STAR. TREK.

islndgurl777:

(via spirkian)

grunkling:

Obviously the title “Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy” is an amazingly perfect summary of Garak’s skill set but hear me out, because I do think he would genuinely approve of, if not actively delight in, these books. 

Please consider: George Smiley, protagonist. Intelligent, cultured, nondescript, seemingly harmless, plain and simple. Able to blend seamlessly into the background, all the while ruthlessly picking apart his enemies through observation, organisation and the fine art of conversation. No one interrogates like he does, so casual it’s almost imperceptible. Never needing to resort to the mess of unnecessary violence, simply finding the sentimental weaknesses in others and exploiting them efficiently. At the end of the trilogy, he even actively chooses state and duty over his own personal values. What could be more Cardassian than that?

Julian probably loves Tinker Tailor, because not only spies, but historically accurate spies. He never quite plucks up the courage to lend it to Garak, though. How could he, without stammering over how blatantly perfect that title is? Besides, those books mean something to him, and they’ve helped him form an at least semi-complete image of who his friend really is at heart. He doesn’t know if he’s quite ready to share that information yet. Garak will see through him in a heartbeat, after all, and take perverse pleasure in destroying each and every one of his theories.

But Garak? Well, he’s Garak. Maybe he sees it tucked away in a corner on Julian’s bookshelf, or stumbles across it in a collection somewhere, or le Carré is mentioned in passing one lunchtime and the name comes back to him a little while later, along with the way Julian had not-so-subtly rushed the conversation on, quietly piquing his interest. He eventually looks him up, scanning the long list of his most famous published works and my, what an intriguing title. Now how could he possibly be expected to resist that?

He dives in, of course, expecting James Bond: gunfire, poison, gadgets, seductresses, the usual nonsense. Something trite, something he can tease Julian about later. He is not expecting the pang of melancholy nostalgia that hits him, especially not in the form of a dozen habits drilled into him since childhood, echoed now by a solitary old Englishman from 20th century Earth. Before he knows it, he is lost in the all too familiar crisis of a secret service eating itself up from the inside, family and profit and ego and blackmail interfering where there should be only loyalty and devotion to the greater glory of the Empire.

He reads all through the night and into the next morning, and when he’s finished he is reeling. His head is pounding, he feels alert and naked and known and remarkably, deeply, profoundly uncomfortable. Unfortunately, he loved it.

And he cannot wait to tell Julian the exact opposite of that truth.

(via levonsnape)