Eye of the Needle--Part I

Author Notes: This story is set before and during the episode Destiny. It's a direct sequel to “Red Sky at Morning” and probably won't make a tremendous amount of sense without that in context.

Summary: While Garak recovers from a devastating injury, Julian is forced to confront some harsh realities about their relationship and certain things he has taken for granted. When three Cardassians visit the station for a joint venture with Bajor and Starfleet, the new treaty is put to the test, loyalties are challenged, and both men develop a deeper sense of what they're involved with, both with one another and in the larger scheme of events.

Author: Dark Sinestra

Date Written: December, 2009

Category: Slash

Rating: NC-17 for some scenes of explicit sex and mild adult language and situations.

Disclaimer: These guys aren't mine. I just borrow them and the setting from time to time from Paramount, and I don't even get paid!

Word Count: 17,070

 

Julian

Quark's Bar

 

“I'm just sayin' I miss her when she's gone,” Chief O'Brien said, shrugging his shoulders and hunching over his pint on the small table.

 

Julian sighed and stared morosely into the depths of his ale, no longer having to feign being in his cups. “'S better than missing her while she's here,” he slurred.

 

“Garak still bein' difficult?” Miles asked, his brows lifting.

 

The doctor quirked his lips in dry amusement. “You may as well ask if Garak is still being Garak. Yes. He's still being...difficult,” he said, sighing again. “I don't understand it. I mean, of course, I understand why he hasn't wanted to be physical...”

 

The Irishman pulled a face. “You don't have to say everythin' that's on your mind,” he said quickly. At the other man's look, he held up a hand. “I'm sorry! There are just some visions I don't need dancin' t'rough my head, alright?”

 

Julian conceded the point with a wave of his hand then put it to his chest while he hiccup belched. “Fine,” he said. “All I meant was I know he still has pain from his injury. But he won't even let me stay over. He claims we see plenty of one another while we're awake, but half of that time is his physical therapy, so I don't think it counts,” he added crossly.

 

Miles took a long swig of his pint and set the glass down, beckoning Rom over for another round. “Make that two,” he said and turned his attention back to the doctor. “You've got to look at it from his perspective, Julian,” he said pragmatically. “The Cardies...Cardassians,” he corrected himself, “don't like to show weakness, right?”

 

“But it's not weakness,” he protested. “He took a phaser shot at almost point blank range to the chest! By all rights, he should be dead. If he were weak, he would be.”

 

“That's the way you see it,” he continued. “It's not how he sees it. Look, if there's one thing I've learned bein' married, it's that you've got to be able to see things from the other side. You don't have to agree wit' 'em; you don't even have to like it. But you'd damned well better be able to see where they're comin' from, or you're doomed to go round and round until one or both of you get tired of it and walk away.” He sat back while Rom set their drinks in front of them and cleared away the empties.

 

“I suppose,” Julian said, frowning.

 

“Suppose not'in',” Miles snorted. “You either figure out how to do that, or plan to spend a lot more nights missin' him, even after he's fully recovered.”

 

That touched on yet another worry. He lifted his eyes to the Irishman's. “What if he doesn't fully recover?”

 

Miles swigged down half of his pint in one swallow. “Why don't you cross that bridge when you come to it? You've got enough t' worry about right now as it is.”

 

Garak

Garak's Clothiers

Stock Room

 

With every line and ridge of his face taut with concentration, Garak licked his lips and tried yet again. It was so simple that at one time he could've done it in his sleep. He held a slender needle between the thumb and index finger of his right hand and a black thread the same way in his left. As he brought them closer together, minute tremors shook his limbs, spreading from his shoulders downward. He couldn't even make the tip of the thread touch the eye, much less get it through. Roaring his frustration, he kicked the clothing form before him, sending it and the jacket it held flying.

 

“I think you've subdued it,” a gravely voice came from behind him.

 

Whirling, he saw Odo leaned in the stock room doorway, his arms folded loosely. “How long have you been there?” he demanded.

 

“Long enough,” the changeling said. “I've been getting...reports...that you've been behaving erratically on the Promenade. Outbursts. To my knowledge, you haven't kicked anyone like that, or this would be more than a social call.”

 

“I'm fine,” Garak said, flinging aside the needle and thread and moving to right the clothing form.

 

“Never better,” Odo said agreeably.

 

“While I appreciate cutting sarcasm more than most, I could do without it this morning,” the tailor retorted.

 

“Has it occurred to you that you may be pushing yourself too hard too soon?” he asked.

 

“Has it occurred to you that it's none of your business?” Garak shot back, glaring.

 

Odo regarded him for several long moments silently. “When you start causing trouble, it becomes my business,” he said stiffly. “Believe me, Garak, I don't want it to be my business. I have better things to do than follow you around and ensure you don't harass the other business owners on the Promenade. I understand better than most how it feels to want to be left alone. I also understand better than most how it feels to be frustrated by...limitations.” He grew silent again, giving that time to sink in.

 

“As much as I'd love a fascinating heart to heart,” the Cardassian said acidly, “I have work to do. If I agree not to give you a reason to make my business yours, will you agree to let me get back to it?”

 

Unfolding his arms and giving that odd little nod of his that usually meant he completely disagreed and thought someone was making an ass of himself, the changeling said, “Have it your way. See to it that you keep your side of the bargain, or the next talk we have will be in my office over paperwork.”

 

Garak held his shoulders stiff until he was sure the security chief was gone, then let himself sag. He was sick to death of this solicitousness from every side, none of it welcome. Even Major Kira's intense looks these days were a great deal less venom and a lot more habit. They had no right to treat him like a toothless hunting hound that had lived past its usefulness but was of too much sentimental value to be put down. There was one Terran phrase that made a lot of sense to him and seemed to apply perfectly to his situation, No good deed goes unpunished. At the rate all of them were going, he was determined that his one good deed would be the last one, at least the last one he performed openly. It wasn't worth the fallout.

 

He had lain in the hospital bed surrounded by flowers, as though he were already dead, for much longer than he liked. Did any of them bother to ask him how he felt about that, or what it looked like to him? No. Afterward, he had been subjected daily to Julian's intense scrutiny, his every move watched, every spasm and tremor noted, every faltering step righted before he had a chance to fall. Did Julian once think such attention might be insulting? Of course not, and if he had to tell him, well then, he would never be sure if the man wasn't doing it simply because he told him not to or if he truly understood that he was strong enough not to need that. The physical therapy was the worst and most grievous insult of all. Julian wasn't pushing him, not nearly as hard as he should have been. Then he wondered why he wanted time to himself? Humans, he thought with a mental growl. They were as soft on the inside as they were on the outside, and they wanted to reshape the entire galaxy in their image. Bah!

 

He was coming to a very unpleasant realization as he hunted for the stray needle he had flung. There was a good chance he might never again possess the dexterity he needed for the fine needlework for which he was known. Over time, he had dealt with several salesmen hawking various wonder machines, promising to cut his work time into one third of his current rate, miraculous devices that could shape any stitch he could imagine and even accept programming from him for new stitches not already in their databases. To a one, he had thrown the blasphemous charlatans out, insulted beyond measure that they didn't understand the difference between manufacture and craft.

 

A sliver of a glimmer caught his eye. He bent too quickly, finding himself suddenly doubled over in pain. Gasping aloud, he grasped the tops of both of his thighs in an iron grip until the wave of burning agony finished roiling through his chest. Julian assured him that such episodes were indicative of his nerves healing. It could've fooled him. He reached a shaking hand out to pluck the needle from the floor and held it up to eye level as he carefully straightened. No amount of skill in the world would serve him if he couldn't properly handle his tools. He had to make a living. He would never accept charity or live off of Julian. Maybe it was time to swallow his pride and call one of those loathsome killers of craft for a demonstration.

 

Not yet, he told himself. Not quite yet. He cut another length of thread, darted the end lightly between his lips, and started all over again. If he could just manage to thread the needle, he knew he'd be getting somewhere. The minute tremors grew with his efforts until he shook like a man afflicted with palsy. He wasn't aware of the passage of time, the simple act having grown in his thoughts to a task of monumental importance. It was a battle of wills between his body and his mind, and unfortunately, his body had the advantage.

 

In time he became aware that he had another watcher. Dropping his hands to his sides, he eyed the woman with hostility until his obsession receded far enough for him to recognize her as one of the Bajoran infirmary nurses. “Can I help you?” he asked, wondering what she was doing there and why she hadn't said anything before then.

 

“For starters you can be on time,” she said primly, lifting a hand to pat a small strand of her simply coiffed blond hair into place. “While I appreciate your dedication to your work, it's not physical therapy, and it won't get you where you want to be.”

 

“Excuse me?” he asked, his brow ridges dipping downward.

 

“The time, Mr. Garak, is 1100 hours. 1112 to be precise. You were due in the infirmary seventeen minutes ago. I like for my patients to come a little early,” she replied, turning and shooting him an arch look over her shoulder as though to ask, Are you coming?

 

Setting the needle and thread aside, he hastened his steps to catch up with her. “Please, just call me Garak, and explain what you mean by your patients. My appointment is with Doctor Bashir.”

 

I'm not comfortable with such informality, Mr. Garak,” she said serenely. “I do hope you'll understand. You may call me Nurse Decla or Ms. Decla. Doctor Bashir has turned your physical therapy over to me. If you wish to know why, you'll have to ask him yourself. I'm sure I don't know.”

 

He could hardly believe it. He never thought he'd see the day that Julian would entrust his care to anyone else. Intrigued, and if he was being completely honest with himself, very slightly intimidated by this tall, middle aged nurse with wide-set, cool green eyes, he allowed her to lead him back to the infirmary and ensconce him in the physical therapy room. He took a seat where she indicated and waited as she glanced over a chart.

 

She made a soft tutting sound with her tongue against the roof of her mouth and lifted her gaze. “Was this shamefully lax schedule his idea or yours?” she asked.

 

“His,” he said, blue eyes flashing and chin lifting slightly.

 

She smiled in a way he didn't exactly like. “I'm glad to hear that. After watching you with that needle, I was hoping I had someone with some spark on my hands. You're going to need every bit of it if you expect to make a full recovery from that phaser blast.”

 

“Do you honestly believe that I can?” he asked her frankly. On more than one occasion since his ordeal, he had read doubt in Julian's eyes when they discussed his injuries, and even though he would never openly admit it, it had eroded his own confidence.

 

“You're going to discover very quickly that what I believe doesn't matter one whit,” she said, setting the chart aside. “Do you believe that you can?” She didn't give him time to answer, throwing a ball at him from the depths of one of her pockets. He barely caught it in time to avoid being smacked squarely in the face. As his hand cupped around it, he realized that if it had hit, it would have hurt him. It was only the beginning of her nasty surprises of the session.

 

With one demanding task after another, she put him through his full paces, ignoring any grimaces or hisses of pain. She seemed determined to squeeze his entire hour long regimen into the remaining time they had left. He knew that were he human or one of the other races that could sweat, he would've been soaked with it less than halfway through. While he had wanted Julian to be more demanding, this Bajoran woman was monstrous. He couldn't help but to believe that she was enjoying herself thoroughly. She seemed to take in his every indication of strain, discomfort, and outright agony with enthusiasm, those cool green eyes far more expressive than he would've believed possible the few times he had seen her before.

 

Just when he believed that he had reached the end of his endurance, with every muscle shaking and juddering uncontrollably, she called a halt to his efforts and had him lie back on the bed. As he lay there trying to catch his breath, he could just see her moving in his peripheral vision off to the side. She returned to view and reached for the hidden hooks of his tunic. He caught her wrists with difficulty in his spasming hands. “What do you think you're doing?” he asked.

 

The look she shot him was unbelievably withering. “Mr. Garak, would you like for me to come into your shop while you are hard at work and get in your way? Would your creations turn out well with a third hand in the mix and someone there to question your every move?”

 

“No,” he answered.

 

“Then why are you interfering with my job?” she asked.

 

Feeling a bit foolish, he released her and dropped his hands back to the bed beneath him. He closed his eyes while she unfastened the top third of his tunic, not wanting to see the clinical assessment in those disturbing eyes. He felt one of her hands slide quickly down the neck of his close fitting undershirt and leave something in place. The next thing he knew, warmth spread from whatever it was and began to radiate outward in soothing waves. His eyes flew open again, just in time to see her adjusting a dial on a panel not so far away. “What is this?” he asked, almost not wanting to trust his voice. After the torture of the therapy session, it felt too good.

 

“It's a neural stimulator,” she said. “You've reached a point in your healing process where it will finally do you some good. Too soon, and your system would have been overwhelmed. It will probably cause you to have more frequent pain attacks outside of therapy, at least at first. If it does, you need to tell me so that we can get you some medication to help manage it.”

 

“I hate pills,” he snapped.

 

Settling a hand to her hip, she narrowed her eyes. It made her resemble one of those Earth creatures Julian kept considering getting as a pet, a cat. “I'm going to spare you the technical explanation and cut to the chase,” she said, her voice sharp. “Pain causes stress. Stress causes a buildup of chemicals in your body that inhibit healing and even have the power to permanently alter your brain architecture. If you're serious about making a full recovery, you'll tell me when you're hurting, and you'll take whatever we give you for it, in the proper doses and without alcohol. If you're not serious, then you're wasting your and my time, and I won't have that. You're welcome to skip off down to the bar and drown yourself in kanar for all I care, but you won't be welcome back here. Are we clear?”

 

Suddenly, he felt warm from more than just the neural stimulator. He used every ounce of his focus to make certain that only he would be aware of that fact. He was quite sure that she wouldn't appreciate it and wasn't provoking him on purpose. “Your bedside manner leaves something to be desired,” he snorted.

 

“You'd do well to focus more on what's good for you and less on your bedside needs, Mr. Garak,” she said frostily. As she turned away and left the room with his chart, he was almost certain he saw a gleam of amusement in her eyes. That even more than what she said mortified him. How did she know?

 

Uncertain of what he was expected to do next, he stayed put on the bed and let the neural stimulator do its work. His shaking ebbed, leaving him in a state of tranquil lassitude. Almost never one for naps, he seriously considered closing down the shop for the afternoon to take one. He hadn't felt this good since before he was shot.

 

Nurse Decla returned with a pill bottle and tucked it into his right hand. “I want you to take two of these at lunch when you leave here, then one before bedtime and one upon awakening until you run out. No kanar while you're taking these! I'll string your little Ferengi friend up by his toes if I see him serving you, and that's nothing compared to what I'll do to you.”

 

“Very well,” he said, resigned. He wasn't concerned with her threats; it was what she had said about his recovery and stress impeding it. He was serious about getting better. He didn't want to have to give up everything he had worked so hard to achieve with his shop or his reputation for the quality of his clothing. He sighed when she turned the machine off, that delicious warmth immediately fading to nothing more than memory. He allowed her to remove the pad from his chest and then fastened his clothing as quickly as he could. “Are we done?” he asked.

 

“For today, yes,” she said. “By the end of the week, I'll have some exercises for you to perform upon awakening and before you go to bed. I'm cross referencing to be certain they're compatible with your physiology first. Those pills I gave you are just for baseline pain management. If it's not enough, what are you going to do?”

 

He sat up, swinging his legs over the bedside and planting his feet on the floor. He waited to answer until he could stand. She was tall enough that they were nearly eye to eye. “I have no intention of wasting your or my time, Ms. Decla,” he said without blinking. “You'll hear from me.” She inclined her head in a way that looked very Cardassian to him and forced him to step around her to leave the room. He wondered if Julian knew exactly what he had unleashed upon him and why it had taken him this long to realize it was necessary. He decided he'd invite him over for dinner and try to find out, in a roundabout way, of course.

 

Julian

Garak's Quarters

 

He felt silly for being nervous when Garak greeted him with more enthusiasm than he had shown for him since their return from Bajor. The dinner invitation had been completely unexpected. Maybe Miles was right, he thought. Maybe just the act of trying to see things from Garak's point of view eased the mounting tension between them. He was glad he had taken the emotionally difficult step of turning Garak's care over to someone else. As he stepped into the familiar quarters, he smiled brightly. He could smell the spicy richness of a red curry dish, the unmistakable nuttiness of basmati rice, and the garlic-y whiff of naan. Best of all, there were no Cardassian food smells to mingle with the others and trigger his gag reflex. He had gotten to the point where he could take one or the other by themselves, but Terran food and Cardassian food were not a harmonious marriage.

 

“Indian food!” he exclaimed unnecessarily. “How incredibly thoughtful. To what do I owe this treat?”

 

“I can't just be generous from time to time?” the tailor asked in a way that made him instantly suspicious.

 

“You can,” he said, amused. “But you rarely if ever are 'just' anything, my love.”

 

“So paranoid,” Garak said with a brilliant smile. “Come then. Let's eat while it's still hot, and you can tell me of your day.”

 

He sat at the table across from the tailor, and the two of them helped themselves from the central dishes. He didn't have a tremendous amount of news to discuss. Truthfully, he was much more interested in hearing about how Garak's session went with Nurse Decla. However, he kept Miles' advice in mind and kept his questions about the therapy to himself. If this dinner was a result of his backing off, he decided that he could stand to do more of it in the future. As he ran out of incidentals to discuss, he did finally hazard, “How was your day?”

 

Garak dropped his gaze to his plate and sopped at traces of the curry sauce with a torn section of naan. He took his time chewing and swallowing, had a long swallow of lassi, and said, “Where in the world did you manage to dig up that dictator Decla? That woman is a menace, Julian. I think she's out to kill me.”

 

He blinked in surprise, as that was the last thing he expected to hear. “Nurse Decla?” he asked. “Blond...”

 

“Sadistic, Kai Winn green eyes, barking voice, acid tongued Bajoran female,” Garak finished for him. “Yes, yes, that Nurse Decla. Surely you're not going to sit there and pretend you don't know how she is?”

 

He was flummoxed. “Honestly? No, I don't. She has only been with us for about three months now. She came very highly recommended from the Bajoran State Hospital in Jalanda City. Her work ethic has been superb, never late, always thorough, an eye for detail, and nothing but perfectly polite and respectful, both to me and our patients.”

 

Garak frowned, and it seemed as though the air between them dropped a few degrees in temperature. “I see,” he said.

 

“What?” Julian asked, thoroughly confused.

 

“Nothing,” the tailor responded. “Do you want dessert? I didn't replicate any because most of them don't do that well sitting out.”

 

“No, I don't want dessert,” he said with a sinking feeling. He didn't want to turn their pleasant evening into a fight, but he also couldn't just let whatever had just happened lie to fester. “I do want to know why it seems as though you're upset with me now. At first you were railing at me about her, but as soon as you found out I didn't know that she was the way you described her, you seemed even more upset. I don't understand. Do you want me to assign you to someone else? I will. All you have to do is ask.”

 

Garak rose to clear off the dishes. The doctor could see the tremor in his hands and had to sit upon his own to avoid instinctively reaching out to offer help. He waited for an answer, but after nearly every dish was cleared, he realized he wouldn't be getting one, not unless he pushed. “Elim?” he asked, his brows drawn together in concern.

 

“I don't want another therapist,” he said tightly.

 

“All right,” he answered, trying to be reasonable. It was getting harder. “I'll leave you with Nurse Decla, although I don't understand why you want to be, given...” He stopped suddenly as it hit him. Garak wanted to be pushed. He had all but begged him during many of their sessions, and he clearly thought that Julian had finally realized that and assigned him someone who would challenge him. Instead, it must have sounded as though he gave him his safest choice. Isn't it true? He thought ruefully. Damnable Cardassian stubbornness and pride! Something else occurred to him, and now he was as angry as Garak seemed to be. “Tell me something,” he said sharply as he stood.

 

Garak paused in front of the recycler, the last dish from dinner clasped in both of his hands. “What?” he asked, his expression shifting from irritation to wariness.

 

“That time when I came back from the parallel universe, when you were so kind to me and gave me the pajamas, was that pity? Contempt?” He felt his fists balling at his sides.

 

He slid the dish into the slot and turned to face Julian. “Of course not. I was worried about you.”

 

“Why? Because you think I'm weak and can't handle myself?” he demanded.

 

“No! Julian, what has gotten into...you...” the tailor trailed off and chuffed a soft laugh. He held up his hands. “I surrender. You've made your point.”

 

“Have I?” he asked, feeling some of the anger drain away when he realized that his sudden fear was unjustified.

 

“Yes,” Garak said, crossing to him and sliding his hands over his hips to draw him closer. “Masterfully. I can't promise that I won't continue to bristle when I think you're fussing over me too much. I'll at least try to remember it's not an insult.”

 

He smiled in spite of himself and carefully wrapped his arms around the lower part of Garak's waist. “So,” he said, nuzzling him gently nose to nose. “You like Nurse Decla?”

 

“She's a monster,” he replied. “Without mercy or pity, implacable, sarcastic, and cold. She's perfect for the job.”

 

“If you want, I'll try to find out if she has a problem with Cardassians. I don't want her hurting you,” he offered, wary of making Garak angry again yet considering this a valid concern.

 

Garak nipped him painfully beneath his ear for his trouble. “If you say a word to that woman about me beyond what must be said for the treatment protocol, I will be extremely cross with you.”

 

He grunted his discomfort and wince laughed. “You've made your point.”

 

“You'll have to forgive me if I'm not convinced and intend to press it,” the tailor said, biting him again and soothing over it with a delicate circling of his tongue tip.

 

His body responded instantly, hungry for this contact he hadn't dared to pursue while the Cardassian was still recovering. Even now he doubted that it was the smartest course of action. It was up to Garak to decide what he could or couldn't handle, though, and with him out of actual danger, he decided to leave it up to him as to how far this went and how strenuous it became. He tilted his head back and to the side to expose the expanse of his throat to the rough treatment, not doubting there'd be bruises to handle tomorrow before heading for work. His lover seemed to delight in marking him as much as he delighted in having it done. At one time in his life, he would never have believed he would enjoy pain of any sort. Garak had shifted his perspective on so many things and was particularly skilled in manipulating sensations. He tried not to think too hard about how or why that might be.

 

He raised his arms to facilitate being peeled out of his form fitting shirt, one of the few he had picked out for himself that the tailor didn't detest on sight. The Cardassian pulled him close against the rough, thick fabric of his tunic, his hands sliding up Julian's back, fingers and nails digging. “I want to feel you, too,” Julian gasped.

 

“Later,” Garak growled, sinking his teeth into the muscle at the juncture of the doctor's neck and shoulder.

 

Julian arched against him, writhing from conflicting impulses, his body's desire to escape the pain and his mind's desire for more. So this is how it's going to be tonight, he thought, feeling a slight flutter in his belly. These moods of Garak's could sometimes be frightening, times when he wasn't entirely sure his lover was fully in control of himself and wouldn't do something that would cause more than just pain, times when he understood on a visceral level that no matter how familiar they might become, his Elim was still an alien being, another species not well known or understood, and he'd be a fool ever to forget it.

 

Garak turned him and pulled Julian's back to his chest, his arms wrapped tight and his hands moving restlessly up his torso. The doctor leaned his head back, resting it against a sturdy collarbone and twisting so that he could nip and tease at the ridged jawline so tantalizingly in reach. Fingers pinched and tugged sharply at his nipples, pleasure and pain so intertwined there that it was impossible to separate one from the other. He felt his hips lifting, thrusting at nothing but air in a wanton, involuntary dance of need. How was it that the tailor could get him to this point so quickly? With one hand still at his chest, Garak slid the other down to put a stop to his thrusts. Even through the thick fabric of the tailor's clothes and his own thinner pants, he felt the hard swell of his lover's desire pressed tightly between his cheeks. Moaning softly, he deliberately clenched, twisted, and ground himself back.

 

“You little tease,” Garak murmured, warm breath spilling over Julian's ear and followed by a wet lick that left none of the creases and folds there unexplored.

 

“I'm the tease!” he gasped incredulously, his eyes rolling back.

 

“I'm glad to hear you agree,” the voice came again in a dangerous tone that thrilled him down to his curling toes. “Now, be still and stop trying to push me. It never works. It just makes me irritable.” He pinched a nipple in emphasis, making Julian gasp and jerk again.

 

“I don't know how you expect me to be still when you keep doing things like that,” he said shakily.

 

“Shall I stop?” Garak asked, his hands stilling altogether, although he didn't loosen his tight hold.

 

“What ever happened to you'd never make me beg?” he asked, panting and desperate for those hands to start moving again. When he felt the hold loosening, he added quickly, “No! Please, I don't want you to stop.”

 

“Then you'll behave?” the voice purred close to his ear.

 

“Damn you, yes. I'll behave. You know I will. You know when you get me to this point, I'm nothing but putty in your hands,” he said through gritted teeth. It wasn't exactly something he was proud of, the undeniable hold the man held over him when he was this aroused, but as of yet, he had found no way to combat it. He knew from hard experience that if he became truly defiant, the tailor would unceremoniously kick him out and leave him to fend for himself alone, an unsatisfying end to the sort of build up he provided.

 

Garak's only answer was to resume the delicious torture of hands and mouth, with the added reward of freeing Julian from the uncomfortable press of his fastened trousers. He noticed it took both of the tailor's hands instead of just one to do so, but he said nothing of it. He reached back and twisted his fingers into the hem of Garak's tunic, needing something to hold to prevent himself from that mindless grinding.

 

Garak gripped his right wrist and tugged his hand free. Julian stifled a groan. Was he truly going to insist that he just stand there, take everything he threw at him, and react as little as possible? To his shock, the tailor didn't stop at that. He cupped his hand around Julian's and guided it to clasp around his own stone hard erection. “Don't make me do all the work, dear,” he murmured wickedly.

 

He flushed from his chest to his hairline. It wasn't the first time he had done such a thing in front of the tailor, usually driven to it by too much teasing and then prevented from following through. It was the first time Garak had ever asked him to do it, and for some reason, it made him feel self-conscious. He could feel small tremors in his lover's grip over his hand, tremors that had been a constant since the injury and likely had little to do with arousal, and he believed that he understood. Shifting his lean against the man enough that he could support himself even if his legs grew weak, he tightened his grip, closed his eyes, and began to do as he had been asked.

 

Garak didn't let him get far before stopping him. “Over here,” he said, guiding him to the sofa and pushing him to a seat with pressure at his shoulders. He leaned back and lifted his hips to allow the tailor to pull his trousers down and off of him. The man remained kneeling there between his spread knees, his eyes as black as night, the blue all but gone.

 

Drawing his lower lip inward for a rake of teeth, Julian cleared his throat. “You...ah...you want me to...keep doing that?” He knew he was blushing furiously. Even his ears felt burning hot.

 

“I'd hate to interrupt,” Garak responded, a slightly mocking tone in his voice.

 

“In the past, you've stopped me when I've tried,” he said, hoping to put him off of the idea.

 

“I'm not stopping you now,” he said reasonably. “Nor were you so coy about it then.”

 

He heard the unspoken question, of why this was any different, and he knew almost beyond a shadow of doubt that Garak also knew the answer to that question, that it was different doing it when he didn't have the heat of the moment as his excuse and when he had large, dark eyes fixed on him in a way that seemed more predatory than loving. Swallowing thickly, he nodded, squeezed his eyes shut, and closed his hand over himself.

 

“No,” the Cardassian said sharply. “Open your eyes.”

 

“Elim,” he said, doing so, “I...I'll do this for you, but...I need to feel that you're here with me, not watching me like...like...I don't even know like what. I just know it's uncomfortable.”

 

Expressions shifted beneath the glassy surface of those black eyes too quickly for Julian to read. Not all of them were pleasant, but the one that finally surfaced and remained was. “I'm sorry, my dear,” he said, rubbing his cheek against the inner curve of his knee. “Sometimes I forget myself when I'm with you.”

 

“I don't mind that so much,” he said, reaching his free hand to caress through the black hair. “As long as you don't forget me, too.” Now that he felt they were back on solid ground, he didn't fret over this. In fact he found that he enjoyed it, giving the gift of his pleasure to the man he loved. He saw the intense heat coming back into the black eyes, only this time, there was something there that stayed connected, something he could reach and touch, something he understood.

 

He went from slow, sensual strokes to a less measured rhythm as the pleasure began to run away with him. He tried to stay focused on the intent gaze at his knee level, but eventually, he lost even that control, his head tilting back and his mouth sliding open for harsh, spasmodic intakes of air. He half expected Garak to stop him at the last minute, but he didn't, allowing the doctor to bring himself to completion. As his hand slowed and he managed to lift his head, he saw the tailor rising to brace himself with his hands to the back of the sofa at either side of him. The dark head dipped downward, and his lips and tongue followed in the wake of every last splash. Julian shivered from head to toe, the sensations almost too much for his heightened sensitivity.

 

“Your turn now?” he asked, meeting the black eyes now so close to his own.

 

He could taste himself in the man's mouth when he kissed him, simply nodded his answer and pulled back to stand. “In the bed,” he said, offering Julian a hand up.

 

He gladly accepted the help, his entire body still weak and wobbly but regaining strength. The shaking in the hand was greater than before. He wondered if it was from supporting his weight against the couch for the short amount of time that he had done so. He didn't dare express his concern and ruin the moment. With Garak lying in the bed, he knew that at least to some extent he could control how much or how little he exerted himself. He wasn't going to tax him beyond reason.

 

To his delight, Garak allowed him to strip him. He loved all of the hidden, discreet hooks of the tunic and the way the ridges that delineated the thick musculature of his torso showed clearly through the thin layer of his undershirt. As much as he wanted to nip and bite over those ridges through the fabric, he refrained, knowing the man's chest was still sensitive and prone to random attacks of nerve pain. He carefully lifted and pulled the shirt away, guided him to sit on the edge of the bed, and squatted to pull off his boots and socks. “Have I ever told you I adore your feet?” he asked, smiling up into the shadowed face, the bedroom lights down to a mere five percent of normal.

 

“No,” the tailor said, sounding perplexed. “And I can't imagine why.”

 

It amused Julian and perplexed him, too, the way that Garak could be so confident on so many levels and yet so utterly self-conscious when it came to his body. As he rubbed over the leathery soles, flexing the tailor's thick calves by pushing back on his feet, he wondered if this was a Cardassian trait on the whole or if it was something peculiar to his Cardassian. One day he thought he might ask him, at a more neutral time and setting. “Well, I do,” he said, letting his fingertips dance lightly behind his ankles and trace the indentation between the bone and the Achilles tendon.

 

“You're a very strange man,” Garak said, shaking his head.

 

“That may be. I happen to think I have excellent taste, and I won't allow you to insult it,” he informed him. Reaching up, he deftly unfastened the trousers and began to tug them downward. The heady scent he associated with his lover's acute arousal assaulted his senses, and he felt wetness slicking his fingers from the fabric. He groaned softly and rested a burning cheek against the large, broad scales that lined the top of Garak's thigh, reminding him of nothing so much as pictures he had seen of the belly of a crocodile. “Then again, you have excellent taste, too,” he murmured, working his way upward.

 

As Garak turned and reclined upon the bed, Julian followed him up, straddling his lower legs and treating himself to what he had been wanting ever since they started that night. “Cover your eyes,” he said, glancing up at Garak.

 

“What? Why?” he asked.

 

“Computer,” Julian said, ignoring the questions and smiling when he saw realization hit. Garak quickly took the pillow from beneath his head and pressed it to his face. “Lights at...thirty percent.” He wanted a good view, and he got what he wanted without the discomfort of too much light at once. He traced a fingertip at the inner lining of the ridged slit, drawing it back so that he could see the pink skin usually hidden by the tough gray outer scale. Dipping his face lower, he closed his eyes and gave a slow, experimental lap of his tongue. Garak's inhale stuttered, and he smiled to himself. For all that the Cardassian liked to talk of how sensitive humans were, he had plenty of weaknesses, if one knew where to look.

 

He probed more deeply with his tongue, the slick inner skin one of the few places that gave off almost as much heat as Julian's and the source of the lion's share of the wetness that accompanied male Cardassian arousal. Garak shifted restlessly beneath him, and his nails scraped against Julian's scalp. Determined not to be rushed any more than Garak had been, he nibbled very lightly at the scales until he was rewarded with the barest moan.

 

Reaching up with both hands, he drew him open, exposing more of the base of the almost charcoal dark shaft. He worked his thumbs downward, feeling for the subtle swell of a knot that when massaged just so made the tailor squirm helplessly. His fingers crossed over one another and pinned the slick member flat against the even scalloping of belly scales while he delved. There, he thought in satisfaction as Garak began to twist.

 

If he were further along in his healing, he would have penetrated him member alongside member, something both of them enjoyed intensely and that he suspected was painful for Garak in the same way that much of what the man did to him was painful, mingled too closely with pleasure to want to stop. He flexed and circled his thumbs, finally giving in to his desire to cover him with his mouth, relaxing his throat and taking him fully. Groaning, Garak lifted his hips and dug his heels into the mattress. Julian hummed low, something else he knew drove the man nearly to distraction.

 

As well over two hours passed with no sign of the tailor coming close to release, he started to get the sense that something wasn't quite right. The Cardassian's level of desperation was greater than he usually revealed, and his vocalizations sounded more frustrated than pleased. With his jaw aching, the doctor lifted his head. “Elim,” he said softly, “what is it?”

 

“I...don't know,” Garak panted, the look he shot him wide eyed. “I can't seem to...” he gestured helplessly with shaking hands.

 

“You're not stressed about something, or worried about something?” he asked, sitting back on his heels and rubbing his palms soothingly over the man's thickly muscled thighs.

 

“I wasn't, until I realized that you could do this to me all night, and it wouldn't make a difference,” he said sharply.

 

“Let me think a minute,” he said, as flummoxed as his lover. Of all of their many difficulties through the years they had known one another, sexual dysfunction had never been one of them for either of them. “Oh,” he said, struck by a sudden thought.

 

“Oh?” Garak asked testily. “Care to share before I explode from sheer frustration?”

 

Ducking his head a bit guiltily, he said, “It's probably the pain medication I prescribed for you.” The blue eyes fixed him with such a hard, level look he felt halfway tempted to scramble off the bed before the man could hurt him. He stayed in place only because he didn't want to distress him further. “It's not a common side effect. In fact, I can't even recall if it is a known side effect, but you have to understand that most of the medicines I have available to me aren't of Cardassian manufacture, and aren't even designed with Cardassian physiology in mind.”

 

“So I'm your test subject?” he growled, pushing himself back to sit up.

 

“No! Of course not. I know this medication has been used in the field to treat Cardassians during the war with no ill effect.” He scrubbed a hand back through his damp hair. “Do you think that any one of them would have told us if...well, if something like this had happened to them after taking the pills?”

 

That seemed to mollify him only slightly. “Well,” he said, “what do we do?”

 

“The only thing we can do is to wait for it to pass out of your system. I'll try to find something else to treat you with. I'm really sorry. You know I'd never do something like this to you on purpose,” he said miserably. Garak closed his eyes and nodded tightly, lifting both hands to rub at his eye ridges. “You're not getting a headache, are you?” Julian asked.

 

“No, I'm not getting a headache. I'm just...” he gestured at his full blown erection. “At least tell me it's not going to stay like that until those pills are out of my system. I can't very well go to work like this.”

 

“I don't think it will,” he said. “I think that's just...well, we've been at this a long time tonight, particularly if you count what you did to me on the sofa. Do you want me to leave?”

 

He growled and leaned forward, pulling him down with him in the bed. “If you leave me like this, I'll never forgive you,” he said gruffly. “Get under the covers.”

 

He did so, with Garak holding him back to chest once again. He decided against counseling him against the imprudence of grinding against him. Under similar circumstances, he would probably be tempted to do the same thing. He realized with a sinking feeling that it was going to be a very long unpleasant remainder of the night and that neither of them would be getting any sleep.

Eye of the Needle--Part II

Garak

The Infirmary

Physical Therapy Room

 

It had been two days since the incident, and with a different medication in his system, Garak hadn't experienced the problem again, although he insisted on testing it alone. He didn't want a repeat of the unbearable arousal that kept him awake the entire night and had him rubbing himself raw against Julian's backside to no avail. It didn't matter that Julian had been understanding. It was humiliating. He had a sneaking suspicion that the Bajoran nurse had known somehow what that medication would do to him, even though she wasn't the one to prescribe it. Of course, he had no way to prove it, and no power in the known universe would persuade him to confront her about it.

 

He eyed her with veiled resentment when she joined him in the room, looking at his chart. “Your medication has been changed,” she said, glancing up at him.

 

“By Doctor Bashir,” he said pointedly, daring her with a look to question that.

 

“Yes, I can read,” she said and set the chart aside. “Any unusual pain? Side effects?”

 

“Not with the new medication,” he answered.

 

Nodding, she clapped her hands together. “All right, then, let's get started.”

 

She was as hard on him as she had been the first time. Only his pride prevented him from asking her to spare him, and they weren't even halfway through the session. Every exercise, no matter what part of his chest, arms, or abdomen that it worked, seemed designed specifically to invoke agony and exhaustion. All the while she was there, either before him or beside him, waiting for him to break or beg, possibly waiting for him to quit. You'll be waiting a long time, he thought dourly.

 

When she allowed him to lie back, she said, “I don't think you're giving everything you have, Mr. Garak. Not that what I think matters. You're only hurting yourself if you don't push.”

 

“With all due respect,” he said, “you don't know what you're talking about.”

 

“Don't I?” She shrugged and unfastened his tunic to place the neural stimulator pad. “Most of my patients are in tears by the end of their sessions.”

 

“Perhaps I'm made of sterner stuff,” he said, beginning to relax as soon as she turned on the machine.

 

She laughed. “That's rich. Tell yourself that if you like, but answer me this. If your very life depended on it,” her face loomed into view as she met his gaze, “would you say that what you did today was your true limit? Think about it.” She patted his shoulder and left the room.

 

At first he rejected the question outright. However, the more thought he gave to it, the more he wondered. Was he lying to himself? Could he really put more into the efforts? He was still thinking about it when she returned and released him for the day.

 

Nearly three weeks passed with him going through a variety of medications to treat the pain spasms she had promised him, drinking no kanar, performing his morning and night exercises religiously, and truly wringing himself out during the therapy sessions. At times he did come to tears, and at times he roared his pain, cursed her cruelty, and demanded relief. She alternately berated him and mocked him but never gave him quarter. He came to hate her, at the same time respecting her more deeply than he had ever allowed himself to respect any other Bajoran. She was his equal in cruelty and will, a mirror that reflected his own imperfections a little too perfectly.

 

He thought he'd never see results or improvements until the morning he threaded a needle. He dashed from his shop like a madman with it clutched in his fingers, darting around startled Promenade strollers and security officers alike to the infirmary. “Where is Nurse Decla?” he asked the first orderly he saw.

 

“It's her day off,” the man said.

 

“Garak?” Julian stuck his head around his office door and called down the hallway. “Is something wrong?”

 

“Where does she live?” he asked the doctor.

 

“Habitat Level H-2, chamber 703,” he said, “but I don't think she'd appreciate your barging in on her on her day off. If you need something, I can get it for you.”

 

Garak was already on his way out before Julian finished speaking. He didn't care. He just had to tell her. He didn't think to ask himself why. As the turbolift started upward, he rolled the needle between his finger and thumb. The thread danced and twisted, part of it clinging to the thick material of his pants. When the lift came to a stop, he stepped out briskly without resuming his run. He had no intention of arriving at her door out of breath like an eager child. He eyed each designation and slowed when he drew close, finally stopping and pressing the chime.

 

“Who's there?” her voice came through the comm.

 

“It's Garak,” he replied.

 

Several seconds passed before she answered, sounding much warier. “You'll have to wait a few moments, Mr. Garak. I'm not dressed for company. Are you aware how early it is? Never mind. Just wait.”

 

He did so, only now thinking about what he was doing, what it would look like to her. How many clients for physical therapy did she have? How many of them progressed exactly as she expected them to do so? How could he be sure this progress amounted to much in the larger scheme of things? If she did view him as she would an eager child, he'd have no one to blame but himself. She would be just as likely to use this against him at their next session.

 

She opened the door, eyed him up and down, and silently stepped aside to admit him. He had never seen her out of uniform or with her hair down. She almost looked like an entirely different person, and unlike most Bajorans he had seen, she knew how to dress. He stepped inside and turned to face her as the door closed, holding up the threaded needle. He intended an offhanded quip, but for some reason his voice failed him.

 

She curved a faint smile and tilted her head. “As I've told you before, hard work pays off. Did you doubt me?”

 

“I doubted...myself,” he admitted, dropping his hand back to his side. He suddenly felt foolish. Surely he could have waited until the next therapy session for this? He had nothing left to tell her.

 

“I didn't,” she said, the smile widening but remaining closed lipped. Turning toward her replicator, she stepped toward it. “What sort of tea would you like? Red leaf?”

 

“How did you...” he started to ask, suspicion instantly raised. Had she been spying on him in some way?

 

“It's popular with Cardassians,” she said over her shoulder, ordering two of them and turning to hand him one. “It was that, fish juice, or rokassa juice, and I have no intention of stinking up my quarters with either of the latter.”

 

“Thank you,” he said, inclining his head and accepting the mug. She returned the gesture, and he found that perhaps they had something to discuss after all. As he glanced around her Spartan quarters, he formulated how he wanted to ask about a suspicion that had been growing for some time. “You seem...very familiar with Cardassians.”

 

She lifted her mug and regarded him over the rim. “Mr. Garak, you could probably say that to almost any Bajoran over the age of twelve.” She took a careful sip of the hot tea, her eyes never leaving his.

 

“Perhaps,” he conceded, “but with you, there's more to it than that.”

 

“Really?” she rolled a bare shoulder in a shrug, the draped red sleeve of her gown split to reveal most of her upper arm.

 

“Yes, really,” he replied, amused that even now when they weren't engaged in a session, she seemed determined to make things difficult for him. She waited him out with patience he thought worthy of an inquisitor. “Your mannerisms and gestures, the way that you handle me during our sessions. You sometimes remind me of a Cardassian altogether.”

 

“I considered you rather more civil than that, coming to my quarters uninvited to insult me,” she said. The humor in her eyes belied the words.

 

“It's no insult from my point of view,” he said lightly, speaking to that look.

 

“No, you Cardassians think much of yourselves, you even more than most from what I've seen.” She took another sip of her tea and set it aside, trailing her hand down the tabletop as she walked toward her sofa and took a seat. The light material of her gown flared and settled about her gracefully. She gestured to the chair opposite her.

 

He circled around and sat, making himself comfortable. “Shall I assume you intend to indulge my curiosity?” he asked. He tucked the needle into the hem of his tunic, careful to position it so that he wouldn't prick himself with it accidentally.

 

“Assumptions are dangerous,” she responded with another of her careful smiles. “Still, you had the audacity to seek me out on my day off at a wholly barbaric time of day. I'm willing to entertain at least some of your questions.”

 

“How did you gain such familiarity?” he asked.

 

“You go straight for the jugular, don't you?” she said. “I'm impressed. I don't doubt that you're at least entertaining the possibility that I was a comfort woman. I can see it in your eyes, and yet you asked that anyway without even blinking.

 

“It wasn't quite like that, though. I had a Cardassian lover. I was probably close to our doctor's age, and he was close to yours. You remind me of him in some ways, too stiff necked by half and full of defenses. I met him when I was a field medic. He became our prisoner for some time. We kept the affair quiet for reasons I am certain you can understand.”

 

He nodded and sipped the tea. “You must have been close. How long were you together?”

 

“Long enough,” she said vaguely. “I married a few years after that.” Her gaze grew distant, as though she was no longer seeing him, but someone else, or some-when. “Not him, of course.”

 

“Of course,” he said. Cardassians didn't marry outside their species, and her lover almost certainly had a wife and children at home, particularly if he were close to Garak's age at the time. “Did he die or leave?”

 

“He left. I helped him to escape and made it look as though I had an unfortunate accident with an overloaded phaser. I could tell that he was chafing under the confinement. I even knew that if he made it back to his comrades, he could be the end of all of us.” She snorted softly. “I was so in love I didn't care. I suppose I was lucky that he was in love, too. No one ever came for us in the night after he left.”

 

“You were fortunate,” he agreed.

 

“I've indulged your questions. Will you indulge some of mine?” she asked archly.

 

“Ask,” he said with a gesture.

 

“Oh, you conceded far too easily to that. You're just going to lie,” she said, curving a full smile.

 

“Not with you smiling at me like that,” he said. He tried to imagine her Julian's age and simply couldn't. She was too self-possessed and too polished. He may have been too hasty in coming to engage her in her lair.

 

That earned him a low laugh. “You really are too much. Is our doctor fortunate?”

 

The question took him off guard. “And you accused me of going for the jugular?” he asked, laughing.

 

“I learned a thing or two from my Gul,” she said smoothly. “Well, is he?”

 

“I'm not sure exactly what you mean by the question.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, you are. Are you really going to make me spell it out for you? Don't you consider that a little gauche?”

 

“I care for him,” he said, rolling his mug slowly back and forth between his palms. “I don't think that I would call that fortunate from any perspective. He disagrees, of course.”

 

“Did you really come all this way to show me a threaded needle?” she asked, leaning back and crossing her legs.

 

“I'm not sure,” he said, shaking his head. “I am sure I should be going, though.” He stood and offered her the mug. “Your hospitality and candor were most appreciated.”

 

She stood and took it from him. “I'm amazed,” she said, “a Cardassian with a sense of loyalty to his partner. I thought that having one on the side was a cultural requirement of your males, or is he your one on the side?”

 

“I'm not married,” he said without elaborating. “I'll see you tomorrow then?”

 

“You will,” she said. “Don't think I'm going to go easier on you because of our conversation.”

 

“As long as you don't go harder on me because I didn't accept your offer.”

 

She laughed at him as she guided him out the door. “You haven't yet accepted the offer, Mr. Garak. I'm a patient woman. I'll leave that door open for a little while, at least.”

 

He puffed his cheeks with his exhale after the door shut behind him. That conversation was anything but expected. He could no longer cling to the illusion that he hated her, and as he walked and reflected, he realized that on some level he had known he found her alluring from the start. He and Julian had never discussed anything like this. He had, perhaps shortsightedly, assumed he would have no reason for such a discussion to come up as the lone Cardassian on a Bajoran space station. Julian's attraction was never expected, and since then there had been no one else who showed the remotest interest. Was fidelity by default of any value whatsoever?

 

Stepping into the turbo lift, he realized something else. He did miss being with a woman. He had never had a strong preference for either sex, appreciating both for their varied appeals. Just as he reminded her of her long lost Gul, she reminded him in some ways of Palandine, with her fearlessness and self-possession, in the ways she challenged him, and in the way she boldly made her interest known without being, as she had said, gauche. He couldn't use the excuse that it wouldn't be professional, given that he was involved with his own doctor. Did he want to discuss this with Julian? He still hadn't decided that by lunchtime when the two of them were scheduled to meet in the Replimat.

 

“You're extremely distracted,” the doctor accused. “You've been acting strange all morning. I hope you didn't harass that poor woman in her quarters. She's very private.”

 

“Harass her?” Garak barked a laugh. “Do you think I could do anything to your nurse that she didn't want? She didn't have to let me in.”

 

“What did you want with her?”

 

“Aren't you always invoking doctor patient privilege when I question you about any number of people?” he asked.

 

“Technically, you're still my patient,” Julian said.

 

“Ah, but you are not in charge of my physical therapy,” he said, giving him a smile meant to end that line of questioning.

 

“Fine. We'll talk about something else, then. You must be very excited.”

 

“About what?” he asked cautiously.

 

The man smiled and shook his head. “Pretend you don't know if you like. I know better. About the Cardassian scientists who are coming to the station to help set up a subspace communications relay in the Gamma Quadrant.”

 

“Mm, yes,” he said without enthusiasm. It was news to him. “I can think of nothing more delightful than spending an evening listening to a scientist drone on and on about her work.”

 

Julian laughed. “I can't believe you,” he said. “You'll have the chance to socialize with some of your own people who aren't hear for political purposes. I would think you would jump at the chance.”

 

“Doctor, you apparently have some very odd notions about Cardassian social interactions,” he said. “First of all, you ought to know well enough by now that when it comes to my people, everything is political. Secondly,” he paused for emphasis, “my people's scientists aren't known for scintillating social skills. I think I'll pass.”

 

“Well, I for one intend to get to know them,” he said, smiling. “It's exciting to see the treaty in action.” A shadow passed across the surface of his expressive eyes, his smile losing some of its enthusiasm.

 

Garak reached across the table and squeezed his hand in a rare public display. “What happened isn't your fault.” He knew it preyed on the young man. He often saw it in his unguarded moments, as he saw it now. Losing Bareil took something away from Julian that he hadn't recovered.

 

“I know,” he said, waving it away and digging into his food.

 

Do you? Garak wondered. He decided he would keep his thoughts about the disturbing Nurse Decla to himself, at least for the time being. To his knowledge, neither he nor she would be going anywhere any time soon, nor did he wish to rush into anything. With Julian still hurting from losing his patient and his added worry about Garak's health, it wasn't a good time to give him yet another blow to his sense of security. He smiled his most disarming smile and changed the subject to lighter matters of little consequence. He could be accommodating when he wanted to be.

Eye of the Needle--Part III, Conclusion

Julian

Quark's Bar

 

Although he rarely put Garak off when the tailor wished to have dinner with him or otherwise engage him for the evening, he couldn't help himself. He was far too curious about the newly arrived Cardassian scientists and what they were like. He nabbed Miles shortly after his meeting with them in order to get a run down.

 

“They're all right,” the Chief said diffidently as he signaled for Quark to bring them their drinks.

 

“That's not at all vague,” the doctor said playfully.

 

Miles shot him a mildly irritated side glance. “They're about what you'd expect.”

 

“Humor me,” he pressed. “I don't really know what to expect.”

 

“You're in a relationship with one, aren't you?” he asked, turning once he had his ale and putting his back to the bar.

 

Julian lifted his ale and turned, too, suppressing his annoyance. “I'm in a relationship with one Cardassian male, who may or may not be fairly typical of his species. He's not a scientist, and he seems to think that they would be irritating company.”

 

“One of the first honest things that's come from him,” the engineer snorted. At Julian's look, he continued. “Don't go gettin' your back up. I'm not sayin' anything you don't already know. Ulani's all right, I suppose. She heads the team, but that Gilora and Dejar are somethin' else. If I were Garak, I'd be avoidin' 'em, too. Can't say I'm lookin' forward to tomorrow.”

 

“Why? What happens tomorrow?”

 

“Gilora and I have to work things from this end while the others hop through the wormhole on the Defiant and get things situated there,” he said, swigging his ale grimly.

 

“It can't be that bad,” Julian said with a laugh.

 

Miles just eyed him and shook his head. “Much as I'd like to sit here half the night and just forget what I've got to do, I'd better call it an early night. I'm goin' t' need all my ducks in a row to get through tomorrow without takin' off that woman's head or losing my own.”

 

Julian nodded and watched him get underway. Maybe contentiousness was a race trait after all. He doubted that he'd get an honest answer about that from Garak. For all that he had come to know the man at least somewhat during their association, the tailor was famously tight lipped when it came to information about his people. He dropped tantalizing hints here and there, hints that raised more questions than they answered. He wondered how Garak would take it if he arranged to have dinner with one or more of the women just to satisfy his own curiosity. He had never displayed much in the way of jealousy, if he discounted his expression when he walked in on him and Kira that time in the infirmary. However, that could just as easily have been about the oddness of the circumstances or the fact that at the time Kira was someone who hated Garak as it was about Julian's being with someone else. Anyway, they had been broken up at the time.

 

He decided that he was going to go find Garak and bring it up when the Cardassian saved him the trouble by walking into the bar. Before he could go greet him, someone else sidled out of the shadows to approach the tailor. At first he didn't recognize the attractive, mature blond, and then it hit him. Nurse Decla? Never having seen her outside of work, he was fascinated. Had the two arranged to meet? Surely not, because Garak had invited him for dinner, and their dinner dates almost never ended until the next morning. Besides, the tailor had seemed just as surprised to see her as Julian was.

 

He resisted the urge to reveal his presence. The two seemed to be exchanging pleasantries, both looking quite relaxed. He supposed that he should be glad that the nurse was willing to speak to Garak outside of the infirmary setting. So few people ever truly sought his lover out for socializing and conversation. Most of his encounters were secondary results of invitations for Julian. The Cardassian said something, and the woman tipped her head back and laughed a full throated laugh.

 

Whether he ought to be glad or not, he wasn't any longer. Garak may not have been flirting with the woman, but she was flirting with him. He slid from his stool and stopped in his tracks. A Cardassian woman, almost certainly one of the three scientists, approached the duo. She said something that had the Bajoran nurse's expression shifting toward the frosty end of the spectrum. Garak looked mildly apologetic. The nurse excused herself, and Garak allowed the scientist to lead him toward an empty table.

 

He couldn't bring himself to interfere with that encounter. Instead, he decided to intercept his nurse. He didn't think about whether this was a good or bad idea. He was acting on an instinct that wasn't completely within his conscious awareness. “Nurse Decla,” he called to catch her attention before she could become involved with the dabo game she had paused to watch.

 

She craned her neck to see who had called to her and curved a smile. When he was close enough for her to address without shouting, she said, “Good evening, Doctor.”

 

“Hello,” he said, moving to stand at her side. “I don't believe I've ever seen you here before. Come here often?”

 

“From time to time,” she said casually. “I don't often enjoy crowds. Now and then, it's fun. Do you?”

 

“Some,” he said. “Sometimes Garak gets in a gregarious mood, or I meet friends here after work.”

 

“I just saw him,” she said, gesturing vaguely back toward the door. “Then that dreadful woman came over. Quite rude. I got the impression that she knows him, although he didn't seem to recognize her.”

 

That intrigued him, but it wasn't enough to put him off of what he intended to say. “Yes,” he said, “I saw you with him.”

 

“You should have come over,” she said, glancing away from him as someone yelled dabo.

 

“You didn't look as though you'd welcome the interruption,” he said, not liking the peevish tone in his own voice and not quite able to control it.

 

She blinked at him, taken aback. “Why ever not?” she asked.

 

“You tell me,” he said, meeting her gaze with a level look.

 

She laughed. “I'm sure I don't know.”

 

As she continued to blink at him, he started to wonder if he had been imagining things. After all, he saw them from a distance, and he hadn't heard anything of what was said. Garak could be very amusing and entertaining. “I'm sorry,” he said, lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “I suppose I'm just not used to seeing Bajorans willingly associating with him.”

 

“I'm sure you're not,” she agreed. “In fact, I'm sure that you're very used to having most of his company to yourself.”

 

It was his turn to blink in surprise. What was she getting at? “Actually, he likes to spend a good deal of time alone. He likes his privacy.”

 

“Mm,” she said, no longer looking at him, instead watching the dabo game in progress.

 

“If you have something to say, by all means say it,” he said, irritated all over again. “This is a purely social setting. I assure you I can keep it separate from work.”

 

“I wasn't worried about that,” she assured him.

 

“Then what?”

 

“How much of his reticence do you believe is a product of a private, introverted nature, and how much of it is a product of his surroundings? If you lived somewhere that you knew you would be reviled and whispered about at every turn, how introverted might you become?” she asked, still watching the dabo wheel.

 

“I make certain he gets included when he wants to be,” he said a bit defensively.

 

She made a scoffing sound. “As an overzealous parent might a socially awkward child?” When she looked at him again, it was with the same, intense focus he had come to expect from his lover when making an important point. “Don't you think he knows how much of his socializing is at your behest and by your graces? Come, Doctor. He's an intelligent man. Give him some credit.”

 

Dismayed, he asked, “Has he said something to you about all of this?”

 

“Of course not,” she said. “I, however, am intelligent, too.”

 

He didn't know what to say to that or what point she was trying to make. As he looked into the wide-set green eyes, he realized he didn't know this woman at all except on the most superficial of levels. “If you want to associate with Garak outside of work,” he found himself saying, “I have no intention of standing in the way, if that's what you're getting at. I want him to have friends of his own.”

 

“Yes, I'm sure you do,” she said, her lips curving into a smile that wasn't entirely pleasant. “It makes it easier to associate with your own friends without having to feel guilty about him off in his room alone waiting for you.”

 

He opened his mouth and shut it again, biting back the first thing that came to mind. He didn't want to get in an argument in the middle of Quark's with enough people around who knew him to spread gossip about it later. “I don't care for that insinuation, Nurse,” he said coolly.

 

“Please,” she said, “just Decla. We're not working right now, are we, Bashir? What insinuation? I believe that I spoke quite clearly.”

 

“You're making it sound like...like I'm treating him like some sort of kept man,” he said, “when nothing could be further from the truth.”

 

She tilted her head. “I said no such thing, not even close. Are you sure it's not your own conscience coloring how you're viewing this conversation? You're the one who came over here, puffed like a hara cat, implying that I would be possessive of the man's company for reasons I can hardly fathom. I had spoken to him for less than five minutes. What could either of us have possibly said or done to account for your reaction?”

 

To his chagrin, he felt his face coloring. How had she so thoroughly managed to turn this around on him? “You're mistaken,” he said.

 

“Am I?” She let the question hang between them, giving no quarter.

 

He let out a small huff of air. Garak was right. He was a terrible liar. “All right,” he conceded. “I...overreacted to seeing the two of you together. It was difficult for me to turn over his therapy to someone else. I suppose in some ways I envy what you're able to do for him, when I'd like to be the one doing it.”

 

“You love him very much,” she said.

 

He nodded. It still felt strange saying it aloud to others, particularly people he barely knew. “Probably more than I should,” he confessed.

 

“What an odd thing to say,” she said, tilting her head curiously.

 

The blush that had started to fade returned. “I suppose. It's just that he...well, it's complicated, and I'm sure it's nothing you want to hear.”

 

“If you want to tell me, I want to hear it,” she said, her tone and look growing more gentle.

 

Maybe he had misjudged her. Her concern had a matronly air to it, and he could detect no hint of condescension. “He's always telling me that he doesn't feel the same way, that he can't. I believe him, but it doesn't change how I feel.”

 

“I see,” she said, touching his arm lightly. “That must be difficult to hear.”

 

He nodded again, surprised to find her so understanding. He felt silly for having antagonized her in such a way over nothing more than a laugh. “I didn't mean to dump my issues in your lap. You must think I'm horrid.”

 

“No,” she said. “You're just young, and you're involved with a man almost twice your age. That has to be confusing and intimidating, trying to measure up to that level of experience. When you add the extra complication of an interspecies relationship, well, I'm amazed that you even decided to give it a go in the first place. That's very brave of you and admirable given what the association could do to your career. Not many would take such risks.”

 

“Yes,” he said, suddenly uncomfortable having some of his deepest insecurities about the relationship laid bare so quickly and easily by this woman who barely knew him. Yet again, he wondered if Garak had said more to her than she was telling him, or if he truly was that easy to read. No wonder Garak might have been looking for outside company. No wonder Nurse Decla seemed like an attractive choice. Could that be why he visited her earlier and why he was so reluctant to discuss it with Julian when he asked? Did he not want him feeling bad about his isolation? Or did he just want something to himself for a change? “I meant what I said,” he managed. “I won't mind if you associate with him outside of work. In fact, I'm sure he'd enjoy it.”

 

“Really?” she asked. “Why do you say that?”

 

“You're a facile conversationalist. He loves a good conversation.” He hazarded a glance over to the last place he had seen Garak and the Cardassian scientist, only to find both of them gone. “If you'll excuse me, I believe I've had my fill of Quark's for the night. I'm going back to my quarters.”

 

“All right,” she said, turning her attention back to the dabo table. “I'll see you at work, then.”

 

“Yes,” he said, “you will.” As he all but fled the bar, he inwardly cursed himself. That couldn't have gone any worse had he grabbed her by the arm and slapped her. The worst part of it was that she made some very salient points. He had a good deal to think about.

 

Garak

Quark's Bar

 

Irritated with how abruptly the Cardassian scientist dismissed Nurse Decla, Garak nonetheless followed the woman to a table and took a seat with her. He was too curious about what she wanted to dismiss her, although he wasn't prepared to discount the option outright should she remain churlish. She claimed the seat with the best view of the door, forcing him to take a less advantageous option. Frowning, he said, “I trust you have a good reason for interrupting my evening?”

 

“Getting familiar with the local fauna?” the woman asked, smirking.

 

“Such an unenlightened attitude,” he chided her, waving away the Ferengi waiter who came by to take their order, “given the new treaty.”

 

Her eyes glittered with contempt. “That's right,” she said. “You had something of a hand in that, from what I hear. Oh, not with the negotiation itself, of course, but quite the public display afterward.”

 

“I didn't catch your name,” Garak said.

 

“I didn't offer it,” she responded, flicking a small piece of lint from her sleeve. “You may call me Dejar. You're Garak.”

 

“I see my prowess with a needle and thread precede me,” he said dryly.

 

“Don't flatter yourself. Your disgrace has become a thing of legend among Probes all over Cardassia, one of the very few living examples of what happens to those who cross Enabran Tain and the powers that be. Better off dead, many say. I have to agree with them if you're going native to the point of flirting with them in a dive like this and attending quaint religious ceremonies that are bad for your health.”

 

“My health is excellent, as you can see,” he said, unruffled.

 

“You're amazingly composed. You must know by now what I am,” she said casually.

 

“Indeed,” he agreed. “If you intended me harm, you'd have already attempted it, not announced your presence to me like an attendee of the latest formal ball. How is Tain by the way?”

 

“I wouldn't know,” she snorted. “He's in retirement, as I'm sure you're aware. No one hears much of him these days. You, on the other hand, caused a stir.”

 

“And you're here to correct my oversight?” he asked.

 

She pursed her lips slightly. “Don't get in my way. I haven't been given specific instructions regarding you one way or the other, which to my mind gives me some leeway.”

 

“Creativity can be a dangerous skill,” he said lightly. “You do realize that had you said nothing to me, it's likely I'd have had no idea of your association and no reason to suspect you of anything?”

 

“You may be in disgrace. That doesn't change who, or what, you are,” she said. “I believe in being thorough. On one hand, consider this a professional courtesy, and on the other morbid curiosity. I wanted to see what a de-fanged hound looks like up close.” She stood then, glancing at him down her nose. “Frankly, I'm not impressed.”

 

He gave her a mocking smile and an incline of his head, blue eyes hard. So, the young pup wished to play, did she? He stood from his seat and left the bar at a leisurely stroll after he was sure she was gone. No one had contacted him, directly or indirectly, after the funeral. He believed that had his actions proved antithetical to the will of the Cardassian Union, something worse than his inept abduction would have occurred. It was no secret to him that in many ways, the various heads that composed the state were rarely in full agreement. The trick was in backing the one with the most influence at any given time. So, he was no longer considered an active agent? Then what he intended to do wasn't prohibited. Cardassian citizens were encouraged to support the wise decisions of the state.

 

With his lips curled in an unconscious expression of mild contempt, he let himself into his shop and retreated to the back for a little research. It was ridiculously easy to pull up files on both Ulani Belor and Gilora Rejal. Now, which would be the better to approach? He scanned their records, weighing one against the other, and eventually came to a decision. He sent a small, simple message via the internal comm and retired to his quarters for the night. It was too late of an hour for anything else that evening.

 

The next morning, at 0700 hours, his door chimed. “Enter,” he said pleasantly. Fully dressed, he sat relaxed at his table with a mug of rokassa juice and a PADD before him.

 

A tall, rather attractive Cardassian woman stepped into his room, eying him with caution and curiosity in equal measure. “I received your message, obviously,” she said. “What was so urgent that we had to meet privately in your quarters? Garak, is it?”

 

“Yes, Garak,” he said pleasantly. “May I get you anything? Have you eaten?”

 

“I'm fine,” she said. “I should be getting to work soon. I hope you'll make this brief.”

 

“Your record is exemplary,” he said, “top third of your class at the Institute, several commendations for your papers on communication relays, the effects of subspace anomalies on wave variances, and never even a whiff of scandal, and yet you were very outspoken in your early years in support of historical research regarding Hebitian ruins and beliefs, as well as evidence of cross species contact in the early days of Cardassia Prime. You considered being a historian, did you not?”

 

She folded her arms defensively. “Who are you?” she asked. “I thought it was bad enough that the military was sending us a supervisor to keep us on a short leash. This is offensive.”

 

“The military?” he asked pointedly.

 

“The Obsidian Order,” she said. “Not that I need to tell you that. You reek of their methodologies. So what is it your superiors want of me?”

 

He shook his head slightly as though that were of no consequence. “It's remarkable, isn't it, Bajorans and Cardassians cooperating on an important project? It's almost as though the voice of history is whispering to us from eons ago.” She remained silent, no longer looking quite so certain of him. “How often is it that history is given a voice, I wonder? How many of our people have the ability to listen?”

 

“Our government is listening,” she said softly but fervently. “Regardless of what others say or think of us, I don't believe that this treaty was entered into lightly.”

 

“Nor do I,” he said, holding her gaze with his.

 

“You're...warning me of something,” she said very slowly, as though she hardly dared to believe it.

 

“I knew your record spoke of itself,” he said, smiling.

 

“I could land myself in more than a little trouble if I interfere with the Order,” she said.

 

“There is a treaty,” he reminded her. “Regardless of who wants what, at least for the time being, overt actions will be in support of that. You have a promising, public career. I would advise that you continue to be as extroverted and outspoken as you are, in the name of good science, of course.”

 

“Who are you really, Garak?” she asked, unfolding her arms and letting them drop back to her sides.

 

“I'm just a plain, simple tailor,” he replied with a bright smile. “And I rather like this new spirit of cooperation between the two governments. Don't you?”

 

Julian

Garak's Quarters

 

“Can you believe it?” the doctor asked Garak excitedly, pacing before the seated man on the sofa. “Who would have thought that a Cardassian civilian would have the bravery to speak up and expose an Obsidian Order agent's scheme to sabotage the project? Miles was very impressed, and so am I. It's looking as though this treaty truly does have the support of the Cardassian people.”

 

Garak smiled mildly. “So it seems,” he said. “Who would have thought that a scientist would be overtly political?”

 

Quirking his lips, Julian knelt in front of Garak and took his hands in his, lifting them to kiss the knuckles. “You said everything is political when it comes to your people, my love.”

 

“Did I?” Garak tilted his head. “Hmm. You're quite sure I was sober when I said this?”

 

“Garak! You haven't had a drop of kanar in weeks. Yes, I'm quite sure, and you weren't out of your head on pain medication, either.” He rubbed his thumbs over the backs of the man's hands. “Speaking of that, I...wanted to ask you something.”

 

“I thought we settled that matter, dear,” he said, reversing the hold and brushing one of Julian's knuckles with his lips. “Of course, if you're asking for a repeat demonstration, I'm sure I can accommodate.”

 

The doctor grinned and squeezed his hands. “Later. That's not what I was talking about.” His grin faded. “I had an interesting conversation with Nurse Decla the other night at Quark's.”

 

“Did you?” the tailor asked, nothing more than curiosity to be seen in his gaze. “About my physical therapy? My medication? I haven't been having any problems with it. As you can see, I've made quite a bit of progress over the past month.”

 

“Yes,” he said, “and I'm proud of you for it. I also appreciate what she has done for you. Turning over your treatment to her was the right decision. She has been much harder on you than I could ever bring myself to be.” He took a deep breath. “She's...very attractive, isn't she?”

 

“She is,” Garak agreed.

 

He almost balked at hearing that, but he pressed on, determined not to be selfish. “She's also very interesting. She has a quick wit. She seems to like you.”

 

“Yes,” the tailor agreed again.

 

“Do you like her?” he asked, dropping his gaze but forcing himself to lift it again almost immediately.

 

“I do,” he replied without elaborating.

 

Damn it, Julian thought in exasperation. He should have known that the tailor wouldn't make such a discussion easy on him. “It occurred to me that you don't get out much, at least not unless I invite you to various gatherings and functions to which I've been invited.”

 

“True,” Garak said, nodding.

 

“Is...is that by choice?” he asked.

 

“I'm not entirely sure what you mean,” the man said. “It's my choice whether I attend these functions with you or not. We've been together long enough by now that you should know I rarely allow you to pressure me into anything I'd find onerous.”

 

“No, that's not what I mean. I mean...would you be more social, given the chance?”

 

Garak eyed him oddly. “You said you had a conversation with Nurse Decla?” he prompted.

 

“Yes. She...she seems to think you'd be more social if you had the opportunity. Is that true?”

 

“I suppose it is,” he said casually. “I haven't given it much thought.”

 

“Do you want to be more social with her?” He winced at the thin note in his voice at the question.

 

“Are you sure you want to talk about this?” Garak asked.

 

“I'm sure we need to. I've assumed, rather arrogantly, that I would have you all to myself, and I'm not entirely proud to say that I've behaved with something of a sense of entitlement when it comes to your company. You've been very patient and accommodating with me when it comes to spending time with Miles or Dax, and...and you've never said anything to me about what happened with Major Kira.”

 

“You were under the influence of outside telepathic influence,” the Cardassian said reasonably. “It would be very unreasonable of me to take you to task for that. Besides, I had broken things off with you at that point. If you wanted to sleep your way through Quark's entire stable of dabo girls and every co-worker you have, I wouldn't have had the right to say a thing about it.”

 

He frowned, listening carefully to how that was phrased. “What about now?” he asked.

 

“Are you trying to tell me you're involved with Major Kira?” Garak asked, irritation flashing in his eyes.

 

“No! Of course not. I wouldn't sneak behind your back like that,” he said. “I suppose, in my own clumsy way, I'm trying to ask you what rights you do think we have with one another. Are we...exclusive?”

 

“I suppose I should be the one asking you that,” Garak said. “This is about Nurse Decla, is it not?”

 

Julian nodded, feeling more miserable by the minute. “You've said to me so many times that you don't feel the way I do. All along, I've said I accept that, and I do,” he added quickly. “It just never occurred to me that included in that...disparity of feeling...there might also come a time when the question of...sharing you might arise. It would hardly be fair of me to expect you to behave as though we're bonded to one another in some way or to ask you for fidelity that you don't feel. As much as I enjoy all of the time we spend together, I'm not so naïve as to believe that I'm the only company you need.”

 

“My dear boy,” Garak murmured, cupping his cheek gently with a hand. “Every time I think I've charted the course of where your emotions lead, you surprise me.”

 

He leaned into that touch, part of him ashamed that he was so eager to accept the barest crumbs of affection the older man deigned to offer. How could he deny that at least for him, approval was a powerful aphrodisiac? “Do you want her?” he asked, only by willpower alone preventing his voice from trembling in the question.

 

“I can't deny that I've considered it,” Garak said, stroking a thumb lightly over his cheek. “I haven't acted on it.”

 

Although he had no reason to believe the latter to be true, he decided to accept it, simply because it was easier on him. “I...don't want to stand in the way of that,” he said softly, closing his eyes. He didn't know if he could bear seeing relief or eagerness in Garak's in that moment. “All I ask is that if you do decide to act on that attraction, you don't let me know about it, but...if you develop feelings for her...well, if it's something you want more than this, you'll tell me. I think I can handle the thought that you might be indulging curiosity and appetite as long as it's not thrown in my face, but I don't want to be the third side of a true triangle. I just...I don't think I could take it.”

 

Garak continued that gentle stroking of his cheek. “What did she say to you, my dear?” he asked very softly. “Please, be as exact as you can.”

 

“O...OK,” he said, a bit taken aback. Despite his perfect recall, he fuzzed a few of the details, much the way that any average human might. He didn't understand why it seemed so important to the tailor, but he saw no reason not to answer. As he continued, he saw the man's expression harden, a decidedly unpleasant gleam coming into the brilliant blue eyes. “I...I'm sorry,” he said, faltering. “I know I had no right to discuss you like that. I shouldn't have even approached her.”

 

The man's brow ridges dipped downward and he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Julian's forehead. “You have nothing to apologize for, understand?”

 

“Not entirely,” he admitted.

 

“She was right about one thing,” he said with a sigh. “You are young. There's no flaw in that and no shame. I know that I play fast and loose with what you like to call the truth,” he said, “but I want you to believe me when I tell you that you have nothing to worry about in regard to this woman. I won't be visiting her bed or taking advantage of social opportunities. In fact, I believe that I'm far enough along in my physical therapy that I would like for you to resume it, if,” he paused, regarding him intently, “you promise to push me.”

 

Relief flooded him so strongly, he felt momentarily weak. He leaned forward, hugging both of Garak's calves and resting his cheek against a thigh. “I'm afraid I really don't understand now,” he said.

 

“You understand everything that's important,” Garak replied, caressing his hair lightly. “Are you still interested in testing to see if I've had a medication relapse?”

 

“Such things are important,” he said, an impish smile teasing his lips upward. “I'd be remiss as your doctor not to make certain.”

 

Garak

Habitat Level H-2

Chamber 703

 

Garak watched the gracefully clad Bajoran nurse retreat from admitting him to her quarters with a sway to her hips and a subdued smile at him over her shoulder. “I wasn't expecting to see you tonight,” she said. “After Doctor Bashir told me he'd be taking your case back, I didn't know what to think. Were you worried that having me as your physical therapist would make things awkward? It wouldn't have for me, but I know how you Cardassian males are.”

 

“Your knowledge of males in general seems extensive,” Garak replied.

 

She gave a soft laugh and turned back to face him before taking a seat on her sofa. “Are you trying to insult me?” she asked.

 

“No, merely making an observation. You played our doctor quite well the other night at Quark's from what I hear.”

 

She sat up a bit straighter and pushed a lock of hair over her shoulder. “I'm not sure what you mean by played. I merely told him things I felt he needed to hear. Was I mistaken about you in anything that I said?”

 

“No,” he said, moving to stand behind the chair opposite her. “You painted quite the vivid and accurate picture of my condition on this station. You also managed to pin a good number of the doctor's insecurities in the process. I'd congratulate you, except that the young are such easy targets. Rather like plucking eels from a barrel.”

 

“You can't honestly tell me that he meets your needs,” she scoffed. “You're right. It was all too easy to line him up and knock him down. If you ask me, he deserved it, the way he takes you for granted. Before his little infatuation, I hear he was quite the skirt chaser. Do you really think those days are over?”

 

Garak smiled coldly. “You're not as good as you think you are. My insecurities aren't quite that easy to find. I didn't come here to quibble with you about what the dear doctor does or doesn't provide for me. I came here to warn you.”

 

“Warn me?” her eyes narrowed. “You had better watch yourself. You may have earned a few points with the Provisional Government with your grand gesture at the funeral, but it won't mean a thing if you go around threatening Bajoran citizens on this station, particularly ones as well connected as I am.”

 

“Who said anything about threats?” he asked innocently. “No, my dear, I'm not here to threaten you. There's a difference. Pay attention. I may not be head over heels in love as only the young can truly be, but I feel a good deal of affection for Doctor Bashir, and I tend to take it very personally when he gets his feelings hurt. You were with a Gul. You know just how personally we Cardassians can take things,” he said, pausing to let that sink in. “You also know that we almost never threaten.” He gave the last word special emphasis.

 

She scowled. “I think it's time you left now,” she said acidly, all traces of seduction gone from her husky voice.

 

“I couldn't agree more,” he said, moving to comply. “I'm so glad to have had this little heart to heart.” He paused at the door. “It's just a shame that you couldn't keep things strictly between you and me. It could have been...interesting.” He left her to ponder that, feeling only slight regret that things didn't work out differently. Truth told, she really was a little too aggressive for his taste and more like Palandine than he had originally realized. Going backward had never really been his style.

 

The End