Interspecies Romance: the Remedial Course, Part III--Conclusion

[dark_sinestra]

“Wouldn't have it any other way,” he said with exaggerated emphasis. His head was spinning. On some level, he knew that allowing her to share his company in this state wasn't the smartest thing he had ever done. He had no idea what he might say.

 

“I get the feeling you don't like me very much, and I don't understand why. If I've done something, I want to know about it. I can't make it right if I don't know what it is.” Her shadowed eyes looked nearly black in the low light, the black of midnight in an earth sky, clear and earnest.

 

“You haven't done anything,” he said. How could he explain or justify that seeing her bothered him because of how readily Garak accepted her? He knew there was nothing romantic between them; however, there was an undeniable bond. He was jealous, and it was embarrassing.

 

“Then what is it? Is it because of my father? Did he do something to you?” She shifted in her seat and glanced down at her hands on the table.

 

“No, it's not your father. I won't...lie...and say I like him particularly. I wouldn't judge you based on him, though.” He signaled a waiter, stalling for time. “Do you want something to drink?” he asked her.

 

“Spring wine would be nice,” she said.

 

“Have you ever tried scotch?” he asked.

 

She blinked in surprise. “No.”

 

When the waiter arrived, he said, “Bring us a bottle of scotch and two glasses.”

 

“I don't think...” Ziyal began.

 

He interrupted her. “If you really want to hear this, I'm going to need to be a little drunker than I am now, and drinking alone is pathetic.”

 

She closed her mouth and nodded discreetly at the waiter. “All right,” she said. “I'll try it. If it makes me sick, you're going to have to be the one to do something about it.”

 

“You're in good hands. I'm an excellent doctor,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest. They waited in awkward silence for the bottle, and he poured her a little over half a glass before pouring one for himself. He lifted the lowball and clacked it against hers. “Cheers.” He downed it in one burning swallow and gave her an expectant look.

 

She lifted hers and jerked her head back, her eyes tearing up at the corners. “It's really strong!” she said.

 

“That's just the fumes. Get it past your nose, and try not to inhale. It goes down a lot smoother than that,” he said.

 

Looking dubious, she did as he instructed, tipping her head back quickly, downing it, and coughing into a fist while fanning herself with her other hand. “Prophets! That's horrible! You really, really don't like me, do you?”

 

He chuckled. “Nonsense. I never drink with anyone I don't like. The truth is I don't really know you, do I?” He poured her a second glass and another for himself. “It takes some getting used to. Try it again.”

 

She shook her head. “Maybe later. My stomach feels like it's on fire.”

 

“Suit yourself,” he said, eying his glass before tossing back the contents. “Now. Let's see. Where to start?” Lifting a brow, he sat back and eyed her. “It's Garak,” he slurred, drunk enough to give himself permission not to hold back.

 

She sat up a bit straighter. “That's silly. He's not interested in me.”

 

“Oh, that's where you're wrong,” he said, gesturing with a wobbly index finger. “I don't mean...romantically. But he is interested in you, enough that he never pushes you away.”

 

She lifted her glass, glanced into it, and took a wincing sip. “He tolerates me,” she said, glancing back to him again. “I think sometimes I annoy him very much, and he's just too kind to say so.”

 

“Not to me he isn't,” he said bleakly.

 

She frowned and reached to squeeze his forearm. “He sees you as an adult,” she said. “You're threatening. I may be young, but even I can see that attachments scare him. I don't know why. I don't know enough about Cardassia or his past to be able to put it together. I'm not a threat. I'm not somebody he'd ever get too close to. I'd rather be in your position than mine.” She downed the rest of her drink suddenly, her eyes spilling over from the strength of it and more coughing following.

 

“No, you wouldn't,” he said, pouring more for both of them. He reflected that they were blowing through that bottle pretty quickly, their lowballs taking more than a shot at each pour. “He won't have anything to do with me beyond the mandatory physical exams, and I have no idea why.”

 

“Do you want me to ask him?” she asked without guile.

 

He shook his head. “He'd just lie to you. He seems to take perverse delight in it. There's no telling what he would tell you, but you could be sure it wasn't close to the truth. I keep telling myself it's for the best. If you knew the sorts of things we've been through...” He grimaced. “I have no idea why I'm saying all of these things to you. I answered your question a while back.”

 

“Who else would you tell?” she asked. Her pupils seemed wider, and she bobbled a little in her seat when she reached for her glass.

 

“You may want to slow down with that,” he said with a vague gesture.

 

“I'm fine,” she said, tossing back her third. She managed not to cough this time, but her eyes still watered. “You're right. It does grow on you.”

 

Her question caught up with him. “What do you mean who would I tell?” he asked, pausing to catch up with her on the drinks. “I have...lots of friends.”

 

“Most of them in Starfleet or Bajorans,” she said, slurring a little. “No offense to any of them. I've gotten close to some of them myself, but...you gotta admit, when it comes to Cardassians, most of them don't want to hear things like that.” She widened her eyes. “If you knew how much grief I caught from Nerys when I first started socializing with him...” She paused and tilted her head.

 

“What?” he asked.

 

“I forgot where I was going with that,” she said with a shrug. “My point, I think, is that it's not something you can talk about with people who don't like him or your ex-girlfriend.” She put a hand up to her mouth, and both shoulders twitched in either a belch or a hiccup. He couldn't tell which.

 

“Who doesn't like Leeta?” he asked, frowning deeply.

 

“What are you talking about?” she asked, staring.

 

“You said people don't like Leeta. Wait a minute. Who told you we broke up?” His frown deepened further.

 

“I didn't say that. I said...” She frowned, too. “Now you've got me confused. I said you can't talk to Leeta about it, and she told me. Why?”

 

“She wasn't supposed to tell anybody until we could have the breaking up ceremony.”

 

“Well, don't tell her I told you. I don't want her mad at me.” She reached for the bottle.

 

He blocked her hand and moved it out of her reach. “I think you've had enough of that.”

 

“You're the one who wanted me to drink it with you,” she said, her brow ridges dipping in irritation.

 

“You can have some more in a little bit. We both need to back it off. When you stand up, you'll understand what I mean.”

 

She folded both arms on the table and leaned some of her weight on them. “So you've been avoiding me because Garak doesn't avoid me?” she asked.

 

“Yes,” he said, propping his cheek on a fist. “That's pretty wretched of me, isn't it?”

 

“You love him a lot,” she said, lowering her head so that she could rest her chin on her forearms. “I do, too, and neither one of us is getting what we want from him. I don't have anybody to talk to about it, either. Nerys doesn't want to hear it, and Leeta is his friend. I don't want to put her in the middle of anything.”

 

He mirrored her position and scooted a little closer. “For what it's worth, I think you're wrong.”

 

“About what?” she asked, turning her head so that her cheek could rest on her arm and she could look at him more directly.

 

“About his just tolerating you,” he said. “I've known him a few years, long enough to know that he doesn't socialize after hours with anyone whose company he doesn't enjoy, or tolerate anyone taking up more of his time than he's willing to give. You're special to him. He has even said as much.”

 

She blinked sleepily. “You just got through saying he lies all the time.”

 

“I don't think he was lying about that.” He reached over and gave her forearm a warm squeeze, feeling bad that he had taken such a dim view of her to this point. It felt good being able to get some of that off his chest with somebody who obviously didn't judge him for it or disapprove. “I sometimes think if I was just Cardassian, he and I wouldn't have all these problems. He wouldn't view being attached to me as something shameful, or weak.”

 

“Don't be so sure of that,” she said. Lifting her head slightly, she gave a frown that seemed to encompass their general surroundings. “Can we go somewhere else? It's so loud in here.”

 

He nodded and struggled to his feet, more intoxicated than he had realized. She did the same and stumbled against him, giggling and apologizing at the same time. “I don't think I've ever been this drunk before,” she confessed much too loudly.

 

He snickered and snagged the bottle by its neck from the table. “I'm pretty far gone, too, but I think we can make it to one of our quarters. Which is closer?”

 

“I don't know where you live,” she said, laughing again.

 

“You're in Kira's quarters now?” he asked. She nodded. “You're closer. Let's go.” He offered her an arm, and she took it, both of them leaning heavily on one another to stay upright. “Once more into the breach,” he announced grandly. They staggered their way down the darkened Promenade, stepped into the turbolift with exaggerated care, and thudded and giggled themselves through the habitat ring until they reached her door. “Should I leave you here?” he asked. “I don't want any rumors getting started.”

 

“Rumors?” she scoffed. “Who cares? I don't care. People on Cardassia said nasty things about me all the time. Some people here do it, too. It'd be a nice change to have...to have a nice rumor. I could do waaay worse.” She punched in the door code and gestured him in ahead of her.

 

The scent of paint and linseed oil greeted him, overlaying older incense and a faint whiff of whatever perfume she was wearing. Paintings in various stages of completion sat propped against the walls and furnishings. Other than that, the room was tidy. He waited for her to move some of her work aside so they could sit on the sofa and gratefully flopped onto the cushions. The scotch sloshed in the bottle without spilling. “Glasses?” he asked.

 

With a rebellious light in her eyes, she took the bottle from him and drank straight from the lip. “No. If I'm going to be disreputably drunk, I'm going to get there in a disreputable way.” She offered it back to him with a grin.

 

Her attitude amused him. He took it and took a swig. “So what now?” he asked.

 

“Tell me something random about yourself, something Garak doesn't know,” she said.

 

“That's a tall order. I don't even know what Garak knows about me. He has this way of finding out things,” he said.

 

“Then something you didn't tell him,” she said, claiming the bottle from him again.

 

“Why?” he asked, genuinely curious.

 

“If we're going to be friends,” she said slowly, seeming to have trouble focusing enough to get it out properly, “we're going to have to...have to come up with things that don't have to do with Garak. I don't want us to be talking about him all the time. It wouldn't be right.”

 

“I take it you've decided we're to be friends, then?” he asked.

 

“I have. I'm a very stubborn woman, you'll find. I don't always get my way. It doesn't stop me from trying. So, tell me.” She teased him by dangling the bottle in reach and pulling it back before he could snag it.

 

“Holding the scotch hostage is an act of war,” he warned her playfully. “All right. Let's see. Something I never talked about with Garak. Hmm. I don't get along with my parents.”

 

“Why not?” she asked.

 

He took the bottle. “Lots of reasons,” he said, looking away. “The usual. I'm a disappointment to them.”

 

“How? You're a well respected doctor in Starfleet. What did they want you to be? A waste extraction technician?”

 

That made him laugh. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, they actually did want me to be a doctor. On Earth. In Paris, where I could have made head surgeon in five years, not out here on the frontier on a space station. It was an obscure assignment when I took it. Nobody knew about the wormhole or the Gamma Quadrant.”

 

She turned sideways on the couch to face him, tucking a knee up and leaning her bent arm on the top of the sofa back so she could rest her cheek against her upper arm. “Why haven't you ever talked about this with Garak?” she asked.

 

“I...” he hesitated, having to think about it. “Now that you mention it, I don't know. He never asked, and he never talks about his family.” He offered her the bottle. When she shook her head, he carefully set it aside on the floor within easy reach.

 

“Do you think that it's just that your parents wanted you closer to them, or is there something else to it?” she asked.

 

“There's definitely something else to it. No, Ziyal, I think I could be the top mind in all of Starfleet Medical, the top medical mind in the entire Alpha Quadrant, and they'd find something to fault. For a long time, I lived my life trying to please them and prove myself to them. Then one day I realized it just wasn't going to happen, and I could waste another ten to fifteen years of my life chasing a shadow, or I could let it go and try to make myself happy for a change.”

 

“And here you are,” she said, “not happy.” She bit her lower lip and stretched her arm across the top of the couch, lightly touching his shoulder. “Trying to figure out why Garak is keeping you away. What if it doesn't have anything to do with you at all? What if it's him?”

 

He felt his eyes trying to water all of a sudden and blamed it on the scotch. “Then that's worse. It means I matter so little that I'm not even a consideration.”

 

“Or it means you matter so much he can't see any other way to deal with it,” she said. “He told me what he did on the Defiant. How close he came to killing all of you. Maybe he can't stand the thought of being put in that position twice, and he knows there's a good chance he might be.”

 

“I thought you were drunk,” he said, squinting at her.

 

“I am,” she said, smiling slightly. “I also have Cardassian blood. We don't manifest intoxication quite the same way you do. I'm thinking slower mostly, and it's easier to focus now that we aren't in a loud bar. I know how it feels to be pushed away from somebody you want to be with more than anything. I'd rather be with my father than here, no matter how much I love Nerys and the friends I've made. I wanted him for so long, and when I finally had him, I was happier than I had ever been in my entire life. I didn't care if all of Cardassia despised me as long as my father loved me and stayed by my side.

 

“I know he has to do this, fight this war the rest of them won't fight. He loves Cardassia, just like Garak does. He loves Cardassia more than he loves me, but he does love me. I accept that, because I love him, too. I'm willing to be patient. Maybe that's what you need to do, have faith that Garak loves you and will come to you when he can, after Cardassia is safe. Don't you understand that this is what it means to love a Cardassian? They're not going to change.”

 

He knew that if Garak could hear her comparing him to Dukat in that way, he'd have a fit. He decided he'd never tell him. He wasn't sure she was correct in her assessment of her father and his ambitions, but the thrust of her argument was compellingly sound. “Come here,” he said, reaching to pull her into his arms. He hugged her tightly and briefly rested his chin on the top of her head. “I believe I understand what Garak sees in you. You're wise beyond your years.” Releasing her, he lifted the bottle from the floor and offered it to her.

 

She took it and smiled, turning to settle herself comfortably against his side and taking a long swig. “Then why is he always telling me I have terrible judgment?” she asked.

 

He took the bottle back and took a chug. “Because,” he said, “he's an incorrigible liar.”

 

Kira's Quarters

 

Julian awoke to the loud question, “What in the hell is going on here?”

 

He winced sharply and put a hand up to his temple, pain lancing straight to the center of his brain. His mouth tasted like old socks. Someone stirred at his side, and he lifted his head, squinting against bright light. “Major?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I could ask you the same thing,” she demanded, glaring at him. “You're in my quarters.”

 

“Nerys,” came Ziyal's miserable voice, “stop shouting.” She pulled away from him, sitting up straight on the sofa, and knuckled her eyes.

 

The major bent forward and grabbed the empty bottle from the floor. “Scotch?” she asked, thrusting it toward his face. “You got her drunk on scotch?”

 

“He didn't get me drunk,” Ziyal said, leaning forward and taking the bottle away from her. “I did. We just talked for a while, and I guess we fell asleep.” She glanced at Julian. “Did I miss anything exciting?”

 

“No,” he said immediately. “Nothing exciting in the least.”

 

“Excuse us for a minute,” Kira said to Ziyal. She hauled him up from the sofa by his upper arm and shoved him into the bedroom with both hands at his back, instructing the computer to close the door behind them. Swinging him by an arm, she pushed his back hard against the shut door. “I'm only going to say this once, because you and I are friends. I know how you are. I promise you, promise you, you touch one hair on that girl's head in an inappropriate way, and you and I are going to have a big problem. Do you understand?”

 

“You know how I am?” he asked, his temper flaring right along with his hangover headache. “Now just a damned minute...”

 

“You've hit on Dax. You've hit on me. You've hit on Garak. You've hit on countless women whose names I don't even know. Leeta. Do I really need to spell this out for you?” she asked, her black eyes blazing.

 

A bit of the anger faded. “All right, fine. I'm not denying that I can be flirtatious, but I swear to you it wasn't like that with Ziyal. She's Gul Dukat's daughter. I'm not an idiot!”

 

“I wonder,” she said, stepping back. He rubbed his belly where the curve of hers had pressed it uncomfortably. “Sleeping here all night? She may not care what people say about her. I do. Dukat asked me to look after her. What do you think he's going to do when he comes back to this station and somebody says something about how you two got drunk and spent the night together? I'm going to be the one he blames.”

 

“Since when do you care what Dukat thinks?” he snapped.

 

“Since I gave him my word I'd do the best I could to look after his daughter,” she snapped back. “I take my commitments seriously. You may not think anything of it, but neither Bajorans nor Cardassians are as casual about those sorts of things as humans are. Ziyal has enough stacked against her as it is.”

 

“I'm sorry,” he said, dropping his gaze. “I won't let it happen again, and Nerys? You have to believe me. I have no intention of flirting with or hurting her. We're just friends.”

 

She nodded tightly. “You're late for work,” she said, “and I want to talk to Ziyal alone now.”

 

“All right,” he said, turning and having the computer open the door. He gave Ziyal a rueful smile on his way toward the exit and mouthed, We'll talk later. He didn't want to do or say anything else to anger Kira further. He felt lucky to be leaving without bruising or bloodshed.

 

Garak

The Infirmary

 

Garak sat where he was directed in the waiting area, his guard's lack of attentiveness partially insulting, partially amusing. Perhaps it was that Odo knew that he would never voluntarily flee the space station without better incentive than he had and had informed his guards of the same, or perhaps his completely tractable behavior had lulled the Starfleeter into a sense of security. Loud laughter came from down the hallway. His hearing wasn't good enough to discern specific voices just from distant laughter. However, if he had to guess, at least some of them were Klingons. Nobody had more obnoxious laughter in the Alpha Quadrant.

 

Julian emerged from the short hallway leading to the exam and surgery rooms, looking quite put out. “I'm sorry, but it's going to be a while,” he said. He glanced at the guard. “If you have something else to do, I suggest you just take him back to his cell. I can send for you when I'm done in here.”

 

“He is my job,” the stern faced woman said with a dry expression. “To tell you the truth, it's nice getting a break from the security office. We'll stay here unless it gets crowded.”

 

“Suit yourself,” Julian said, retreating to the back again.

 

About ten minutes later, a tall, regal Klingon woman emerged from the hallway to head for the exit. She didn't spare Garak or his guard a glance, and yet he had little doubt that she had seen them and taken their measure. Hers had to be some of the laughter he had heard. He wondered idly what she was doing there and if she was part of the reason Julian seemed so irritated. It wasn't important enough to expend energy upon to try to find out.

 

Almost an hour later, Dax and Worf emerged together, laughing and walking arm in arm. As soon as Worf saw Garak, he released her and straightened himself, his dark eyes level and hard. Dax's smile faded, too. He offered both of them an exaggeratedly pleasant closed lipped smile and inclined his head without dropping eye contact.

 

“Incarceration agrees with you, Tailor,” Worf said, his eyes narrowing slightly with the sarcasm.

 

“I assure you it could be worse,” Garak said airily. “I could be a Dominion prisoner. Wait, supposedly they don't take prisoners. They just kill everyone. Do you think we'll have the chance to find out for ourselves soon?”

 

Dax put a hand on Worf's arm when he started forward and shook her head. “Don't,” she said. “He's just baiting you, and he's not worth it.”

 

“What's the matter?” he asked, shifting his focus to Dax. “Are you afraid your brave warrior is about to stain his honor by attacking an unarmed prisoner, or are you worried about his Starfleet career?” He gave carefully nuanced, acidic emphasis to “Starfleet” and inwardly smiled when he saw Worf bristle further.

 

“That's enough,” the security officer said, shooting him a warning look. “From all of you. I don't want to have to call a security team to the infirmary, but I will if you force the issue.”

 

“We won't,” Dax said tightly. “We're leaving.” She pulled Worf in her wake with both hands to his forearm. Worf shot him a look that said it wasn't over, and he answered with his best “any time” stare.

 

“I get the distinct impression they don't like me,” he said, gracing his guard with innocent affront.

 

She rolled her eyes. “I don't want to hear it. If I had my way, you'd be on Tantalus V serving twenty to life for what you tried to do to Constable Odo. It's not my place to question my captain, though.”

 

“True,” he said, unruffled by her animosity. “Break the chain of command, and we could be neighbors.”

 

She made a small sound of disgust and folded her arms, staring straight ahead and setting her features to stony neutrality. With her arms folded, he calculated that he could reach her sidearm before she had time to untangle herself. By the time she realized what was happening, he could have the setting of her phaser shifted from stun to kill. She'd be dead before she could stand. He smiled broadly.

 

“I doubt I even want to know what that smile is about,” Julian's voice brought him back from his mental exercise. “I'm ready for you now.”

 

He and his guard stood, the two of them walking down the corridor, Garak behind Julian, the guard behind Garak. She remained in the corridor when he entered the exam room and obligingly took his seat. He was well used to this routine by now and didn't need instructions. Scanning beams passed over him while Julian took tricorder readings.

 

“Your blood pressure is higher than last time. You've lost another three kilograms, and your cortisol levels are elevated,” the doctor said. “I know you don't like medication. In this case, I really don't care. I'm going to put you on something to get that blood pressure under control. I don't want you developing an aneurysm in one of the blood vessels in your brain. We still don't know all of the effects of that implant. We do know you have more than your fair share of scar tissue. So I'm giving you a choice. You can take the pills I give you, or I can haul you in here every day for a hypospray treatment. While you're in our custody, your care is my responsibility. You don't have the right to refuse this treatment.”

 

“You can haul me in,” Garak said. “I'm not taking your pills.”

 

“Damn it, Garak,” he snapped, glaring across at him from one of his displays. “Why do you have to act like I'm trying to kill you when you know better than that? You want it that way, then that's the way it's going to be. Every day until you're done with your sentence. I ought to find one of the older models that hurt just for the trouble.”

 

He smirked. “That's the spirit, Doctor. Make me suffer. All of your colleagues would love to see it.”

 

“They may for all I know. Fortunately for you, I wouldn't.” He fell silent while he ran the rest of his scans and tests, making a few notes in his PADD. Garak endured the process without complaining. Although he was far from eager to return to his cell, he loathed being in the infirmary. “Computer, close exam room door two,” Julian said.

 

Garak arched an eye ridge. “Doctor?” he said. “You're going to make my guard nervous. Nervous guards have itchy trigger fingers, and I haven't exactly endeared myself to her this morning.”

 

“I'm certain you can handle her,” he said, turning to face him. “A wise person recently warned me of the pitfalls that come with loving Cardassians.”

 

“Really?” he asked. “Would this wise person be named Dax?”

 

“As a matter of fact, no. Besides, I've decided I shouldn't listen to Dax when it comes to you. In all of her lifetimes, she has never loved a Cardassian. She doesn't have the requisite experience.”

 

He had no intention of showing it, but he was intrigued. Who could the doctor have been speaking with on this subject? Where was he going with it? “You have my attention,” he said.

 

“Good,” he said, stepping closer. “Glad to hear it. A long time ago you told me that if I wanted you, I had better mean it or not waste your time, not quite in those words, but close enough. I meant it. I still do. Now, I realize I can't force the issue. If you've decided this isn't worth the risk, I can't change your mind, particularly in light of what happened in the Gamma Quadrant.

 

“But you see, Garak, there are pitfalls to loving humans, too. On the whole, we're a stubborn, intractable lot with insipid romantic notions embarrassingly sentimental enough to make a Legate's scales darken. I lied when I said I was done with you. If you're done with me, that's your business. It doesn't change how I feel.” He shrugged. “The door is open. You can step through it or not, but you can't force me to hatred or indifference. Your distance hurts. I'll leave it at that. Computer, open exam room two door.”

 

“Am I free to go?” he asked, revealing nothing of the guilelessly spoken words' effect on him.

 

“Not just yet,” Julian answered. “I'll be back in a moment. I need to load your hypospray.” He left the room, his footsteps retreating down the hallway to the medicine locker.

 

He truly had no idea what to do when it came to this impossible man. Perhaps he should have been the one to consider the depth of commitment agreeing to that first tryst would entail. It was obviously far too late for that now. He had cultivated something with this insufferable human more persistent and pernicious than any weed, and yet like so many weeds, strangely beautiful in its own way. Sentiment will be the death of you yet, he thought.

 

He submitted to the hypospray because he had no choice. Did he have any more choice when it came to Julian's devotion? He left the infirmary and returned to his cell, secretly touched by the confession and all the more determined to do right by the man. If he was very lucky, perhaps one day the doctor would understand that his avoidance was the most loving and selfless gift he could give him, and if he was luckier yet, Julian might one day forgive him for it.

 

The end.