#I love hypothesising about how not fucked up his problems could be

[ninyard]

One time Jeremy’s stepfather sneezed and Jeremy didn’t say bless you

I really can see a child version of Jeremy sobbing to his mom because he feels SO bad over this. Give me 9 year old Jeremy with an extreme sense of empathy who literally threw himself into meltdowns because he forgot to say thank you to someone who told him to have a nice day

[a-stitch-in-time-and-space]

Various Feelings About ASIT Part 6: Doctors (and other lovers) Part 2 of 2

What I'm mainly trying to do in this part is reconcile what the book is – a love confession to Bashir – with what is in the text – the opening overtures to his romantic relationship with Parmak.

So I'm going to use a little bit of looking at Parmak as a probable reason why Bashir might've taken awhile to get to Cardassia after reading that novel:

Parmak and Bashir are comparable in the same way I feel Pythas and Palandine are comparable. The latter shared their names with him at Bamarren, helped train some of his later most recognisable (often unhealthily utilised) traits, are too caught up on the system themselves to be good for him and vice versa. The former challenge his ways of thinking, have witnessed parts of his worst self and offered forgiveness without a catch, are incredibly kind and giving, make him do better simply by existing as they do.

There are too many quotes and a half about Garak lamenting the change in his and Bashir's relationship. A couple of them seem to indicate Bashir's own awareness, at least of the fact that they don't communicate as easily as they used to, but one thing the book never gives us (for obvious reasons being this is Garak's pov) is Bashir's reasons for drawing away.

[Excerpt fromt the book: Bashir smiled and accepted the invitation. I led the way back into the shop, and while I coaxed two teas - one red lead and one Earl Grey - from my ancient replicator in the back, the doctor strolled about as if he were genuinely interested in the various sartorial displays. He was clearly ill at ease, and I wondered how the gulf between us had widened to such an extent. I was determined to narrow it.]

I can (and do) hypothesise and headcanon, but I'd like to know if any other novels give us more perspective – perhaps one of Una Mccormack's, but that's awhile down the road for me yet.  In any case, Bashir and Garak drift apart. I wonder whether it looks different from Bashir's pov – does he think it was Garak pulling away because of the Cardassian conflict – they have an argument about it earlier on, in which Bashir unwittingly is rude about their society and Garak lashes out at him – or did he just have some sense of perhaps tension between them post-wire, that he misread as a wish on Garak's part wishing for him not to be around as often. How much has to do with his own PTSD (unexplored on the show and, so far, in subsequent books)... here is where I go into my own territory and think that the person he had the most trouble hiding his emotions from was Garak and maybe it was subconsciously easier to stay away from him, lest he be honest towards someone who wasn't being honest back (or he had no idea how to process his crush, so ran away from it, which, mood).

[”I’m keeping you from your business,” Bashir stood up. “I won’t take up any more of your time.” “I’m pleased you stopped by.” I was about to escort him to the door. “No, you’re not,” he said quietly. “Excuse me?” “Garak, I come from a culture that has perfected the ‘stiff upper lip,’ he explained with the same faint smile. “What does that mean?” It was a genuine question; there was a change in his attitude. “It means that we never complain, never admit to our feelings, never ask for help. It’s just not done,” Bashir explained. “And those people who ‘lack character’ and insist on airing their needs - especially in public - are subject to ridivule... and worse. Does that sound familiar?” “Perhaps,” I replied softly. “But I’m also a doctor, Garak. And I know which group of people suffers the most. I really won’t take up any more of your time.” He extended his hand, which he rarely did, and I took it. “Thank you for the tea.” He turned and went out the door. I stood there for a long moment, deeply upset. I felt trapped within myself, knowing what I had to do to get out but unable even to begin. Yes, Doctor, it does sound familar.]

There's so much of interest to explore in terms of Garak feeling like Bashir abandoned him and then running to another doctor (maybe Bashir thought that Garak had left him in turn – must of stung to think of him with another doctor) – not that I'm calling Parmak a rebound.

[Extract from the book: - be given a new brain. I rather enjoy this peripatetic politicking. It’s something I would never have done on my own. In some respects his is so much like you, Doctor. If I’ve found someone’s opinion insufferably boring, he’ll kindly but sternly lecture me on the value of tolerance.]

They both represent pivotal parts of his healing process: Bashir on Deep Space Nine removes the wire, makes him feel less lonely, quite probably is the main component in his belief in inter-species co-operation, fundamentally changes the way he wishes to live (is the first person outside of the little Circle of Secrecy that knows Tain is his father?), Parmak on Cardassia helps him reconcile with his past, takes the beginnings of political concepts he'd discussed with Bashir and puts them into practise, also literally everything about the fucking Memorial Statues, not to mention that time when Garak fully breaks and he helps him recover, (and Garak tells him freely that Tain is his father).

(also both Bashir and Parmak are horrified by the thought that Tain is Garak's father, which, mood)

Where is the change then? How come Bashir didn't work out and Parmak does? The answer possibly lies in reciprocity – where Garak couldn't offer what Bashir needed in return, he could do that for Parmak. This isn't a judgement, I'd say the problem is that Bashir didn't know what he needed and Garak wasn't open enough to maybe fully be considered someone Bashir could go to (even if both Bashir and Garak might've wished he was), while Parmak is much more grounded in who he is as a person and by the time they meet, so is Garak, because he utilises those lessons he'd learnt from Bashir. Oh the irony.

[Excerpt from book. Parmak asks Garak for advice: “You know, Elim, I’m neither a soldier nor a politician. I’m a doctor.” “I do know that. I also know that we’ve been betrayed by our previous leaders. Our only hope is that men like yourself can offer an alternative.” “But you have the expertise that can... .“Doctor, I have an expertise that comes from survival and compromise. There’s already plenty of that on the other side... and it’s not an alternative that will create a new and lastinf union.” “No, I suppose you’re right,” he conceded.”  “You’re a doctor, yes, and that’s your strength. I’ve learned something about your profession over the past several years. Don’t think like a politician. Think of the planet as a patient barely hanging on to life. Think like a doctor. How would you save this planet?” He considered what I’d said in his careful manner.]

Maybe a good indicator is that Garak never actually directly told Bashir that his first-name was Elim.

And then A Stitch In Time happens and all of those things that no-doubt must've frustrated Bashir to no end that Garak wouldn't share with him are laid bare in their entirety in a way that sounds like he'd love nothing better than to finally pick up where they faltered, with no more lies and secrets... only problem is it sounds like Garak might've found someone else and now it's too late.

[Excerpt. The last lines of the book: It has become my personal totem. I hope that someday you’ll have the opportunity to see it. Nothing would please me more. You’re always welcome, Doctor.]

I would love to ask Andy if I ever meet him if he thinks Bashir would have come to visit after that letter, despite everything that was written subsequently. After all, the last words were an express wish to see him again. Even if just as his friend, I feel like Bashir would've wanted to take him up on that offer...

[soylaprincessa]

IN YOUR HEAD- A Javier Peña story

Hello my lovely readers!

Sorry for all the stress I had to put you through, you just have to take a little more now in Chapter Nine. Enjoy!

Masterlist

Gif credit goes to @benmendelsohns

Warnings: Angst. Swearing. Mentions of sex.

You had to sit down. Why on earth would he book an appointment with you? He had made it absolutely clear that he did not want any contact with you anymore. It was hard for you not to think about it any further and even harder to process all the therapy sessions before his.

Finally, after you had not been able to eat anything during your lunch break, the clock on your wall showed you Javier had to knock on your door any minute now. You tried to think of him as any man, any patient, any random person with a problem they needed to talk about. Just as he was clearly thinking of you as any woman he had been sleeping with.

2:32pm, a knock on your door.

You got up to open it and there he was, dressed in suit and tie, the musky smell of his cologne was instantly prominent. Stay professional, you repeated for yourself.

“Good afternoon, Agent Peña, please come in and take a seat,” you greeted him, the thoughts and emotions were running riot inside your head. He grumbled something that you assumed was a hello and sat down. He looked nervous, hands fiddling with nothing but air.

“What can I help you with?” It was usually your first question for a new patient. You watched him trying to form the sentence inside his brain and it amused you a little bit how agitated he seemed.

“It took me a long time to come here, but I have a big problem and nobody to talk to. It’s been giving me a very hard time and I have to do something about it,” Javier explained through gritted teeth with such a huge frown on his forehead you thought it would burn itself into his skin.

You said nothing, waiting for him to continue and already hypothesising what his problem could be. Work? A traumatizing incident during hunting Escobar?

“I have fallen in love,” he blurted out and his words caused you to lose your countenance for a very brief moment, but regained control in a similar speed. He must’ve seen the sudden change in your expression, but luckily he was looking down onto his feet. You felt sick.

“I’ve fallen in love with a woman and it scares the shit out of me, because it hasn’t happened in five years. I tried everything to fight back, getting drunk, sleeping with lots of other women, drowning myself in work. Nothing helped. So I made the decision to tell her. But at the same time I’m terrified to fuck it up, I have fucked up so many relationships in the past, I don’t know if I’m even capable, I-,” he rambled, running a hand over his face in desperation.

During his monologue, you had been making explanations and connections to his behaviour of the past weeks. It all made sense now. He was in love, that’s why he had slept with you. He wanted to use you like hookers and other women he had brought home every night. The pain in your chest and lump in your throat grew to an enormous size and it was hard for you to breathe.

“Get out,” you could only whisper the words with your emotions surfacing at the moment.

Javier looked up at you with misery and disbelief in his eyes, “what?”

“Get. Out.” You said once more, louder this time, standing up from your chair. At this point it was impossible to maintain your professionality and you noticed tears forming in the corners of your eyes.

Javier also rose from his chair and approached you but you automatically took a step back.

“I want you to leave, Javier,” you insisted and cursed your voice for sounding weaker than you had intended. Your hands were shaking.

“No,” Javier replied. He now stood right before you and took your face in his hands. A single tear of yours landed on his wrist and you gulped. You were paralyzed.

“I’m talking about you, silly,” Javier admitted with a tiny smile under his moustache, “I’m in love with you.”

You stared at him incredulously with a blank expression.

“You’ve hurt me, Javi,” you whispered as you looked into his dark, mesmerizing eyes.

“I know.” The look in his eyes changed to regret and you were somewhat touched. He had not moved his hands from your face but you did, gently taking his hands in yours and removing them from your cheeks.

“I don’t think you do,” you replied, your voice firm and serious.

“I’m sorry, Molly, truly. Like I said, I wasn’t used to feelings anymore. And when they came, I freaked out big time. But I’m ready now and I’m certain I will allow the feelings to stay.”

His confession painfully removed the dagger from your heart. But that did not mean you didn’t bleed. You did, a lot, it was now an open wound and he couldn’t just put a plaster on top of it to cover it up. It wasn’t going to be that simple. He would need to put much more effort in.

“Thank you for being so honest,” you began to speak and felt your face heat up with emotional uncertainty, “but this is not enough. You told me I was naïve, Javi, you told me you didn’t want to see me again. And then you fucked another girl every night knowing I would hear it. That’s not something you can amend by just confessing your feelings to me. Sorry, but I’m not ready to forgive you.”

Javier had listened closely and now stood in front of you like a rejected little boy, looking miserable and hurt.

“I think it’s best if you leave now,” you uttered softly, your gaze on the floor. He hesitated at first, but approached the door and opened it, turning to you once more.

“Molly, I-,” he initiated, but you cut him off, shooting him a pleading glance.

“Javi, please.” Tears were now streaming down your face, your chest heaving with tedious breaths. You didn’t want him to see it, but it was too late.

If it was even possible, the remorse in his eyes increased when he saw you like that. Sighing, he closed the door behind him.

You slumped into your armchair and cried in silence. The tissue box on the coffee table, which was essentially for patients, gradually lost it’s content.

[earnyccrstripes]

Daisy, @daisy-lancaster,

I’ve probably written this letter fifty times. Like twenty times by pen and thirty by lying awake thinking about how I would start it. They never go to you, because despite how I act sometimes, I’m not actually looking forward to the destruction of my life. Which is exactly what would happen if you read what I’m about to say.  I’m a demon. That’s right, a whole demon. Like from the stories that were used to scare us when we were kids. I’m worse, actually. Because, from what I understand, there are decent demons, demons who are restored to do good. I’m not one of them. That’s why my sister hit me in the face. Or at least, I’m guessing. We didn’t really get into the whole is your demon blood possessing you to punch me or am I just really pissing you off thing. And I spend an obsessive amount of time trying to fight the fact that my blood and my genes and my whole lineage could make me turn one day.  My twin, the one I told you about, he embraces the worst sides of being like we are. I try to ignore the possibility that could me one day or stifle it but he’s been raised to channel it. To harness this evil and kill people while there’s still light in their eyes. My mom used to tell me those stories. Not like that, but the woman that used to come around the Harveys’? That was her. I know you were probably too long to realise when she started coming, and then by the time you could pick her out, you probably didn’t want to ask. Which I get, I probably wouldn’t have given you an answer anyway. And that kills me. I’ve been lying to you for so long that sometimes I wonder if the person you love is real. And I used to think lying was a harsh word but it’s exactly the right one. Because evading the truth is still lying. Because sneaking out of windows and leaving without a note or a phone call or a visit is still lying. And really shitty. And I wish I could tell you how sorry I am in a way you’d believe it for that night. But I can’t. So I still don’t think you believe it, d. Deep down. And that’s okay. It’s nothing I don’t deserve. I’m not trying to paint you like you’re punishing me by not forgiving me, or that I resent that you’re trying but you aren’t there yet. Or that I’m hypothesising your feelings about me in a letter that you’re never going to see. Pretty creepy, huh? Supposed to be therapeutic, writing it all down. And it is, until I remember how much there is to write down, and how many lies I’ve told and I wonder if I should just shred everything where it stands. But wait there’s more. More secrets and more shit. That woman who used to come by the Harveys’? My mom? She died. I found her with a witch tracking spell - because oh yeah, those exist - and that was the first time I ever felt like I’d pushed too hard. Because she was just lying there and there was nothing I could. And that was the day I left. I told myself it was to find answers to a life-long obsession with this other family I never got to have, and that’s true. But it was also because I didn’t want to you to see me like that. And I didn’t want you to ask and care and me not be able to tell you. It’s why you still don’t know. And you want to know something even more fucked up? I used to think Will did it.  When I met him, Will, I saw something in his eyes that scared me. I told you about it. That there was a darkness and a blackness that made me think about all the things he’s done and could do. And I’ve been worrying he’s somehow going to corrupt me like he’s been corrupted since I met him. Since I know we’re just breathing the same air. And then I realise that maybe that night I had that same darkness in my eyes, and maybe I would have corrupted you. And I think when all’s said and done, that’s why I ran. Not because I didn’t want you there, not because I didn’t need a hug from my best friend. Just because I didn’t want to screw you up, d. You’re still too good to be alice.  What they never mention after Alice is in wonderland is how terrified she must be of what she knows now. She’s been in a world that shouldn’t have existed, and a really scary, screwed up world. And she can’t talk to anyone about it. Can you even imagine that? I’m the rabbit, I live down here. I’m getting used to it’s darkness and it’s caves, but you’re a visiting neighbour. And you’re not prepared for this, and I’m not going to be the one who subjects you to it.  My sister leaves a lot. The one who socked me in the nose? Her. I’m starting to wonder if this is why. Because you can never really get close to anyone in this world without worrying if they know or don’t. Or if you’ll be the cause of their downfall. Maybe she’s just trying to protect the people she loves. Like I am.  I don’t tell you I love you enough. Which is a whole other realm of complicated that seems so damn insignificant in comparison to everything else I’ve written down. But I’m going to go through with it anyway, because if this is my time to be honest, I should probably make the most of it. I’m in love with you, d. I think I I know I have been for years, and I know I had opportunities to tell you. But I didn’t want my own life to implode. Even before the whole mess with my mom and my family. And then I didn’t want your life to implode by making you love someone who could never be honest with you. If you wanted to.  And then I would think about if anything ever happened to you because of me. Like those crime movies we always used to watch. The girlfriend gets kidnapped, not the best friend. And I know that’s dark, and that mafia movies aren’t actually true crime, but life imitates art. Not the other way around. I know you can handle yourself, and I’m not painting you as weak either. You’ve always been a badass. But with these people, I’m not sure that’s enough. Because yeah, I’d try to kill anyone who hurt you but when I used to say that it was hyperbole. Now I know that if I said that to Will, or my sister, or my other brother who you don’t know about by the way because I don’t know what to say about him, they might actually consider it a threat. So they don’t know about you. I wish they did, because it’d be nice to talk about you with them in a normal, sibling way. Maybe we could. Maybe it’s my own problem. That I don’t trust people. When we were talking in that diner, I started to think that we were actually on equal footing. That you don’t trust people too now. And that scares me because I don’t know why. And then I blame myself because I left. And then it’s the same obsessive spiral over and over again. Anyway, this is the end of my long, rambling list of confessions. Still waiting for the catharsis that’s supposed to happen right about now. I would say I wish you could see all of this, but I don’t. Because I’m selfish and scared. I’m sorry. For everything.  With regret,  Max