Deconstruction--Part II

[dark_sinestra]

Garak

Romulan Warbird

 

As he sat and drank with Tain, Garak gave long, hard thought to the situation. He could see no way out that would preserve his, Tain's, and Odo's safety. While he could understand his father's reasoning, he felt that the action itself seemed ill considered, rushed even. Had the old man always been so pedantic and tiresome? All of this rehashing of old times, talking of the so-called glory days, left him cold. Things were forever altered between them. No matter what Tain said, there really wasn't much chance of going back. The entire Alpha Quadrant was different from his early days in the order. So much of what they took for granted then no longer even existed. Like it or not, the Union was in a state of decline. He couldn't help but to believe that this operation would hasten that.

 

From the moment he met Colonel Lovok, a Romulan with a stiff demeanor and no sense whatsoever of subtlety, his anxiety ratcheted. How could Tain allow such a snake at his back? He listened in dismay as they discussed the necessity of questioning Odo. It was ridiculous, of course. He could ask all day long, and the shape shifter wouldn't have to tell him a thing. What could he do to him, badger and bore him out of his mind? He did as Tain requested, however, not at all surprised to find Odo completely uncooperative and irritable. He'd feel exactly the same in his place. He left Odo to his confinement, hoping to get a moment alone with his father so that he could try to talk some sense into him.

 

Julian

USS Defiant

 

Ever since listening to that intercepted message from Enabran Tain to the Cardassian Central Command, Julian had been knotted with anxiety and a degree of guilt, anxiety for Garak's and Odo's safety, and guilt that his concern for Garak greatly outweighed that which he felt for Odo. Theoretically, the Constable was in far worse danger. That didn't take into account Tain's personal malice.

 

He was glad to be included on this rescue mission, despite the fact that it was only on behalf of Odo as far as Commander Sisko and the others were concerned. He could tell they were ready and willing to believe the absolute worst of Garak, that it was possible he had even known about the operation and deliberately lured Odo along with him so that the Obsidian Order and the Tal Shiar could have a Founder as a prisoner or a bargaining chip. They were wise enough not to openly state such suspicions in his presence.

 

He would gladly face court martial or worse if it meant that he could help to save Garak's life. While he double checked the supplies in the Defiant's woefully inadequate med lab, the ship inexplicably dropped out of cloak. Frowning, he closed the case of hyposprays and hurried toward the bridge in case they needed him. This deep into Dominion space, an uncloaked Federation ship was basically a sitting duck for the Jem'Hadar.

 

Garak

Romulan Warbird

 

He thought that his old skills would return to him, his sense of detachment and professionalism that served him so well during his decades as one of the Obsidian Order's top interrogators and assassins. Sentiment had never gotten in his way of doing what needed to be done. However, watching the gruesome effect that the Obsidian Order's prototype quantum field stabilizer had on Odo sickened him. Parts of the man flaked away and drifted to the floor as though he were desiccating from the inside out. Garak had believed that Odo would be safer with him interrogating him rather than the Romulans, and he knew that Tain would never trust him if he shied away from this newest assignment. He wished that Odo had been more cooperative the first time he had come to talk to him.

 

The changeling sensed his desperation and taunted him despite being in extremis. Was Odo truly going to force him to let him die? It didn't matter anymore what information he obtained as long as it was something. He resorted to something he never thought he'd do, begging, and at last, as Odo collapsed to the floor trembling like a leaf in autumn, he obtained what he wanted from him, true confession. “Home,” the shape shifter whispered, “I want to go home.”

 

Oh, there was so much in that terrible moment of intimacy that followed, words exchanged that he could understand and relate to, a man apart from his people, from his natural state of existence, isolated and longing within the depths of his being to return. Garak deactivated the device and turned away to give him privacy, only to sink into his chair with his head in his hands once Odo was insensate liquid. What had he become? He had been away from his own home for so long that if he returned, he would no longer belong there. He knew it in his heart of hearts. An interrogator never empathized with his subject. A perfect servant of the state followed orders without pity for the glory and betterment of the Union. Once he had been that servant. Now? Now he was pathetic, shaking in his guts from what he had witnessed and been party to. The Starfleeters had succeeded in their subversive tactics, diminished him from the Cardassian he had been to this...this thing for which he had no name, only contempt.

 

He pinched at the bridge of his nose until he could be sure he'd shed no tears and stood. He may not be Tain's perfect son any longer. It didn't mean he didn't intend to escape this situation alive and intact and if at all possible ensure the same outcome for Odo and his father. By the time he faced Tain and Lovok again, he believed that his flawless mask was in place. He'd see this through to the bitter end.

 

Julian

USS Defiant

 

They dropped out of warp near the Omarion Nebula to a scene of unbelievable carnage, too many Jem'Hadar ships to count on sight systematically obliterating the Cardassian Keldon cruisers and Romulan Warbirds. Fiery explosions filled the view screen, and large, jagged pieces of hulls drifted aimlessly, wide open to space. “Commander, I have the Rio Grande on sensors,” Kira said tautly. “She's being pursued by two Jem'Hadar ships, and her shield integrity is starting to collapse.”

 

“Fire at will,” Sisko said. Their phasers quickly dispatched the two ships in pursuit, but three more wheeled about to take their place.

 

“Two life signs on the runabout, Commander,” Dax said.

 

Julian ran from the bridge to the transporter pad where O'Brien stood by. They dropped shields only long enough to beam Odo and Garak onto the ship. As he stepped forward to check a very nasty contusion on Garak's head, the ship rocked violently, taking fire. He guided Garak to the sick bay and helped to secure him there while the firefight continued. His training kept him on task, tending the wound and checking him for more. Throughout the treatment, the tailor stayed uncharacteristically silent. Julian worried he might be in shock, but a check of his vitals came up normal. “Let's go to the bridge,” he said, “if you believe you're up to it.”

 

Garak nodded, and they joined up with Odo, Miles, and the rest. There were several more tense moments while they attempted to evade pursuit. They scored a hit with an aft photon torpedo, and the last of their pursuers dropped behind. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief as they set a course back for the Alpha Quadrant. Julian took Garak back to sick bay and insisted that he lie down and rest for the trip. Worryingly, the Cardassian didn't argue, simply doing as he was told, turning onto his side with his back to the doctor, and not moving again until they reached the station.

 

He parted company with the doctor for debriefing and to work on his final report for Starfleet. It seemed to Julian that although he was fully aware and conscious, there was some critical part of him simply not engaged with his surroundings. He seemed hollow. Had Tain really been that important to him, or was it others who were there for the operation? He hoped that later that evening, Garak would talk to him about it.

 

After checking in with the infirmary and working on filing his own report for his part in the rogue rescue mission, he retired to his quarters to get cleaned up and changed into something more comfortable. The relief of having Garak back safe somewhat tempered the stress he had felt during the excursion, but seeing him so disengaged was a whole new worry. He waited what he believed was a reasonable time before trying to contact Garak over the comm. The tailor answered the hail, his face appearing on Julian's screen. “Yes, Doctor?” he asked mildly.

 

“I was wondering if you could use some company,” he offered, trying to assess the bland expression for signs of stress or grief.

 

Garak shrugged. “If you wish. I can't guarantee that I'll be good company. I'm quite tired.”

 

“That's all right,” Julian said. “I'm not expecting a stimulating debate. I just want to spend some time together.”

 

“All right,” he said, cutting the transmission abruptly.

 

Frowning slightly, Julian grabbed the PADD that contained some of his most recent medical journal subscriptions, expecting that he might be doing quite a bit of reading that night if Garak proved to be as reticent as the comm conversation indicated. He hurried down the corridors of the habitat rings until he reached the man's quarters, and when he rang, the door opened. He saw Garak standing near his star port, still dressed in the clothing he had been wearing when they beamed him from the runabout. Setting his PADD on the dining table, he approached him. “Didn't you want to change clothes? You have scorch marks, and you smell like smoke.”

 

The tailor glanced down at his clothing with a look of mild surprise. “I didn't notice,” he said, making no move to do anything about it.

 

“Elim,” Julian said gently, “come on. Let's get you out of these clothes.”

 

Garak eyed him a moment and nodded, allowing the guidance of gentle hands to get him moving. The doctor stripped him down and managed to get him to take a shower. While he was in the bathroom, Julian picked out his warmest, softest pajamas for him, a thick robe, a pair of socks, and his slippers. When he heard the shower shut off, he stepped into the bathroom with the clothing. His concern grew by the minute. Never in all their time together would he have used the word passive to describe the older man. If anything, when he had suffered some hurt, he was more likely to be prickly and irritable than to accept tender ministrations or care. However, he allowed Julian to dress him and even comb his hair. “Thank you, dear,” he said absently, following him from the bathroom.

 

“Of course,” the doctor said. “When is the last time you ate something?”

 

“Mm? Oh, I ate on board the Romulan ship,” he replied. “I'm not hungry.”

 

“I'd feel better if you'd eat a little something,” he prompted.

 

“Replicate me something, then,” he responded. “I don't care what.”

 

Nodding, Julian left the bedroom and replicated a bowl of zabo stew. He brought it back to the bedroom only to find Garak standing right where he had left him with a mildly bemused expression, as though he had misplaced something and couldn't quite recall where to find it. Emotional shock, he thought. It has to be. “Sit on the bed, my love. Let's get you covered up, and I'll replicate you a tray for your food.”

 

Garak nodded, slipping his feet out of the slippers and climbing obediently into the bed when Julian flung back the covers. Tucking him in, Julian set the food aside and did as he had promised, returning and setting him up so that he could eat comfortably. He sat on the side of the bed and watched the rather mechanical way in which Garak fed himself, his look something Julian called the million kilometer stare. He had seen it dozens of times on people in shock from things too horrible for them to process all at once.

 

When Garak finished, he took the tray away and came back with a mug of red leaf tea in one hand, Tarkalean tea in the other, and his PADD tucked under his arm. “I thought you might like something warm to drink,” he said, setting the tea mugs and PADD on the table by the bedside. “I'll just change into the pj's I have here,” he continued, digging in the wardrobe for the sleep wear. After he changed, he took his tea and the PADD and climbed into bed beside Garak. “Drink some of your tea, Love,” he prompted.

 

The Cardassian glanced at the mug. “I'm not thirsty. I think I'm going to get some sleep now. Do turn out the light when you're done reading.” He settled down further in the bed and drew the covers all the way up over the top of his head with his back to the doctor.

 

Julian discovered that he couldn't get much reading done. Eventually, he set aside the PADD and the remains of his tea, told the computer to kill the lights, and settled down beside Garak, wrapping his arm about him and pulling him close. He rested his lips against the evenly scaled back of the man's neck and tucked his knees against the bent backs of the other man's. He drifted to sleep on the soft, even sounds of the tailor's breaths and awoke at some undetermined time to the strangest sound he had ever heard, a nearly inaudible keening that reminded him of the whine of an excited hound. He realized it was coming from Garak. “Elim?” he said, touching the covered curve of his shoulder.

 

He received no response and realized that Garak was still asleep. The sounds continued, rhythmic, timed with his exhales. He managed to turn the sleeping man and reached for his face, finding his cheeks soaked wet with tears. Crying in his sleep, he thought with dismay. Afraid to awaken him, he carefully wiped the tears with a corner of the sheet and pulled him into his embrace. Murmuring soft, nonsensical sounds of comfort, he stroked his fingers through the sleek black hair until the noises subsided and the tears stopped flowing. He pressed a soft kiss to his forehead and drifted back to sleep. When he awoke the next morning, he found himself alone in the bed.

 

Alarmed, he threw the covers back and hurried to the sitting room. “Good morning, Doctor,” Garak said. “Did you sleep well?” He sat fully dressed at his dining table drinking a mug of tea and reading over a PADD.

 

“Y...yes,” he said, dubious at this display of self-possession after his attitude the night before. “Did you?”

 

“Quite well. I must thank you for your kindness last night. I was so exhausted I hardly knew my name. I'll be leaving shortly, as I have a breakfast date with Constable Odo. You'll be a dear and lock up for me, won't you?”

 

“Of course,” he said, nodding. He debated bringing up what had happened in bed last night and decided against it. It probably wouldn't do any good, and it might embarrass the tailor. “At some point soon, I have something important to discuss with you, but it can wait until you've had some time to process what happened.”

 

“That won't be necessary,” Garak said pleasantly. “Whatever it is we can talk about it tonight if you like.” He stood and took his mug to the recycler.

 

Julian closed the distance between them and put a hand to his forearm. “You don't have to do this with me,” he said.

 

“Do what?” Garak asked, tilting his head and looking genuinely puzzled.

 

“Pretend that everything is fine and that you're ready to just go about your business as though nothing happened. I was there. I saw what the Jem'Hadar ships did to the fleet. I saw what almost happened to you and Odo. Last night you were almost catatonic. Of all the people on this station, I'm the last person from whom you need to hide your pain.”

 

One corner of the tailor's mouth twitched upward. “You're very kind,” he said, reaching to pat Julian's shoulder, “but this concern of yours is ill placed. As I told you, I was exhausted last night. I've had a good night's rest, and I'm ready to get back to work. I have much to do to clean up the shop and get it re-opened. If I stay here any longer, I'm going to be late for my breakfast date. The Constable won't appreciate tardiness.” He leaned in and kissed Julian's cheek. “I'll see you tonight, and you can tell me whatever it is that requires my attention.”

 

He felt as though he had no choice but to let it go at that. He hoped that after Garak had a little time to process his feelings, he would change his mind. He knew he'd have to be patient. It wasn't going to be easy.

 

Garak

Security Office

 

After eating breakfast in near silence with Odo seated across from him, Garak asked the Constable if he could once again borrow his communication station to put a call through to Cardassian space to contact Mila. Not only did Odo consent, but he left the office and stood outside the door to ensure that no one would walk in on Garak's conversation.

 

As soon as Mila's face came on screen, he could tell she already knew. Her eyelids were swollen and puffy, yet her quiet strength showed through. “I'm glad to see you,” she said softly.

 

“I tried,” he said, his voice threatening to break. “You have to believe that. I never could get him to do anything he didn't want.”

 

“I know that,” she scoffed gently. “Neither you nor I. Enabran never listened to a soul except himself. How are you?”

 

“As well as you might expect,” he answered.

 

“That's what I was afraid of,” she said, her gaze softening.

 

“Please, don't,” he said more harshly. “I can't take it right now. I'm...” He paused and took a deep breath to bring himself more firmly under control. “I have a lot to do here. He wouldn't appreciate maudlin displays on his behalf anyway.”

 

“Still trying to please him even now,” she said. “I hope in time you get past that, dear. Your life is your own now. You're going to have to figure out what to do with it.”

 

“One thing at a time...Mother,” he said quietly. “Will you be all right?”

 

“I've been provided for well enough. Don't you worry about me,” she said, her blue eyes bright and determined. “You just take good care of yourself, and one of these days perhaps you can make it by to see me. I'd like that.”

 

“I would, too,” he said, briefly pressing his palm to the screen. “Good-bye for now.”

 

“Good-bye, son,” she answered, also touching her screen.

 

He cut the transmission and left the office, thanking Odo for his consideration and heading back to the ruined shop. Cleaning up was exactly the sort of mindless task he needed to put a buffer between crushing grief, fear of what he had learned of himself aboard that ship, and pointless thoughts about the future. It was too soon to make plans. Just because his father was dead didn't mean he'd be allowed to return to Cardassia. There were too many people who hated him, people who had been held at bay by fear of Tain and the Obsidian Order, who would now happily crawl from the woodwork like vermin and try to take a bite out of him. He would have to be more on guard than ever.

 

He worked well past dinner time, at last recalling that he had promised Julian he would be available for an important discussion. Brushing ash from his hands, he left the shop and headed to his quarters to clean up and change into something that didn't reek of burned textiles and plastics. He found a message waiting for him from the doctor, short and non-intrusive. He smiled faintly, the expression fading quickly. There was no way the human could understand what he was going through or how he needed to process it. He called him to let him know he'd meet him in his quarters soon, took care of his hygiene needs, and strolled over.

 

When Julian answered the door, he greeted him with a light cheek kiss and allowed him to serve him a late dinner. All he had to do was to take a good look at the doctor's face to tell that he had read his report. He knew that he had tortured Odo, knew everything he had included, except the left out detail about Odo's desire to go home. That was a secret he'd take to his grave. He waited out the doctor's silence. “Do you want to talk about what happened?” Julian asked at last.

 

“Do you?” he turned the question around, setting his napkin aside on the table.

 

“I don't know,” Julian said tightly. “I...I suppose I never allowed myself to consider the full implications of what it might mean if you had been in the Obsidian Order.”

 

“And now that you have?” he asked, keeping his blue gaze fixed keenly on the doctor's. It was one of his fears come to life. He determined to face it head on.

 

“What if Lovok hadn't been a Founder?” he asked.

 

“Then Odo and I would be as dead as the rest of them,” Garak answered. “You read the reports. You saw the battle. You know that.”

 

“That's not what I mean. What if...well, what if all of you had managed to escape? Would you have really turned Odo over to the Romulans and gone home with Tain?”

 

“Yes,” he said simply. “I did what I could to protect Odo from the situation, but I'm no fan of last stands or heroic martyrdom. I could not have faced down an entire crew of a Romulan Warbird to rescue the Constable and escape one hundred and fifty Jem'Hadar attack ships in a runabout. I may be good, my dear, but I'm not that good.”

 

Julian dropped his gaze to the side, chewing lightly on his lower lip. “No,” he said, “I suppose not. You had the chance to leave at the beginning, and you didn't take it. You didn't abandon Odo.”

 

Still trying to cast me in a heroic light, he thought sadly. How little you understand me, even after all this time. “That's true,” he said. “This isn't what you wanted to talk about, though, is it? You hadn't read the reports when you said that to me.”

 

“No, it's not,” he answered, pushing up from his seat. He lifted a PADD from a small stack of them on his coffee table and brought it over to the tailor. “This is what I wanted to talk about.”

 

Garak took it in hand and began to read. About halfway through the document, he started shaking his head in disbelief. “Do you have any idea what you're doing?” he asked, lowering the PADD and staring at the young man.

 

“Now you're the one who sounds like Commander Sisko,” Julian said, forcing a smile.

 

“Your commander is looking out for you,” he replied, “as is his duty. Julian, don't you understand that this is tantamount to career suicide?”

 

Julian set his jaw. “I won't have people like Decla trampling all over you if something happens to me. My parents could make the decision to have my funeral somewhere you'd be prevented from setting foot. I could be transferred to a medical facility somewhere that you wouldn't even know how to find. I won't have it, Elim. I won't! I want you to do this, and I don't want you treating me like I'm a five year old. I've given this a lot of thought, and I made certain I consulted an excellent attorney. All I need is your agreement.”

 

“You'd put your fate and assets in the hands of a former Obsidian Order interrogator?” he asked.

 

Julian moved to take the PADD from his hands. “I'd put my fate and assets into your hands. If that's what you are, so be it.”

 

Garak closed his eyes. “You're so stubborn, and you're an idiot. Far be it from me to protect an idiot from himself. You have my agreement. Do you need my signature?”

 

“Only after it's filed,” he said, bending to kiss him tenderly. “Thank you, my love. This is a huge load off of my mind.”

 

“When one is out of his mind, how would he notice weight upon it?” Garak retorted. He didn't quite know what to do with this new development. Never would he have expected Julian to take such a drastic step. He knew that were he not fighting his own internal demons and grief tooth and nail, he would be more likely to protest this much more fiercely. He just didn't have the mental energy, and he suspected he would lose the battle anyway.

 

He helped clean up the dinner dishes and begged off of staying over. He just wanted to be in his own quarters, although he didn't mind when Julian proposed joining him there. The two of them called it an early night, and he fell asleep while the doctor was still reading.

 

Julian

Garak's Quarters

 

That terrible keening awoke Julian for a second time. As before, Garak was too deeply asleep to be awakened easily. He slowly responded to being held and caressed, only this time, the episode repeated twice more in the night. Julian recalled how often he had awakened from nightmare after he had returned from the parallel dimension only to find himself held in strong arms and comforted. He wanted more than anything to awaken Garak and deal with this while he was conscious, but what if he refused? Any release was better than no release, he decided. If Garak's conditioning was such that he couldn't bring himself to grieve openly, then perhaps this was a necessary part of his healing process.

 

Over a week passed without a single quiet night. By day, the Cardassian was pleasant and unflappable, distantly affectionate as he might be with a fond acquaintance. By night his grief shredded Julian to the point that he dreaded the tailor's falling asleep. This couldn't be healthy, he decided. He had to figure out a way to break through his resistance to dealing with his loss while conscious. It didn't help that aside from while cleaning out his shop, he couldn't get him to leave his quarters, not since that one dinner where he obtained his permission to give him power of attorney.

 

“Elim,” he said one evening, shortly after the Cardassian arrived home reeking of ash and streaked with grime, “we have to talk. You can't keep on like this. It's bad for you.”

 

“Doctor,” he said patiently, “my shop isn't going to clean itself. With business the way it had been before this happened, my funds were already starting to dwindle. I can't afford to hire help. Even if I could, my choices are few, most of them undesirable.”

 

“That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it. I'm talking about Tain and the others, what you experienced. You can't keep acting as though it doesn't matter to you. If you keep something like that bottled inside you, it will eat you from the inside out.”

 

“You're a doctor, dear, not a psychologist,” he said with a shake of his head. “Even if you were a psychologist, you wouldn't have the first idea about how to treat a Cardassian. I appreciate this concern of yours. I do, but I must reiterate that it is misplaced.”

 

“Really?” he asked, steeling himself for what he intended to say.

 

“Yes, really,” he answered. “Now, let me go take a shower, please. I feel positively disgusting.”

 

“You cry in your sleep,” he said.

 

Garak stopped in his tracks, turning back toward him slowly. “What did you say?” he asked.

 

“You heard me. It happens every night, sometimes four or five times in the night. Whatever you say, you are not all right.”

 

His breath caught in his throat at the look of unadulterated rage the tailor directed at him. “Why didn't you ever awaken me?” he asked, his voice deceptively soft.

 

“At first I wasn't entirely sure what was happening. Once I was, I decided that you must need the release. I knew that if I awakened you, you'd pull yourself together and deny there was a problem.”

 

Garak approached him with the gait of a predatory beast considering the best angle of attack, his blue eyes stranger's eyes. He didn't think he had seen him that angry since the night he was forced by Sisko to accompany him to Cardassia. “You had no right,” he hissed low.

 

“Elim,” he said, trying to keep his unease from his voice, “how is it any different than all those times you held me when I awoke from nightmares?”

 

“You were awake,” he said, nearly nose to nose and eye to eye with him. “You had the ability to say yes or no to what comfort I could provide.”

 

“Do you think it was easy for me, knowing how weak I appeared to you and your exacting standards to allow you to give me the comfort you did?” he asked. “Part of a relationship is give and take.”

 

“I have never, never once, asked for you to be anything other than who and what you are for me. If you wanted me to back off, you should have told me so,” he said, his voice slowly rising.

 

“That's not the point,” he protested.

 

“Words,” he sneered. “You're always full of them, an excuse for every occasion. How you must have delighted in your secretive observations, seeing me reduced to a reflection of what you wish I were. Who are you to tell me what is or isn't healthy for a Cardassian? What do you even know of it?” His fists balled at his sides.

 

“I know that if you're crying in your sleep, you're not dealing with your feelings,” he retorted, standing his ground. It was becoming increasingly difficult in the face of that frightening expression.

 

“You don't have a clue about what I am or how I feel. You have no idea how little of me you see, all because your tender Starfleet sensibilities wouldn't be able to handle the truth. Every day I tolerate insipid conversation, temper every harsh edge. You know I tortured Odo, know I would have left him to the Romulans, and still you try to cast me in a positive light, that I didn't abandon him. I didn't leave that ship because I knew for a fact that Tain would never let me go, not out of concern for the Constable.”

 

“If that were true, Odo would never have breakfast with you,” he said. “He's one of the best judges of character I've ever met. He knows better.”

 

Garak took his jaw in a vise-like grip. “He's not infallible,” he said coldly.

 

“You're hurting me,” Julian said evenly.

 

“This?” the Cardassian asked, forcing his head back. “This is nothing. You really should learn the difference between discomfort and pain.”

 

“I know you're trying to push me away, Elim. It's not going to work. I've learned this trick of yours,” he said, having to fight his desire to try to twist out of the painful grip. He felt quite certain that fighting back would be a mistake. In his unstable state, there was no telling exactly what Garak might do. A couple of seconds later, he realized that he couldn't have been more wrong. Before he knew quite what was happening, the tailor had ripped his com badge from his uniform and tossed it across the room. The next that he knew, he found himself slammed face first hard against the wall with his wrists twisted behind him at a sharp angle.

 

Warm breath hissed across his ear. “Still want me to share my feelings?” Garak whispered in a mocking tone.

 

“I want you to let me go,” he said, hating that a waver had found its way into his voice. Part of him didn't want to accept what was happening. No matter how angry Garak had been in the past, he hadn't ever hurt him. Well, that wasn't entirely true, but at least that night he could tell that it was as much about frustrated desire and need as rage. This was pure rage.

 

“I would have told you the same thing every night for the past nine nights had I been awake to do so,” he retorted, giving an extra vicious twist to Julian's arms. “You decided not to give me a choice. I see no reason to give you one.”

 

“Because if you don't, I'm going to report you for assault,” he said tightly.

 

He didn't like the ugly sound of the laughter that greeted that announcement. “No,” Garak said. “No, I don't believe that you will.” He felt him shift his wrists to one hand and reach around him to unzip his uniform.

 

“I will,” he reiterated, struggling to pull his hands free. He no longer bothered to disguise his strength. There was no way he intended to allow this to happen, no matter how upset or confused Garak might be. He worked one wrist free only to find himself abruptly twisted around by his other arm and swung into a bulkhead. Stars exploded in his vision, and his knees buckled. While he tried to shake off his daze, he was flipped to his back, the back of his head striking the floor hard enough to disorient him further. “Garak,” he slurred, “don't do this.” He ineffectively plucked at the hands taking his zipper down the rest of the way.

 

“I don't understand you,” the tailor's cold voice knifed through his disorientation. “You say I don't have to hide myself from you, yet when I show you the real me, you say no. I have no patience for this indecisiveness of yours.” He dragged the uniform off of him roughly and tossed it aside, reaching to yank him out of his turtle neck.

 

“This isn't...” he paused, fighting a wave of nausea, “isn't the real you. It's not too late to stop this.” He tried to focus on the gray face drawing closer to his, but his vision was blurred, whether from concussion or tears, he couldn't completely be sure. He felt panic welling in his breast as the implacable hands took him out of his shirt and let him drop back to the floor, naked and vulnerable.

 

“Isn't it? Doctor, are you not aware that Cardassians are responsible for some of the very worst atrocities in the Alpha Quadrant? You should ask your friend Chief O'Brien, or perhaps even Major Kira. Both of them could tell you tales to chill you and keep you awake at night. Few names were more feared on Cardassia Prime than that of Elim Garak at the height of my activity. I was a Cardassian who put fear in the hearts of the worst of the worst. No one was safe from me or Tain. We had the Central Command by the hair, the Detapa Council, too. I had but to stretch out my hand and squeeze.” He took Julian by the throat and lifted him in his grip, his blue eyes glittering malice.

 

Tears slid down his cheeks and dripped onto the back of the hand holding him. He desperately wanted to fight, but his body refused to cooperate, his limbs jelly. He feared that he had been damaged worse than he initially realized and thought he might feel the wetness of blood at the side of his head and slowly trickling downward in his hair. “This isn't you,” he wheezed against the constriction of air.

 

“Infuriatingly stubborn!” Garak tightened his grip until he cut his air off. “Even now? Your very life is in my hands, my true face exposed, and yet you cling to your ridiculous illusions! I could end you without a second thought!” He bared his teeth in a snarl.

 

His chest started to burn almost immediately. He hadn't had time to take in a large breath. Elim, he mouthed, managing to reach one hand up to brush clumsily against the tailor's cheek.

 

Something shattered in the blue eyes. The grip on the doctor's throat instantly eased, and instead of a hand at his throat, he had arms wrapped about him, crushing him against a rough, dirty tunic. The sound that came from Garak was nothing like his strained, almost silent sleep sounds. It was raw and ragged. He curled in on himself, dragging Julian with him.

 

Swallowing repeatedly in his abused throat, trying to get it working properly again, he wrapped arms that felt too heavy across the broad back, cupping his hand at the back of the man's head. Was he really prepared to forgive him all of this? Could he ever trust him again not to hurt him? He didn't know. What he did know was that while the man was consumed with grief wasn't the time to try to decide such things. No more sounds followed the first. Garak's body convulsed in slow, wracking, silent sobs, just a precious few before he regained enough of his control to be still. “I'm sorry,” he murmured. “I'm so sorry.”

 

“I know you are,” he rasped. “You need to get me to the infirmary, Love. I don't feel right.” Garak drew back, his eyes widened in alarm. He wasted no time in getting Julian back in his clothing and lifting him in his arms. “My comm badge,” he said, his head lolling. Another wave of nausea roiled through him. Garak laid him gently on the sofa and found it, putting it in place, then lifted him again. He carried him steadily. Julian rested his head against his shoulder. “When we get there...let me do the talking,” he said. “They'll lock you up if you don't.”

 

“I should be locked up,” he said, his voice thick with self-loathing.

 

“No,” he shook his head, regretting it and swallowing down his gorge. “At least give me the right to decide, and stop making me talk. I'm going to get sick.” He felt the arms tighten around him, but thankfully, Garak listened to him and said no more.

 

Luck was with them insofar as Nurse Decla was off duty for the night. The male Bajoran nurse in charge eyed both of them skeptically as Garak entered. He quickly prepped a biobed and began scanning the doctor as soon as he was settled into place. “You have a nasty concussion,” he told him, “and obvious lividity on your throat. What happened?” Even though he addressed Julian, his eyes glared daggers at Garak.

 

“An accident,” Julian said. “I startled him, and he reacted. Given what he has been through, it's no shock. I should've known better than to approach him from behind and grab his shoulder.”

 

“You ought to press charges,” the man said, reaching for a dermal regenerator for the bruise.

 

“For an accident? I think not,” Julian said sharply. “Do your job, and leave security to the security officers.”

 

“You should stay overnight,” the nurse said. “I don't feel comfortable sending you away until we can deal with that concussion and make certain you don't have any other damage.” He probed expertly at Julian's scalp, finding the cut there and mending it, too. Pushing the doctor's sleeves back, he raised an eyebrow at the darkening bruises there. Julian met his gaze defiantly until he looked away in frustrated disgust.

 

“Do you want me to stay?” Garak asked in a small voice.

 

“You shouldn't,” he said gently, reaching for his hand. “I'm fine, and there's no sense in both of us losing sleep here. Go home, take a shower, and try to get some rest. I'll see you in the morning.”

 

Uncertainty flickered in the blue eyes, but the man nodded, squeezing his hand and letting him go. Julian watched him leave, so full of mixed emotions he had no chance of sorting them out in his current state. He relaxed and allowed the nurse to tend him, knowing better than to give in to the lethargy trying to overwhelm him. He had badly miscalculated the proper way to handle Garak in that situation, and he was aware that luck played a part in the fact that he wasn't now dead. Had his head hit the bulkhead at a different angle, he could have easily broken his neck. A few more seconds with that vise-like hand around his throat, and he wouldn't have been able to hold to consciousness and reach Elim through his frightening rage. Slightly more pressure, and he'd have a collapsed instead of a bruised trachea.

 

Garak had been right in several things he said. Julian didn't know that side of him, what he was capable of, or what he had done in his past. He had no clue how Cardassians typically handled grief. He should have known that telling him about the sleep episodes would trigger a bad reaction. Garak valued his privacy almost above all else. Why had he provoked him? Why was he now so quick to blame himself? He closed his eyes against the harsh infirmary lights and swallowed back tears. All he had wanted was to comfort him. Why was that so terrible?

 

The nurse checked on him periodically through the night, his dark eyes shooting contempt and accusation with each visit. He knew what the man thought, that he had allowed himself to be brutalized by the Cardassian and was refusing to report it out of fear or a sense of misplaced loyalty. He didn't expect him to understand when he, himself, hardly understood it.