Balance of Power, Part II

[dark_sinestra]

Julian

USS Defiant Infirmary

Gamma Quadrant

 

Dax's life signs finally stabilized, and the doctor breathed a sigh of relief. It had been bad enough believing that he would lose contact with her for sixty years so that she could stay on Meridian with her new lover. It was much worse seeing her dying for making that decision. He double checked the readings and quietly settled at a console not so far away so that he could continue to monitor her while he updated his medical files and logs.

 

Her loss hit him doubly hard thanks to his own situation. After the station crisis, he had hoped that Garak would be receptive at least to talking again. Every attempt he made was met with perfectly polite stonewalling. He could get the tailor to comment on business, the lack of quality food at the Replimat, and any number of inane and unimportant topics. The instant Julian tried to deepen the conversation, Garak would have something to do, and he would find himself ushered out of his company. After just a few days of that, he stopped going to the shop. It was too painful to get rejected like that over and over.

 

He worked until he heard her stirring. Standing quickly, he hurried to her side and took her hand. “Jadzia,” he said gently, “can you hear me?”

 

She twisted her head and opened her eyes, blinking and trying to focus. “Julian?” she said, her brows furrowing together. “Where's Deral?”

 

“I'm sorry,” he said, hurting for her. “The planet shifted. Something went wrong. You weren't going with it. We had to beam you out of there, or you would have died and everything else would have been destroyed.”

 

She turned her face away from him, tears sliding from the corners of her eyes. He allowed her to disentangle her hand. “I want to be alone now,” she said. “Can I return to my quarters?”

 

“Not yet,” he said regretfully. “I want to make sure you truly are stable first. Just rest for now. Jadzia, I'm so sorry,” he squeezed her shoulder. “I know what it's like.”

 

“No, you don't,” she shrugged him off. “I won't even be able to see Deral for another sixty years. You see Garak every day!”

 

He understood that she was lashing out at him only because she was hurt. It still stung. “Not that it matters,” he said. “He barely even talks to me. You know that.”

 

“If I loved someone as much as you say you love him, I wouldn't be so quick to take no for an answer,” she said harshly. “The one thing I never thought you were is a quitter. You're upsetting me. I don't want to talk about this anymore!”

 

He retreated from the bedside and sat back at his console. The only thing that prevented the exchange from devolving into a full blown argument was the fact that she was currently his patient and in a fragile physical state. How many times had she pushed her company on him the past few weeks when he said he wanted to be alone? Your problem is you're not forceful enough, he thought in irritation. You just go along with it rather than rock the boat, because too much boat rocking leads to too many uncomfortable questions.

 

Maybe it was time to stop being so pliant, and maybe she was right. Maybe he had been too quick to accept Garak's pulling away. Of course the Cardassian had the right to set limits and boundaries. He had the right to get out of a relationship if he wanted out. However, if his honest reason was to protect Julian and not for himself, well, that was bollocks, wasn't it? Garak didn't have the right to make that decision on his behalf. For all of his dry commentary about their “democracy of two”, in the end the decision was anything but democratic. Garak was acting like the Cardassian state. The trouble with that was that Julian wasn't his subject. Maybe it was high time he reminded the tailor of that.
  

Garak

The Promenade

 

The only good thing Garak had to say about the Gratitude Festival's being celebrated on the station was that he saw an enormous jump in business in the weeks leading up to it. Bajorans, Starfleeters, and even some of the other resident aliens aboard the station wanted the chance to look their best. He didn't have to lie to the persistent doctor about not having time to talk to him. He didn't even have time for lunches with Rom. He worked all day every day on the orders, often well into the night, and there came a time he simply had to stop accepting any more. He had to push himself hard to finish the ones he already had.

 

As he walked along the promenade the day of the festival, he looked on with quiet pride at how many people he saw sporting his designs. He had no use for the symbolic purging of past difficulties. The Cardassian mind didn't work that way. Difficulties and pleasures were as intertwined as the fine weave of Deltan silk. To discard one in favor of clinging more tightly to the other was completely illogical. Don't these people realize they are who they are precisely because of their so-called problems, not in spite of them?

 

He noticed something else besides the bright clothing and decorations. Quite a few people were, well, for lack of a better term, in flagrante delicto right there on the Promenade, taking it far further than the dictates of polite society allowed in public. He had never seen such sexual demonstrativeness from Bajorans before, but it wasn't just Bajorans. Also, some of them he knew for a fact to be married to others than the ones with whom they were so shamefully engaged. He readily admitted that he didn't fully understand Bajoran spirituality or celebrations, but all of this seemed oddly out of character.

 

He wondered if he should seek Julian out to let him know that something might be wrong. Right, Elim, the dry thought came instantly on the heels of his impulse, your desire to see the doctor is purely altruistic and has nothing to do with all of these amorous displays. Besides, he's the doctor, not you. He'll know if something isn't right much better than you would. He decided that the best thing he could do would be to mind his own business and just stay out of trouble.

 

Julian

The Infirmary

 

The doctor was in a mood, having seen so many people enjoying themselves at the festival in ways he never would have expected from such a reserved people as the Bajorans. It's really not fair, he thought. Why did it seem that after a break up, the entire world was happier than the one who was dumped? It was bad enough that his efforts to confront Garak had gone nowhere. Now, he had to see all of this? He leaped on the distraction offered by Commander Sisko to meet him in the Infirmary. Now that he was there examining Dax, he considered mentioning something about the inappropriate behavior in the crowd. Nobody likes a whinger, he told himself.

 

All of the scans came up negative. Dax laughed at both men, seemingly very self-satisfied at having played such a good practical joke on the Commander. Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, he sent the two of them on their way. At least somebody around there was able to retain a sense of humor. He rejoined the celebration and tried to enjoy the music and acrobats. He wondered if Garak was somewhere around or had retreated to the solitude of his quarters. He couldn't imagine any Cardassian feeling comfortable surrounded by that many Bajorans. He was glad he had a party to look forward to later. Maybe spending time in the company of all of his friends would chase away his blues.

 

He caught up to Odo and Ambassador Troi on their way to Commander Sisko's party. “Having a good time?” he asked.

 

“It's simply marvelous, Doctor,” the ambassador gushed. “The music, the dancing, the food, and I never knew the Bajorans to be such open, demonstrative people. It's very refreshing to see that at least some races don't have unhealthy hang-ups about intimacy.” She squeezed Odo's arm with both of her own and graced him with a brilliant smile.

 

Julian hid his smile at Odo's expression of long suffering. “I have to confess, it's all a little shocking to me,” he said. “Of course, this is the first time I've actually attended a Gratitude Festival, so I didn't know what to expect.”

 

They saw Major Kira approaching them from the opposite direction, looking anything but happy. She flatly informed them that she had no intention of going to the party, because Bareil might be there and that he had been hitting on Dax all evening. A little concerned now, Julian told them about the supposed practical joke and decided he had best have another look at Dax's results. Just then, a sharp twinge of a headache lanced through his temples. It didn't last long, fortunately. Kira decided to join him, and they parted company with Odo and the ambassador.

 

While they walked and spoke of others who had been behaving strangely, he noticed something he had never noticed before. Kira smelled good, not just good, but wonderful. He wondered how he had never noticed that before and thought that maybe it was just something she was wearing for the festival. When he glanced at her, he saw a small dimple just above her left eyebrow. He had seen it before. It was always there when she was perplexed or disturbed about something. It was cute. He smiled to himself, and when she glanced at him, he widened the smile.

 

They reached the infirmary in fairly short order and stepped into the surgery room. He had every intention of going to the monitors and pulling up the results. Instead, he turned to Kira and drew her into his arms. Alarms klaxoned in every rational part of his mind. What are you doing?! This is insane! Insane or not, he kissed her heatedly, expecting to get slapped across the room at any moment. Instead, she returned it with wild abandon, the two of them stumbling about the room until she came to rest against a console with him leaned against her.

 

He felt embarrassed. This wasn't like him, and it wasn't like her. Why couldn't he control himself? As she pushed her wiry frame tightly against him, his body responded. He ground against her and moaned. She was so beautiful, completely irresistible, and this was all so very, very wrong!

 

Garak

The Promenade

 

Garak had wandered about for hours, occasionally lighting in Quark's Bar, occasionally sitting in the Replimat, and the rest of the time walking freely through the crowd. Even not being part of the festivities, it felt good to be surrounded by a press of happy people for a change. Some of them deigned to greet him with the traditional greeting, “Peldor joi,” to which he responded in kind out of politeness. He enjoyed the fresh food and the music. He tried to ignore those who insisted on going beyond all bounds of propriety with their public displays, and he noticed that many of the Bajorans in the crowd looked upon these couples with extreme distaste and disapproval. If the couples believed their behavior was within the bounds of what was expected at the festival, obviously many of their fellows heartily disagreed.

 

He turned a corner just in time to see one of his customers get punched squarely in the nose by a man who then turned back to kissing the customer's wife with shameless abandon. Their two children cried, hugging each other off to the side and looking on in horror. Stunned, Garak hurried forward and knelt beside his downed customer. “Let me see your face,” he said, pulling his bloodied hands away. “I think your nose is broken. We should get you to the infirmary.”

 

“Not before I kill him!” the Bajoran roared and tried to use Garak to pull himself up.

 

Garak pushed him back with a firm hand to his chest and leaned in very close to hiss, “Your children are watching and terrified, Konil. Whatever wrong you may feel you need to redress shouldn't be done in front of them.”

 

That got his attention, as he had hoped it would. Konil nodded, his anger crumpling inward to confused sorrow. “I just don't understand,” he said. “Jeldon is my friend. How could they betray me this way?”

 

“Hopefully, you can get to the bottom of it later,” the tailor said, offering him a hand up. He turned to beckon to the children. “Come on, now,” he said to them gently. “Come help your father while we take him to see the doctor.”

 

They hesitated but scampered over when their father also beckoned. “I'm all right,” he told them. “I know it looks bad, but Daddy is all right.”

 

Garak carefully guided the man through the crowd, making sure that the little ones didn't get lost in the press. He continued to jolly them along, telling them how brave they were being and that they were almost there. The little girl of the pair latched a hand onto his tunic hem and gripped it tightly. He could see her struggling to fight her tears, and he lightly caressed her hair. “You're a very good girl,” he said. “There's nothing to be scared of now.”

 

There was no one to be seen in the front of the infirmary. “If you'll wait here just a moment,” Garak told the bleeding man and the children, “I'll see if there is anyone here to help you. If not, I'll make sure to call for someone.” The man and the boy nodded, but the little girl insisted on coming with him. Garak glanced at Konil who gave silent assent. “All right, then, you can help me,” he said. He raised his voice. “Hello? Is anyone back here?”

 

They walked into the surgery area, and he froze in disbelief at the sight that greeted him, Julian and Major Kira locked in the same sort of passionate exchange he had been seeing all over the festival. The little girl tugged on his tunic. “That man is doing the same thing Mister Tull was doing to my Mommy!” she exclaimed.

 

“I see that,” Garak said, keeping his alarm out of his voice. “Would you please do me a favor and go make sure your father is still all right? I'll be right behind you after I talk with this nice man and woman.”

 

She hesitated, then nodded and trotted back the way they came. “I hate to...interrupt...but a gentleman needs your help with a broken nose,” Garak said. Neither of them reacted to him. “Julian?” he said sharply.

 

“Later!” the doctor snapped, looking irritated and going right back to kissing Kira the moment he got the word out.

 

Unsure of exactly what might be causing the situation, Garak backed away. If it was some sort of infection, he didn't want to contract it. If it was a drug, perhaps something in the food, he might already have it in his system, or perhaps it didn't affect Cardassians. Either way, he knew he'd get no help from the doctor in that state, and it was too upsetting to see him with Kira like that, in control of himself or not.

 

“Change of plans,” he told the trio as he returned to them. “We're going to my shop. I have a medkit there, and I know a bit about first aid.” He allowed the man to throw his free arm about his shoulders for support. “You hold on tight to your father's tunic,” he told the little boy, “and you hold to mine,” the little girl. “Don't let go.”

 

As they stepped back out into the crowd, Garak leaned close to the Bajoran once more and said, “For what it's worth, I don't think that your wife and your friend are in control of themselves. Something is affecting people badly, either a disease or a drug of some sort. I found two people kissing in the surgery room that I am quite certain would never normally do that with one another.” He was glad to see the relief the news brought the man. Considering how painful what he had just seen had been to him, he knew it was worse for Konil with his wife.

 

He took the three to the back of his shop, making sure they were all safely locked inside just in case. “You know what?” he said to the children, “I'm not completely sure my doors locked out there. Would you both please run check for me? You'll have to pull on each door. They're old, and the locking mechanism is a little rusty.” They trotted toward the front, no longer hesitant to do his bidding. As soon as they were gone, he turned back to his customer. “This is going to hurt, I'm afraid. I need to pop the bone back into place. You'll want to have a real doctor look at it before it fully heals, or it will heal crooked.”

 

Before he could do it, Konil grasped his hand. “Thank you,” he said, his words congested and distorted, “not just for helping me, but for being so kind to my children.”

 

Garak smiled faintly. “Cardassians like children, too, Konil,” he said. He swiftly popped the bone, feeling the Bajoran tense sharply under his hands and then relax in relief. He gave two sprays from a small canister in the medkit into each nostril to stop the bleeding. He was done with the worst of the ministrations by the time the children returned to tell him they couldn't budge the doors. “Good,” he said. “Thank you for helping me with that.”

 

He straightened and replicated each of them a bowl of pudding and got them to sit out of the way on the floor to eat it. “I'm going to help your father get cleaned up,” he said, “and find him a new tunic. Can you two be very good and stay put?”

 

They nodded earnestly. He smiled and crossed back to the replicator to obtain a bowl of warm water for the blood that had begun to cake and dry. By the time he sent the trio on their way with a warning to the father to return to their quarters and to stay away from his wife and his friend at least for the time being, he had Konil looking presentable and the kids calm, if not happy. He decided he'd do well to stay put in the shop. Every exposure to others increased the chance of his being affected by whatever strange affliction it was. He didn't want to find himself clenched in an embrace with a married Bajoran or worse one of the Starfleeters.

 

Julian

Ops

 

The doctor knew that Major Kira usually arrived very early for her shift, often before the rest of the officers. In fact, he was counting on it. Despite knowing that most of the drama that happened at the festival centered around Ambassador Troi's infection with Zanthi fever and her displaced amorous intentions with Odo, he felt lingering awkwardness. He could tell that many people did, and he thought that if they talked about it, it might clear the air a little. He nodded a greeting to the two ensigns going about their business and turned to face Kira when she entered from the turbolift.

 

She hesitated a beat before striding over to him. “Julian?” she said, looking up at him expectantly.

 

He cleared his throat. “I was wondering if...if perhaps you wanted to talk about what happened at the festival.”

 

She smiled brightly, a hard gleam in her black eyes. “Ab-so-lutely not,” she said.

 

“Um, me neither,” he mumbled, feeling his cheeks color. “So we're all right?”

 

“Mmhmm,” she said, nodding vigorously.

 

“OK, then, I should be reporting to the infirmary in a while. I just wanted to...make sure, because I value your friendship,” he said.

 

Her look softened slightly for that. “I value yours, too,” she said. “It's awkward as Hell to think about it, so I'm just not. Can we both just not?”

 

“I can do that,” he said, feeling immensely better. “Thank you, Nerys.” He walked past her to enter the turbolift. There was one other person he had to see before his shift started, and he wasn't looking forward to it. He burned with shame when he thought of how dismissive of Garak he had been. It didn't matter that he wasn't in control of himself. He recalled exactly what he had said and how he had said it. More than that, he recalled the look on Garak's face. The Cardassian could deny it all he liked. He hadn't set aside his feelings.

 

He stopped by his own quarters first. The tailor had rejected him so many times over the past several weeks that it was getting harder to work up the courage even to try. He had been meaning to throw away the data rod upon which Garak had recorded his embarrassingly gushy letter in bad Kardassi. Something had always stopped him. Now he was glad of it, for he hoped to get some inspiration for what to say in reading it again. He inserted the rod into his terminal and watched Kardassi script blossom onto the screen. He peered more closely. This isn't what I wrote, he realized with a start.

 

Swallowing in a suddenly dry mouth, he drew his chair closer to the screen. “My dear Doctor,” it began, “I'm counting on the human tendency toward excessive sentiment to prevent you from discarding this supposed relic of our failed relationship and to insure that you will return to it in time, either out of nostalgia or regret.”

 

He snorted very softly. Leave it to Garak not to spare him even in a letter. The fact that he wrote one at all had him completely off kilter. He couldn't read it very quickly, because it was in the same archaic Kardassi script as Preloc. He did the best he could and resisted the impulse to plug it into the UT. It might miss some subtleties.

 

“At some point in time, I have no doubt that you will realize that even though I have left you, my affection for you has not abated. You are exceptionally perceptive for a human, and I am weaker than I care to be when it comes to you.” Julian felt his breath catching in his throat. He had wanted to hear this so badly. It took everything he had to sit and continue reading, when all he wanted to do was to leap up and run straight to Garak's quarters.

 

“You say that you love me with all of your heart. Coming from anyone else, I would count this as hyperbole. Coming from you, it pains me more than you can know. The young never want to hear this from those older and more experienced than they, but in being so free with your devotion, you are making a mistake. I am not a noble, misunderstood creature who just needs love to reform.

 

“I would do unspeakable things to you if told to do so by those for whom I once worked. I would gladly sacrifice you if it meant going home. I told you of Major Kira's whereabouts not because of sentiment or personal loyalty to you, but because I was told to do so. I do not know why I was given such instructions, and I do not question orders. I never expected to be forced back to Cardassia, and I am surprised that I survived. Rest assured the only reason I did is because someone powerful must want me alive; to what end I cannot say.

 

“You will never be to me what I am to you. You may currently believe that it doesn't matter, and you may be content to accept such little affection as I have to give. As you grow older, wiser, I can assure you that this will change. If I allowed it, you would one day come to realize what a very poor bargain you had made with your love and loyalty, and your open, generous nature would give over to bitterness.

 

“Don't delude yourself into thinking that this is just another of my fabrications. In my weakness, it would be all too easy to fill your head with pretty words and pleasure you enough to pacify any doubts. In this one way, you have managed to do something no one else ever has. You have inspired me to think more of another than I think of myself. If you love me as much as you say you do, you will respect how very difficult that was for me, and you will not make it harder by tempting me to reconsider. I have rarely asked anything of another in my life in the way that I am asking this of you.

 

Elim”

 

“You magnificently manipulative bastard,” he breathed softly, his shoulders slumping. It was as though he knew exactly what to say to pierce the heart of his intentions and kill them unfulfilled. “If you love me...you will respect...” Of course he did, and of course he would. What other choice did he have? Still, just because they were going to admit that a relationship wouldn't work between them, did that mean he had to sacrifice the friendship, too? He tightened his jaw. No, it didn't mean that. He ejected the data rod and slipped it into his pocket, heading for Garak's quarters with a different intention than his original one but no less determination.

 

He was relieved that Garak didn't make him hail him twice. After the first door chime, he heard a fairly cheerful, “Enter.”

 

He did so, spotting the Cardassian at his dining table eating breakfast. The sight sent a pang through him. He missed their breakfasts, stinky food and all. “Please,” he said, “don't get up,” as he saw the man about to rise. “May I?” he asked, gesturing at the chair opposite.

 

“Of course,” Garak said, inclining his head. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?”

 

He didn't answer him immediately, taking the data rod from his pocket and setting it lightly on the table between them. He took his seat and laced both hands together on the tabletop. “I'm sure you recognize that,” he said, surprised at how calm he sounded.

 

Garak hesitated a beat as though considering what to say. He then nodded. “I do. I was wondering when you'd get around to reading it.”

 

“It would've been too much for me to expect that you'd just tell me you had written me a letter back,” the doctor said with faint amusement. “That's a statement, by the way, not a question. I accept what you said. All of it. I believe you when you say you don't and can't feel the way I feel. I know that where Cardassia is concerned, I come in a distant second.”

 

“I'm glad to hear you sounding so sensible,” Garak said, eying him warily. “Why do I hear a 'but' just dying to follow?”

 

He smiled faintly. “You don't. Well, not entirely. I miss the friendship, Garak. I think it's positively ridiculous for us to take the stance that if we can't be lovers, we can't be friends. We were friends first, after all, and it was rewarding and fulfilling for both of us.”

 

Garak took a sip of his rokassa juice, his expression thoughtful. “I confess I miss the mental stimulation of your company at lunch. Rom is a dear man and intelligent in his own way, but he and I share very few interests. I warn you, Julian, if you're seeking to put a foot in the door with this, I'll see right through it, and I won't be happy with you.”

 

“I know that,” he said, still feeling heavy, but resigned to the reality of the situation. “I'm not entirely happy with this. You know what I'd prefer, but I know that pushing for my preference would just drive a wedge between us altogether. If I didn't think that I would be capable of respecting this boundary, I wouldn't be asking you for it.”

 

The tailor favored him with a long, searching look. He seemed satisfied with whatever he saw, for he nodded and visibly relaxed. “I'm grateful, Doctor,” he said. “It's something I've been wanting to ask you for, myself, but I felt that it would be cruel of me. I know that were situations reversed, I would not appreciate being asked to just be friends if I wasn't ready to take that step. Shall we resume our reading schedules, then?”

 

“Yes, let's,” Julian replied. He felt a small sense of accomplishment, for he hadn't expected to achieve even that degree of success. “Would you mind if I had breakfast with you? I had to get out early this morning, and I haven't had a chance to eat.”

 

“Help yourself to the replicator,” Garak said, gesturing. “I'm glad of the company.”

 

As he ordered his breakfast, the doctor decided against bringing up the issue of what Garak had seen the day of the festival. The tailor wasn't acting strange or strained. He would have heard along with the rest of the station inhabitants that the odd behavior was caused by a virus. Perhaps it was best just to let that one lie. As he sat across from him with his toast and eggs, he asked, “So, read anything interesting lately?”