Of Children and Drunks
Title: Of Children and Drunks.
Codes: Star Trek DS9, G/B or not, depending on your goggles.
Rating: PG-13. (For some swearing)
Word count: 1481
Warnings: None.
Feedback: Yes please.
Disclaimer: I don't own any Cardassians or Doctors. I do have a son, though.
Notes: This was a prompt from a non-LJ friend, who wanted fic of Garak meeting a child and being unable to lie when asked questions. It came out in a way that can be read as G/B or not, however you choose to read it. And the title is taken from the proverb: "Children and drunks always speak the truth." Not that anyone gets drunk in this, but I'm sure you get the idea.
Summary: A Bajoran child gets more truths out of Garak than anyone else.
Garak was sorting some clothes on a rack when he became aware of some activity right outside his shop. He discreetly ordered the computer to keep the doors open so he could listen in, while still concealed from passers by. It seemed that Doctor Bashir had run into a Bajoran woman on the Promenade, who was clearly an old flame and currently busy hissing and spitting at him in a manner that would have made Major Kira proud. The woman, who had a young boy by the hand, was apparently trying to convince the doctor that the child she was now carrying was his and that he was therefore guilty of destroying her marriage.
Chuckling, Garak followed the whole argument, and inwardly thanked the infuriated lady for refusing to “take it somewhere private”, like the good doctor kept suggesting.
Still busy sorting and eavesdropping with great pleasure, Garak didn't notice until a while later that he had company. The small boy was at his feet, staring up at him with no trace of fear on his face.
Garak smiled. He did so like children. Even Bajoran ones. “Hello, little one. What's your name?”
“Joram. You' a cardie. My mommy says cardies are bad.”
Of course. Young enough to not remember the occupation, yet old enough to hear about it. Still, Garak couldn't hold the opinions of the parents against the child. “Do I look bad to you?” He asked lightly.
Joram shook his head and kept staring, as if he never needed to blink. “Where's yoh' mommy?” Garak crouched down in front of the child. He simply could not resist encouraging such innocence. It was a rare thing in his daily life. “I'm afraid my mother is far away, on Cardassia.”
The child looked him in the face and asked sadly: “You miss her?”
Garak nodded. “Very much.”
Joram plopped down with crossed legs right there in the middle of the shop, without ever taking his eyes off Garak. “My daddy wen' away. I miss him.”
Sitting down himself, Garak made an effort to follow the child down to his height. He hadn't had such a dose of honest innocence in more years than he cared to think about and he was delighted at the prospect. “So, where's your daddy now?”
Shrugging, Joram finally took his eyes off Garak, only to let them drop to the ground. “I dunno. He shouted at mommy.” The eyes flew back to Garak's face. “Where's yoh' daddy?”
“I don't know.” Garak replied, not giving it much further thought. Joram, however, blinked rapidly. “Jus' like me.”
Nodding solemnly, Garak offered no comfort. It wasn't his place. Besides, he wouldn't dare touch the boy. He knew all too well what would happen if someone saw him lay even a finger on a Bajoran child.
Joram rubbed his eyes a bit and then looked around. “This yoh' shop?”
“Yes,” Garak replied. “I'm a tailor.”
“What's that?” Joram asked with genuine interest.
Garak smiled. “It's someone who makes clothes. And I happen to be a very good one.”
Changing the subject without blinking, Joram blurted out: “I'm four,” showing the corresponding number of fingers. “How old are you?”
“Oh, I'm much, much older than four,” Garak grinned.
Holding up both hands with all ten fingers spread apart Joram asked: “More than this?!”
Startled into laughter, Garak replied with mirth: “Yes, Joram. A LOT more than that.”
“That's OLD!” Joram gasped to Garak's increasing amusement.
“Yes, to your young eyes it really must be.”
A comfortable silence fell between them and Garak found himself enjoying how his young visitor studied him openly, without any reserve. Without asking, Joram reached up suddenly to touch Garak's nose. Only years of training prevented Garak from flinching, and he calmly allowed the slightly sticky finger to trace his nasal ridge.
“My daddy says all cardies are scaly n' ugly!” Putting his finger on his own nose, Joram frowned. “But you' just like me!”
Garak smiled so broadly that he feared his face might split. “Believe me, little one, we are nothing alike. Except perhaps in here,” he said, pointing to his chest.
Joram chewed his lip and asked carefully, as if he suddenly realized that his questions could be potentially hurtful: “You all alone? My mommy says that all the cardies wen' home to Cardosia.”
Had anyone else asked him that, Garak would have lied without blinking. But damn his soft heart if he could bear to mislead such a fresh, young mind. Children were so impressionable and it was at Joram's age that Cardassian children would be taught the truths that were to be the cornerstone of their education for years to come. So he answered the best he could.
“They did. But I had to stay here. You see, I did something bad and as a punishment, I can never go home.”
Joram's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “Not ever?! But won't yoh mommy be sad?!”
Garak nodded. “She is. But she knows I'm all right. I make sure of that.” Noticing that the doctor and Joram's mother had disappeared, he added: “Speaking of which, your mommy must be looking for you. I bet she's worried.”
The brown eyes got suddenly shiny, and Joram finally ripped his gaze off Garak in favour of the floor. “She's not. She yells at me. And she only talks about the baby in her tummy.”
“Oh, don't worry,” Garak said honestly. “No matter what we do, we will always have our mothers' love. They may get angry, but they'll never stop loving us.”
Whatever Joram might have wanted to say to that was cut off by a primal shriek, not unlike the famed mating call of the enormous Kobheerian screech rhino.
“GET AWAY FROM MY SON, YOU MONSTER!!”
Joram's mother entered Garak's shop, much like a tornado would, tipping over two mannequins and a decorative display before reaching her child. Grabbing him around the waist, she hauled him away from Garak so violently that Joram huffed out a startled “oomph” as he was hoisted onto his mother's hip.
“If I find out you've laid one finger on my child, I swear, I will personally make your life a hell that will match all fifty years of the occupation! Do you understand me, you worthless Cardie bastard?!”
Garak was slowly getting to his feet with his hands spread placatingly in front of him. “Believe me, Madam, I understand perfectly.”
Spitting at Garak's feet, the enraged mother turned on her heel, and kicked one of the mannequins on the way out for good measure. Joram smiled and waved at Garak as he was carried off, making Garak shook his head and rolled his eyes.
He was putting his wares back in order when he heard the shrieking again, this time aimed at the good doctor, who had apparently watched the confrontation from across the promenade.
“And YOU! How long did you just stand there and watch that vile creature ensnare my only son?!”
Bashir held out his hands in front of him, just as Garak had done moments before. “I assure you, I wouldn't have let any harm come to-”
“You're a little too late for that, aren't you?! Thank the Prophets you're not the father of my baby! You're clearly not parent material!” With that parting statement, she stomped off, drawing curious glances from several people on her way to the nearest airlock.
Bashir breathed a sigh of relief and entered Garak's shop with a crooked smile.
“It seems that even your excellent bedside manner couldn't appease this particular mother hara cat, Doctor,” Garak joked.
Clutching his heart, Bashir made a swooning motion. “Oh, I'm hurt! Mortally wounded by your sparkling wit!”
Garak chuckled and shook his head at the doctor's antics. “My dear Doctor, I'm always shocked when I remember how young you really are.”
Suddenly still, Bashir said seriously: “Not young enough, apparently.”
“What's that supposed to mean?” Garak asked suspiciously.
“Just that it took a small child five minutes to get more answers out of you than I've been able to get after five years of knowing you!” Bashir replied, projecting an odd mix of amusement and disappointment.
Garak opened his eyes as wide as they would go and smiled dangerously. “You were listening in on us, weren't you, Doctor?”
Bashir shifted, unsure for second before straightening his back and replying firmly: “I learned from the best, after all.”
For a moment, there was a tense silence between them, but then Garak smiled from ear to ear and clasped Bashir's shoulder. “Why, my dear Doctor! I can't tell you how proud I am of you right now!” With that, he turned his back to Bashir and asked casually: “Lunch tomorrow?”
Bashir blinked and replied: “Yes, of course,” before leaving Garak's shop in a daze. He was almost sure Garak was joking. Almost.
End.