Continuing in my offerings of ~secret~ old fandom works as my dues for being helped by so many of you.

I hardly remember making this. The file tells me it was 2014-ish. I read it with nearly zero recognition. But I do know the scenario.

@tinsnip and I got so carried away with this, and I imagine she is the only one who has seen it. We envisioned a future of long distance engagement in which one of them returns home and the other completes some residential doctor business in a cold remote place.

It’s small, like little bits of stuff in someone’s pocket. But I think it’s ono of the most finished things I have up for tribute and I think you’ll like it if you were big invested in the Deep Dish Nine situation.

DD9 Offering 2: Threads

…

Julian is not in Cardassia, but he might as well be.

Elim doesn’t notice at first. Of course he notices Julian’s absence. Of course he keenly feels that he’d rather Julian be there with him than away in some icy mountain. But he has lived on his own, functioned alone, and very nearly thrived alone since he was a child. He can be without Julian if he has to be.

A trip to the market, beautifully mundane, brings bright, warm contentment. It’s all sunshine, gentle bustling crowds and open spaces. Few things feel more like a life being lived than spending the morning in the thick of this. The fruits and breads and meat and flowers – and the scents for every one – all familiar. When he’s nearly filled his bag with what he’ll need for the week, he glances at the mangoes. They’re hilarious expensive, mockingly so! Even someone with no idea what mangoes should cost would laugh at the notion of trading what’s written on the homemade sign.

Elim takes a picture for Julian, posing with a single mango and an exaggerated frown.

*

He takes the stairs, strolling down a gently sloped hill to his transport home. He’s alone no matter how many people he passes, no matter how many commuters fit in the transport back to his apartment. There is nothing but Elim, his bag, and his thoughts. He’s planned a soup, though this may all work well as a salad, and then he’ll do some light cleaning, finish a few little projects and read for the rest of the day. The bliss of imagining is not unlike the bliss of doing.

Until the little street car stops, putting a halt to Elim’s dreaming as well as his trip home. There’s a small commotion and people crowd him to get a look through the windows, arching over his shoulders, pressing in on his ribs. He flinches and he breathes and he pulls out his phone and he is going to be fine. Someone outside swears, the streetcar’s little bell rings, and they being to pull forward. Beyond the windows, the police, mounted on horses, escort a man in a clown suit away from the tracks. Elim laughs, though he knows it will be only just audible on the video that he sends to Julian.

*

As he navigates the path to his home, there is someone just behind him. Matching his pace, she smiles when he glances back at her. She’s nearly the same age as Elim, also has a small bag of produce, and her bag looks just as handmade. She says she’s seen him before, says that it’s so interesting that they went to the same market.

This is not particularly interesting at all, but Elim indulges her and slows his pace to let her walk with him. Isn’t it lovely there? Why yes it is. Aren’t these the finest -fruits- you’ve ever tasted? They certainly are. Do you live in the East Apartments? I do.

And of course she does too. Would Elim like to make some soup with her, or come over for tea this evening? She’s charming, and she’ll make a fine shopping partner, if not an actual friend, but he gently informs her that he cannot come tonight because he has a date with his fiance.

Some other time, then. Yes, that’d be lovely.

*

Someone has vandalized the road sign just outside the gate to his apartment. It’s crude and not his sort of humor in the slightest, but it’s a clever linguistic pun. He snaps a photo, and files it away in a small folder of things that language textbooks do not teach. Julian doesn’t have time to learn more now, but perhaps next time they are together, he’ll enjoy figuring these out…

*

He switches all his bags to one hand to wrestle his key into the door, and when it honks and skids and finally gives way, he nudges it with his foot. One hand is full of groceries and the other twists in his mailbox. It’s another roll of advertisements and bills today, but there is one heavily stamped envelope covered in Federation customs stickers three times over that is more exciting than puns, or an evening of tea, or silly videos or even reasonably priced mangoes.

The bills end up the in the refrigerator right along with his produce.

This envelope is a rare treat in that it contains more than a letter. There’s a bag of candy, postcards, a few very beautiful blue stones, and a small vial that could either contain blood or ink. Julian’s handwriting is charmingly erratic, as though he caught it devolving every few sentences and corrected himself. It will be a few hours until he’ll see Julian on the webcam, and this tiny piece of him is warmly welcomed. There is nothing in all of Cardassia as lovely as the shape of ‘Hello, Elim’ in Julian Bashir’s hand.

*

Hello Elim~

We’ve only just stopped talking as I’m writing this. I guess I didn’t feel like stopping and I can miss you just as much right after talking to you as I can after a week of not getting to.

I thought it was about time I send you all these things. I’m sorry they all took so long. I wonder if you even remember me mentioning them.

First is the postcards showing bits of Andor that are not completelybleak. In case you want to visit me. :)

Next are the little candies I promised. These are everywhere here, like I said before, and I still can’t pronounce what they’re made of. We pass these out to every kid who leaves the hospital. I’ll send more if you like them.

The little vial is ink, sorry. I had it all sealed up and then I remembered it was red and I work in a hospital and it hit me that you might be alarmed. Customs is probably also happy to read this, because it’s not legal at all to mail blood. I got it from the weekend market here, and I thought of you when I saw it. There’s a tiny bit of gold in it when you write with it, it’s very elegant. It’s some kind of local insects and berries. So I guess it’s insect blood. Sorry, Customs. (I hope it’s still in the package when you read this!)

The stones are the weird gift I talked about. I got them from a woman at the market. I was just shopping around with a coworker and she called me over. She asked me what I was looking for and I told her I wasn’t looking for anything. She said I was a liar and that everyone is looking for something. I tried to explain that since I was in a market, I didn’t know she was talking about metaphors and thought she was trying to sell me something. And then she laughed at me. You would have liked her, I think.

But after that, she told me an Andorian folk tale about a poor girl and a boy who loved each other so much that they magically turned ice to stone and used it to make a castle and wealth and even little ice stone children. And they said that when they died, everyone should have a piece of what they had, so they took the castle down, and all the little pieces of stone were given to the people of their village, and none of them were ever lonely or unhappy ever again. She told it much better. But then she showed me these, and said they’re used in Andorian weddings, and if I wanted to get married and have it be successful, I would have to have some. She gave them to me for free when I mentioned you.

I trust you to hold onto them more than I trust myself. Keep them somewhere nice? :)

I’m sorry these all took so long.

I miss you terribly, and it’s only been an hour since we talked.

I feel like if I just keep writing, it’s like we’re still talking. (Sometimes I read half of the letters you send right when I get them and then read the other half after work so it lasts longer.)

I love you and I hope we get to talk soon.

~Julian

*

The little stones are tucked into a tiny box beside his bed. The box was designed to hold pills.

*

The ink is a lovely touch for the notes to be mailed with his latest adjustments. It looks very elegant indeed as it forms his name on the plate on the inside cover of his newest books. It will, no doubt, be perfect for writing a letter.

*

He pins the postcards to the cork board in his kitchen next to a birthday card, and a silly drawing on a napkin.

*

The candy is unexpectedly subtle. It’s soft and tastes of fresh herbs and something resembling a crisp apple. He puts the bag next to his laptop, turns everything on, and waits.

Julian is not in Cardassia, but everything Elim sees, he sees with both of them in mind. Every experience is a video, every bit of beauty or joy is a photo. He’s certainly never cheated, and never before has someone Elim is physically close to caused him to miss connecting to the person he’s closest to in every way but the physical. Julian runs like a thread through every moment, everything has a stitch of his color.

His laptop glows to life, the camera connects on the other side, and for the next few hours, Julian will be as close as he can be without being physically there.

“Hello, Elim.”