Work Text:
Bashir was performing his daily nighttime routine of figuring out how exactly to arrange his bedding.
Three months into the Federation presence on Deep Space Nine and the chief still hadn’t figured out how to stabilize the environmental controls. Some nights were still scorching Cardassian hot and they were swimming through the air, while on others they were freezing so hard they were forced to get up in the middle of the night, grumbling, to retrieve more blankets.
Initially, Bashir had brought all the blankets he’d owned from his Academy dorm, on the off chance he would need them. What he had not been expecting was not only needing them all, but having to rearrange them multiple times a night. The freezing nights were similar to the institutional chill at the Academy, so he could adapt, but it was somewhat disappointing to reach a real posting and find there was not an upgrade in housing.
This was a night that called for all blankets on deck. He stacked first the fleece (the only texture he could comfortably manage along his entire body), then the other fleece, then the homemade blankets his grandmother had made him, and he cocooned all that inside a weighted blanket.
All this finally accomplished, he settled down and drifted into an easy slumber of the kind that is only triggered by thermal equilibrium.
An untold amount of time later, Bashir was awoken by the disruption of said thermal equilibrium. The damn controls were on the fritz again.
He unhappily kicked away the weighted blanket cocoon and tried to get back to sleep, but it was no use.
Through the darkness, there came a crunch.
Bashir startled and tentatively slid out of bed to grab a uniform boot from the floor. If it was one of those Cardassian voles, or -so help him- some kind of intergalactic cockroach, it would be dead so fast it wouldn’t know what hit it.
Bashir crept out into his main room, boot held aloft.
There it was again — a faint crunching coming from the corner.
”Computer, lights at twenty percent,” he hissed. If it was an intergalactic cockroach, he wasn’t going to startle it away.
What he was not expecting was Garak.
He squinted at him. “Mist- Garak?” He said, correcting himself at the last second.
The Cardassian’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “You’re learning, doctor.”
“Well, I, that is, you would have been welcome to come around if you had just asked, but what are you doing here? It must be the middle of the night.”
”A little too far along to be the middle of the night, my dear. It’s closer to the third quarter of the night. But I digress.”
Bashir became aware for the first time that Garak was clutching a box of cereal.
”And may I ask why you’re eating my food?”
”Oh, this?” Garak peered at the label as though he too had forgotten he was holding it, even though such a thing was impossible. “I just thought I would find something to nibble.”
”I see. So, you broke into officers’ quarters at an unseemly hour for a…midnight snack?”
”Oh yes. It was almost insultingly easy. You must bring that to your Commander Sisko’s attention so it may be remedied. I’m sure it was a mere oversight which allowed my entry, easily fixed.”
Bashir was still wary of this intrusion into his cereal stash, but he was relaxing somewhat over the course of this interaction. “I’m…sure. You’re certain you didn’t break in?”
”Most definitely.”
What to do now? Fidget with the boot he was still holding for some reason? Yeah, that worked. “Then I do hope this…unfortunate malfunction…had a satisfactory conclusion?”
”Not especially. I know we have shared meals before, and I am in no place to judge, but I had no idea your breakfast of choice was so high in sugar content. I’m almost impressed that you’ve managed to maintain such a trim waistline, although your line of work is admittedly more on the active side so perhaps it is not unexpected that you would indulge in something sweet for yourself.”
Bashir had gone slack-jawed. There was no way to possibly address the barrage of words he had just had said to him. They hadn’t been forcefully hurled or anything, just pressed closer and closer to his chest until he had to give up and accept that the conversation was going to be about cereal now.
”I didn’t think you had such a sweet tooth, Garak. From your lunch choices, I would infer rather the opposite.”
Garak waved a hand non-committedly. “It is not my regular; however, I am fond of the occasional chocolates. I heard you had a variety of Terran chocolate I had not yet consumed, so I came to investigate. Would you care to join me?”
You know what? This night was already strange enough. Here was Garak who had broken into his quarters, broken into his secret stash of chocolate cereal, and he was acting as though it was completely normal. Why not eat cereal with a spy?
Bashir eased against the wall next to Garak and reached into the box when it was offered. “Should I take this to mean you’ve taken an interest in human breakfast?”
Garak merely looked at him, customer service twinkle never faltering. “Most certainly not. While I may not value breakfast nearly as much as our lunches, I would not degrade it to these,” Again, he made a show of peering at the brand name. “Cocoa Stuffs. What even is that creature on the box meant to be?”
”I hadn’t thought about it.”
”It appears to be some kind of deranged Andorian songbird.”
”I believe it is meant to be based on a Terran cuckoo bird.”
”A cuckoo?”
”A bird from Earth that is often associated with madness due to its frantic singing.”
”Ah, a sensible symbol for a soldier’s breakfast.”
Here Bashir drew back. “Actually, it, uh, it’s meant to be primarily for children.”
He half expected Garak to laugh in his face, but instead he smiled. “How charming. Now, I believe I have kept you long enough. I can see myself out, and I will attempt to leave enough of these Cocoa Stuffs for you, though I will admit that despite the age and the pre-packaged quality, I find it difficult to stop myself.”
Bashir swiped at his tired eyes. “All right, Garak.”
He went back to his bed, but he could hardly sleep for his attentiveness to every sound and shadow. Eventually, the lights dimmed and there was the distant sound of the door as Garak left.
The next day, when Bashir and Garak met for lunch, Bashir enquired as to whether the tailor had made it back to his quarters safely.
Garak’s only reply was, “My dear doctor, I have no idea what you mean.” Then he went for a sip of his tea. Bashir was ready to drop it when Garak added, “Your current nightwear isn’t very complimentary. If I may be so bold, I could make you a new set. I have this new material just in that would set off your skin tone just right.”
Bashir stammered out a reply and tried to disappear into his drink.
When he got back to his quarters after his shift that evening, he checked the box of Cocoa Stuffs. The bastard had hardly left enough for a single bowl. “So much for pre-packaged quality…” he muttered.