Let go.

Garak stood in the dim hall, doing his best to blend in with his surroundings and not draw any attention to himself. His best was very good. It would take a well-trained eye to pick his warm yet simple tailor’s clothing out of the shadows and dark grey metal background of the industrial and spartan-themed corridor.

With a final glance to his left, right, and then left again, Garak keyed in the code he was not supposed to have and entered a door he was not supposed to be going through at the moment. The door gave a small “whiiisshhh” as it closed behind him. The surroundings now enveloping him could not have been in greater contrast to the hall he had just exited: bright winter light assailed his eyes as it reflected off of the frozen pond and surrounding snow. Oh, how he hated the cold!

Human couples, children, and families – ashore with steaming mugs in hand or on the surface of the pond, skates laced to their feet – speckled the landscape before him. They took no notice of this stranger in their midst who had seemingly stepped out of nowhere.

Julian had brought him here, once. Even more surprising was the fact that, despite being nearly ectothermic, Garak had agreed to come. The winsome doctor had grown up here, so it was important to Garak that he know this place and this part of Julian. They had gone skating, a new experience for Garak, and one which, like most things, he took to relatively quickly. Julian, not having skated since young-adulthood, had been rusty. They had laughed together, and, despite the hated cold, it was still one of Garak’s favorite memories of the two of them.

When he could not bear real people and the café they had routinely eaten lunch at, debating philosophy, literature, and politics, then Garak would come here. Sometimes, like today, when Garak was feeling particularly morose and given to self-flagellation, he would even bring Julian’s ghost into this remembrance. “Though we don’t end up back in my quarters this time” his self-mocking smile was a pitiful thing, small and painful.

“Garak!,” the spectre of Julian called out to him, bounding up behind him, a smile lighting the medic’s youthful face, his nose and cheeks rosy in the crisp air. Garak lived for the younger man’s accent and the way he had always pronounced his name, emphasizing the first syllable.

Garak steeled himself, took a calming breath, and turned to face the younger man. “Come now, my dear Doctor!,” Garak began, a chiding clip to his tone. “Do you not realize that I am not made for this climate?! My people are warm blooded, not at all comfortable with this…” and here Garak stooped to finger some of the snow derisively, “terrain.”

“Garraaakkk,” the mock-up drew the sonant of his name out, half scolding and half imploring, beautifully rich brown eyes playful and twinkling.

Garak sighed deeply, feigning irritability and vexation before giving in, and quite literally throwing up his hands, “Fine. What must I do?”

With unabashed delight, explaining everything ad nauseum as he was wont to do, Julian took the older man’s hand and led him to an empty bench nearby. Once again he showed Garak how to lace the metal blades to his feet and propel himself about the frozen pond. Garak acted his part. How many times had he skated here or just come to observe? He may have only been here with the real Julian once, but he’d skated this pond with him more times than he could count.

“How am I doing, Doctor?” Garak executed an easy turn and called heartily to Julian, several dozen paces away. They had been skating for a few minutes, Garak gratefully beginning to warm some with the exertion.

“You’re practically a natural!” came his answer, accompanied by a boyish and joyful laugh while his own arms were outflung in an attempt to maintain balance. Before long Julian would gain his poise and confidence on the ice once more – he always did. Garak watched as the younger man’s dark hair ruffled in the breeze, noting the red tips of his ears and his dazzling smile. His heart gave a sideways jerk in his chest.

Within the hour they were skating gloved hand-in-gloved hand, managing to avoid most of the others on the ice. It had been a long time since Garak had felt this good and he smiled genuinely.

“Come on!” Julian tugged him gently once more towards the bench where they’d laced their skates. Garak followed, ready for a break. They sat side-by-side, watching as others glided past, fell, laughed, and got back up. The incredible bright blue of the sky here always amazed him, and this time was no different.

“Here, hold out your hand,” Julian commanded. As Garak did so, Julian handed the older man a steaming mug. It helped little with the cold of his body, but much with the cold of his heart. Then came the conversation. As always, it ran wild with flirtatious bickering, a highly charged and sexualized battle of wits in which they were often both the victors. Today’s themes turned to environmentalism and a government’s duty to the people’s well-being. As like most things, but especially given that he had served as a medic in that god-forsaken war, Julian had very strong opinions about these subjects. Garak not-so-secretly loved to bait and rile up his fiery, dark-haired doctor.

When the cold in Garak’s bones became too much, they skated again, warming their blood, amused with each other’s foibles on the ice. Rarely had Garak felt as carefree as he immersed himself in the experience and did his best to ignore the terrible price he would pay for this addiction to a life long past.

When they next sipped their warm drinks on the bench, the merry makers on the pond were becoming fewer, the sun was unmistakably sinking towards the horizon, and the shadows were lengthening. They sat for several moments in a silence sodden with possibility and tension. Garak’s heart was clenched in his chest – this part was always the best, and the worst. Julian turned his head, considering.

“I’ve had the most wonderful day with you,” he said, thin lips smiling faintly as the dusk gathered about them.

“And I with you, Julian. Never have I so thoroughly enjoyed being half frozen.” Though the first part was true, as always, Garak’s sarcasm was a defensive coping mechanism.

Julian smiled in understanding and appreciation as he gently, almost hesitantly, raised his hand to Garak’s cheek, his fingertips lightly tracing the bumps and ridges of the older man’s face. For just a moment, Garak leaned into the touch, his eyes closed, soaking in the caress as if it were air and he a drowning man.

“Well, I suppose we could thaw out at my place….” Julian’s soft voice trailed off.

Garak took the younger man’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it softly.

“Not today, I’m afraid, my dear Doctor.” His voice caught in his chest. The expression that crossed his face, intended as a smile, came off more as a grimace, his eyes searching the other’s deeply for answers that would never be there. He held the hurt and confused look of his once-upon-a-time lover for several moments until he could bear it no more and stood, upsetting the cup and its contents.

Abruptly, impulsively he picked up the mug and threw it ragefully as hard as he could, a primal sound unable to escape his throat, tears that would not fall gathering in the corners of his eyes.

“Computer, end program.” The scene faded away as he turned and walked out the door - he never trusted himself to look back - and headed towards his own quarters, alone.