He paused the arc of the tricorder, checking himself. Had he
been humming?
“No need to stop. It’s a nice distraction from this.” Wincing, Jadzia shifted her arm,
ringed purple and brown around the wrist.
“You really must
stop challenging Kira at springball.” He clicked the tricorder closed
with a sigh. “I’m afraid you’ve managed to break it this time.”
“I almost had her!”
“That’s what you say every time, Jadzia.”
“Yeah, and, eventually it’s going to be true.”
He pulled out the osteoregenerator, shaking his head. “No, eventually
you’re going to end up with something worse than a broken wrist or a sprained
ankle.” This was her third springball injury in a month.
She leaned closer and gave him a little smile. “Then it’s a good
thing I have such a capable and understanding doctor.”
That crush had cooled long ago, but damn, she was something.
And she knew it, of course. “So…what was that you were humming?”
The truth was he didn’t know, but the tune had been stuck in
his head all afternoon. Earlier that morning when he’d gone by Garak’s shop to
ask about lunch, he’d found the Cardassian tucked away in a corner of the
backroom, cutting a swath of bright orange cloth. Quietly, in the background, the
song had been playing.
Julian had never heard it before. What was more, he’d never
heard Garak listen to music of any kind
before. Yet there he was, bent over the cloth, humming along and…yes, he was
certainly tapping one foot in rhythm.
“In a musical mood today, Garak?”
Garak didn’t look up from his work, but his foot stopped. “It’s
customary to ring the bell and wait, Doctor.”
“Ahh, but you don’t always hear the bell, do you? And
besides, it’s not as if I can sneak up on you. You always know when I’m here,
bell or no.”
“My hearing may not be what yours is, but there’s nothing
wrong with my sense of smell.”
“Smell? Are you saying I smell?”
“No need to take offense, Doctor. You all smell. If we Cardassians ever do retake this station, we’re never getting that mammalian stink
out of the carpet.”
Garak’s hands moved with their usual efficiency, body
language unchanged, but the lightness of his tone was absent. Garak’s insults typically
had an obvious tilt of enjoyment—a teasing quality Julian had come to both
expect and enjoy. Today, however, it was half-hearted, as tacked together as
the jacket on the dress form beside him.
“I was coming to see if you’d be interested in lunch. I
finished The Empty Chair last night,
and I have plenty of—“
“I’m afraid I won’t be able to join you today, Doctor.” He
finally looked up to offer a tight smile. “I’m positively drowning in
alterations, and this commission for Quark will be the death of me. I tried to
explain to him that Viderian jacquard simply wouldn’t work for this shape, but…”
He shrugged.
Overhead, the music fell into a pleasant refrain. The
instrument was something foreign—stringed but bright—and the tune itself had an
almost dizzying, cyclical quality. Quite catchy, actually.
“What’s this you’re listening to?”
“Oh, I asked the computer to play something melodic and uplifting.
Clearly it’s not working…computer, end music.”
Something about the whole exchange had been off, but Julian knew
better than to ask outright. He’d endured enough lectures about his too-human
lack of subtlety and his personal tendency to pry, thank you very much.
