Chapter Text
Looking back, Julian would realize that his troubles had started with the glass of wine he'd accepted from Jadzia Dax, who, sheathed in a stunning skin-tight scarlet dress and with her dark hair attractively uplifted in a way that revealed far too many of those tantalizing spots, could have probably talked him into doing just about anything.
It had been almost a year since his once-agonizing crush on her had slowly shifted gears into friendship, but… well, just look at her, her pale slender shoulders bared in the attractive half-light and her blue eyes gleaming mischievously from behind a white-and-gold volto mask as she turned away from the standing bar, holding a tall glass full of pale purple liquid that one of Quark's bartenders had just decanted out of a spiralling bottle mostly empty. A glass of the same beverage, half-finished, was perched on the gleaming surface next to her right elbow, a spot of serenity on the edge of a very large crowd of laughing, talking, gaily attired people of various species — primarily Bajorans, of course — all of them with their faces partially or entirely concealed behind an array of colorful masks.
She extended the drink to him with one of those smiles that implied both the wisdom of several lifetimes and the enthusiasm to live this one for all it was worth. "You have to try this, Julian," she coaxed over the driving beat of the background music: "It's Quark's last bottle and he says he doesn't know if he can get more. You'll like it, I promise."
Julian looked from her gaze to the extended glass and back again, unable to stop himself from smiling in response. Sadly enough, he found the offer of an interesting drink a real bright spot in what, so far, had been rather disappointing evening.
An hour and a half ago he'd stepped out of a turbolift onto the second level of the Promenade and presented his invitation to join the exuberant masquerade party being hosted by Starfleet to celebrate the third Bajoran New Year since the Federation had arrived on DS9. The mall's lighting had been dimmed for the occasion, the usually flat neutral illumination replaced with exciting spots of hectic color, and Julian had slipped into the throng as easily as a slim blade, attired in an indigo suit of Garak's design with a cream linen shirt beneath, a columbina mask in turquoise and silver, his Starfleet communicator on his left breast and the lust for the chase beating eagerly in his heart. He'd groomed himself with extra care so as to present as dashing and alluring an aspect as possible even with half his face hidden — but for all the good it had done him so far he might as well have stayed in his own quarters. All his attempts to engage lovely young ladies in conversation had fallen totally flat. Even Odo, circulating among the party-goers with his usual dour expression and unflattering Bajoran security uniform, seemed to be getting more attention from the fairer sex than Julian Subatoi Bashir.
Wandering through the crowd of Starfleet personnel, Bajoran dignitaries and other illustrious guests, he'd felt his optimistic mood sinking lower and lower on an accelerating downward curve as woman after woman was approached and woman after woman rebuffed him: some more politely than others, but by God, wasn't anyone here even willing to engage in a bit of witty banter? He'd been feeling rather glum by the time he'd spotted Jadzia standing at one of the portable bars Quark had set up on the second level and, sidling up next to her with relief at seeing a friendly face, had asked her what she was drinking — more to make conversation than anything else, but he'd been treated to the sight of her gaze brightening even more and the insistence that he simply had to try some Karellian wine himself. His protests that he wasn't much of a wine drinker had fallen on dear ears: when Jadzia got her teeth into an idea it took a lot to make her let go of it, and now here he was, reaching out to accept the offered glass and raising it to his lips and letting a sip of the liquid — both tart and sweet, with a strange subliminal heat — fill his mouth, linger on his tongue, and flow down his throat.
Jadzia watched him with with a slight curve on her red lips, as inscutable as the Sphinx. "Well?" she prompted.
Julian took another mouthful. "It's very good," he responded when it had been swallowed, and in truth it was: it settled in his stomach with a pleasant glow, not unlike a hit of fresh ginger. Another sip, warm and delicious, and he asked: "What did you say this was called again?"
Jadzia responded with a string of syllables Julian couldn't even hope to pronounce — too many T's and Z's in the wrong places — and then picked up her own glass again. "It's from Karellia IV," she elaborated as Julian proceeded to drain half his glass: really, it was remarkably tasty stuff. "They distill it from a night-flowering tree that only comes into bloom once every twenty-seven years." Now there was a shimmer of amusement in her eyes. "This vintage is sixty-two years old, and it only gets more potent with age."
"About twice as old as I am," Julian remarked, setting down his glass on the bar with a click that seemed both too loud and as sharp as cut crystal. A moment later he wondered what the hell he'd just said that out loud for. Another moment later he said: "Oh dear, I didn't mean to say that, especially not to you, after all you already think I'm a child," and almost clapped a hand to his mouth in horror. "Oh God, Jadzia, I'm sorry!"
The Trill was suddenly studying him closely. "I think I'm the one who should be apologizing," she said, although in truth she didn't seem that sorry. "Are you feeling all right?"
"Fine," Julian announced — and he did feel fine, never better, full of energy and vitality, the heat of the wine expanding through his torso and limbs to tingle just beneath his skin. "Just fine," he repeated, but promptly went on to say: "If it weren't for this damned problem with my mouth." This time he did put the palm of his right hand over his lips, eyes widening, and even then a tiny blurt of sound emerged through his attempt to censor himself.
There was concern in Jadzia's eyes, but it was alloyed with something else, something both sly and affectionate. "I'm sorry, Julian, I should have warned you: some people react to —" That set of buzzes and clicks again. "— very strongly." She reached up and put her hand on his wrist, gently but firmly guiding his hand away from his mouth. "Do you still find me attractive?'
"Terribly," Julian heard himself answer, "but I'm not stupid enough to think I have a chance with you." And still the words flowed, inexorable and appalling and hopeful: "Don't you find me attractive? Even a little?"
Her smile widened, full of fondness. "That mask is very flattering," she said with painful kindness, and to his immense disappointment she removed her hand from his arm after a solicitous pat. "I think you should go home and lie down for a couple of hours. The effects of Karellian wine can be intense but they wear off fairly quickly."
"I'm fine." Julian had to make that perfectly clear. "But…" Oh, all the things he wanted to say, none of them wise and all of them sure to leave him in an agony of embarrassment, so instead he managed to redirect his train of thought with a tremendous effort: "… but — I have to go now." He flashed what he hoped was a brilliant smile and glanced away into the crowd, looking for something else to hold his attention, anything but this impossibly gorgeous creature in front of him, and saw no one he recognized. "Damn it — I'm sorry, Jadzia," and he meant it utterly even as he turned away and threw himself back into the throng of revellers, leaving half a glass of Karellian wine — and most of his heart — behind.