Everything Old... Part III

[dark_sinestra]

Julian

The Infirmary

 

Julian rubbed at his eyes and sat back in his office chair with a deep sigh. So far it was shaping up to be a completely wretched week, the fights with Leeta and Garak, never seeing Miles, the captain's strange orb shadow experience, and now this. He re-read the notice given him by Nurse Frendel, as though the power of wishful thinking alone could change the text. “A carpenter?” he asked aloud, tossing the notice back onto his desk. He was losing his best nurse because the man's birthright was carpentry? He wasn't the only Bajoran to depart the infirmary since the new Emissary's decree, but he was by far the most valuable one. The worst part about it was he had already been instructed by the captain not to interfere with any of these departures. He wasn't even allowed to speak to the man about it except to wish him well. It was a waste of natural talent and an education. It was a travesty.

 

He ended his shift in a foul mood and tramped down to Quark's. What he needed was a good game of darts and a drink. What he found instead was Morn, who couldn't seem to hit the dart board to save his life. He had to give the Lurian credit for trying. However, he suspected he was doing it out of a sense of pity more than a desire to play. He could think of few worse things than being an object of pity of a bar fly. He held out hope that Miles would be able to make their usual holosuite reservation. Maybe they wouldn't be able to stay as long as normal, but it would be a nice way to unwind. He kept an eye toward the door while playing.

 

“Chief!” he called the moment he saw him. He turned to Morn and the two dabo girls who had been watching their woefully mismatched game. “Excuse me, please? I haven't seen Miles in a few days.”

 

Morn waved him off with an air of amusement and turned, putting an arm around each woman to guide them with him toward the bar. Julian hurried past him to meet the engineer further down the counter. They caught up with small talk. He felt a surge of hope when his friend ordered a drink. It meant he didn't intend to run off right away. He was going to bring up the holosuite when Quark saved him the trouble. He tried his best not to let his face fall at Miles' polite refusal. He didn't care about the waste of money. He wanted his friend back. Feeling selfish for it didn't help, nor did thoughts of Garak's accusations about how he used the man. Miles drained his drink in a hurry and left for his family.

 

Julian wondered if he shouldn't just get rip roaring drunk and let Morn help him stagger home at closing time. It seemed the right sort of night for it. Morose, he propped an elbow on the bar and rested his cheek on his fist. Mercifully, Quark left him alone except to take his drink orders. A couple of hours later, he caught a whiff of a familiar perfume just as Leeta discreetly claimed a seat next to his. She was dressed in one of her more conservative outfits, and he remembered she had this night off now. She rested both hands lightly on the counter, and he noticed a bandage on her left wrist. “What happened?” he blurted.

 

She glanced at him. “It's fine,” she said, tucking it into her lap self-consciously.

 

Quark took her order of spring wine and shot Julian a withering look as he said, “If he bothers you, let me know.”

 

“He's fine,” she said. “I can handle things myself.”

 

The Ferengi nodded and retreated a couple of seats down from them, making a point of showing that he was well within earshot as he washed a few glasses and restocked various garnishes from jars on lower shelves. Julian was in no mood for Quark's posturing. He turned to stand and find himself a table.

 

Leeta stopped him with a light hand to his arm. “Are you sober enough to talk?” she asked.

 

He nodded and glanced over his shoulder toward the bartender. “Not with an audience, though.”

 

“No, of course not.” She accepted her glass from Quark and tipped her chin toward the balcony. “There are plenty of empty tables up there.”

 

“Lead the way,” he said, now regretting the number of ales he had already consumed. He wasn't drunk, but he wasn't exactly sober, either. He followed her up the stairs and forced himself not to watch her as she ascended. He pulled her chair out for her and seated himself against the wall, a habit he picked up from Garak somewhere along the way.

 

“I had a long talk with Garak a couple of days ago,” she said after he settled.

 

He tightened his lips slightly. He could only imagine what the tailor had to say after their last exchange. It couldn't have been good. “Oh?” he said as neutrally as possible.

 

“Yes,” she said, taking a dainty sip of her spring wine. “He's a hard person to stay angry with.”

 

Just great, he thought sourly. He won her over again so the two of them can present a united front. “Is he?” he asked more harshly than he intended. “I wouldn't know.”

 

She smiled faintly, her uninjured hand starting forward over the table top but stopping short of touching his. “I don't believe that. If anything, I think you know it better than anyone else.”

 

“I'm deeply ashamed of what I did to you,” he said. “I should have talked to you first. I shouldn't have used your trouble at the bar as an excuse to hide things.”

 

“You should be ashamed,” she agreed. “What you did was despicable. I have to think I share at least some of the responsibility for it, however.”

 

“What?” He frowned deeply. “No. You can't blame yourself.”

 

“I don't blame myself,” she clarified. “I do think that my stress and some other factors contributed to your feeling that you couldn't approach me about your doubts and confusion.”

 

Guilt made him want to deny that, too, but it was the truth. He looked down into his pint glass and shrugged slightly. He couldn't bring himself to agree aloud.

 

“I don't need you to spare my feelings. I think we've moved a little beyond that, don't you?” she asked, seeking his gaze. “What I want right now is your honesty.”

 

“All right,” he said quietly. “It's true. I didn't know how to broach the subject with you, and I was afraid that if I did, you wouldn't understand. You'd think I was trying to go back to Garak. I was afraid of losing you, but I didn't have the right to hang onto you under false pretenses or deny you the choice of whether you wanted to be in a relationship with someone who couldn't just stay completely away from his ex.”

 

Now she did touch his hand, her palm warm and soft. “If I hadn't talked to Garak, I'm not sure how much of what you just said I'd be able to believe. I'm not going to pretend I understand whatever bond the two of you have, but I do believe you when you say you're not trying to go back to the way things were for you. I don't think either of you understands it any more than I do, and that makes me feel bad for you. Being confused like that is difficult.”

 

“Thank you,” he said. He didn't know what to think of what she was saying. He couldn't tell where she was going with it, and he was afraid to ask after everything he had already put her through. “I really am sorry,” he said, sincere and pained.

 

“I know. I'm sorry, too. There haven't been many people in my life that I've ever trusted. You betrayed my trust. I need you to understand that.” Her grip on his hand tightened.

 

He wondered if it would be possible to feel any lower than he did in that moment. He shut his eyes and nodded. “I understand,” he said. He wanted to get out of there and away from her. He stayed put because he felt he owed her that.

 

“I really believe you do,” she said, releasing his hand and sitting back in her seat. She lifted her wine for another swallow. “I want to give us another chance.”

 

“I'm sorry. I don't think I heard you correctly,” he said, his head spinning from more than ale.

 

“You did. I don't want to leave you. I think what we have has potential. I'm not going to lie and tell you it's going to be easy or that I'll be able to trust you unquestioningly. You're going to have to be very open with me, particularly about the time you spend with Garak. Don't hide it from me or lie to me about it, and if your feelings change, you need to tell me.”

 

“You don't have to worry about that,” he said, his turn to reach for her hand. “I don't think he'll ever have anything to do with me again, and I'm not even sure I'd want him to.”

 

“For a doctor you can be very dim,” she chided him. “Neither of you is through with the other. I'm not sure what it would take for you to be. I don't think either of you knows.”

 

“Why are you willing to accept this?” he asked, reeling inside. It was beyond any expectation he ever had, and it genuinely didn't make sense to him.

 

“I know you're not spiritual, so I don't expect you to grasp my reasoning. It's...wrong...to interfere with the pagh path of another. You run the risk of stunting their spiritual growth and derailing them from their entire purpose. You and I have an enjoyable relationship, or at least we did before this came to a head. I get a lot out of it, and I like to think that you do, too. You and Garak have something else. I believe it's deeper than either of you realizes or is capable of acknowledging. I think it has to do with your souls, as your people might put it, and I don't care one whit if you don't believe in that sort of thing. I do, and it's why I can accept this. What I can't accept is more dishonesty. Are you willing to make another effort, or do you want to part ways?”

 

For a moment, he didn't trust his voice. Had he ever been treated with such genuine kindness and a lack of selfishness? He truly didn't believe so. She deserved so much better, and yet she wanted him. “I want to be with you,” he said. “I never stopped wanting to be with you. You have my word that I won't hurt you like that again.”

 

“I'm going to hold you to that,” she said, giving his hand a final squeeze and withdrawing from him. “We can talk more tomorrow. I'd like for you to try to talk to Garak tonight so that you can tell me what to expect then.”

 

“What if he won't talk to me?” he asked.

 

“Then you can tell me that,” she said, standing and moving to lean over to kiss his cheek. “Thanks for being willing to talk to me and work through this. I know it wasn't any easier for you than it was for me. Come by my quarters around noon. I'll be awake by then.”

 

“I will,” he said, also standing. If he was going to try to talk to Garak, he didn't need any more ale in his system. “I'll walk you part way.” She nodded, and they left together from the upper level exit. He still could hardly believe the conversation they just had, and he couldn't help but to wonder if he was possibly being played in some way. He quickly set that thought aside. Leeta was intelligent enough to do something like that, but she wasn't spiteful or petty. She wasn't the first Bajoran he had met with a stunning generosity of spirit. It was just the first time he had been the direct beneficiary of it.

 

His stop on the turbolift came first. He cupped her cheek lightly, bade her good night, and stepped off onto Garak's H-ring. He had no idea what he was going to say. He hesitated outside the quarters, finally biting the bullet and triggering the hail. What's the worse that can happen? He asked himself. The thought wasn't nearly as reassuring as he meant for it to be.

 

“Enter,” came Garak's voice, the tone the neutral equivalent of his business face.

 

Julian stepped inside, certain only of the fact that he didn't want to deal with Garak's facade. He took him in at a glance, the lounging robe, the PADD in hand, the tea to the side, and the bright, inquisitive gaze that revealed nothing whatsoever. He tried to call to himself the feeling he had the night he made love to the man, but it stubbornly refused to come. There was a thick wall between the two of them, and the top of it was barbed. So I impale myself, he thought grimly. “Leeta came to me,” he said.

 

“Is her wrist broken?” Garak asked.

 

“No,” he said, not having expected that. Garak had something to do with that? He narrowed his eyes slightly. “At least I don't think it is. She didn't come to me for treatment. She came to talk. What happened to her wrist?”

 

“You'd have to ask her,” the tailor said off handedly.

 

“I did. She was less than forthcoming.”

 

Garak shrugged and set aside his PADD.

 

Don't let him pick a fight, he told himself. “She said she talked to you. You can imagine my surprise when it seemed as though it wasn't another unpleasant conversation.”

 

“Oh, yes,” he said. “I imagine you were quite surprised.”

 

Sarcasm. Joy. “She didn't come out and expressly say it, but I have the impression that in part I have you to thank for the fact that she's not leaving me,” he pressed on with determination.

 

“So you're here to thank me?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

 

He wasn't fooled by the mild tone of voice. He saw the glint in his eyes. “No. I'm here to find out if that last fight of ours was more than just another stupid fight.”

 

“She sent you?” he asked drolly.

 

“Yes,” he said, crossing to sink into the chair catty corner to the sofa. “If I had my preference, I would've stayed away from you at least a week before finding some pathetic excuse to crawl back into your good graces.”

 

“It's not like you to be so bitter,” Garak said, eying him curiously.

 

“It's been a rough week,” he said, coming off the ale enough to feel bone tired.

 

“The return of Bajor to the old ways?” the tailor asked.

 

Julian nodded, leaning forward and resting his face in his hands to shut out the light. “I think I'm going to lose my entire Bajoran staff to it before all is said and done. I just found out I'm losing Frendel. He was a lifesaver after Decla left, easily as competent as she was without the personality problems. Thanks to the Dominion threat, there aren't many in Starfleet medical willing to put in for an assignment here, and so far, brass isn't pushing the issue. That means an overworked, cranky staff who may or may not be able to handle a large influx of casualties should the worst happen.”

 

Garak sighed through his nose. “As much as it pains me to have to do this, I'll remove myself from your list of worries. I still think you were stupid to tell Leeta what you did, and some of the things you said to me afterward were ridiculous, but it looks to me as though you're experiencing enough of a coal raking that I don't have to do it myself.”

 

He laughed into his hands and finally lifted his gaze, squinting against the light. “You're insufferable, easily one of the most infuriating people I've ever met. I'd remind you, I'm a Starfleet officer saying this. I'd remind you further this is coming from me.”

 

“Two things I will keep firmly in mind,” Garak said, his eyes twinkling. “I'd offer to let you spend the night, but I think that would be pushing things with dear Leeta. If you hurt that woman again, I'm going to be more than a little angry with you.”

 

“You and I both,” he said, shaking his head. “I can't believe she wants anything to do with me. Or you, for that matter. I don't think I'd be able to be so forgiving, or allowing.” Garak eyed him oddly. “What?” he asked.

 

“Considering what you've forgiven and allowed me, I believe you may be underestimating yourself, dear.”

 

“Help me up,” he said, holding both hands out toward him.

 

Obligingly, Garak stood and pulled him to his feet. Julian allowed the momentum to carry him forward so that he rested against him, wrapping his arms beneath Garak's about his broad ribcage. He smiled against the side of his head when Garak returned the gesture and held him. “Leeta was right about you. You're difficult to stay mad at.”

 

Garak grunted softly. “Both of you are entirely too sentimental for your own good.”

 

“Then I suppose you're fortunate,” he said, turning to kiss his temple lightly. “Now, be a gentleman and send me on my way so I can go collapse into bed disreputably still in my uniform and sleep off the ale I drank while feeling sorry for myself.”

 

The tailor tangled fingers into his hair and kissed him so tenderly it stole his breath. “Get out,” he said without a trace of heat. “I don't like uninvited guests. You've bothered me enough for one night.” He kissed him a second time and guided him toward his door with an arm snaked low at his waist.

 

“You're a dreadful host,” he retorted in kind, fighting the smile trying to toy with his lips. “You didn't even offer me a drink.”

 

“You had more than enough before imposing on me,” he said.

 

Julian couldn't resist a nuzzle at the hollow of a neck ridge, one of his very favorite places. “All right,” he said as the door slid open, straightening and pulling away. “You've succeeded in kicking me out. I'll try to talk to you tomorrow.”

 

“Make sure you're sober first. I can't abide a drunkard,” Garak said very primly just before the door shut.

 

Smiling to himself, he started down the corridor. How an evening could begin on such a miserable note and end on such an uplifting one was a complete mystery to him, as was how he somehow managed to circumvent both of their defensiveness enough to get through to the tailor. “It's much harder to understand than temporal mechanics,” he said aloud and chuckled. Perhaps he'd sleep well that night after all. It would make dealing with the infirmary woes a little easier.

 

Garak

The Promenade

 

Taking a slightly late lunch, Garak had just left his shop when he heard a shriek. He trotted back through his doors to grab his weapon and advanced cautiously in the direction of the sound. Several Bajorans and a few other aliens were gathered in a small knot around something he couldn't see. He noticed the head of the station temple serenely descending the stairs just as the security detail arrived to drive everyone back.

 

Making himself inconspicuous, he waited and listened. When the crowd parted, he saw a vedek lying on the deck of the Promenade, his head at an angle that left no doubt his neck was broken. Garak's gaze tracked back to the temple head, Vedek Porta, he believed. He narrowed his eyes. He had seen that sort of serenity before, the calm conscience of the self-righteous.

 

Captain Sisko and Major Kira arrived. Garak didn't stay to hear the totality of Porta's confession. He didn't need to. Tucking his weapon discreetly into the back of his belt, he made his way past the crowd and ducked into the infirmary. A weary looking Starfleet nurse he knew by face but not name said, “If you're looking for Doctor Bashir, I think he went to have lunch with Leeta.”

 

“Thank you,” Garak said and beelined for the turbolift. Normally, he wouldn't consider intruding upon them. What he had seen filled him with an urgency he hadn't known in some time. By the time he reached Leeta's quarters, he had begun to jog. He rang the chime twice in rapid succession.

 

“Enter,” Leeta's voice came through the comm, sounding a little perplexed.

 

Garak stepped inside to see both of them seated at her dinner table, halfway through a meal. “I'm terribly sorry to interrupt your lunch, but both of you need to know Vedek Porta just murdered another vedek.”

 

“What?” they both said in tandem.

 

Julian started from his seat, and Leeta went pale. “Why wasn't I called?” Julian asked.

 

“Because it's a crime scene, and a dead man doesn't need a doctor,” Garak snapped harshly. He reined himself in. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that.”

 

“I thought Vedek Porta was a good man,” Leeta said, completely stunned.

 

“I think he thinks so, too,” Garak said dryly. “He showed no remorse either to Odo or Captain Sisko. I believe we're seeing more of old Bajor coming back to life.”

 

He was glad that both of them seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation. Julian glanced at Leeta. “I'm worried for your safety,” he said.

 

She looked as though she might be sick. “I am, too,” she said, lifting a hand to her throat.

 

Garak took his pistol from his belt and offered it to her. “I believe you'd do well to carry this.”

 

She shook her head. “No. I don't think I could hit the broad side of a telgos' behind if I was dead calm and had time to aim. I'd be more danger to myself than anyone else with one of those, but thank you, Garak.”

 

Garak glanced at Julian, silent communication passing between the two of them. “We're going to keep you safe,” Julian said.

 

She looked between the two. “Won't that get both of you in trouble? You're not supposed to interfere in local matters,” she said to Julian. “And your people have a treaty with mine,” she added to Garak.

 

“I don't consider your safety a local matter,” Julian said tightly. “If that means I get in trouble, then fine. I get into trouble. I'll sooner resign my commission and face the consequences than stand by and allow some pompous idiot to abuse you just because you don't have a D'jarra.”

 

“I'm not known either for being particularly cooperative or obedient among my people,” Garak said lightly. “They've come to expect me to be an embarrassment. I'd hate to disappoint them.”

 

“This is all so insane,” she said, clasping both hands tightly in her lap and twisting her fingers. “I've always been proud of my people and how it seems like no matter what happens, we manage to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and keep going. This going backwards is shameful. I can't imagine that this is what the Prophets intended for us, separation from potential allies like the Federation, subjugation of large segments of our population, not by an outside threat, but from within, people turning away from life paths they find fulfilling and rewarding to follow the dictates of their names. Maybe it was different when it had always been that way. People were used to it. But this?”

 

“I can't see Captain Sisko standing by and allowing this to go unanswered,” Julian said.

 

Garak joined them at the table without having to be asked. “What can he do? He willingly stepped aside as Emissary. He no longer has any more influence than any other Starfleeter on the Bajorans. The way I see it, things are going to get much worse before they get better. Those who can't or won't abide by this return to the old ways will be pitted against those who have something to gain from it. It'll be a holy war before all is said and done.”

 

Leeta nodded reluctantly. “He's right. We were only just starting to unify a little bit under First Minister Shakaar. A large part of the reason my people were willing to accept progress toward Federation membership was because of Captain Sisko's status as the Emissary. Now that Akorem is back, Kai Winn's influence has expanded by leaps and bounds. She has never been supportive of outsiders interfering with Bajor's development.” She glanced at Garak. “You'd better keep that weapon of yours close for your own sake. I don't know how much longer the treaty with Cardassia will be honored at this rate or what they might decide to try to do to you if it's broken.”

 

“My safety has never been much of a certain thing,” he said with a shrug. “I'd advise you not to travel alone. I'll make myself available to you while Julian has to work. My schedule is more flexible than his. You should also have a talk with Quark. I know he won't allow that nonsense in his bar. It would be bad for business.”

 

“When I'm off, I'm at your disposal,” Julian added.

 

“Normally, I'd find this whole, 'protect the woman' attitude annoying,” she said, trying to smile and not quite succeeding. “Considering the situation, all I can say is a heartfelt thank you. I mean...I can't live like this indefinitely, but I can start saving up money to leave. Lissepia isn't such a bad place, I've heard.”

 

“Give Captain Sisko a chance to try to resolve this before making plans to move,” Julian said. Garak privately thought his faith in the captain might be overblown but was wise enough to keep his own counsel about that. “As you said, your people have weathered terrible times and come out stronger in the end. Maybe this won't go as badly as it seems it might.”

 

“Maybe,” she echoed as uncertainly as Garak felt.

 

Julian looked to each of them. “I hate to do it, but I need to get back to work. I'm sure they're going to want me for the autopsy. If I hear any news one way or the other, I'll let you two know.” He stood and hurried out of the quarters.

 

“Would you like some lunch?” Leeta asked.

 

“Strangely enough, I've lost my appetite,” he said.

 

She nodded. “Me, too. Would it bother you if I went to the back and rested for a while? I feel a headache coming on. I want to try to head it off before I have to get ready for work. You're welcome to help yourself to the replicator if you get hungry later, and I've got all sorts of books on PADDs. I feel...ungracious...leaving you out here like this when you're doing me such a favor.”

 

“Nonsense. I'm not here in the capacity of house guest, so don't feel as though you're obligated to treat me as such. I may rest, myself, on your couch. If I'm asleep when you come out to leave for work, awaken me.”

 

“I'll do that,” she said, standing and quickly clearing the table. Garak got out of her way and settled himself on the sofa. She paused behind him, pressing a light hand to his shoulder and giving a squeeze before heading into the bedroom and shutting the door. Despite what he told her, he knew he wouldn't sleep. His supposed safe haven was no longer safe. For all of his cleverness, his refuge had become a trap, and he had no idea what to do about it.