgent commissions', intricate stitching that required his 'immediate attention'. Matters of tailoring so delicate they could not possibly wait. All lies, of course. Yet, being away from him did nothing to quell the wretched gnawing sensation in his gut. In fact being away from Julian it made it worse. He feels as if he's in the grip of dreadful withdrawal, his skin itching, hands twitching. His mind clouded with some form of restless agitation. At this point he’s wants to scratch himself until he's raw and bloody to quench something.

Damn him.

DAMN HIM!

Garak would go over to exaggerate that this was pure hell, or is it an exaggeration? It was absurd. Garak had endured exile, betrayal, the cold, calculating brutality of the Obsidian Order. He had withstood far worse torments than this, had inflicted far worse torments than this. And yet, Julian Bashir; smiling, oblivious, infuriating, Julian was undoing him in a way no torturer ever had.

Looking out of his shop on boring dreary days, hands clasped before him, watching from a discreet distance as Julian and O’Brien walked on the upper level of the promenade. The two men laughed as they made their way up to Quark’s, Julian leaning in, animated, his eyes bright with amusement. Garak’s fingers tightened around the fabric he was holding, scaled knuckles paling. He needed to correct this. He needed control. And, if nothing else, he needed to stake some sort of claim.

'You are Elim Garak', he reminded himself for the hundredth time. 'Not a lovesick and head filled with fairytale daydreamer. Get your head on right.'

Today, following the new routine, Garak is distracted. Disasociating and staring at a wall as he folds the same pair of pants. Unfold, fold, place down, pick up. But then..

“Garak!”

The voice was warm, familiar, and far too cheerful. It's like a bomb has been dropped in his shop and life upon realising who it is. He turned, his features smoothing into a smile so practiced it might as well have been stitched into his very skin. “Ah, Doctor,” he greeted, hands already returning to the meticulous arrangement of garments after quickly folding the pair of pants again. “What a delightful surprise so early in the morning. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Garak said as Julian stepped in further, smiling. "I was wondering if you'd like to join me in the holosuites tonight. Maybe grab dinner before the time?" The words rang in Garak's ears, delicious in their implications. He nearly allows himself with a moment of indulgence...

Julian against the wall of the the changing room... under him... wanting... as Garak ravaged and pounced on him-

Control Garak. Wine and dine him first

Instead, he tilted his head, allowing just enough intrigue to slip into his voice. “Oh? And what program, pray tell, will we be indulging in?" Garak smirked. “It’s one I created myself. Miles already tried it out." Julian beamed. That name. Miles. Not the Chief. A minuscule pause, an almost imperceptible flicker of irritation. They’re getting closer. Julian, oblivious to Garak’s momentary lapse, continued, “It’s set in an old Earth ballroom.” Garak’s smile returned, sharper now. “A ballroom?” A bit intrigued by the human word. “Yes, a grand hall for formal dancing,” Julian explained, his enthusiasm evident. “How delightfully quaint,” Garak mused, his interest piqued. Julian chuckled. “That’s actually why I came by, I was hoping you might lend me a suit. And, well… yourself.” The words dripped with innocence, but Garak felt them settle somewhere deep and predatory within him.

He inclined his head, lips curving into something unreadable. “A suit, of course. But as for my presence, and dancing skills Doctor… are you sure you can keep up?” Julian grinned. “You’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

Oh, this would be fun indeed.

And yet, as Garak turned back to his work, smoothing down the silken fabric before him, one thought refused to be silenced.

Did Julian and O’Brien dance together already?

No. Preposterous.

The Chief had the grace of a drunken Targ. No, they preferred hacking at holographic warriors in ancient battle simulations, not waltzing under chandeliers. But still. Garak’s fingers brushed over the fabric, a slow, methodical movement.

Tonight, he would remind Julian just how much more stimulating certain company could be.

The hours pass tortuously for Garak, especially after he handed Julian the suit he wanted. But the time soon came, Garak was dressed to impress and ready for dinner. Walking into Quarks and scanning the area, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored suit. Then he spots Julian at a booth in the corner, in his own black tailored suit... It was an elegant cut, flattering yet practical, made of rich fabric that clung to him just enough to make Garak’s fingers itch. The doctor looked up as Garak approached, his expression warm, his boyish smile widening. “You clean up well,” Julian remarked, his gaze flicking over Garak’s attire. Matching suits. Garak clasped his hands behind his back, arching a ridged brow. “Doctor, you wound me. Did you truly expect anything less?” Julian chuckled, patting a spot for him too sit. “Fair point.”

As their dinner continues Garak leaned back in the booth, hands steepled beneath his chin as he observed Julian across the table. The doctor was in high spirits, gesturing animatedly as he spoke, his enthusiasm as intoxicating as the Kanar in Garak’s glass, almost, because Garak doesn't really enjoy the conversation topic. “So then I told him- no, Chief, you can’t just recalibrate the simulation to let you win-” Julian laughed, shaking his head. “Honestly, I think he enjoys losing. It gives him something to complain about.” He says, and Garak doesn't look up from his drink. “How very... Cardassian of him, for a human. A constant battle, even in leisure.” Garak hummed, swirling his drink lazily. Julian grinned. “Exactly! I knew you’d understand.”

Oh, Garak understood far too well. He understood competition, strategy, and, most of all, the art of knowing which battles to fight. Right now, the one waging within his own chest was of far greater concern. He had been prepared for an evening of playful verbal fencing, had anticipated their usual dynamic: Julian oblivious, Garak indulging in the game of inching closer without ever stepping over the line. But tonight was different. Tonight, Julian had asked him out, had leaned across the table with that easy smile and warm gaze, had dressed in one of his suits, fitted just a little too perfectly.

And it was affecting him.

Damn him.

Julian took a sip of his drink, brow furrowing slightly as he studied Garak. “You’re quiet tonight.” He says. “Am I?” Garak smiled. “Relatively speaking.”Julian gave him a look. “I suppose I’m merely... enjoying the view.” Garak let out a soft chuckle.

Julian’s lips parted slightly, an almost imperceptible pause before he laughed. “I knew you’d appreciate the dinner” “Oh, I appreciate much more than this mediocre meal, my dear Doctor.” Garak’s voice was silk, smooth and deliberate. He watched, keenly, as Julian’s throat bobbed with a swallow, as his fingers twitched ever so slightly against his glass. Interesting. Before Julian could respond, Quark came around with their second round of drinks, and the moment dissipated into the casual ease of conversation. The doctor spoke of medical journals and holonovel plots, of Cardassian literature he’d finally gotten around to reading (a scandalous romance, of all things. Garak made a note to investigate further).

But beneath it all, there was something different tonight, as it had been plaguing him for the past few weeks.

Garak had always prided himself on control, on knowing exactly how much to give and when to retreat. But here, now, with Julian sitting across from him, his laughter rich, his eyes bright, his fingers brushing absently against the tablecloth as he spoke. Garak found himself wanting. Not just in the way he often indulged; fleeting, physical, a curiosity satisfied and discarded. No, this was deeper, messier. He wanted Julian’s attention, his time, his closeness.

It was infuriating that Julian is so blissfully unaware of Garak’s internal crisis, finished the last bite of his meal and sighed contentedly. “That was fantastic. You always know what to order." Garak smirked in response. “It’s a refined skill. One must cultivate an appreciation for the finer things in life. Even if it is Quark's food." “Well, now that we’re properly indulged, shall we move on to the holosuite?” Julian grinned, Garak arched a brow. “Eager, are we?" Julian chuckled. “Let’s just say I’ve been looking forward to this.”

Garak’s lips curled slightly. 'Oh, my dear Doctor. You have no idea.' He thinks to himself.

The doors to the holosuite parted with a soft hiss, revealing a scene bathed in golden candlelight. The ballroom was vast, marble floors gleaming beneath their feet, chandeliers casting delicate patterns of light and shadow across gilded walls. An orchestra played softly in the distance, the waltz elegant, timeless. Julian gestured around them. “What do you think?” Beaming with a proud smile.

Garak took his time answering, letting his gaze drift over the simulated ballroom before settling back on Julian. “Impressive my dear Doctor,” he admitted. "You do have a penchant for romance, don’t you?” Julian rolled his eyes at Garak's comment. “It’s about the history, Garak. The elegance of it all.” “Oh, of course.” Garak’s voice dripped with amusement. “History? You mean a romanticized vision of old Earth, meticulously recreated. I can almost imagine a time when people lived like this, dancing beneath chandeliers, lost in some foolish, fleeting moment of elegance.”

“You say that like romance is a ridiculous notion.” Julian smirked. “Oh, not at all,” Garak countered smoothly. “I simply find it fascinating that humans cling to these ideals, believing them to be timeless.” He tilted his head. “Tell me, Doctor, do you truly think love is best expressed through coordinated footwork and formalwear?”

Julian laughed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“I do try.”

A silence settled between them—not uncomfortable, but weighted. Julian shifted, suddenly looking uncharacteristically hesitant. “So,” he began, “You do know how to dance, don’t you?” He asked with a slight cheekiness. Garak’s lips curved into something unreadable. “Doctor, I am Cardassian. We are nothing if not meticulous in our studies.” Garak held a hand out. Julian hesitated for only a fraction of a second before taking it. Garak fingers curling around Julian’s. The warmth of his skin was immediate, and for a fleeting moment, Garak despised the effect it had on him. His grip was firm, warm, steady. Julian positioned them effortlessly, one hand on Garak’s shoulder, the other still clasped in his own. Garak’s other hand settled lightly at Julian’s waist. The waltz swelled around them, the strings playing in a perfect, timeless rhythm.

“Follow my lead,” Julian instructed, confidence laced in his voice.

Garak chuckled. “Oh, Doctor. How very presumptuous of you.”

With a deliberate step, Garak reversed their roles in an instant, spinning Julian effortlessly into his hold. Julian let out a startled laugh, his free hand instinctively landing against Garak’s chest for balance. “You-!” Julian starts. “You assumed I would let you lead,” Garak murmured, his voice smooth as silk. “A dangerous assumption, Doctor.” Julian huffed but didn’t resist, letting Garak guide him through the sweeping movements of the waltz. Their steps aligned naturally, and to his credit, Julian kept up well. The doctor was light on his feet, his movements fluid. “I see why O’Brien didn’t join you,” Garak mused. “I imagine he’d have a much harder time keeping up.” He smirked mischievously and Julian groaned. “For the last time, Garak, Miles isn’t-” Garak twirled him, cutting him off mid-sentence, and Julian barely caught himself before stumbling, laughing as he did. “Careful, Doctor,” Garak teased. “I’d hate for you to fall at my feet.”

Julian rolled his eyes. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Oh, immensely.”

The song continued, and their movements became more natural, more synchronized. Garak was acutely aware of the hand resting against his shoulder, of the steady rhythm of Julian’s breathing. He could feel the warmth of him, could smell the faintest trace of cologne, something clean and understated. Another sudden dip, Julian exhaled sharply but didn’t argue, but did huff out. Their movements quickly found their rhythm, their bodies aligning with the ebb and flow of the waltz. The room around them faded into insignificance—the towering columns, the painted ceiling, the simulated guests watching from the sidelines. None of it mattered.

Only this.

Julian was close... Closer than Garak had anticipated, his breath warm against Garak’s cheek, his heartbeat a steady pulse beneath the fabric of his shirt.

“So,” Julian murmured, his voice lower now, more thoughtful. “You’re actually good at this.”

“Surprised?”

“A little.” Julian’s lips twitched. “I figured you’d claim to be good at everything, but…” He let his hand drift slightly against Garak’s shoulder, fingers brushing along the intricate embroidery of his jacket. “This is different.” Julian said, and internally Garak panicked so he spun Julian away from him, twirling him once before pulling him back with precise, effortless control. Julian laughed, eyes bright, breathless. “Show-off,” he accused, grinning. Garak smirked. “Naturally.”

Garak studied him, the curve of his mouth, the way his eyes searched Garak’s face as if seeing something new. For a moment. One brief, impossible moment. Garak considered leaning in. The Kanar he had earlier making him go through with it, and some unstoppable force.

Just slightly.

Just enough.

He can't stop himself, he gently dips Julian with fluidity, leaning down. The wording narrowing to the space between them. Julian's eyes widen, and Garak's warm breath is against his cheek. "I always wanted to try... what do humans call it? Ah, a kiss..." In an impulsive uncharacteristic decision, Garak closes the distance. Without hesitation, without calculation, without control. Giving those sweet soft warm lips a kiss. Placing his on Julian's gently, but with harsh burning passion behind them that bled out from weeks of yearning and pining. But it didn't feel right... Julian was still, too still. Then he realised, he wasn't reciprocating. Garak pulled back, his eyes wider than normal. His pulse hammered. Pulling them into standing position again, but his hands still around Julians waist, as if he could fix whatever went wrong. Julian was staring at him, horror creeping onto his features, slowing like a consuming sickness. "Doctor- I-" He begins but Julian wipes his mouth in disgust and steps away from him. No, pushing him away. "What the hell-? What made you think that was a good idea!?" Julian looks at him with an anger and accusatory tone that Garak had never heard from him. Garak faltered in every way, and if you looked closely, his lip quivered. "My dear-"

"Don't 'dear' me. I could never love a Cardassian like you."

Those words, so harsh and blunt, it felt like a blast to the chest. A knife being plunged again and again with every thump of his heart. Everything starts to melt in Garak's mind. The environment twisted and blurred. The walls, the floor, Julian's face melting like wax. The music warped into something distant and hollow.

Garak gasped

The air left his lungs with a shuddering and panting exhale. His hand touched his face, over the ridges and scales of his face.

'Thank god... Just a dream... a horrible, horrible nightmare.'

Garak turns over to his side, seeking him. And there he was. His Julian. His husband, (husband of a few years since moving back to Cardassia), laying next to him, sleeping in those ridiculous blue pajamas. His hair salt and peppered, but he's handsome and boyish nonetheless. Garak instantly softened, wrapping an arm around him, bringing his back to his chest in a cuddle. His personal heater. Nuzzling into his neck and smelling his familiar and calming scent. His heart swelling with love and affection. Relaxing into his man's body heat and forgetting about the terrible dream. "Hm... You okay...?" Julian stirs and speaks groggily. "I'm fine my dear, just a bad dream." He places a kiss on Julians neck. Julian smiles with a soft sigh of contentment and backs into him in the cuddle, holding his hand. Lacing their fingers together. Perfection.

A calm silence, as Garak is trying to go back to sleep, is slightly interrupted by his lovers voice. "Garak." "Yes darling?" Garak peeks one eye open.

"Wake up."

In a bright flash the domestic scene is gone. The warmth vanished once again. The weight in his arms. Gone.

Lurching up, sitting pin straight in his bed, his chest heaving. The room too dark, too still, too quiet.

He was alone.

Deep Space Nine, his quarters, his empty, empty bed. Outside, the stars hung silent, distant. Indifferent to his grief. His fingers twitched, and before he could stop himself, he reached out...his palm smoothing over the sheets beside him, searching, aching... But of course, there was nothing. Just cold fabric.

For a moment, he simply sat there, staring at the space where Julian should be. He placed his hands in his lap, folding them neatly. And so he sat there, alone in the dark, waiting for sleep to take him.

And if it didn’t, well.

There were worse tortures than this.

Weren’t there?

He's not so sure anymore

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~”…I’ll go to sleep and dream I’m with you.”

A/n: Please tell me if you guys liked it 😍 also shout in my inbox and request things all you want 🗣️ and reblog pretty please

#garashir #ds9 bashir #ds9 garak #elim garak #julian bashir #garak x bashir #garak #star trek ds9 #ds9

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wreck-that-twink · 6 months ago

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Mr. Bad Guy:

Chapter 1: Time

Other chapters

A/n: My own personal head canons are added <3 sorry if it’s HORRENDOUS. Also I know he’s evil and blah blah IT WILL GET THERE this is just the first chapter muehehehe

It’s the recent year, 2025, you’ve just had quiet a hectic first week and bit of the new year. Luckily your safe space is always open for you to dive into when you needed to relax. It’s a large wood right outside behind your house, and when the clock struck home time you immediately made your way into the tranquil nature. Stepping under the canopy and into the stillness was always a soothing balm to the soul, it was even better that most of the trees were evergreen trees so even in the winter it didn’t look dead and miserable. Walking deeper into the wood to find a place to just sit, relax and read in your own little world, until hearing sound that didn’t sound natural. A zap, a spark of some kind. Little did you know there were aliens just a few feet away, invisible from the human eye by their advanced technology. They’ve been surveying the planet since the 1950’s, unbeknownst to everyone else or the fact that Velcro was actually their creation, but I digress. Unfortunately for them, they have to do maintenance once in a while, and a there’s a small chance an unknowing human might stumble upon them. As you walk closer to the sound, your image is hidden behind the trees as you stalked closer. The deflected image that hides the alien flickers. Your heart nearly stops when you see a glimpse of an unnaturally pointed ear. ‘Your brain is fucking with you, your brain is fucking with you calm down’ You repeat the mantra in your mind as you squeeze your eyes shut for a second. You swear it’s the stress getting to you, so you lean your hand and yourself on a tree. A fizz like a lightning bolt travels through your bloodstream when you make contact. The tree you touched, was not a tree at all, but one of the disguised deflector amplifiers that was, at that moment, being repaired and a quote on quote ‘live wire’. However, you didn’t know that. What you were feeling was your body being transported to another timeline. Literally. Your soul stretched across the cosmos at superlight speeds. A tunnel of light going past your eyes, you feel slower, and lightheaded as you forget to breathe during the experience.

Whiplash hits you like a mother fucker when you got magically slingshot into the future. You take in a big gasp of air as you’re on solid ground. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Your eyes shut as you’re sat with your back against cool metal. Back down to Earth… Barely. You’re disorientated like you just got hit by a freight train, low iron dizziness has nothing on this. You slowly rub your hands over your face, the cold metal on your back easing the lava hot nerves and calming your body. Wait- down to Earth- This isn’t Earth! Your eyes shoot open, your breath catching in your chest again in panic. Looking around, it seems like you’re in a metal… box? There’s screens and panels on the walls, and consoles with chairs. Writing with the word ‘Starfleet’ is mentioned a few times on the screen and painted in a sleek fine print red on the wall. ‘Am I in a fucking spaceship or an amusement park…’ You think to yourself as you stand up slowly. Holding your forehead as your head spins and throbs in a dull pain. But you stabilise and walk to the right of you, seeing what looks like a cockpit. Clunky chairs, flat screens like a big ipad that got turned into a table. There’s no one there, the only sound a soft whirring hum of machinery. Like white noise, but nothing is very calming at this moment. Your hand rests on one of the bulky chairs, there’s no roller-coaster straps and restraints so maybe not an amusement park… maybe an exhibit? Still doesn’t answer half the billion questions running through your mind on how you got here. You look up from the consoles, windows, but shutters over them. “There should be a button to open them and see where the hell am I…?” You breathe softly to yourself trying not to let yourself panic. It’s some sick prank, you’re sure of it. You look down the light filled console, uh… this one that says open shutters maybe? You press the button. Clank, clank, clank, they fold up, you’re now faced with black, white dotted vast endlessness void of space. Placing your hand to the glass, it’s freezing cold, you pull away. Okay. Now time to panic. Hurtling yourself backwards, nearly stumbling and falling, your breathing ad heart rate spikes, it feels like everything is spinning. Crouching down to the floor, your head in your hands, trying to make sense of this. “It’s just a dream… please be just a dream…” You mutter to yourself. This doesn’t feel real, it can’t be. The actual reality and physics of this situation hasn’t hit you yet, but the gnawing gut feeling of worry and panic is taking over a large part of your senses till you physically can’t think. It’s absolutely terrifying

You don’t know how much time has passed, you’re one wave short of a shipwreck in terms of mental breakdown. But a loud blare like beep and a flashing red light from one of the consoles. You get up, not bothering to wipe the few tears that you didn’t even notice fell down your face. One step at a time. That’s all your mind can muster. A stagger to the cockpit chair, you look out the window, it’s still spacey. The shipped must have been moving this whole time because the starts have changed, not that you counted every star, but it seems… different. Your attention back to the flickering light and beeping noise. ‘Hail on visual’ The panel says with a few slightly confusing buttons to press. The green one should automatically mean ‘accept’ right…? ‘Maybe someone can help me!’ You think to yourself in a small triumph. You press the button, and there to greet you on a screen on the wall… A scally lizard alien. You stumble back into the chair in shock. The man, well you assume (sorry woke people). His skin a scratchy grey, his whole neckline exposed showing the scaled skin and ridges protruding. It’s almost artistic. There are scaley bumps on his face too, not in a sickly way; more in a way that smooth pebbles are inspiringly placed in a zen garden. It sits around his eyes and over where his eyebrows would be if he was human. More pebble like ridges form up his forehead to his hairline which is then met with his sleek back black hair. In the middle of his forehead a protruding spoon shape. “Starfleet shuttle pod, this is Gul Dukat. Identify yourself, and you better give a good explanation as to why, you are in Cardassian space.” The alien spoke in a serious and slightly irritated tone. You’re completely at a loss for words, your mouth moves but nothing comes out, you’re shit scared. This has to be a joke, but those scales seem a bit too real. The man waits for a reply, the grey-blue eyes piercing through the screen, his hands are clasped in his lap. His eye twitches. “Well? Are you going to answer? Or do we have to drive you out by force?” He says threateningly, now leaning forward in his chair. That makes your vocal cords snap out a sound. “I don’t know how-!” You manage to say, having no idea what kind of ‘force’ he means, for all you know he could incinerate you in a blink of an eye. “You don’t know how?” He laughs mockingly “Oh the federation is really pulling out all the stops with you hm? Are you telling me you got on a Starfleet ship, and just ‘found’ yourself in our space. Please, you can do much better than that.” He gives a playful scoff which still has a harsh tinge of a domineering tone. He leans back in his chair now having a bit of fun with you and your reactions. “I’m serious- I don’t know how I got here- how I got on this… thing! Or whatever the hell you are- some kind of dinosaur.” You say, trying to convince him and going off on a tiny tangent about him and the situation. His Cardassian pride flares protectively. “Ha! We are not anyway remotely related to your Prehistoric Earth creatures…” He laughs, though a semi disdainful emphasis on the words ‘Earth’ and ‘creatures. “And what do you mean you don’t know what a Cardassian is? Have you been living under a rock? Or are your lies just so terrible?” He grins cynically with another jab and mock laughter, he’s thoroughly enjoying this interaction. “I’m serious!” You plead, your brain crashing out under the stress and pressure of this confusing ordeal.

There’s a pause. Dukat straightens up a bit at the emotional response, his demeanour softening a bit. “I don’t… I don’t know where I am… I don’t know how I got here… I don’t even- what god damn year is it?” Unwillingly a tear falls, your body is all worked up and pent up and needed a release of some kind and you can’t stop it. Luckily your breath isn’t hitching or cracking, and your eyes aren’t a puffy red. “You seriously don’t know you’re in the twenty-fourth century…?” His voice softens sincerely, so do his eyes, the slit pupils dilating slightly to a rounder shape. “No wonder you are dressed like that.” He adds as his eyes scan you from his screen. Though, your head is trying to wrap around the words ‘twenty-fourth century’ for the three hundredth and sixty-fifth time your brain short circuits, it’s lucky you’re in a chair already. Otherwise, you would have passed out on the floor from shock. But you’re still hanging on to consciousness. “I’m in the future…” You say softly to yourself. “I’ll tell you what…” Dukat speaks, taking you out of your disassociated state. You didn’t notice he was yapping the whole time about how different you look compared to current humans and all that. “Not that I fully trust you, but you make a convincing case. How about you come aboard my ship, and we can solve this dilemma of yours, or at least ease it. And I don’t see anyone around coming to your aid… space is pretty vast…” He says with a sly smirk and a smooth voice. It’s quite addictive. You won’t lie to yourself; you don’t fully trust him either… but you see no other alternative. “I… okay.” You swallow, your emotions still taking a toll on you. His grin widens and his eyes glint. His hands clap and clasp together. “Perfect, lower your shields, I will beam you over.” He says with a cocky triumph. “Uhm… how do I do that…?” You ask. Dukat sighs “Oh yes, right, how could I forget.” He gently pinched the bridge of his nose to concentrate on how to give out instructions. “On one of the consoles there is probably a button that says, ‘defensive mechanisms’ or something along those lines.” He says, a bit like an impatient child not wanting to do menial tasks. That’s probably why he was so excited to have you come aboard, everyday work gets tedious and tiresome. You are a new adventure. “Okay I pressed it…” You say, “Very good, now there should be a shield status button as well.” He says with a sweet tint. You successfully lower the shields with little instruction. “Excellent, now I will beam you over.” “Beam-? What do you mean-…”

You get transported over to his ship. Your eyes squeeze shut and hold onto the closest thing near you to bite down the nausea, getting your atoms rearranged is not a very pleasant feeling. After a few moments your stomach calmed down you gave an exhale. You don’t even know what you held onto. You open your eyes, look at your hand, seeing it wrapped around a black sleek padded armour arm, trailing up and up. You’re face to face with the alien that called himself; ‘Gul Dukat’. He’s much, much taller than on the viewscreen. Not a normal above average human height. This was intimidating, no quiet terrifying, you had to crane your neck to look up at him. He smiles down with a wicked smile showing sharp canines, you realise you’re still holding onto him, and you let go. He’s eating up that slight fumble, but he doesn’t say anything about it. “Now… before I help you… I need to verify your story. Come with me…” He gently leads you down a corridor of his ship, everything is slick and simplistic. The lights are slightly dimmer, and the temperature is warmer than the other small shuttle craft you were on. “What’s your name?” He asks as he leads you, his hand by your lower back, he’s not touching you, but you can still fell his presence. You tell him your name and shoots a small smile. “Hm. Quite an old human name.” He says, he silently motions for one of his crew members to make note of the name and run it through a database. You swallow trying to not make this awkward, but it’s hard when you’re talking to a damn alien. “So… Gul Dukat? Is Gul your first name or?” You ask, and he gives a soft laugh. “Oh, no, no, no, ‘Gul’ is my rank. See I’m in the Cardassian Military. ‘Dukat’ is my last name, you may call me that.” He says. “Ah… okay, Cardassian, that’s your species?” You follow up and Dukat nods. You try not to snort every time he says Cardassian because the first thing your mind goes to is the ‘Kardashians’. None of this feels real, one moment you feel on the edge of an existential crisis, the next you dissociate and everything feels light and dreamy. Right now you feel a bit more grounded, but the seriousness of the situation hasn’t resurfaced yet. (You’re a bit too busy looking at the alien next to you and the other aliens like him walking past in the corridors.)

He stops you by a door, it hisses open, sliding into the wall of the doorframe. “This is the infirmary, we’ll just run a few simple tests to verify your theory…” He steps to the side and gestures for you to go in with that same smirk on his face. You step over the threshold, the Cardassian doctor looks at you confused, but then sees Dukat and straightens up. “Get the quantum scanner out doctor and check her for any temporal anomalies.” Dukat says, the doctor doesn’t question it and follows his order, going to another room to retrieve the items. You go up to one of the bio beds and Dukat gestures for you to sit, and you have to jump to get on the bed. “Are all of you ginormous?” You puff out as you get on the bed, obviously accommodated for their anatomy. Dukat gives a hearty laugh, his head tilting back, a subtle innuendo in his next words. “I suppose compared to you Humans; we are quite large. But you make up your height with your big personalities.” He tilts his head to the side as he speaks, his hands intertwined together in front of him. The doctor comes back, you look at the instruments he has put on the tray, it all looks like sci-fi doohickies to you, but you digress. “Don’t worry these will not hurt.” Dukat assures you patting your shoulder with his large hand. You look down to his hand and notice he has black talons for nails. He’s resembling a lizard more and more with every attribute. The doctor begins scanning you and you sit still, trying not to think about your predicament too much otherwise your brain might explode. Meanwhile, Dukat is standing slightly away, just a bit out of hearing range. One of his crew come up to him, whispering in his ear so not to be heard by others. “They could be a spy, we need to throw them in the brig and force the truth out of them.” The Cardassian says. Dukat gives him a stern glare, his head whipping to look the crew member in the eye. “I will not have them be tortured. I command this ship. I will treat guests how I see fit. Besides, if they were a spy they would not make ‘time travel’ their persona. It’s a weak argument.” Dukat looks back to you, watching as the doctor takes tests and scans you, having to bring some science officers in to look at the readings. “And if the Obsidian Order find out about your ‘guest’ sir?” The man speaks again, and Dukat gives out a slightly irritated grovel. “They won’t be able to do anything, if their case is real, this human knows nothing of Starfleet or the Federation. They are but a piece of clay to be moulded. If they are a spy then the Obsidian Order can do as they wish.” Dukat cocks his head up, crossing his arms, with slight arrogance. Silently hinting for his subordinate to leave, and he does. Looking back to you, Dukat whispers to no one but himself. “And they intrigue me… I’d like to keep them for a bit…” A smile creeps on his face, finding himself amusing.

An hour or so goes by, the doctor calls Dukat over to his medical screen, pointing to one of the diagrams that was formulated by inserting your DNA. “So? What does it mean? I’m not the scientist here.” Dukat peers over the screen. “This is a Human sample that we have from today, and this is that Humans’ sample. This shift clearly indicates they are supposedly 300 years behind.” (Guys I’m making shit up bear with me). “300 years… so they definitely have no clue about any galactical politics or anything… never seen an ‘alien’ before. Hm. Good job doctor.” Dukat says with a pleased nod. “And I took the liberty of updating their body with the vaccines they have to catch up on. Though they will have to see me through the week for more.” The doctor says. “Ah, very good, this is why you are the ships best doctor, doctor.” Dukat gives him a pat on the back. Dukat turns to walk back to where you are on the bio bed, very chuffed with this new thrilling experience that he can mould a human to his liking and hopefully gain someone meaningful out of it. He deserves a friend, he tells himself. Though he turns his head, “And Doctor, tell Temporal Affairs nothing.” He warns, quickly walking back to you where you sit, unbeknownst to their conversation. You were also in your own little world, everything was happening so fast, but to you it seemed everything was slow, but nothing was adjusting just right. “Ah, there we are…” Dukat speaks, you look up at him. It’s still very strange to be faced to face with an alien, it gives a little jump to your nerves whenever you see someone not human walking by. “Lucky for you, you aren’t a spy. Just, unfortunately miss placed in time.” He says with grin, holding his hand out to help you down the tall bio bed. You place your hand in his, his hand is cool to the touch, scaly and hard, but with a certain squishy quality to it, it’s not rock solid. Dukat supresses a small shiver as your warm-blooded skin with his cooler skin. It’s very pleasant. (HEAT SEEKING WHORE). “I’ll escort you to your quarters and get you into more… modern clothes.” He chuckles at his own joke, and you give a weak smile and a nod, your body drained from the experience.

Later, you made it to your assigned quarters, courtesy of your new alien friend that saved you. He’s been quite kind, he has a very commanding presence, and there’s a narcissist hid in there, but everything has gone smoothly all things considered. He’s being gentle with you. Back to your room, it’s simple and minimalist, a bit harsh but you can’t complain, even if the bed is as stiff and hard as a brick. The clothes you were given are quite comfortable, and ashy cream colour, cotton pyjamas as you request to take a nap. Dukat left your quarters after checking everything was okay and yapped the whole time to you, well mainly to himself, while you were getting dressed in the bathroom. You didn’t really mind, he has a nice voice, and it was better than hearing your own dreadful thoughts. You flopped onto the bed, bad idea, but with a pained groan your shimmed on the bed to lay down. The room is dark, your quarters don’t have windows, thank God because if you registered you were in out of space again, your body might just reject itself. Though your body and brain are bit too tired, so you quickly doze and fall asleep, not thinking of anything. An hour, two, three. You jolt awake with a gasp. ‘A stupid time travel dream…’ You think to yourself as you wipe your ears, though when you look around the room you blood turns cold and your heart stops. It was real. You’re not home on Earth, you’re not even on a planet, you’ve technically outlived all friends and family, the rest of your life that you were supposed to live is gone, wasted, you never go to experience it. And now you’re horribly alone, it’s almost like a suffocating coldness. Being alone in a house is tolerable, being alone in a country is daunting, being alone on a planet is worse, but being alone in an entire galaxy is utterly impossible to endure. You try focus on your breathing, but the hard bed underneath you and weirdly triangular shaped pillows remind your senses that you’re not home anymore.

There was only one person to go to for at least some kind of comfort. Gul Dukat. The only person that you’ve actually come in contact within this time, he took you on his ship, gave you hospitality, clothes and food. He seems kind enough. You make your way out the quarters, not really knowing where his are, but if you’re staying in this time, then you have a lot of time on your hands to find it. You trail through the endless maze of corridors, then your arm gets a harsh tug, someone’s talons nearly impaling into the flesh of your skin. “Hey-“You protest. “What are you doing out of your quarters? You’re not a crew member abroad this ship. You’re a guest. Gul Dukat will be hearing about this disrespect.” A Cardassian basically drags you to Dukat’s quarters. At least you’re getting where you wanted. But this man handling is not it. Arriving by his door, the man that dragged you presses the chime. A few moments, the door hisses open, revealing Dukat, in a silk black robe and shorts that stop above his knee in the same fabric. His torso exposed; he has a smaller spoon shape in the middle of his chest. “Yes? What is it- oh Hello.” His voice and demeanour changes from uninterested to soft and inviting when seeing you. The man that dragged you here basically tossed you into the room. “This human was wandering the corridors I came to report-“ He gets cut off by Dukats deadly stare after he sees how his crew member handled you. Dukat gives you a quick pat on the shoulder of reassurance that you did nothing wrong and steps out into the corridor, the door hissing shut, leaving you inside. Meanwhile outside… “You fool! You do not go treating one of my guests like that. Are you trying to heighten the stigma that we are a heartless, cruel people like the Bajorans think we are? Don’t ever, go touching them like that. Understood?” Dukat spits. “Yes-… yes sir…” He backs off. “Good. Dismissed.” Dukat gives an annoyed sigh, muttering a few curse words in Cardassian before joinging you inside.

“Apologies for that. We all have bad workdays… Did he hurt you?” Dukat steps closer to you, with a concerned tone, you can’t tell if it’s fake or not by that little lilt in his voice, but his face seems sincere. “No, I’m fine. There’s no scratch or blood.” You respond. “Good, good… What were you doing out of your quarters? This is still a military ship dear. Not the safest for a human like you to be wandering around.” He gently grazes your upper arm, crouching slightly to your human level. “I was looking for your quarters.” You admit to him, although a bit embarrassingly. “Ah, you seem distressed, is this situation getting to you…?” He asks and you give a nod. “Not to worry, I pride myself in how well I can comfort people and make them feel happy and content.” He gives a smile, enthusiastically taking up the task to make you feel better. “Now go sit down on the couch, I’ll make us some tea and we discuss all about what’s going on in the head of yours.” He says, going to his replicator. He showed you how to use the one in your quarters earlier, you passed on it because you were too tired and didn’t really want to ingest ‘synthetic food’. But it’s a galactic staple, you’d have to get used to it. He orders two cups of tea and walks over to where you’re sitting on the couch, handing you a cup and sitting on the next cushion. The couches are surprisingly not that uncomfortable, or it might just be his own personal furniture that makes the difference. “Red leaf tea. An Earth tea, to help you a bit.” He says as he sips his own cup. “Ah, we call it, well used to call it red bush, not red leaf.” You say as you blow on the liquid. (This is a rooibos tea advert). “Suppose it got lost in translation then.” He says with an interested tone.

The night goes on, you first spill a few hundred questions about humans nowadays, he bends the truth here and there but no lying of any sort. For him, this was lovely, having someone genuinely interested in talking to him, no lingering hatred underneath, or fake politeness that he gets from the crew. It’s euphoric, and ego boosting for him. It also makes his icy Cardassian heart soften. After feeling comfortable with talking to him, the floodgates let loose. Your fears, your confusion, the amount of loneliness you feel, how nothing seems real. When it got a bit too emotional, he gives you a gently hug, his huge slender frame, absorbing your warmth as his cool scales calm your firing nerves. His hand softly caressing your hair.

“I will help you and take care of everything dear…”

A/n: for give me it was dogshit <3

#star trek #star trek ds9 #star trek deep space nine #deep space nine #ds9 #gul dukat #dukat

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