dark_sinestra

Julian

The Infirmary

It was slightly more than an hour since Garak had left his office, slightly less than three until what most would consider a decent lunch time. They had no patients, and there were no nuisance diseases currently circulating through the population. He couldn't focus on his routine record keeping. “This is ridiculous,” he sighed, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. “Why can't I just decide on a course of action and stick to it when it comes to him?” He had tried to be as gracious as the Cardassian had been, as mature and understanding. He had believed that he was once and for all setting all of that behind them, particularly after the holosuite incident. So why had it taken every ounce of his control to allow the tailor to leave without doing something horribly rash?

The thought of waiting three hours just to sit across a table at the Replimat from him and talk about things that didn't matter was intolerable. “Get a grip,” he muttered. He considered paying an impromptu visit to Leeta and immediately rejected the thought. She'd be deeply asleep right now and not appreciative of a surprise visit just because he was suddenly horny and frustrated. She was perceptive enough that she might even figure out that it had nothing to do with her. That would never do. Shaking his head, he stood and strode from his office. He found one of the nurses in the lab, unpacking new supplies and putting them away. “I'm stepping out. Call me if you need me.”

“All right, Doctor,” she said, never even looking over at him from her work.

That suited him fine. He wasn't sure what anyone would see if they looked at him too closely. He left the infirmary and paused on the Promenade. His initial intention had been to go to his quarters for quick relief, but Garak's open light caught him like a flame a moth. This is crazy, he told himself. You're crazy.

He crossed the flow of foot traffic and slipped into the shop. Garak had his back to the door, arranging older merchandise on the back racks. Julian watched him and allowed himself an unadulterated moment of pure enjoyment. Garak was graceful and precise in almost everything he did. It didn't matter if he believed that he had an audience or not. He found himself staring at the gray hands. Swallowing, he stepped further in. He wondered how close he could get before the tailor perceived him and then how much longer Garak would make him wait before letting him know he knew he was there. It was possible he already did.

He was a little over halfway to him when Garak said without turning, “It's early for lunch, wouldn't you say? Is there something I can do for you, Doctor? I am a bit busy at the moment.”

“I want a fitting,” he said without thinking.

Garak's hands stopped moving over the rack. He turned and glanced at Julian over his shoulder. “Now?” he asked.

“Yes,” Julian replied, glancing quickly over the merchandise. “That,” he pointed at something with four different clashing colors and random looking patterns. It was the first thing that really caught his eye, and he already regretted selecting it. Garak was critical enough of his fashion sense, or lack thereof as the man loved pointing out.

“You'll forgive me for saying it,” Garak said drolly, “but I don't think the latest in Andorian fashion is for you.”

“Yes, I forgive you for saying it. Now, are you going to help me or not?” he asked tightly.

The Cardassian eyed him for some long, tortuous moments before nodding and hanging what he already held in his hands. He walked the short distance to the Andorian outfit and plucked its hanger then gestured Julian ahead of him into the nearest fitting room. He hung the clothing on a wall hook. “When you've put it on, let me know. If you need any help with any of the fastenings, just say so.”

He knew better than to say he needed help with his uniform. His mouth now dry, he nodded and waited for the tailor to leave. What in the hell are you doing? he asked himself. He didn't have a good answer for it. Quickly stripping from his uniform, he started struggling with the loud outfit. It was more complex than it looked from the outside, very typical of most of Garak's creations. Either it truly wasn't designed for the human body type in any way, or he had done something very wrong. “Garak?” he called out hesitantly. “I think I need help.”

Did the tailor keep him waiting longer than usual, or was he just that eager to have him in the small fitting room with him? He was about to call out again when the curtain briefly whisked open just enough to admit Garak. Amusement and a little annoyance flashed in the blue eyes. “You really did make a mess of things,” he chided him, immediately reaching to a set of clasps Julian had fastened at his left shoulder.

Yes, I did, Julian thought. Garak's touch was nothing but professional and yet every brush of the cool gray fingers eroded his composure. He tried not to watch them while they sorted out his clumsy mistakes. There was no safe place to rest his gaze, neither on the tailor nor on the mirrors around them. Seeing their joint reflections was somehow worse.

“Now,” Garak said, taking him firmly by the shoulders and turning him to face his own reflection. “I have to say, the cut isn't bad on you. You're as slender as they are, but the colors are atrocious with your complexion. You look positively yellow.”

Garak was right, of course. The garish orange, purple, green, and gold brought out a sallow tone in his skin. He looked himself in the eyes. How could Garak not see what was blatantly there? His gaze shifted downward and stopped on the curved gray fingers still clasping his shoulders. The grip was tight. Was the tailor trying to prevent him from turning around? He couldn't see Garak's face in the mirror, just the sleek curve of his hair. He pressed backward subtly and felt his shoulder blades touch Garak's chest. The Cardassian didn't step away.

He then pressed not so subtly, and there was the resistance he had been expecting. Garak's grip tightened further and his arms stiffened, preventing any more backward movement. Julian held his breath. The silence between them had dragged for far too long. Any moment he expected admonition or an airy return to the professional charade of shop keeper with a difficult customer. When neither came and the silence continued to weigh upon him, he reached back between them, sliding his palm flat over the front of Garak's tunic beneath his belt. He gasped softly at the feel of a hard, unyielding bulge, unmistakable even through the layers of thick clothing.

Garak's grip grew vise-like, but he didn't thrust the doctor away. Taking the lack of outright rejection as encouragement of sorts, Julian fumbled his hand beneath the tunic hem, bunching it up against his wrist while he felt for the clasp of the trousers. With deft surgeon's fingers, he managed to work it loose one handed. His breath came more quickly, and he gasped again as he slipped his hand into the parted fabric, closed his fingers around the wet heat of Garak's cock, and stroked the entire length of it. The Cardassian's only concession to him came from a press of forehead to the back of his head.

He didn't dare to glance at the mirror. He didn't want to see his own expression while he took this forbidden pleasure from a reluctant partner or the obscene bulge in a body suit not designed to be accommodating of such displays. That Garak was reluctant to accept this he had no doubt. He could feel it in his profound tension and the absolute control he maintained in the face of the skillful ministrations. He squeezed and drew upward. He felt wetness coating his fingers and palm and the perfect weight and heat of something he had missed more than he realized until right in that moment. He circled his thumb at the sensitive opening and felt Garak's breath spill warm down the back of his neck. He tried to turn. The implacable grip wouldn't allow it, and the tailor gave him a small, harsh shake as though to insist that he stay put. He sensed that if he spoke, he would shatter the moment, so he didn't, furtive breaths and the rhythmic pump of his hand over increasingly slick flesh the only sounds in the dressing room, not loud enough to call attention to them.

The enclosed space grew stuffy from their combined body heat. Julian felt damp all over and flushed. He wanted Garak to touch him, too, to give him something besides his stillness and tacit agreement. More frustrated than before, he rubbed his free hand over the garish fabric, too closely woven and tight for him to get any sort of grip on himself. Garak suddenly released his shoulders, seized his wrist, and forcibly pulled his hand away from the front of his body. He stilled his other hand over the Cardassian's cock and held his breath again, wondering what he intended to do to him next. In the mirror, he saw one fierce blue eye reflected at him from over his shoulder. He couldn't look away, not when he felt deft hands unfastening the complex outfit, nor when he realized that Garak was undressing him.

Yes, he thought. Thank God, yes. He shrugged out of the clinging fabric, having to release the tailor to do it, and stepped from the pants legs. The garish bodysuit became a puddle of vibrant color on the floor, stepped over and forgotten. He turned and clung tightly to the man, pulling at the back of his thick tunic and knotting it in both of his fists. Garak twisted his face slightly so that Julian's hungry kiss met a jaw ridge instead of his lips. Undeterred, he lipped and bit at him, demanding a response, thrusting at him with his hips, grinding cock to cock. Damn you, he thought, I know you want this as much as I do.

He lifted both hands to the cool face, pulled it to him, and forced Garak to allow the kiss mouth to mouth. Unrelenting, he growled low, biting at his lower lip and tugging back, delving his tongue inward. He slid his hands further back and tangled them in the thick black hair, tugging sharply. Kiss me like you mean it, you bastard!

Garak moaned softly, a desperate sound from the back of the throat. Suddenly, he wrapped his arms tightly about Julian, his blunt cut nails digging and raking at his back. They staggered as they pushed one another, seeking leverage. Julian felt cold mirror at his back. It stung the shallow gashes. He didn't care. He welcomed the pain, all of it. He bit with abandon at Garak's neck ridges and relished every harsh shudder against him, knowing they were as much from pain as pleasure. He was too starved for this to show mercy or give quarter.

He brought shaking hands down between them to fumble at the fastenings of Garak's tunic. Garak grabbed his wrists and forced the backs of his hands against the mirror. No, he thought, not this time. You don't get your way this time. He jerked his hands from the grip, Garak's surprise only partially registering. Thrusting with his back against the mirror, he managed to turn them so that it was Garak who was pinned and went for the tunic a second time, working it open and only by some miracle managing not to burst any of the delicate hooks and eyes. He rubbed chest to chest, deliberately raking his nipples over the sharp ridges. The pleasure wracked him straight to his core.

He wanted inside that amazing, alien sheath, penetration that was tighter and sweeter than anything else he had ever experienced, before or since his last time with the tailor. It took him a few tries. It seemed almost as though Garak was trying to thwart him, and maybe he was. It didn't matter. He wanted what he wanted, and he was determined to have it. Both of them groaned and clung to one another just a little tighter when he felt the outer ridge shift and part and felt his cock nestle into a velvety space that was barely large enough to accommodate it beside the fullness of the base of Garak's erection.

He lifted his hands again, his palms against Garak's jaw, the gray face between the arch of his fingers, tilting the Cardassian's head back against the mirror. He held him there, looking deeply into the blue eyes that were so adept at holding secrets within secrets. They were as enigmatic as the blood streaked mirror. Had he been expecting more? Had he thought that if he could get Garak to yield to him like this, he would open him wide and obliterate all that stood between them? He kissed him extra harshly to shut those eyes and tasted blood, not his own. He ground his hips against him, drew back, and thrust again. Garak's jaw muscle rippled beneath the tiny scales of his cheek in a silvery gray flash, his teeth clenching.

Julian knew he was hurting him. He knew it wasn't like him to do this to anyone, much less someone he cared about, so why couldn't he stop? Why was he thrusting with all the mindlessness of a targ in musth? Why did he crave the knotted tension building in his partner? How much more of this can he take? he wondered, watching Garak's lips draw back in a grimace. He wasn't expecting him to open his eyes again or the feeling of exposure when recognition of whatever drove him and contemptuous amusement flashed in the blue depths. One look was all it took for the balance of power to shift, for his inexplicable anger to drain. Instead of twisting him or pushing him back, Garak simply shut his eyes again and clenched his hands at his hips, encouraging him to continue.

He leaned forward and laid his cheek against Garak's, biting down on his own tongue to keep from crying out. It felt too good. It felt as though his strength flowed from him right along with his seed in a wracking release that lasted twice as long as what he was used to. He slid down Garak's body and dropped to his knees. Heedless of the mess, he rubbed both cheeks and his parted lips over the man's soaked cock and the ridged scales to either side of it. He opened his mouth wider and raised up so that he could plunge downward over head and shaft. He gagged once, shifted himself and tried again, relaxing his throat. It had been too long. He had momentarily forgotten, but now he knew what he was doing and how to ease the way. He tasted himself on Garak, a strong, sharp musk over the milder but more pervasive glaze of thick lubrication. He lapped and sucked, only partially flaccid and wondering if he was going to work his way back up to full arousal with this. How long had they been in the dressing room now?

He didn't know and didn't care, a reckless attitude during work hours. He knew this, too, and allowed the thought to slip away. All that mattered right in that moment was Garak, his pleasure, the taste and feel of him, a scent that he realized he caught faintly from time to time when they lunched together and now wondered if he had been secretly aroused at those times, capable of hiding it when he concentrated and chose to do so, unlike his unfortunate human counterparts. There was no hiding it now. He came up for air and plunged down again, ground his nose against the raised ridge, and swallowed hard to caress him with his throat. As he pulled back, he felt Garak's cock swell and pulse. His mouth flooded, and he found himself wondering how long it had been for him last. He was slow to pull back, wanting to prolong the moment for as long as he could.

Panting, Garak braced himself against the streaked mirror, letting his fingers slip away from Julian's hair. He glanced down at him and reached to pull his trousers up. “You can clean up in the washroom,” he said. “I have a portable dermal regenerator in my emergency med kit. I'll get it for you.” Julian nodded and somehow managed to force his rubbery muscles to do his bidding, climbing to his feet, flexing his back, and wincing. Garak left and returned with the small device in hand. “Better let me,” he said in a matter-of-fact way. “If you miss a spot, I wouldn't want to be you answering the question of what that is or how it got there.”

He nodded again and turned his back so that Garak could erase his handiwork. He regretted the loss. That pain helped to anchor all of what they had just done in the reality of the here and now, a feeling that was already beginning to fade and slip away.

“Done,” Garak said.

Julian turned and took it from him. “Hold still,” he said, raising his free hand to brace Garak's chin so that he could run the regenerator over his ravaged lips. He kept his focus on the healing flesh so he wouldn't have to look into his eyes. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what expression would show itself now that they were re-establishing their barriers. “I'm sorry I hurt you,” he murmured.

Garak waited until he finished to answer. “No you're not.” He took the regenerator back and left the dressing room again. Julian knew he wasn't coming back this time. Sighing to himself, he carefully gathered the Andorian outfit and hung it back on its hanger, not sure if he fastened it all correctly or not. He zipped up his jumpsuit without his turtleneck and raced the short distance to the washroom so that he could clean up thoroughly before dressing. He was grateful no medical emergencies had come through and very aware of how lucky he was for that.

“You're an ass,” he told his reflection. Outwardly, he looked as respectable as ever. No one knew how deceptive appearances could be more than he. He stepped from the wash room into the stock room. Garak slipped past him wordlessly so that he could clean up, too. Unsure of what to do, he waited. He decided he'd let Garak set the tone for whatever came next.

When Garak emerged, he seemed somewhat surprised to see him there. “Aren't you supposed to be working?” he asked.

“Yes, I am,” he said.

“Then I suggest you get back to it,” he said. After a short pause, he added, “I hope you don't mind, but I don't think I'm up for lunch today after all. Perhaps another time.”

Julian winced. “If that's how you feel, I'm not going to argue with you, but I would like the chance to talk about this later.”

“Talk about what?” the tailor asked, tipping his head. “Do you think this is the first time I've ever been used? It's not. There's really nothing to talk about.”

His angry denial died on his lips. Hadn't he done just that? He had an itch that Leeta couldn't scratch. He wasn't prepared to leave her. He couldn't give Garak what he felt he deserved, so he had no intention of trying to pretend. That always ended in disaster. “You're not upset with me?”

“Do I seem upset, Doctor?” he asked.

It was the dreaded polite businessman front, the expression that was the equivalent of tapioca, bland and utterly inoffensive. If he knew Garak as well as he believed he did, it meant he had cut him, but how deeply? He also knew that he wasn't going to get an answer in the shop, not during business hours, not when Garak could retreat into Cardassian virtuous industry. “We both know you never seem upset if you don't want to,” he said. “If it's all right with you, I want to stop by later after work and talk.”

“You're going to force this, aren't you? You can't just leave it alone?” Garak asked, irritation sharpening his voice.

“Yes to your first question. No to your second. I'll see you tonight,” he said, smiling slightly and turning to leave. Now he had an entire afternoon to brace himself for what might be a very unpleasant conversation and to sort out exactly why he had been so rash to begin with. He hoped it would be enough.

Garak

Garak's Clothiers

After Julian left, Garak returned to the fitting room to retrieve the outfit. It needed cleaning, as did the mirror. He removed it to the stock room and returned with a cloth and solvent for the mirror. With just a few spritzes and wipes, he had the polished surface gleaming. He dabbed up the few spots on the floor and gave the room a critical once over. Good as new.

The rhythm of his work day allowed him to calm the turbulence stirred by the unexpected visit. Public wasn't the place for sorting out messy emotions or having angry outbursts. He took a few of his pills to stave off anticipated trouble, not looking forward to having to renew the prescription. A few customers, evidently wanting to impress the First Minister, came to him to purchase Bajoran formal wear. Aside from the sporadic distractions, he was able to get his displays shifted in anticipation of the newest collections coming out within the week.

When he finished, he closed early. He wasn't eager to have the promised conversation, far from it. He wanted the time to settle himself and sort his uncharacteristically complicated reaction into something manageable. He made his way to his quarters quickly, hoping not to run into anyone who would want to talk to him along the way. There were few enough of them. Logistics were on his side.

The first thing he did behind closed doors was to strip from his clothing and take a long, thorough shower. Nothing physical could wash away the soiled feeling of being used; however, being clean always made him feel better. Afterward, he chose a dark tunic with little embellishment and a conservative cut. You allowed it. You actively participated, he thought to his reflection. It had been too long since he felt truly wanted. Holding himself apart from any who might have possibly taken an interest had been a mistake, made him vulnerable to his own needs. Of course the doctor was intelligent and perceptive enough to sense that. He had been foolish to believe he would never try to exploit it.

You weren't the only blind one, he addressed Julian in his mind. There are parts of you I failed to see. It had been flattering to think of a somewhat naïve young man enamored of his experience and wanting to learn what he had to teach. The doctor was a better pupil than he anticipated. He added pride to the list of internal casualties his isolation on Deep Space Nine had cost him, one more piece of what made him Cardassian taken away.

He ate an early dinner and allowed himself a small, seated nap. When he awoke, he felt more clear headed. It occurred to him that he could simply not be there when Julian arrived. That would only postpone the inevitable. It was a small station, seemed smaller all the time. There was nowhere he could go to avoid this confrontation. It wasn't in his best interest to do that, anyway. He allowed something in a moment of weakness. That didn't mean he had to remain in that position. No, there were specific things he could do and say, he knew, to leverage this to an advantage of sorts. He nodded slowly to himself. A setback was not necessarily a loss. He plucked a PADD from a side table and pulled up a new enigma tale. New literature out of Cardassia was growing rare. He savored it when he managed to get his hands on it.

His door chimed about an hour after Julian would have gotten off work, assuming a normal day. Garak called, “Enter,” casually and set the PADD aside as the doctor stepped into the room dressed in an outfit he knew Garak liked. Conciliation, or seduction? Garak wondered, maintaining his detachment. “Please,” he said without rising, “have a seat.” He gestured at the chair catty corner to his spot on his sofa.

“Thanks,” the doctor said, offering a fleeting, closed lipped smile and taking the seat. Garak noticed he sat straight, not settling in. He was uncomfortable. Just as well.

“May I get you anything?” he offered cordially, content to play the consummate host.

“No, thank you. I just finished supper. Garak,” he said, hesitating before adding, “I owe you an apology.”

“For what, precisely?” He felt it best to see how the doctor saw what had happened between them before trying to push his own agenda.

“For what I did to you today. For...re-opening old wounds and crossing a line we both decided some time ago we'd never cross again. I took advantage of...” He hesitated again, umber eyes searching Garak's.

Are you going to say it? Garak wondered as he watched him and listened. Are you going to point out blatantly that I'm alone?

“Your feelings,” he said instead.

“What feelings might those be, Doctor?” he asked mildly.

The man laughed nervously. “You're really intent on making me pay for this, aren't you?”

“How can I accept your apology if I don't know what it is you're sorry for?” he asked reasonably. “Or for that matter, what it is you think you've done?”

“I know you still love me,” he said quietly.

Garak laughed. He couldn't help himself. Of course he loved him, but that had nothing to do with what happened in the dressing room. Julian's angry, perplexed look just served to amuse him that much more. “What a world you live in,” he said, his voice still rich from his laughter. “Chased by so many, truly held by none. Yes, I can see how you'd believe you wounded my poor, yearning heart.”

“I don't understand what's so funny,” he said, sounding almost petulant.

“I know that,” Garak said. “It should set your mind at ease to know I'm not twisted in knots with longing or wanting a return to what we had. At our best, it still didn't work very well, did it?”

The doctor gave him a long, searching look. “You expect me to believe you're not upset?”

“Would it be easier for you if I were?” he asked. “Perhaps that's what you'd like?”

“Of course not,” he retorted, frowning deeply. “I don't want you hurt.”

“That's not the impression you gave me earlier,” he all but purred, satisfied at the instant color rising in the man's cheeks. After all these years, he was still ridiculously easy to provoke to a blush. “Please, Doctor, you're not the young ingénue on your first adventure. Why the coyness now, after the fact?”

“That wasn't like me, and you know it,” he replied, looking away.

“Wasn't it?” he asked, arching an eye ridge. “You see, I think it was very like you when you're conflicted. You were angry with yourself and taking it out on me. It was easy, because I allowed it. I didn't fight you, and I didn't answer in kind. To tell you the truth, I was intrigued, curious just how far you'd go.” He dropped his voice to an intimate whisper as he leaned toward him. “I should have kept my eyes closed.”

“You're enjoying this,” Julian accused. “You love the fact that when you look at me these days, I look more and more like you.”

Garak smiled. Well, that was an unexpected little gift, that revelation. It somehow made his own recent hit to his pride more bearable. It was true. Misery loved company. “Don't worry, my dear. You have a way to go yet before any of your friends would pick up on it.”

“It won't happen again,” he said stonily.

“That's entirely up to you,” Garak replied, spreading both hands and sitting back once more. “I told myself that I wouldn't interfere in your relationship, and I meant it. It never occurred to me that you'd come to me. I could have stopped you. Is that why you're angry with me, because I didn't stop you? Or is it that you want me to be as furious with you as you are with yourself? You want my scorn as a scourge for your guilty conscience? I let you use my body today. That's not enough for you?”

“You'll forgive me if I'm skeptical,” Julian retorted. “As manipulative as you are...”

Garak cut him off. “Yes, that would be easier for you, wouldn't it? Painting over the scene with an opaque glaze of delusion and denial. It must have been my pulling the strings, not your impulsiveness or selfishness at all. When I went to see you this morning, I must have slyly planted subconscious seeds of desire, my invitation to lunch a coded offer of a clandestine tryst. Imagine my surprise when the seeds bore fruit a full three hours before the appointed time!” Sarcasm sharpened his voice, anger dangerously close to returning in force.

“No, you're right,” he conceded unexpectedly. “I can't blame it on you.” He looked down at his loosely laced fingers resting between his thighs. “I have tried so hard to find...a balance point...when it comes to us. I've tried to let go the way you did. It seems I can emulate some of your less endearing traits a little too well, but when it comes to sacrifice...” he gave a small, humorless chuff of a laugh and glanced at Garak, “is it any wonder I just don't get Preloc?”

Was he reduced to being disarmed with a glance? He knew that wasn't quite accurate. It was the vulnerability behind it. It was one of the few traits in the younger man that penetrated all of Garak's defenses. Had he sensed even a trace of manipulation behind it, he would have happily thrown the doctor out on his ear and washed his hands of him. The doctor wasn't so jaded yet, though, and Garak, no matter how much he wished otherwise, wasn't immune. “This wouldn't happen if we weren't...stuck here,” he said carefully.

“You mean if you could leave?” Julian asked, lifting his head and meeting his gaze.

“Or you,” Garak said, nodding. “Practically everywhere we turn holds a memory. You may not be Cardassian, but I know you have excellent recall. I've explained to you before how my people process and experience the past. Not only are we trapped in the same places, but we travel in overlapping social circles. We're tied to each other in ways we wouldn't be on a planet, or if one or both of us could come and go at will.”

“Is that supposed to be comforting, that if you could get away from me, you would?”

“Must you always take everything I say in the worst possible way?” Garak snapped.

“It doesn't help that you rarely explain yourself,” Julian replied. Had he not been smiling faintly when he said it, Garak might have thrown him out anyway. His patience was running thin.

“You humans are mentally lazy enough. I would be a poor friend indeed if I encouraged such bad habits,” he retorted without heat. “I think getting back together is a colossally bad idea. If you have...appetites...we can work with that.”

“What are you suggesting?” Julian asked, his brow furrowing. “That I just...come to you when I get the urge, sneak around on Leeta, use you? You can't be serious.”

“What you do with Leeta is between you and Leeta. It doesn't concern me. If I'm allowing it, and we're both in agreement about what it is we're doing, it's not using, is it?”

“I don't understand,” he said, shaking his head. “Why would you propose something like that? Do you honestly believe I'd be able to do something like that?”

“You did it today with no prompting or encouragement on my part,” Garak said simply. “Am I to believe that you've already told Leeta, a little light supper conversation before leaving her and coming to see me?” At Julian's dark look, he continued. “I thought not. Now, you can sit there and tell me you'll never do it again and find yourself back in the same position you were in this morning a few weeks or perhaps even months down the line, or you can try to be sensible about this and manage your problem. You said it yourself, Julian. You've tried to find balance, and you've been unable to do so your way. Why should I not be OK with this? It's a very Cardassian solution.”

“I have to say, this isn't what I expected to hear when I came here tonight,” he said, sounding more than a little taken aback.

“No, that much was obvious,” Garak said dryly.

Julian sighed and rubbed his face. “I'll have to think about this. It may be normal for Cardassians. It's not normal for me.”

Garak conceded that point with a faint incline of his head. “No need to rush,” he said. “As I've already pointed out, I'm not going anywhere.”

Frowning, the doctor said, “You seemed to have a lot of contempt for Gul Dukat when he was hitting on Major Kira.”

“I don't need an excuse to feel contempt for Dukat,” Garak said, amused. “You're not married. If you decide you want to be, I trust you will tell me so that I can extricate myself from the situation.”

“I suppose I just have trouble believing you can be so casual about this.”

“If you're wanting me to pine for you or pledge undying devotion while you vacillate, there's the door,” he said, pointing. “It's insulting. If you need that from someone, I suggest you have a deep heart to heart with your good friend Miles. I am certain he will provide you with all of the heart wrenching drama you can stomach.”

“That was cruel,” Julian said.

“No, leading others on with no intention of follow through is cruel,” the Cardassian said without pity. “I think you know as well as I do how that man feels about you. I think you use him, in a different way than you used me, to be sure, but you use him, nonetheless. I've given you a choice, and I have been most charitably open with you about what it is and what it is not. I trust that when you've made a decision, one way or the other, you will at least have the courtesy to inform me.”

Julian drew a shaky breath and let it out. “You know what I'm going to say. You're such a bastard. You enjoy seeing me like this, knowing that you've gotten under my skin.”

More than you know, Garak thought, feeling very much as though he had gotten back a little of his own. Others wounded him at their peril. At least that hadn't changed. “One more thing then,” he said, standing to indicate that as far as he was concerned, the visit was at an end. “Don't come to me during work hours again. That was utterly irresponsible.”

“I know,” Julian said, also standing. “I won't.”

Garak almost thanked him for insisting on visiting, but he decided it would be a crass overplay of his hand. No matter what Julian might think, he knew that he had regained control of the situation. While he would be content to allow the younger man to determine when and how often he came to him, Garak would be the one to control how close they were. He wouldn't make the mistake of emotional intimacy with the doctor again. He was singularly capable of both love and distance at once. In fact he had almost elevated it to an art form long before ever meeting Julian. He took him lightly by the elbow as he escorted him the short distance to his door. “Have a pleasant evening,” he said as the door hissed open and the doctor stepped into the corridor.

He wasn't sure if he heard or only imagined, “Not bloody likely,” just before the door shut once more. Either way, he smiled.

Julian

The Promenade

He had never considered himself much of a voyeur before. Somewhere along the way, meeting Garak changed that, not in a fetishistic or titillating fashion, but in making him a much keener observer. Being superior among the average had made him lazy for a large part of his life. Garak awakened a piece of him that had slumbered, disengaged and unused. He watched the Cardassian now, seated at his breakfast table with Odo. It wasn't the first time he had watched the pair of them. They were fascinating at a distance in their complex and subtle choreography of feint and counter-feint. This morning was different. Odo's stiff posture and precise movements conveyed an odd sort of brittleness. Garak was a stolid presence without being solicitous. To be a fly on that wall, Julian thought.

Deep down he envied the ease with which the two came together. Outwardly, they were so different, yet they had found a way to bridge their differences with a common thread. None of Garak's other relationships seemed turbulent or terribly complex. Of course, none of Julian's other relationships were, either. No, because I'm able to keep them at a certain distance. I've never been able to do that with him, not the way I should.

He slipped away from his observation post—he hoped unseen—and retreated to the orderly world of his work environment. Just as things had changed in the holosuite, they had changed again in the dressing room yesterday. Small pieces of the person he had always thought himself to be were falling away to reveal a stranger, a dark reflection of the shiny facade he worked so hard to create that sometimes he forgot he wasn't that mask. Garak reminded him. Revealed him.

Was the tailor right? Would the two careen away from one another faster than light speed if freed of the traps, bonds, and obligations that bound them to the station and never look back, or would it be as Julian suspected and feared, that even freed of their external bonds, they would be tied to one another so tightly that they'd be doomed to return to the painful spiral until one of them was dead? He didn't have an answer to that, and he privately hoped he wouldn't have to find out any time soon. Having Garak back, even in such a tainted way, was a pleasure that for the moment outweighed any guilt of deception, and that bothered him most of all.

The End

Author Notes: The story begins during Starship Down and ends shortly after Crossfire. While time-wise, I know that's a huge span, much of what happens is between or behind the scenes. I made the decision not to directly include anything from the episode Our Man Bashir largely because that episode was so tautly paced that there wasn't much room for writing in the margins. It does, however, have a large impact on the story itself.

Summary: A brush with death has Julian considering his life and the stresses of the job, but a trip into escapism doesn't go quite as planned, threatening the very foundations of his friendship with Garak. As the two try to find a way to negotiate the new pitfalls, Odo faces some challenges of his own, and nothing goes as planned.

Author: Dark Sinestra

Date Written: March/April 2010

Category: Slash, Het

Rating: R for strong sexual content, adult situations, and mild adult language.

Disclaimer: If there's still anybody out there who thinks that fanfic authors profit from fanfic or that DS9 characters could ever belong to a fanfic author, point me to them. I'll give them a little smack with a wet fish.

Word Count: 17,542

Julian

USS Defiant

Cold. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so cold. It wasn't quite the cold of the vacuum of space, but that was only by a matter of a few degrees. The upper level of a gas giant's atmosphere was nowhere to stay for any length of time without things like environmental controls and recycling breathable atmosphere. Both he and Dax were shivering constantly now, not the small, intermittent shivers that helped regulate body temperature on a nippy day but the deep body shivers that heralded the beginning of the second stage of hypothermia.

They had stopped talking to one another some time ago. The chattering of their teeth and muscle spasms of their jaws made it difficult. Besides, both of them knew that talking used more oxygen. Freeze or suffocate, he thought, idly wondering which would be worse. He knew the cold was beginning to affect his brain function. Otherwise, he didn't think he'd be nearly as detached about their impending deaths. He thought perhaps he gripped her more tightly to himself, but he could no longer be sure. He had little control of his limbs.

How ironic it was that it came to this. It took being locked in a room together without life support for them finally to finish clearing the air between them after years of association in a dysfunctional pattern of pursuer and pursued, to behave as the rational adults they were and come clean. Why? Why did it take something like this? He tried to slow his breathing, but it was no use. His diaphragm was beginning to spasm. It wouldn't be much longer before heart arrhythmia set in. If he still had the control for it, he would've laughed. He had something he had dreamed of nearly steadily for two years straight, and now all he wanted was to see Leeta. Liar, a deeper part of his psyche whispered. You want to want to see her. You know who you want to see.

“J-J-Julian,” Dax stuttered, “y-you're muh-moaning. A-are you a-all right?” She shifted her head and looked up at him.

She was so pale, even her delicate markings starting to fade. He nodded convulsively and tried to lift her so that they could rest cheek to cheek and provide one another just a little more warmth. He gave up after a few moments of futility. It seemed as though she was stuck to him like a limpet to a rock, her arms so cramped in their hold that he couldn't budge her. “S-s-sorry,” he managed.

She didn't answer, her head lowering again so that all he could see was the dark curve of her hair. Who did she long to see? In whose arms would she rather be dying? Lenara's? The captain's? Someone else's? Was there even anyone else alive or capable of reaching them, or were they all off in various parts of the ship dead and dying in different ways? Blunt force trauma, fire, electrical shock, suffocation. Each thought brought with it a clinical list of symptoms, internal bleeding and organ damage, burns, cellular death from oxygen deprivation. Stop it, he told himself. You actually want to die cataloging ways to go?

I'd just as soon not die, if it's all the same, he retorted to himself feeling inappropriately amused. I'd rather have tea, Tarkalean. Double sweet.

“Ju-Jul-Jul...” Dax gasped. He felt her fingers digging into his back as a distant sensation. She struggled to lift herself again.

Save your strength, he thought, or perhaps he said it. He couldn't be sure. Confusion was starting to set in. Why couldn't she just leave him alone? If anyone had told him how bloody painful hypothermia was, he might have gone ahead and let the both of them suck down the fluorine gas in the flooded corridor.

How morbid of you, a thought came in a voice that wasn't his.

He knew that voice. He tried to smile. Garak, he thought. I should've known you wouldn't miss the party.

If this is a party, I'd rather be at work, the voice came again, something strangely comforting and reassuring about its familiar sarcasm. You need to pay attention and look at the light.

He felt a vague stirring of irritation. When had Garak become a mystic, and why was he trying to encourage him to die? He then realized that the light he saw was quite real. He blinked and squinted against it right along with Dax and felt someone pulling them up. His mind gladly released the reins then, and for quite some time, he knew no more.

When he came to, he found himself on one of the sickbay beds of the Defiant. “Dax,” he croaked, trying to look around.

“Is fine, Doctor,” one of his hand picked medics assured him. “You need to rest.”

He thought he saw the captain lying in the next bed over. “Is he...” he started to ask.

“Also fine,” the man said. He felt the cool nozzle of a hypospray against his neck and a rush of warm comfort. He knew he had just been given a sedative and was powerless to resist the pull back into welcoming blackness.

The next time he awoke, he realized that he was in the infirmary back on the station. Unused to being an occupant of one of the biobeds, he tried to look around, only to realize that he was in one of the private rooms. Two blurry shapes at the side of his bed resolved into the figures of Leeta and Garak. The dabo girl had her head resting on the Cardassian's shoulder, her eyes closed and her mouth slightly open in sleep. He met Garak's gaze, only to have the tailor put a finger to his own lips and then smile at him warmly. He returned the smile and settled back. He was so tired, sore, and drained he felt that he could sleep another week.

Garak carefully awoke Leeta, his gentleness touching Julian in a way he couldn't begin to explain. The Cardassian was such a conundrum. He thought he could study him a hundred years and still not understand who he really was. “Someone would like to see you, dear,” Garak murmured as she sat up, blinking at him sleepily. He gestured at Julian.

Her attention snapped over to him, her smile like sunshine emerging from cloud cover. “Sweetie,” she said, immediately leaning forward and taking his hand between both of hers, lifting it, and lightly kissing the backs of his fingers. “You had us so worried.”

Smiling benevolently at both of them, Garak stood. “I'll come see you later,” he said, inclining his head to Julian and stepping out of the room.

Julian followed him with his eyes, wanting to call him back. Reluctantly, he looked back to Leeta and offered her the best smile he could muster. “I'm OK,” he said. “How long have I been here? Did we...who didn't make it?”

“I'm not allowed to talk to you about any of that,” she said, patting him lightly and standing. “Let me go get Nurse Frendel.”

He nodded and watched her go, too, anxious and wanting more than anything to get up and out of that bed. There were bound to be other people who were hurt, people who should have been his patients. His head nurse came back into the room with Leeta in tow and offered him a reassuring smile. “Welcome back,” he said. “You've been here a few hours now. I'm keeping you overnight for observation. I don't need to tell you that's standard procedure for hypothermia patients, Doctor.”

He shook his head, resigned to the overnight stay. He knew arguing would just be obnoxious and get him nowhere. “The crew?” he asked anxiously.

“There were some losses,” the nurse said. “No one from the command staff. Once you've been released, you'll have full access to the list. For now, I would suggest you rest. Once you're up and about tomorrow, you're going to be busy dealing with a full facility.”

He nodded again, saddened to hear of the losses. The Gamma Quadrant seemed more dangerous by the day. It was very rare they managed any incursions that didn't involve an encounter with Jem'Hadar attack ships. I need a break, he thought. We all do. “Thank you, Nurse Frendel. I know the infirmary is in good hands,” he said. It didn't stop him from wanting to be the one already treating the wounded.

The Bajoran nodded and left him with Leeta and the final instructions to call him if he needed anything. “I'm so glad you're OK,” she said. “Do you need anything?”

He didn't dare ask for what he most wanted right at that moment. “Water would be nice,” he said instead. “How long have you been here?”

She poured him a glass from a nearby pitcher and helped him adjust the bed so that he could sit up and drink. “Ever since they brought you in. Quark was just so happy to be alive, he didn't even question me when I demanded the time. I would've quit had he said no.”

She was such a good woman. He felt a pang of guilt. “I'm glad it didn't come to that,” he said quietly, sipping his water. “Are you tired? You look tired.”

“I'm fine,” she brushed the question off. “I don't think I would've been calm enough to catch a few winks if Garak hadn't been here. I think Nurse Frendel let him stay for my sake more than yours,” she said sheepishly. “I was a little emotional.”

Now that he looked at her more closely, he could see the puffiness of her lids and the reddish tint to the whites of her eyes. “I'm harder to kill than that,” he said, attempting humor. He didn't know if he had ever been closer to death, a fact he thrust away as soon as he thought it.

“Every time you go away on that ship, I know something like this can happen,” she said softly. “I'm just glad it usually doesn't. Rom was beside himself worrying about Quark.” She lapsed silent with a guilty expression.

“What?” he asked, curious.

She looked over her shoulder, even though there was no chance of their being overheard and leaned in closer. “It wouldn't be so bad if Quark died,” she said with a low ferocity he hadn't expected from her. She sighed. “That sounded so horrible, but he's horrible. Horrible to Rom. Horrible to all of us.”

“You know,” he said, “if you're so stressed out you wish your boss was dead...”

She cut him off. “I don't really. I just hate how he treats Rom. He makes me so mad!” She made a fuss of smoothing his blanket and getting him more comfortable, taking the empty water glass and lowering the bed, despite his protests that he'd rather sit up. “You've been ordered to rest, Doctor,” she said pertly.

“You're so cute when you get stern,” he said, smiling in spite of himself.

“You haven't seen stern,” she said, “but if you keep talking, you're going to.” She ran her fingers gently through his tangled hair, teasing out the snarls. “Would it be easier for you if I let you sleep?” she asked.

He nodded. “I hate to say it, but yes. If you're here, I'll want to talk. If I want to talk...”

“You won't sleep,” she finished for him. Leaning down, she kissed his forehead. “Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave?”

He hesitated. “No,” he said at last. There was no way for him to ask her to send Garak in without upsetting or insulting her, not after her just told her he wanted to sleep.

“I'll be by in the morning,” she said, giving him a final kiss and leaving.

He closed his eyes and sighed softly. Why did things have to be so confusing? He couldn't argue with his psyche's desires when they came from a moment of finality, could he? He had been convinced that they were going to die, and his supposed last thoughts were of Garak. What did that say about him?

He felt a cool touch on his hand and almost jumped out of the hospital bed, his eyes flying open. “I'm sorry,” Garak said. “I thought for certain you heard me come in.”

“No,” he said, twisting his hand so he could clasp Garak's. “I didn't think you'd come back tonight.”

“After the look you gave me when I was leaving? Julian, please, give me a little credit,” he said, reaching behind himself and pulling a chair close enough to sit next to the bed. After he resettled, he gave him his hand again.

Julian, not “doctor”, he thought. It was rare that Garak called him Julian these days. He wanted to tell him of his last thoughts before they were found, all of it. The words wouldn't come. “Thank you,” he said instead.

“I recall a time when a frightened, bitter man believed that he was dying, and a dashing, yet strangely irritating, young man came to his rescue,” Garak said with an undercurrent of warm amusement in his rich voice. “All the man really needed was someone to hold his hand.”

“Strangely irritating, eh?” Julian asked, his face creasing a smile.

Garak made a soft tsking noise. “In all that blatant flattery, you seize upon the one criticism? Am I the only one who sees a problem with this?”

He suddenly felt hot tears slide from the corners of his eyes into the hair at his temples, relief to be alive, release of all the previous pent tension and fear, gratitude that for once in his life, the one thing he wanted most in the world was at hand at the time he needed it most. He would have tried to speak had Garak not laid the index finger of his free hand against his lips and shaken his head subtly. Taking a convulsive breath, he let it out audibly and turned his cheek into the cool hand now against it, both eyes squeezed shut.

“You're all right now,” Garak told him quietly. “As I've told you before, you're strong. Whatever happened on that ship is behind you, and you're in control of much of what lies before you.”

He followed the cadence of his voice and felt himself slip past the momentary loss of control. He exhaled most of the tension from his body and lay passive while Garak lightly stroked his cheek with his thumb. When he opened his eyes again, he felt calmer. “You are such a damnable contradiction,” he said softly. “And you know it, don't you?”

The tailor smiled faintly. “I've been under the impression for quite some time that you wouldn't have me any other way.”

“I haven't had you in quite some time,” he said. Perhaps his brush with death had made him bold, or perhaps it was the residual effect of the sedatives. He didn't care. He had said his piece earlier with Dax. Now it was Garak's turn.

“Are you prepared to break Leeta's heart?” Garak asked, a world of complexity in the look with which he favored Julian.

Why? Why did he always do that, say the one thing that would keep him from throwing caution to the wind and just acting on his own desires? He dropped his gaze, chagrined and shamed both.

“I didn't think so,” he continued in the same gentle tone of voice.

“What about your heart?” Julian asked.

“Have I ever given you the impression that it's fragile?” the tailor asked, amusement in the depth of blue eyes. Thankfully, it wasn't his usual cruel or caustic humor. That had yet to rear its head that night. He smoothed Julian's hair back from his forehead.

“I don't know why you put up with me,” the doctor said, largely feeling he deserved none of this care. He was no closer to divesting himself of the biggest wedge between them, and he knew that no amount of tenderness on Garak's part would change that.

“I often ask myself the same thing,” Garak said. “I decided it's because of all of the officers on the station, you're the only one with any hope of saving me should an assassin come along and succeed where others have failed. Personal motivation can be quite strong for taking decisive, life saving action.”

Julian stared at him for about two seconds before finding himself shaking with suppressed laugher. He didn't want the nurse hearing him and coming to find if anything was wrong. “You're dreadful. You are a horrible, horrible man. Half of me thinks I should take that at face value.”

“Half of you is right,” he said, beaming.

“The tragedy of it is that I'll probably never know which half,” he said, still amused. He grew more serious as he allowed himself to look into the lovely alien eyes, inscrutable as ever. “You were there,” he blurted.

“I beg pardon?” Garak asked, arching an eye ridge.

“Not literally, of course,” he said, reaching up and taking the hand in his hair between both of his and settling it against his chest. “But toward the end, when I was starting to lose consciousness, you're the one my oxygen deprived mind conjured.”

“I have never felt sorrier for you,” Garak said, wide eyed.

He chuffed a soft laugh and shook his head. “Oh, I give up. You're not going to take the compliment, are you?”

“Was it a compliment?” he asked innocently. “After all, you didn't say what I was doing. For all I know, I was the one sucking the air and heat out of the room in your elaborate delusion.”

“Every time I think I might just once like a peek into your mind, you go and say something like that,” he said, both exasperated and amused in equal parts. “You were telling me to pay attention to the light.”

“Oh, lovely,” Garak said, rolling his eyes. “Isn't going into the light some insipid euphemism you humans have for dying?”

“As a matter of fact, it is. I was quite irritated with you, until I realized the light was real, and you were basically telling me to get my head out of my arse and hang on just a little longer.”

“What a relief to know that at least one part of your mind has a sound grasp of my mannerisms,” he said. “Now, wrap that wonderfully sensible part of that mind of yours around this. You need to sleep, and, therefore, I need to go.”

He wanted to clutch his hand like a child in the dark, but he knew better. Garak had made up his mind. He pressed his palm against his sternum with both his hands and then released him. “Thank you,” he said again, “for coming back.”

“I could say the same thing to you, Doctor,” he said, pressing a moment more than Julian held and standing. “This place simply wouldn't be the same without you.”

He felt that pressure long after the man was gone, a weight on his heart in more ways than one. He wasn't ready to break Leeta's heart. It was true. He couldn't walk away from her and back to Garak with open arms and a clean slate. He couldn't force him to endure his self-imposed barriers of “this close and no closer”. He couldn't bear it if love finally turned irrevocably to hatred. Leeta wasn't as quick to pick up on his distance since he had gotten more careful. Garak still felt it just then when his barriers were down lower than they had been in years. For the first time, he believed he understood exactly what the Cardassian had done in letting him go and the depth of love it took to have such grace. He understood, because now he was having to do the same. Were it not for the steady sound of his heart monitor, he might have believed he was in trouble. The pain in his chest was nearly unbearable.

Garak

The Infirmary

Garak stepped into the corridor outside Julian's room and rubbed at his eye ridges. It had been a long night of worry, and it was very late. On his way out, he noticed Major Kira still seated in the waiting area, looking a little lost and out of place. “Major?” he asked, pausing near the front entrance.

She frowned slightly, stood, and headed over to him. “I probably should leave for a while,” she admitted. “They said I'm not in the way, but I'm not doing much good here, am I?”

“I'm not sure,” he said. “Who are you here for?”

“You wouldn't understand,” she said, gesturing for him to start walking again. She fell into step beside him. “How's Julian?”

“He seems OK,” he said. “Tired.”

“He saved Jadzia, and she saved the rest of us,” she said. “He has really...come a long way, hasn't he?”

“That he has,” he said fondly. He wondered where she intended to go. Surely she didn't intend to follow him all the way back to his quarters?

She answered his unasked question by stopping in front of the temple. “I think I'm going to pray for a while,” she said. “Good night, Garak.”

“Good night, Major,” he replied, inclining his head. He had no patience for mysticism. It seemed like a waste of time, petitioning something or someone to fix one's life or offer guidance, time better spent doing the hard work oneself. He climbed the stairs to the second level of the Promenade and looked out one of the star ports into the deep black of space.

Death could come for any one of them at any time. It was a reality he accepted. It had been part of his life for as long as he was of school age and beyond. He thought back to a long ago school team member, partially blinded by a honge during one of the exercise raids. One minute, he was near the top of the class, a heavyset bully that few dared to cross. The moment the predatory bird took his eye, all of that was over. He was a cripple, pitied by a few, simply forgotten and discarded by the rest. Without his full vision, he could never hope to be useful in the Order or Central Command. Better off dead, many said, and there had been a time Garak was in full agreement.

He never let himself care, not for the longest time. Even when Tolan had died, it was more of an inconvenience having to go home and see him, weak in the bed, a skeletal parody of his former strength, and listen to him go on and on about the Oralian Way. He still had the recitation mask. Why had he kept it? Then to find out the truth that Tain was his father, not Tolan after all, Tolan his mother's brother. So much of a family puzzle fell into place then and left him feeling empty and hollowed out, part of him ashamed for the relief he felt that he wasn't the son of a mere gardener, part of him appalled at the depth of the deception, part of him angry at the things they had allowed Tain to do. All of those parts were there and yet distant, almost as though he had watched someone else feel them. That detachment had been so carefully cultivated in him by every influence around him and served him so very well for decades. It wasn't until later in his adulthood that it started to erode.

Where was it now? He hugged himself against the perpetual chill of the station and the deeper chill that came from the knowledge that Julian had escaped death by a narrow margin. He had come so close to giving up on pride and simply accepting what the doctor was willing to give, letting him have his distance and his inconsistency and saying it was enough for him. How much of himself could he give away before there was nothing left? With detachment gone, he needed his pride more than ever. Otherwise, what did it mean to be Cardassian? He refused to reduce that to a label or a title. No, it had to mean something. Flesh, blood, and DNA was not enough. If it were, that war “orphan” Rugal that Dukat tried to use would be Cardassian. Even the boy had sense enough to know that it was not so.

He ached for home. Often it was background pain, a constant presence that could be ignored and put off for its very consistency. At the moment, it was nearly crippling. He knew that if he could go home, he could put every hellish day on this station behind him. Oh, it would be with him in the way that all experiences he had ever had always were, but the emphasis would make all the difference. He believed—he had to believe—that he could reclaim himself, that he could become who and what he had been raised to be. Perhaps there would be some small differences, yes, but he could be a Cardassian again, not this strange creature that looked and talked like one but was hollow inside. It was that hollowness that was the problem, he realized. Nature abhorred a vacuum and had conspired to fill his with pain.

Go back to your quarters, he told himself and instantly moved to obey. The only thing worse than feeling like an empty shell was putting himself on display. No one needed to see that.

Julian

Private Quarters

Julian could hardly wait. He tore into the small package that had arrived for him on a freighter earlier that day and all but crowed his delight. His long awaited holoprogram had arrived. He grinned wide and set it aside on his table, hurrying to change out of his uniform and into a tuxedo he had ordered from Garak some time ago with no explanation as to the style beyond a vague, “It's a type of Earth formal wear.”

Yes, he could have had the program clothe him, but there was something magical about a good fitting tux, something that transformed the mundane to the extraordinary. At first he hadn't intended to keep it all a secret, but Leeta's disdain for most of his favorite programs had him feeling a little self-conscious. There was more to it than that, as he well knew. It had been a very long time since he kept anything just for himself. In his job and in his personal life, he was expected to give and be far more selfless than most of his peers. Although he didn't begrudge his co-workers or his loved ones time and energy spent on them, more and more these days he was feeling he had less of a reserve from which to give. He viewed this as a way to recharge his energy cells with some harmless fun that most of his friends simply wouldn't appreciate or understand.

The program was everything it promised to be and then some. He was entranced with the sleek, gleaming world of the mid-1960's, replete with wonderfully impractical spy devices disguised as everything from shoe heels to boutonnières, campy names, lovely ladies, and no one expecting him to be anything other than charming, debonair, and clever. There was just enough challenge within the built in plots and scenarios that he didn't feel bored, but everything retained a lighthearted humor that was the perfect antidote to the deadly serious conflicts they continued to face in the Gamma Quadrant and closer to home. His most recent brush with death brought home to him his need for some immersive escapism.

He didn't give much thought to how much time he was spending in the holosuite over the next few weeks. Leeta seemed grateful that he was pressuring her less for together time with her punishing work schedule. Miles had some of his own programs that weren't of as much interest to Julian, and Dax was either working extra hours or spending quite a bit of off time with Kira in their historical fantasies. He knew better than to try to spend more time with Garak. The temptation to act on his personal revelations would be too strong and ultimately selfish. He might not be able to do much for the Cardassian, but he could do that. In the latter, he made a mistake. No one enjoyed ferreting out a juicy secret quite as much as the tailor, and no one excelled at it more.

Garak

Quark's Bar

His mother told him years ago that his curiosity would lead him to ruin. At some point in early life, he stopped listening to Mila. After all, what was she but a housekeeper and occasional secretary to Tain, when he had larger goals and nearly bottomless ambition? The older he got, the smarter Mila seemed to be. Garak emerged into uncharacteristic quiet in Quark's bar. Due to the power requirements of storing the crew's personal patterns in Deep Space Nine's computer system, Quark had been forced to close down and evacuate the patrons for safety reasons. Cables that resembled shadowy, tentacled leviathans coiled and stretched away from the holosuite as far as Garak could see. He slightly arched a brow ridge.

Quark approached him and the doctor, looking decidedly put out. “This is bad for business,” he said flatly. “Not only that, I figured it out. I realized where they were, but did I get any thanks? No, of course not.” He squinted at both of them. “You're welcome.” He squinted harder, this time focusing on Garak. “And you're bleeding,” he said. “I hope you didn't bleed everywhere in there. It's unsanitary.”

“I'm fine,” Garak said rather pointedly. “Thank you for asking.”

Julian glanced back at Garak, his large, dark eyes unreadable for a change. “Do you need me to treat that?” he asked a little awkwardly.

Garak lifted a hand and shrugged off the concern. “No,” he said, “it's little more than a nick.”

“Nick or not, you're bleeding in my bar,” Quark said, ushering both of them ahead of him. “As you can see, I'm closed. I just hope this doesn't damage my holosuite rentals. People have expectations that those things are safe. They'll take one look at you two and change their minds.”

“We're leaving, Quark,” Julian said irritably. “You don't have to be a nag about it.” He shot a look at Garak, shook his head, and the two of them headed quickly out of the bar. More cable sprawled across the Promenade, leading down a side corridor. “I suppose I should go report to Captain Sisko,” Julian offered, hesitant in a way that lent hidden weight to the seemingly innocuous words.

This is a form of good-bye, Garak thought as he watched the younger man. Everything now paid lie to what they said to one another in the holosuite a few minutes before. Would they still lunch tomorrow? Garak didn't believe it. Would he be the one to cancel to spare his friend the discomfort? No, he rather thought that he would not. In all their dealings, he had never truly attempted to hide his nature from Julian. In fact, he had warned him on more than one occasion that he was ruthless and not to be trusted. For a time, he believed that the doctor truly understood that. Now he knew that he had not. He inclined his head and put on his most pleasant, professional smile, waiting for Julian to turn to go before resuming his own progress toward his quarters.

He wondered if he should have pushed the man the rest of the way, forced him to make a decision. Would he have killed Garak on the spot in order to save his friends and co-workers? Well, that was the real question, wasn't it? The truth was that Garak didn't know, but the possibility had been strong enough that he hadn't wanted to risk it. The stakes had been high enough as they were. You know what I am! He wasn't surprised at the vehemence of the thought, just the bitterness. He knew for certain that any glamor he held, any residual charm, had dropped away in Julian's regard that night. The doctor had his first glimpse of Garak's core unmasked and had, not at all surprisingly, found him lacking. Again, he felt a small frisson of anger.

Once back in his own quarters, he thoroughly cleaned the small scratch on his face and the deeper wound at his neck ridge. It throbbed and burned, but he could see that it was neat and clean. There would be a scar if he chose not to get it tended. Let there be a scar, he thought. It would be a good reminder of the cost of too much trust.

Julian

Private Quarters

It took three stiff drinks to take the edge off of his adrenaline rush. Even so as he sat on his sofa, the entire scene seemed to be limned by an aura of unreality, jagged at the seams. How had things gotten so horribly out of hand, and how could he ever look at Garak the same way again? He wished he had never even heard of that stupid holosuite program. How fitting that for once it was his secrecy with Garak that led to disaster, rather than the other way around. Hadn't the two of them been switching places in their painful dance back and forth all along?

He had pretended that everything was the same when they parted ways, that they would continue to meet for lunch, that they would further indulge in the silly escapism of the campy spy holoprogram. It was a lie. At the time he said it, he knew it to be a lie. He simply couldn't articulate the truth beneath it, that before this day, he had never seen Garak's true face, and he wasn't certain he could accept him for who he was. It wasn't that Garak had ever lied to him about that, perhaps most ironically of all. The Cardassian always insisted he was exactly what he proved himself to be when he nearly ended the program, risking the deaths of most of the command crew in the process, Julian's closest friends in that roster. It was Julian who glossed that over, who decided that all of that was in the past for Garak and didn't apply to him now.

Recent memories flashed across his mind's eye in a dreadful sort of collage, Garak looking better in a tuxedo than anyone had a right to look, the jolt of Kira on the bed in place of Ana, the photo of Dax as Honey, the cut on Garak's face when they both realized that the safety protocol was no longer functioning, the flash of his gun barrel, Garak's blood, his wound, his expression. Julian ran a slow hand down his face. I shot him, he thought. He wasn't sure what gave him more dismay, the fact itself or the fact that given the same choice, he'd do it again. He would always choose the life of his friends and co-workers over Garak's instinct for self-preservation. He would have shot him dead had he forced the issue. He tried to ignore the light tremor in his hands. Why did you make me choose? The thought contained anger and sorrow both. He knew without articulating it that something inside him died the moment he pulled that trigger, but what?

Garak

Replimat Café

Garak watched Julian pick at his food, pushing it around the plate more than anything. It wasn't like him not to wolf his lunch down. He took a small, neat bite of his stew, chewed thoroughly, and washed it down with some tea. “It's already dead,” he said helpfully.

“I beg your pardon?” Julian lifted his gaze quickly, looking almost startled.

“The food,” Garak elaborated. “If you're checking it for signs of life, you're going to be disappointed. Had you wanted Klingon cuisine, you should have said something before we sat down for lunch.” He gave him his most helpful smile.

The doctor's smile was slow to come, but when it did, it showed genuine amusement. “I'm sorry,” he said ruefully. “I'm miserable company today, aren't I?”

“You've been more entertaining in the past,” Garak conceded. “Fortunately for you, I am not one in need of nonstop stimulation and delight. Is there something you'd like to discuss? I'm quite at your disposal.”

“It's not really mine to discuss,” he said reluctantly. “It's Dax.”

“Ah,” Garak said with a single nod. “Yes, the plot continues to thicken in that situation, the long parted spouses growing ever closer.”

“How did you...” Julian started to ask then set his fork down. “Never mind. I ought to know better by now than to ask you how you know anything. One, you won't tell me the truth, and two, you always have had an eye for all of the important happenings. I'm really worried about her.”

And you call me the liar? Garak thought archly. Oh, he had no doubt that Julian was concerned. However, he didn't believe for a moment that it was strictly concern for Dax that had his young table mate so tied in a knot. “I'm surprised that you're not more...entertained,” he said, being deliberately confrontational.

“Entertained by my friend's confusion and emotional distress? Since when have you known me ever to be that way, Garak?” he asked crossly.

“You're so enamored of tales of star crossed lovers,” he replied reasonably. “You must admit that such a situation would be tasty fodder for that Shakespeare of yours.”

“This isn't some fictional play. These are real people in real pain. There's a tremendous difference,” he said hotly.

“As you say,” Garak conceded.

“You're provoking me,” the doctor said suddenly, narrowing his eyes. “Why?”

He has come such a long way, he thought with no small degree of pride. “What about the situation actually has you worried, Doctor?” he replied with a question of his own. “Are you afraid that Dax will give in to forbidden desire, or that she won't?”

Julian opened his mouth and shut it again, looking like nothing so much as a surprised fish suddenly hooked from the comfort of his watery abode and unceremoniously plopped into the bottom of a boat. “I...don't want to see her hurt,” he said a little weakly.

“Yet you already concede that the situation is a painful one,” he said. “Does it make sense to worry about that which exists and cannot be controlled? As a Trill, surely this is not the first time that Dax has found herself confronted by such a situation. How many lifetimes has she led now? She has navigated them successfully, or she would not be here.” He eyed Julian keenly, his laser focus unwavering.

The doctor squirmed under the scrutiny. “What I think doesn't matter,” he said.

Garak felt an inward twitch of irritation. Julian was better than that. Such equivocation was for those of lesser intellect. “I'm relieved to hear you say that,” he said sharply. “Perhaps you can focus on better, more appropriate lunch conversation, then?”

The man's tawny skin flushed slightly, anger, Garak could tell, not embarrassment. “I wasn't aware my preoccupation was such an imposition on your time,” he said a bit tightly.

“If it's not even important enough for you to state what you really think, why should I find it an appropriate use of my company?” Garak retorted. “Gone are the days that you are my sole choice for companionship. You're going to have to do more than simply show up if you plan to keep me engaged.”

Julian winced. He knew he had scored a point on him. He didn't like resorting to such below the belt swipes, but the man was being ridiculously obtuse. Garak had to wonder if Julian was working to hide his thoughts from him or if he was truly self-deluded into thinking that Dax was his sole concern in all of this. “That wasn't...fair,” the doctor said. “You know I don't want to be your only friend. You sounded like Decla just now, and I'd think that was beneath you.”

Garak shrugged off the pathetic attempt at a barb. If the doctor actually thought such comparisons would phase him, he had truly lost touch with who Garak was, or depressingly, maybe he had never really known. “What's beneath me is meaningless small talk and gossip about individuals who are more than capable of taking care of themselves. I could get that from Quark. In fact I do at times, and from Quark, I don't find it galling. I have no reason to expect more,” he said rather pointedly.

“Where is this hostility coming from?” Julian asked, obviously losing patience.

It didn't matter. Garak had lost patience, too. He gave an ironic laugh. “If you were simply hiding things from me, I might actually find it flattering, but it bores me to tears to see a man lying to himself. I find myself with a sudden lack of appetite. I hope you decide to be better company at dinner later this week.” He stood and gathered his tray.

Julian narrowed his eyes. “With the way you're acting right now, I'm rethinking dinner altogether.”

“Then Leeta and I shall miss you,” Garak said, “but I'm certain we'll have a lovely time.” Of course, it didn't occur to him that Julian would actually skip out on the invitation. He was certain the man didn't like the idea of him and Leeta having dinner alone in Garak's quarters. It wasn't jealousy. No, he suspected that Julian wondered what his motivation was and worried that the two of them were conspiring in some way. The fact that he was half right was beside the point.

Julian

Quark's Bar

What are you doing? Julian asked himself for the millionth time in one night, it seemed. Dax and Doctor Khan had been talking non-stop ever since they had arrived for dinner. He wondered if Leeta had followed through with her angry threat to have dinner with Garak anyway, despite his backing out at the last minute. His admission that he was doing it as a favor for Dax did nothing to smooth things over. It had made things worse.

You really put your foot in it, he thought. Why had he believed that being Dax's friend would somehow make Leeta immune from being jealous of his own friendship with the Trill? Had he done much in the way of giving her a reason to feel more secure about it? He knew he spent a great deal of his free time with Dax, but that was largely because Leeta was working when he had time off and vice versa. I'm not jealous of Rom or Garak, he thought a little angrily. Is that the same, though? She has never professed an attraction to either of them the way I have to Dax. Why had he felt so compelled to tell Leeta all about his unrequited crush some time ago, before the two of them got serious enough for such a thing to take on a different context in her mind? He regretted the late night confessionals. Some things were best kept to oneself, particularly when it came to a potential romantic interest.

He had stopped even trying to pretend that he was part of the conversation between the two Trill scientists. They were so busy traipsing down memory lane and catching up with about one hundred years of separation that he imagined he could set his hair on fire and they'd barely skip a beat. Dax didn't need him there. Not really. To outward appearances at least, the two of them weren't treading on dangerous or inappropriate territory. He knew it was more for appearance's sake that he had been asked along. On one hand, he was glad to be able to do Dax a favor. On the other, it was a costly favor that neither Leeta nor Garak would be quick to allow him to live down. Dax hadn't even given him a chance to explain that to her. She had just seemed to assume that whatever he intended could be set aside. Of course she assumed that, he thought dryly. You've never given her any reason to believe that when she says, '”Jump,” you won't ask, “How high?” Even tonight.

Before his grim thoughts could take him further into a bad place, his comm badge chirped. “Infirmary to Doctor Bashir,” the night duty nurse's voice cut through the crowd noise of the second level of the bar.

“Bashir here, go ahead,” he said, concerned that it might be something to do with Ensign Powers. He wasn't recovering as quickly as he ought to be, an opportunistic infection interfering with the healing process.

“I'm sorry to disturb you, Doctor, but Ensign Tyler's broken his leg, and I think you should...”

“I'm on my way,” he said, glad of the excuse to duck out of deadly dull chaperon duty and also glad that it was something less serious than he anticipated. At that rate, he might actually even make it to Garak's quarters in a timely enough fashion to see if Leeta was actually there or not and perhaps do a little damage control. “Sorry,” he said to both women, “but duty calls.”

“It's all right,” Dax said with a smile. “Thanks for coming.”

“Nice to see you again,” Doctor Khan added.

He favored them both with a perfunctory smile and beat his retreat. What was it with ensigns getting hurt this week? This was the third one so far.

Garak

Private Quarters

Lighting a final taper at the center of the dining table, Garak called a cordial, “Enter,” when his door chime rang. He turned, fully expecting to see Leeta and Julian step into his quarters, only to see Leeta entering alone, the look in her eyes snapping fire.

“Hello, Garak,” she said, holding out a gift basket to him that contained a bottle of blue kanar and a few mysterious boxes that likely concealed sweets of some sort. “Julian couldn't make it tonight. He decided he'd rather have dinner with Dax and Lenara. I'd have sent word, except I only just found out about it an hour ago.”

He had never seen her so angry. He felt an echo of it rising in himself. “I see,” he said, a certain fixed quality to his gaze.

The two of them held the eye contact for several moments, understanding and solidarity passing between them. She broke it first. “I think I'd actually like a glass of that kanar if you don't mind,” she said tightly.

“Of course,” he said, lifting it and fetching two glasses. He poured generous servings and offered her one. She worked in a bar. He didn't think he needed to warn her of the drink's potency or its effect on non-Cardassians. “You look lovely this evening,” he said, inclining his head. “Thank you for coming. Dining alone when one is expecting company is...unpleasant.”

“Backing out of a dinner invitation at the last minute is beyond rude,” she said, “when it's not because of a work emergency.” She downed half of her glass' contents, her eyes watering from the strength of the liquor. “I actually used some of my time off for this. Do you have any idea how long you have to work for Quark before you get any time off?”

“I can imagine,” he said.

She looked past him at the table with the covered dishes arranged aesthetically and invitingly. “You ordered this food, didn't you?” she asked. “I mean...ordered it from a freighter. I know we didn't cater this, and replicated food doesn't smell nearly that delicious.”

He was surprised that she could tell. It pleased him to have his efforts noticed, despite his anger at Julian. “Yes,” he said.

“That...jerk,” she said, looking at him again, her expression equal parts anger and apology. “I am so sorry about this.”

He shook his head, making the decision to set his anger aside for the time being. He had no intention of punishing Leeta for something that wasn't her fault or doing. “Please,” he said, “not another word about that. I don't hold you responsible, and I am happy to have you here. Would you like to have a seat?”

She nodded. “I would. Thank you.” She allowed him to guide her to one of the chairs and serve her from the various dishes. “Where did all of this come from?” she asked curiously. “I don't think I've ever seen most of this before.”

“Most of the food tonight is Andorian,” he said. “It has been a very long time since I had Andorian cuisine. I discovered that there was a ship coming our way with some surplus they needed to sell before it spoiled. It was a happy coincidence, as I don't think you would have enjoyed being subjected to my Cardassian dishes.”

She waited for him to serve himself and settle in before continuing the conversation. “I have a hard time imagining you doing anything badly,” she said with a sincere smile. “Not all Cardassian food is bad. I actually like zabo steak.”

She was so different from the major, from almost any Bajoran he had ever met with a rare few exceptions in his customer base. Why had he ever believed her to be shallow or lacking in intelligence? Because you never looked past the dabo girl costume or her pretty face, he told himself, knowing it to be true and having enough decency to feel bad at having made the judgment. “It's very tender when cooked properly,” he agreed.

“Do you think he loves Dax?” she blurted, blushing and looking down into her kanar glass.

He only just avoided the temptation to take it away from her. If she was already asking him such questions, the drink was undoubtedly going to her head. “I don't know,” he hedged, reluctant to hurt her. That in and of itself was so novel he had to ask himself why. It was likely because he had a genuine weakness for truly decent people. Tain would have laughed. He didn't care. The world was wider and more complex than the spy master had ever considered. He refused to feel shamed.

“Yes, you do,” she said darkly, her brown eyes glittering and reflecting candle light.

“The trouble with Julian,” he said carefully, not wanting to look into those large, dark eyes and yet not able to look away, “is that he always most wants that which he believes he can't have. I believe it's a failing in many human males.”

She nodded slowly and took a small sip of her kanar. “Not just human males,” she said a bit dryly. “Sometimes I wonder if I'm...this sounds so awful...if I'm wasting my time. Did you ever feel that way with him? Prophets, I shouldn't be asking you this.”

Don't scare her, he told himself, fully aware of just how intense he could be when something he had been after was suddenly presented to him. He dropped his gaze so that she wouldn't see the gleam in his eyes. “At times it was difficult for me to ascertain what he wanted,” he said. “I was never sure if the failing was in me or him.”

“I'm so glad you said that,” she said a little too loudly. “Sometimes it's almost like he's a different person from day to day, or...even minute to minute. I think I'm getting somewhere with him, and suddenly, he's gone. I mean, he's still there with me, but not up here.” She tapped her temple with a slim finger.

Intriguing, he thought. So it truly wasn't just him. He was too interested in what he was hearing to feel much in the way of satisfaction or relief about that. He knew he wasn't easy to live with. Even if this particular aspect of their relationship hadn't been his fault, there was plenty more that was. This wasn't about blame. It was about piecing together the puzzle that had eluded him for such a long time now. “I know exactly what you mean,” he said.

She took a few bites of the food, mulling as she chewed. “This whole time, I've been thinking it's me,” she said. “That I'm not...smart enough.” She hazarded a quick glance at him, her cheeks coloring a deeper red. “I know I'm no scientist, nothing even close in comparison to him or Dax, or to you for that matter, but if he was that way with you...”

“My dear, you're something I could never be,” he said gently, moved by her distress. “Open. I always thought it was because I wasn't open enough.”

They looked at one another across the table and again found they had an area of understanding. Garak felt another stirring of anger. Just who did Julian think he was, treating those closest to him like there was some failing within them that kept him from being able to love them the way that he professed he wanted to? No, damn it, if he truly wanted to, he would, so he must not want what he so often said he wanted. What did that mean? It didn't make sense in any context Garak could ascertain.

“I'm sorry I brought up something hurtful,” she said. “I really shouldn't be prying like this, or...dumping my problems with Julian on you. It's very thoughtless of me.”

“Don't apologize,” he said. “It has been enlightening.”

She nodded agreement and sighed. “Let's talk about something else. This is too depressing. I'm already angry with him for leaving us in the lurch. Finding out that whatever is wrong with him probably has nothing to do with me isn't helpful. I can't do anything about it.”

“But you can,” he said, pinning her suddenly with his gaze. “You can decide what you really want and move from there.”

She nodded again and polished off her kanar. “My head will hate me for this in the morning, but would you please pour me another glass?”

Julian

The Infirmary

He should have known that it was a bad break if his night nurse in charge felt it important enough for him to come. Setting the compound fracture properly took longer than he would have liked. Now that he had the unfortunate ensign set up with the bone regenerator, he felt that he was free to leave the young man to spend the night there. “Computer,” he said on his way out, “where is Leeta?”

“Leeta is on Habitat Level H-3, Chamber 901,” the voice intoned.

So she had carried through her threat, gone to dinner at Garak's without him. The thought bothered him a little, worse when he realized how late it was, close to midnight. Did they actually get along so well now that they could spend almost four hours alone together? Did he even want to insert himself into that situation? Doubtless, both of them would be angry with him, not without good reason. Wouldn't it be better to face their wrath individually rather than collectively?

“Ridiculous,” he said to himself, stepping into the turbolift. Tonight or tomorrow, it wouldn't matter. This was going to be unpleasant. He may as well get it over with. Perhaps he could get Leeta to leave with him in fairly short order, so he'd only receive a bit of Garak's temper that night. It didn't help that he was tired and out of sorts thanks to being ignored by Dax and Doctor Khan. He felt used.

He squared his shoulders once he faced Garak's door and pressed the chime. “Enter,” came Garak's smooth voice. The door hissed open, and he stepped inside only to find Garak seated on his sofa with a PADD and a kanar glass and Leeta nowhere to be seen.

“Oh,” he said, feeling awkward. “I...the computer said that Leeta was here. Did I just miss her?”

“She is here,” Garak said without looking up from the PADD.

“In the washroom?” he asked, lacing his fingers behind his back so that he wouldn't fidget with his hands.

“In my bed,” the Cardassian answered evenly. “I would thank you kindly not to disturb her. She had a bit much kanar and only just managed to fall asleep without becoming ill.”

“Oh,” he said again, unsure of what to say. “Is she...upset?”

“As I said, she is asleep,” the tailor replied, “so I rather doubt it.”

He bit back an angry retort. What were you expecting, a warm welcome? “Was she upset?” he clarified, really hating it when Garak retreated to playing the overly specific game.

“No,” he said, at last lowering the PADD to his lap and looking up at Julian “I managed to take her mind off of the situation. Believe it or not, Doctor, some people actually find my company enjoyable.” He polished off his kanar in an easy swallow and set his glass aside. “I'm afraid it's very late. I was just about to try to get some sleep, myself. I can assure you that I will be certain that Leeta is not late for work tomorrow. It's my understanding that Quark expects her in early since she took this evening off.”

The tailor was pulling out all the stops. He ground his teeth quietly. “I'm sorry for canceling plans at the last minute.”

Garak stood. “Don't trouble yourself,” he said. “You warned me that you were considering just such a thing. If I didn't heed you, I have no one but myself to blame.”

He wanted to face palm. He had forgotten that he had said anything to that effect in the heat of the moment a few days before. “I didn't mean it. Not really. I was angry, but this had nothing to do with that.”

“I'm sure your reasoning is simply fascinating. I am too tired to wish to listen to it. Now, if you'll excuse me, please? I would like to make a bed for myself on the couch.”

It was useless to try to argue when Garak was in this mode. The wall of overly polite refusal would not give way to reasoning or railing. In many ways, this was far worse than the berating he had been expecting. He worried about Leeta waking up the next day, possibly disoriented and confused, and being embarrassed at having fallen asleep in Garak's bed. Drunk. Because of him. He didn't have to be a mind reader to know that much. She almost never got drunk. “I could have Leeta beamed into her room,” he offered.

“And have her think I asked you to rid me of her?” Garak shook his head. “No. Leave her alone.” He narrowed his eyes, a slightly malicious gleam in the blue. “What are you worried about?”

He sighed, defeated. There was no way to answer that question without giving Garak ample ammunition to eviscerate him with sarcasm. By that look in his eyes, he knew that he would the moment he gave him the opening. “Not a thing,” he said, taking a step back and turning to leave. “Thank you for taking care of her. Again, I apologize for this evening. Good night, Garak.”

Garak inclined his head, a perfectly Cardassian gesture that revealed nothing at all. Oh, but that hooded look beneath his lids boded trouble. Julian knew that his discomfort that night was just the beginning of what the tailor likely had in store. He didn't even want to think of Leeta's reaction. All he knew for certain was that he had best avoid her while she had a hangover. Thanks a lot, Dax, he thought bitterly, knowing all the while that he truly had no one to blame but himself.

He tossed and turned in his own bed for most of the remainder of the night, finally dozing off a couple of hours before he had to be up and ready for work. The morning dragged, both due to exhaustion and his knowledge that nothing at all had been resolved. By lunch he decided that it was likely enough time had passed that Leeta's hangover would either be gone or manageable. He asked the computer her whereabouts, only to discover she was already at the bar. Garak mentioned she'd have to go in early, he thought. He hadn't realized how early.

He took lunch alone in the Replimat, half expecting Garak to make an appearance. The tailor never did. As he watched people going about their business on the Promenade, he found himself slightly envious of some of the aliens' more nomadic lifestyles. Wouldn't things be much simpler if he could move from place to place, preventing anyone from ever getting too close or even wanting to? In choosing Deep Space Nine, he thought that he had picked a perfect hiding place, from Starfleet, from his fiancée's pleas to return, from his parents' overbearing mannerisms and expectations. He thought no one would look twice at a naïve, somewhat goofy doctor who was a little socially awkward and chased women without ever catching most of them. He hadn't counted on running into people like Garak and Dax. He hadn't considered that going into hiding would be far lonelier than he imagined or that his own needs and desires would twist him in unexpected ways.

At the time that the relationship started, Leeta seemed like a refuge from his complications and pain with Garak. She was everything the Cardassian was not: open, readily kind, considerate, straightforward, and even somewhat simple. Why had he believed that just because she wasn't complicated and devious that she wasn't perceptive? Why did he always fool himself into believing that this time things would work?

He knew the signs. He had done this dance enough that it was impossible not to recognize them, the probing questions and looks, the suspicions, the accusations of distance, secrecy, all the more damning because they were true as true could be. Just a few months into the relationship, it was already starting. Now there was Garak to contend with. Who knew what Garak was putting in her head, or why? He had gone from being pleasant to confrontational recently, probing in the same way he did when they were together, only now he was much harder to distract or put off. What was Garak gleaning from Leeta? He wanted to put a stop to the association, but he knew that if he even tried, it would instantly make both of them more suspicious, not less.

He jabbed at his food without much appetite. Last night was a disaster of such enormous magnitude he didn't know where to start to try to mend the rifts. He knew Garak well enough to know that his stonewalling the night before concealed at least some degree of hurt, in addition to wounded Cardassian pride and violated sense of propriety. Garak took invitations to his quarters and to others' very seriously. Julian's last minute scrapping of the plans was both personal and cultural insult that he knew Garak took even more personally because he knew that Julian was aware of the customs.

Leeta was like most Bajoran women he had met, not at all a pushover and very quick to make her displeasure known when she felt insulted or belittled. Not only had she likely viewed his sudden change of plans as a rude breach of etiquette, but also as a message that Dax was more important to him. What if it's true? he wondered. Did he have the right to pursue Leeta when he wasn't willing to make her his first priority? He had pretty much accepted the fact that he and Dax would never be more than friends. It didn't make him value or love her any less.

He rubbed both hands down his face and stared at his congealing food. What to do now? How to make this up to either of them? He wouldn't be allowed to have a personal conversation with Leeta while she was working. He didn't want to get her fired, and he knew that was exactly what Quark would do if he caught so much as a whiff of suspicion that Leeta was using work time for personal pursuits.

That left Garak. He also knew from long experience that the longer he allowed something to fester with Garak, the more resistant to reconciliation the Cardassian became. There was no way that Garak was going to approach him first. He stood and took his tray to the recycler, dumping it and the uneaten food, and made his way to the tailor's shop.

Garak glanced up from his position behind his counter, his expression instantly shifting from shop keeper solicitous to an unreadable mask. “Do you have a rip in your uniform or a commission you would like to request?” he asked, his tone oddly flat.

“No,” Julian said. “I...”

Garak cut him off. “Then I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave. I'm working.”

“Garak, please,” he said, not liking the plea in his own voice. “I just want to talk to you about last night.”

The tailor graced him with a look that reminded him of a stern uncle, using his physicality and age to excellent effect. “This is neither the time nor the place for such a discussion. I trust you don't intend to force me to embarrass both of us by getting security involved?”

He knew this was no mere threat, and he also knew that the fact that Garak would mention involving a third party meant that he was very angry indeed. “When would be a good time, and where could we meet?” he asked, doing his best not to sound offended.

“After work, if you wish, you may walk me to my quarters,” he said. “I trust you'll make good use of that time. You are not welcome to join me once I get there.”

He nodded. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than being told Garak would be busy or otherwise occupied for the next year or so. “I'll see you then,” he said, fervently hoping that no medical emergencies arose. While Garak was normally understanding about work delays, he felt he was on a very short rope this time around.

To the best of his ability, he set aside his concerns for the rest of the afternoon. Ensign Tyler had been released that morning with the instruction to take it easy for a day or two on the newly mended leg. Ensign Powers was responding to the antibiotic, but slowly. Julian spent much of the rest of his work day checking him for any other underlying medical conditions that might make him prone to such infections or explain the resistance to the drug. It was a mystery he still hadn't managed to solve by the time he knew Garak would be getting off work.

He gave the young man reassurances that he was doing well and that, hopefully, his stay in the infirmary wouldn't last much longer, updated his night nurse on everything that had happened during the day, and left so that he could catch Garak as he closed. Instead of entering the shop, for he had a distinct feeling that he was not welcome, he waited just outside. When Garak stepped out and keyed the lock, Julian joined him at his side.

“I know I insulted you,” he said carefully. “I also know that anything I say regarding the reason why is going to sound like an excuse. Perhaps it is an excuse. I made a decision to prioritize a request from Dax over our dinner arrangements, not because I thought I would enjoy myself more with her and Doctor Khan, but because...she was worried enough to make the request, so it worried me.”

Garak inhaled deeply enough that Julian saw his nostrils flare slightly. He didn't respond to this, although by his posture and the way he held his head, Julian could tell he was at least listening. He seemed to expect to hear more.

“If she...missteps with this woman...both of them could be exiled from Trill, and their respective symbionts will die. As her friend, how can I sit back and not help her? Garak, if I thought your life was in danger, I'd go to great lengths to save you, no questions asked. Is it so terrible that I'd do the same for others I love?”

“Love,” the tailor snorted, coming to a halt to wait for the turbolift. “You use that word a great deal. I wonder if you know what it means.”

“That's really hurtful, Garak,” he said, frowning.

“Shall I tell you of hurtful?” he asked, eying him from beneath the flare of his eye ridges, a flash of blue in a sea of gray. “All the people in your life who care for you, scrambling to arrange themselves to the proper configuration to capture and retain your interest. Some of us not open enough. Some of us not smart enough. Those of us with enough dignity not to want to mold, twist, and turn to your every demand find ourselves watching you retreat.” He stepped onto the turbolift.

Julian found himself suddenly reluctant to follow, every word a lash. However, he did. “I don't understand what you mean,” he lied.

Garak smiled without humor. “I believe you do. Of course, Dax is different. She's safe. She doesn't want you.”

“That has nothing to do with...”

Garak held up a hand. “My dear Doctor, it has everything to do with this. And for the record, you are a complete idiot. You're going to let a woman who genuinely loves you and is worthy of your generous and kind nature slip right through your fingers. I can see that as plain as the hair on your head. What I can't see is why.”

He had been expecting barbs, sarcasm, and convoluted logic. He hadn't expected what amounted to some of the most brutal honesty he had ever received, not just from the tailor but from anyone. Every time he thought he finally understood how Garak operated, the tailor changed the rules and how he played the game. He didn't know what to say to that. It ached so much to hear it laid out in black and white that he wasn't sure he'd trust his voice, anyway.

“You want my forgiveness? For all it matters, you have it,” Garak said with a shrug.

“What do you mean for all it matters?” he asked, somehow managing to make it sound normal.

“I mean it doesn't change anything. Whether I'm angry with you or not, you're going to do what you do. Sometimes, I still even manage to enjoy your company. We have that,” he said. The turbolift dropped them off in the H-ring corridor.

He wasn't sure how to take that. On an instinctive level, he found it upsetting. It sounded as though Garak was giving up something or perhaps just giving up on him. “It sounds as though you're saying it doesn't matter what I do. You've made up your mind about me, as though...you're just accepting some design flaw.” The tailor's smile cut him to the quick. That was exactly what he was saying. Flawed. I suppose the joke is on me. No matter how much tampering they did, they couldn't fix what was fundamentally broken. He stopped walking. “I suppose I should be appreciative of your honesty,” he said. “It's so rare.”

A few steps ahead of him, Garak stopped and turned to face him. “Careful, Doctor. Keep talking like that, and people will suspect you're bitter. You can't have that, can you?” He turned and started to walk again, his voice carrying over his shoulder, “If I were you, I'd try to talk to Leeta sooner than later, unless, of course, you're trying to drive her away. Good evening, Doctor.”

Garak had managed to strike a part of him he thought he had shielded beyond reach. He was a teenager all over again, discovering that his parents had changed him because he wasn't good enough before. Even after the change, he wasn't good enough. He was just different. He made a strange, hiccuping sound and recognized it as the prelude to a sob. It took all of his control to clamp that down and push it away. What good would it do? Even if Garak heard him, came back, and felt inclined to be comforting, it wouldn't change a thing. He couldn't tell him the truth, and as long as the secret lay wedged between him and everything or everyone he wanted to touch, there would be no true closeness, no rest from the burden. Was this truly why he couldn't let go of Dax, because she was one of the only safe loves he had ever had, the only one smart enough to see him for the trap he was and keep her own distance?

He retraced his steps down the corridor, stepped onto the turbolift, and had it carry him to Leeta's H-ring level. They both had access to one another's quarters. He decided that he would simply wait for her in hers rather than constantly have to check if she was off work yet or where she was. He keyed in the code, only to have the lights on the panel remain red. He keyed it a second time, although he knew he hadn't made a mistake the first time around. She had changed the code. “Great,” he muttered. Stubbornly, he turned his back to the wall, leaned against it, and slid down to a seat. He believed that if he retreated to his own quarters, she wouldn't give him a chance to come back. He hated what Garak had said to him about losing her, and he was determined to prove him wrong. I'm not broken, damn it, he thought fiercely.

It was awkward being passed in the corridor by people who knew him at least on sight. He could tell by the curious looks they wondered what had happened, why he was sitting out there like that. It was physically uncomfortable, too, but he doggedly stuck to his plan. It was well after midnight, and the corridor had been empty and silent for hours before Leeta finally appeared, hobbling and carrying her heeled shoes in one hand by the straps. She stopped some distance from her door when she saw him. “It's late,” she said flatly. “I'm tired. Go home.”

“I'm afraid if I do that, you won't let me come back,” he said, standing stiffly and taking a few steps toward her. “Can we please talk?”

She brushed past him and punched in her new door code, heading inside. Since she didn't tell him to stay out or immediately close the door in his face, he followed. She tossed her shoes to the side, careless of where they landed, and crossed into her bedroom, stripping out of her dabo costume in view of him and digging a pair of pajamas out of her dresser. He knew there was no attempt at seduction in her actions. Her posture and mannerisms said she was so tired and out of sorts, she simply didn't care if he was there to see or not. She leaned in her bedroom doorway with her arms folded tightly beneath her breasts.

“I made a mistake last night,” he said. “I suppose if I'm being completely honest, not just last night. I... You're important to me. I know I don't always say so or act like it, but it's true. I hate that I hurt you or made you feel you're anything less than the amazing woman that you are.”

“You talked to Garak,” she said, her voice still sounding flat, unimpressed.

“You've made quite an impression on him,” he said. “He called me an idiot, and he was right.”

“There's a switch, a Cardassian standing up for a Bajoran to a Starfleeter,” she said without a trace of humor.

“Give me another chance, please?”

“To do what? To blow me off for Dax? Give me one reason I ought to.”

“I'm with you, not Dax,” he said, taking a step closer.

“Funny. You don't act like it,” she retorted, unrelenting.

“I can change my work schedule, start taking night shifts, at least part of the week. You have to admit that at least some of the problem is that we don't have a lot of time,” he said evenly. “I want more time to spend with you. I truly do.” He shrugged helplessly. “Dax...I'm just...it's so rare I can actually do anything useful for her. I'm worried sick for her safety, Leeta. It's not a matter of choosing her over you. If situations were reversed, don't you understand I'd go running straight to you without a second thought? It was the situation I was choosing, not Dax.”

“I want to believe that,” she said, hurt creeping into her voice. “I really do, but every time I think I'm making progress with you, you go all distant again. Tonight you're here begging me for another chance. Tomorrow you're just as likely to get that look you get and bury yourself in some research. I'm trying as hard as I can.” She reached up quickly to wipe a tear away.

“I know. There's nothing wrong with you.” He closed the rest of the distance between them and reached for her. She allowed him to embrace her, both of her arms tucked in and her hands resting curled against his chest. “It's hard for me sometimes. I'm trying, too.”

She rested her cheek against his shoulder, her breath tickling his neck. “Garak said you did the same thing to him,” she said.

He closed his eyes. That hurt. So they had been talking about him. “He's not lying,” he said.

“Don't be mad at him for saying it. He was trying to make me feel better, but it didn't. It means there really isn't anything I can do about this with you. It's not me. I can change me, or work with problems. I can't change you.”

“I can,” he said, wanting to believe it. “Just...I'll try harder. I learned a lot about myself when I was with Garak. Things...were hard with us, but I want this to work. Please.”

She pulled back a little so that she could look at him, her expression solemn. “I want this to work, too,” she said. “You're such an amazing man. You're not like anyone I've ever been with. Half the time, I can't even believe you're with me at all. I have to pinch myself.”

“No,” he said, leaning to rest his forehead against hers. “Please, don't say that. You deserve every bit of love and happiness I can give you. I'm not better than you, or some prize. If you've been talking to Garak, then you ought to know that. I'm sure what he had to say wasn't all flattering.”

“For someone so smart, you really are stupid,” she said a little cryptically, leaning up to kiss him, a lingering, somewhat sad kiss that she broke before it could become more. “If you want to stay, you can, but don't expect anything more than sleep. I've been up since ten this morning, had a positively sickening hangover, and a horrible double shift.”

“Garak was quite the fierce protector last night,” he said, moving with her into her bedroom and starting to strip from his uniform. “I stopped by to try to patch things up. He was adamant that I leave you alone. I hope it wasn't too awkward this morning?”

“Not at all,” she said, climbing into bed and watching him blearily. “He was a perfect gentleman and actually very kind this morning. You should be glad he's Cardassian,” she teased. “Otherwise, he'd be hard to resist.”

He smiled slightly and climbed into the narrow bed with her, settling in. “You never have said much about the occupation or how you feel about Cardassians in general.”

She stiffened slightly. “Nor will I. Please, don't take it personally. It's just that I prefer to look forward, not back. Garak...is very different from the Cardassians I knew. I'd like to leave it at that.”

“Of course,” he said, pulling her close. “I won't ask again.” He waited a few moments for a reply, only to realize that she was already asleep. Exhaustion made him soon follow.

Kira

Dozaria

Kira was furious. Ever since they had awakened and gotten underway again, they had done nothing but argue about the girl, Ziyal. In the end, as far as she could tell, what it boiled down to was Dukat wanting to protect his own worthless hide and career at the expense of his daughter. How could someone who could be moved to open tears at a loss after so many years be determined to exterminate the only link he had left to a woman he loved? How could he love being a Legate more than he loved his own flesh and blood, his own daughter?

I won't let you do it, she thought fiercely, glancing at him out of the corners of her eyes. They were back to walking side by side again, neither trusting the other at his or her back. She wasn't eager to take his life, as she might once have been, but she knew she wouldn't hesitate if he forced her to it. Once more she thought back to something Garak had said. Don't rely on his better nature to keep him from behaving inappropriately. He doesn't have one. That was turning out to be truer than she could have imagined at the time.

I shouldn't have been in such a hurry, she thought. I should've given Garak a chance to find out what was going on. Then we wouldn't be in this mess. Really, though, if Garak knew about the girl, would that make things any better for her? Couldn't he be every bit as dangerous as Dukat? She wouldn't put it past him to hurt a relative of Dukat's just to get to the Legate. She wouldn't even put it past him to kill one. Cardassians! She thought yet again in utter exasperation.

It looked to be about mid-afternoon when they finally saw a change in the desert landscape, and not for the better. Harsh cliffs abutted the flat plane of sand. According to Kira's readings, their goal lay somewhere beyond the cliffs. “Looks like we're in for some climbing,” Dukat said in a matter-of-fact way.

“Looks like,” she agreed.

Toward the base, it was somewhat easier. The rocks were well eroded by the scouring wind and sand. They were able to find small channels cut into them and follow them. It took them out of the brunt of the weather and gave them some respite. However, as they gained elevation, the climb grew harder and more treacherous. Every hand and foothold had to be tested before either could trust their weight to it. Even so, sometimes a hold that seemed solid would suddenly give way, leaving them panting and dangling until they could find more support. Twice the only thing between Kira and a precipitous drop to her death was a strong, gray hand clasped about her wrist. She saved her breath and her thanks until they were on a ledge near the top and could take a quick breather.

“You know you should follow the three points of contact rule,” he chided her after he caught his breath.

She glared at him. “That's easy for you to say when you're all arms and legs. There were times I had to stretch, because there was nowhere else I could reach. Thanks for looking out for me.”

“We are in this together,” he said.

She heard something beyond their perch and motioned to him to be quiet. Glancing up, she gestured that they should finish the climb. This time, she managed to make it ahead of him and dart into cover. He did the same, and she fished a pair of binoculars out of her pack. She watched activity near an obvious mine shaft then handed the binoculars over to Dukat so that he could have a look. After a beat, he said, “The Breen? What are they doing here?”

She told him about the dilithium concentrations she was getting on her tricorder readings. They determined that the Breen must have been using the survivors to mine it. Dukat's entire posture stiffened suddenly. When he refused to answer why, Kira took the binoculars from him and had a look herself. She saw a girl with mixed Cardassian and Bajoran features carrying water near the mine entrance. “It's her,” she said.

“My daughter,” he said, his eyes never leaving her, even though he no longer had the binoculars. He took them back.

Kira gave quick thought to what they were going to have to do. She didn't think that she and Dukat alone would be a match for the Breen. They were going to need reinforcements. She also thought that perhaps she saw a way to ensure the safety of the girl. She quickly told Dukat that she'd stay behind and watch while he left in the runabout for Deep Space Nine. To her irritation, he refused, telling her that she could go instead. They quickly reached impasse, and then he did what she had been expecting him to do at some point or another ever since the mission began. He stopped cooperating altogether.

“There's no way I'm leaving you alone here,” she snapped.

“Then I suggest we devise a plan to rescue the prisoners together,” Dukat said. “You need me, Major.”

Damn him for being so stubborn! He was going to get both of them killed, and then where would his precious career be? She knew she couldn't force him to leave and there was no chance of her staging a rescue on her own. “Maybe I do,” she finally conceded, “but if you hurt that girl, I promise I'll kill you.” Let him stew on that, she thought, not even slightly bluffing. She could tell from the look in his eyes that he knew.

“Well?” he asked. “What are we to do?”

“Oh, that's rich,” she said. “You're going to refuse my direct orders and then turn around and pretend this is still my mission because you have no idea what to do.”

“You're wasting time, Major,” he said tersely. “We can fight all the way back home if you like. For now, you need to focus.”

She narrowed her eyes. He was dangerously close to getting punched in the mouth. “Fine,” she said tightly. “We're going to need the element of surprise, which means we're going to need a couple of those uniforms. Let's see if we can lure those outside guards into an ambush and go from there. We have no idea about their patrol patterns or anything else. I hope you realize you're putting us at a horrible disadvantage.”

“You're free to go get reinforcements,” he said.

“And let you kill your daughter while I'm gone? No chance. I already made that clear. I'm done talking about this. Let's go,” she said, starting to move stealthily closer to the mine. They'd be lucky if any of them survived this, she thought angrily. If they did get out alive, she decided she probably would send a complaint to the Cardassian military as he had suggested, for all the good it would do.

Getting into position took far longer than it did for them to attract the attention of the two guards, disable them, and obtain their uniforms. After seeing the creatures, Kira was reluctant to wear anything they had been wearing, but it had to be done. She and Dukat made their way inside, disabled a third guard, and made contact with some of the Bajoran and Cardassian prisoners. Then as far as Kira was concerned, everything went to hell, thanks to Dukat's stubbornness and duplicity.

She found herself trapped in a firefight with more Breen while he ran down a side corridor in search of Ziyal. Only the arrival of the Cardassians he sent away to get more prisoners saved her and the woman, Heler. She didn't have time to react to the sad news that her friend Lorit had died in a cave-in two years prior. She had to reach Ziyal before Dukat did, or at least before he had a chance to kill the girl. She sent the prisoners toward the front of the mine shaft, promising to meet them there, and took off in the direction she had seen Dukat run.

She found a downed Breen, only to almost have her head taken off by phaser fire. Kosst, she thought, diving for cover and returning fire. At this rate, she'd be fighting her way through all of the remaining guards. Would she be too late? Taking a gamble, she suddenly directed her fire at a spot above the Breen's head. Several rocks dislodged and fell atop the unlucky alien. Just to be sure, she darted forward and finished it off. She didn't need a wounded enemy flanking her.

She continued running mostly blindly, unsure of where to go next. On instinct, she followed the main passageway, not turning off at any branches. There were no more downed Breen to give her any clues. Prophets be thanked, she thought when she heard voices from up ahead, one of them unmistakably Dukat's. She stepped into a small chamber with a well, seeing Dukat ahead of her with his rifle already raised and a glimpse of the girl beyond him. “Dukat, no,” she said sharply.

The confusion in the girl's voice as she questioned what was happening broke her heart. This girl was an innocent. She didn't deserve this. Kira trained her rifle squarely on Dukat and tightened up the slack on the trigger, having every intention of shooting him dead on the spot if he so much as twitched wrong. She'd deal with the traumatized girl later if it came to that. Still, she hoped that she could reason with him and tried her best. It looked as though he wasn't going to listen to reason.

Suddenly, the girl cut in again, sounding devastated. “The Cardassian prisoners...they told me this would happen,” she said, “that you'd never let me go home, but I didn't believe them.”

“Ziyal, run!” Kira barked, desperate to get the girl out of there, out of the line of danger.

“I used to dream about you coming to save me,” she said to him, ignoring Kira. “It's what kept me alive.”

“Ziyal,” he said, his voice thick with anguish.

Good, she thought fiercely. You should feel terrible for this!

Looking resigned, the girl straightened herself a little. “If I can't be with you,” she said, “I'd rather die.”

Watching like a hawk, Kira saw the rifle tip waver then lower. The girl approached him slowly and wrapped her arms around him. Kira tensed all over again when he thrust her back to arms' length. For Prophet's sake, be a father! she thought, her finger still taut on the trigger.

“Let's go home,” he said softly, pulling her in and holding her close.

Kira let out a sigh of relief. “I hate to interrupt this,” she said softly, “but we're not safe yet. We have to get out of here.”

They both nodded and Dukat turned, all business once more. The remaining Breen guards weren't difficult to dispatch. The hardest part left to them was walking the weakened prisoners back through the punishing desert landscape to the runabout so that they could get underway.

Kira kept to herself for the most part, trying to come to terms with the fact that a hope she had held to for over six years had been dashed. Her good friend was dead. She was happy and grateful to have been able to rescue the rest of them, but she worried about the girl. Would Dukat's resolve remain true? Would he stand by his daughter, or was she yet in more danger? What would happen if he took her to Cardassia? What would they do to her, to him? She didn't want to think about it, but she couldn't help it. Something about the simple dignity with which the girl had faced her father touched and impressed her. It had obviously touched Dukat, too. Was there a chance that he could learn something about the occupation from all of this? Could he change?

Stop it, Kira, she told herself in exasperation, the runabout on auto pilot and her presence at the controls little more than for show, as well as an excuse to stay away from Dukat. What does it matter if he changes? Does it make him any less responsible for all of his crimes? No, she thought a bit sadly, but if change doesn't matter, what does that mean for someone like me? She didn't have a good answer for that.

She was glad to get back to the station and back to normal. She was also glad to hear that he had decided to be the father that Ziyal deserved, despite the possible consequences. As she watched him walk away, another familiar voice caught her attention, and she turned to find Garak approaching her from the stairs leading to the second level of the Promenade. “I can't tell you how relieved I am to see you back in one piece,” Garak said smoothly.

I'll just bet, she thought with some amusement. While she no longer believed that Garak loathed her, she was under no illusions that he felt any real attachment beyond what might be useful for him. “Your advice...helped,” she said.

“I'm glad,” he said. “Once I discovered why Dukat was going to such lengths to accompany you, I feared for your safety.”

“You...know?” she asked. She realized she shouldn't have felt so astonished, but such things did stretch Garak's claims of being nothing more than a tailor beyond the bounds of credibility.

“Indeed,” he said. “Truthfully, I'm surprised he's bothering going back to Cardassia. There will be no welcome for him there.”

Something about the way Garak said that gave her pause. “I don't suppose you would have anything to do with that?” she asked, frowning.

“Do?” he asked, staring at her as though she might have been dropped on her head as a child. “Why would I have to do anything? He's taking a half breed back to Cardassia Prime and acknowledging her as his own. If anyone is doing anything to ensure his utter ruin, it's Dukat. Cardassian society doesn't need my hand to guide it in that matter.”

“That 'half breed', as you call her, is his daughter,” Kira said tightly. “A very brave, very intelligent girl. I'm not going to stand here and listen to you insult her, Garak.”

“You misunderstand me,” Garak said impatiently. “What I think doesn't matter. The fact remains. There is no place on Cardassia for such a child or for one willing to claim her.”

She had heard enough, turning to walk away from him. “Then all I can say,” she said over her shoulder, “is more's the pity for Cardassia.”

Garak

The Promenade, second level

Garak watched Kira retreat, feeling quite pleased with himself. He hadn't done much; it was true. Dukat had made his own bed for years, unwisely cultivating all sorts of enemies, people with very long memories who weren't quick to forget such slights as Dukat was famous for meting out. All Garak had done was nudged a few people in the right direction. No one would be surprised when Dukat came home with Ziyal in tow. There'd be no hiding her, no being discreet. He could hardly wait to hear of the fallout. It was, of course, a shame that the girl would be hurt in the process, but she would have been regardless. No one on Cardassia would ever accept a half breed of any race, Bajoran or otherwise.

A familiar tread had him turning. “Ah, Doctor, good afternoon,” he said pleasantly.

“I saw you standing up here gazing out the star port and thought I'd come say hello,” Julian said amiably. “What has you in such a good mood?”

“Haven't you heard that Major Kira returned safely from her mission?” he asked.

“As a matter of fact, I have,” the doctor said, looking slightly skeptical. “I wasn't aware you had a particular fondness for the major.”

“Don't be silly,” Garak said, waving a hand. “A friend of a friend. I'm sure you understand.”

“Right,” he said, looking amused.

“Why do I get the feeling you don't believe me?” the tailor asked, adopting a mock wounded posture.

Julian chuckled. “I can't imagine why,” he said. “Since you're in such a good mood, I suppose now would be a good time to ask you if you'd like to come to dinner some time this week.”

“Our lunches aren't enough for you these days?” he asked, arching a brow ridge.

Julian colored slightly and looked away. “Actually,” he said, “this invitation isn't coming just from me. Leeta wanted me to invite you.”

“She did?” he asked, genuinely surprised. “Whatever for?”

“How did she put it? She wants to get to know someone so important to me better. So, will you come, or not?” he asked.

“Do you actually want me to?” Garak asked in return. “You seem reluctant.”

“Well, you have to admit, it's a little awkward,” he replied.

“I can't imagine what could be awkward about having dinner with your ex and your current romantic interest,” Garak said dryly.

Julian pressed his lips together in a way Garak still found endearing beyond words. “I'd like for you to come,” he said. “She has been pressuring me about this for a while now. The only reason I haven't asked sooner is because...well, I didn't want to hurt you.”

Garak smiled. “You're a dear boy, but I assure you, I'm quite beyond that now. Why not? What night were you considering? I'll be sure to keep my calendar clear.”

“You are?” he asked then shook his head. “Forget I asked that. I'm glad to hear it. Anyway, we were thinking three nights from now?”

“Delightful,” he said, not buying the “glad to hear it” part for one second. He had seen how Julian's face fell. It was brief, but it was there. The question was did he want to do something about it? That would call for some serious thought. He had been making every effort to keep their friendship at just that level, but he had to admit that at times it was difficult. Was it possible that the two of them had grown and changed enough to make revisiting something more a good move?

“What?” Julian asked warily. “What are you thinking?”

“Beg pardon?” he asked, all innocence once more. “Oh, I was simply wondering if I should bring anything.”

The doctor eyed him a beat longer than necessary if he believed him. Garak was fairly certain that he didn't. He did know him quite well, after all. “If you'd like to bring something to drink or a dessert, I'm sure Leeta would be happy with that. I trust your judgment.”

Garak smiled widely. “Ah, my dear doctor, I can't tell you how happy I am to hear that,” he said. Yes, this had shaped up to be quite a nice day. He decided that when he was shopping for a host gift for Leeta and Julian, he'd also get a little something for Quark and Major Kira. If nothing else, it would keep them guessing, which as far as he was concerned was exactly how it should be.

The End

Author Notes: This story spans Hippocratic Oath and Indiscretion. It's not very stand-alone friendly, at least in context of what has happened with Julian and Garak. As with one of the previous stories, this time I decided to delve into Major Kira's viewpoint, too, and I included some of the dialogue from Indiscretion just because it would have been almost impossible to shape the narrative without it.

Summary: Julian struggles with his duties of command and the strain it can place on friendships while trying to solidify his relationship with Leeta and learns that he's not the only one on the station experiencing such difficulties. When Legate Dukat arrives unexpectedly on the station, Major Kira is forced to confront old prejudices and new worries as she joins forces with him to find a missing Bajoran prison transport ship, leaving an opening for Garak to start to settle an old score.

Author: Dark Sinestra

Date Written: February-March 2010

Category: Gen with some slashy elements

Rating: PG-13 for adult situations, mild violence, and mild adult language.

Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my settings. All Paramount's. I don't profit. I just play.

Word Count: 13,501

Garak

Replimat Café

“As you can imagine, it has been rather frustrating,” Garak said with a sigh. He was used to carrying the lion's share of conversation on the days he breakfasted with Odo. He wasn't used to the changeling hardly hearing a word he said. Narrowing his eyes a bit crossly he added, “After all, how can anyone on Cardassia be expected to care about a few missing ships when there's a slipper shortage?”

“True,” Odo said absently, lifting his illusory mug to have a sip of his illusory coffee. Garak still hadn't gotten used to Odo's way of trying to make others comfortable when eating with him but hadn't had the heart to tell him it was more than a little creepy.

“You haven't been listening to a word I've said for over twenty minutes,” Garak accused, setting his fork down with a definitive gesture of pique.

Odo blinked, truly focusing on him for the first time that morning. It was his turn to sigh. “I'm sorry, Garak,” he said. “You're right.”

Garak studied him for a few moments. “These breakfasts aren't just for my benefit,” he said. “If you need to get something off your chest, I'm actually a decent listener.”

Odo nodded thoughtfully. He reshaped his hand so that the illusory mug disappeared altogether. “I'm not...used to talking to others in this capacity,” he said. Garak remained encouragingly silent, offering him an attentive look. “It's Lieutenant Commander Worf,” he added, almost growling the Klingon's name.

“A rather dour fellow,” Garak offered, the sort of noncommittal comment that usually kept the other speaker talking.

“Yes,” the changeling agreed, “and very annoying. He ruined an investigation of mine last night.”

“What did he do?”

Odo briefly explained how he had worked it out with Quark to set up a basic nobody so that Odo could infiltrate the large and lucrative Markalian smuggling ring and how Worf bungled the entire operation by showing up in the middle of the sting. “It was bad enough that he continually butted into my investigation from the beginning, but he made me look like an idiot in front of Quark. It was hard enough to get Quark to cooperate in the first place. How am I supposed to do my job with some ham fisted Starfleet goon breathing down my back at my every turn?”

“I have every confidence that you'll manage,” Garak said, amused and trying not to show it. He genuinely liked Odo, but he felt he often got a little too tightly wrapped in his whole truth and justice for everyone shtick. “This isn't the first time you've had trouble with the Fleeters interfering with your job, right? What did you do about it this time?”

Odo frowned and looked away. “Nothing,” he said. “I told him what he had done, but I left it out of my report.”

That surprised the tailor. “Why?” he asked.

Odo pressed his lips together. “He's new,” he said uncomfortably. “He doesn't know how things work around here.”

“What better incentive than a dressing down from a superior officer?” Garak asked. He didn't say it, but he thought Odo's decision was a very Fleeter way of handling things.

“He was embarrassed about what happened,” Odo said a bit defensively.

“As he should have been,” he said with a nod. “Do you believe that embarrassment will be enough to keep him out of your affairs in the future? If there is one thing I have noticed about Starfleet officers over the years, Constable, it is that they are insufferably stubborn and persistent, even when they are clearly in the wrong.”

“That trait isn't limited to Starfleet,” Odo said a little pointedly. “I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt this once. It just rankles. Did you still wish to speak about what you were saying earlier?”

Garak shook his head. “It's not as though you or anyone else can do anything about it. My government is understandably preoccupied with the Klingon occupation of several of our outlying colonies. They aren't going to be in any hurry to investigate the disappearance of a few Obsidian Order ships. I doubt they would be even without the difficulties with the Klingons. Everyone seems quite satisfied with their 'accomplishments' in establishing a toothless civilian government. Why, perhaps in a few decades, a few powers in this quadrant will deign to call us civilized.” He couldn't keep the bitter sarcasm from his voice.

“You suspect that Tain might still be alive,” Odo said, not asking.

Damn him and his perceptiveness! “Anything is possible,” he said much more casually than he felt and shrugged. “At the least, I believe it possible there were survivors from the offensive. It bears investigation. Many of the people who were lost would provide useful skills and intelligence to the current government.”

“If I hear anything, I'll let you know,” he offered. “Unfortunately, it seems that my contacts on Cardassia have gone dry for now.”

Garak nodded, unsurprised. “If you like, I'm sure I can stir up the Klingon's suspicions sufficiently that he'll stop paying attention to you altogether and keep an eye on me,” he said cheerfully.

The constable snorted. “One Klingon beating wasn't enough for you? No, Garak, you had best not. Even though neither of you have official ties to your home governments right now, I wouldn't put it past either the Cardassian Union or the Klingon Empire to seize upon rumors of a broiling feud here on this station and use it as an excuse to do something unwise.”

The tailor tilted his head and graced Odo with one of his most disconcerting smiles. “Constable,” he said, “you actually believe those four thugs could've laid a finger on me had I not allowed it?” Still smiling, he stood and lifted his tray, his plate not cleaned but his appetite sated. “As always, our time together has been delightful and informative. I had best get to work.” He enjoyed Odo's speculative look as he walked away. Keep them guessing was one of his favorite games. It was even more fun with Odo, because he was actually quite good at it. He wondered if he would piece together the fact that he was the one who had provided the Klingons with their false intelligence that led to their overconfidence during the raid on the station. Not that it mattered much if he did. His own satisfaction with the outcome was plenty for him.

Julian

Docking Ring

Julian couldn't wait to get away from Miles. He was so angry with the man he could hardly see straight. Why had he felt the urge to be even slightly conciliatory? He knew that he should be writing him up for his gross insubordination that likely resulted in the death of every single Jem'Hadar on that planet on which they had crash landed, but he couldn't entirely bring himself to ignore Miles' reasoning for it. Damn him! Who did he think he was treating him like a wet behind the ears cadet? He couldn't know anymore than Julian could that the Jem'Hadar would have killed them. What if he had actually been successful? What if he had managed to free them from their addiction, and they in turn had managed to free others of their kind? Revolutions had started with far humbler beginnings than that.

He didn't want to go back to his quarters. He was too wound up to be alone, but he knew that Leeta would be working late. Dax wasn't an option. She would either insist that he write Miles up for insubordination or more likely side with Miles and praise him for saving him from himself. That would only serve to make him angrier. There was a time when he would have readily gone to Garak with such a thing. He no longer felt as though he had that right. Their lunches were one thing. Problems after dark? He wasn't so certain he'd be welcome.

He hesitated a fraction too long outside Quark's. Leeta spotted him in the doorway and beckoned him inside. He knew not to approach her at the dabo wheel unless he intended to play. Quark and Rom both had made that abundantly clear to him on several occasions. Instead, he smiled and nodded to her and took a seat at the bar. “What'll it be, Doctor?” Quark asked as he made his way down to him.

“Pint of Guinness,” he said, resting his elbow on the bar top and his cheek on his fist.

“Woman problems?” Quark asked, turning to the tap.

“What?” he asked, sitting up straighter. “No, nothing like that.”

“Man problems,” the bartender said pragmatically. When the glass was about three quarters full he let it rest for a bit and folded his arms across his chest.

“No,” Julian said, feeling needled. “It's neither, besides which, it's none of your business, Quark.”

“I'm a bartender,” the Ferengi said, “which means when a customer comes in wearing a long face, like yours, I'm expected to make it my business. Do you think Morn would spend the time in here that he does without my sympathetic ear and sturdy shoulders?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” he said, watching him top off the pint. “Morn comes here to get drunk and chase women.”

Quark tutted and offered Julian his pint. “In all the vast space of the Alpha Quadrant, there are countless places to get drunk and chase women,” he said, “but there's only one me.”

“I suppose we should all thank God for small favors, hmm?” Julian asked sourly and turned his back to the bar. He didn't want cloying fake pity, and he didn't want to spread things that would get back to Miles, no matter how angry with him he might be. He watched the crowd at the dabo wheel enjoying themselves and Leeta doing her part to ensure that they stayed focused on her and not the game. She was good at it, a favorite among several of the customers. Instead of feeling any jealousy, in moments like that he was proud of her. He knew she kept a professional attitude toward her work.

After his second pint, he felt some of his knots start to unwind. By his third, he was physically relaxed and tired from his ordeal on the planet. He started to wonder if he'd even make it until the end of Leeta's shift. With eyelids drooping, he finally caught her attention and gave her the signal they had worked out to request that she meet him in his quarters later.

He shuffled from the bar and took the seemingly longer than usual walk to his quarters, took a long shower, and dressed himself in the green pajamas Garak had given him a few years before. They were the most comfortable thing he owned, as much for the memories they evoked as for the luxurious fabric and perfect fit. Yawning widely, he instructed the computer to let Leeta in when she hailed, even if he was already asleep by the time she got there.

He awoke to the soft, warm weight of her settling in with him and started to turn. “Oh, I'm sorry, sweetie,” she said softly. “I was hoping not to wake you up. You looked so tired in the bar.”

“It's all right,” he said muzzily. “I wanted to talk, anyway.” He did his best to shake the cobwebs from his brain and pulled her close.

She rested her cheek against his chest and trailed her fingers soothingly down his neck. “OK,” she said. “Did something happen on the away mission? You were gone longer than I expected.”

“You could say that,” he said with a sigh. “It's Miles. He completely disregarded a direct order, and I'm afraid it led to the death of several Jem'Hadar.”

She was quiet for a bit longer than he expected after that, finally saying, “Umm, I'm not sure I understand how that's a bad thing.”

He snorted a soft laugh. “Well, no, I didn't exactly put that in context, did I?” He briefly outlined everything that happened, from the crash landing on the planet to the strange Jem'Hadar leader who had managed to free himself of his addiction to ketracel white and who wanted Julian to do the same for the rest of his people. He spoke of his research and how close he felt he was to a breakthrough, when Miles had destroyed all the samples and his equipment, giving him no choice but to accompany him back to the runabout and to go back on his word.

“I know you're angry at him,” she said carefully, “but I don't think he was wrong. He did what he had to in order to save both of you.”

“You don't know that,” he said testily. He had expected her to be understanding, not to side with Miles! “You weren't there. You didn't talk to their leader.”

“I don't have to be there to know that Miles isn't prone to disobeying orders, Julian. He's one of the most by the book men I've ever met. If he made the decision to sabotage your research, he must have believed that the threat was too great. You're mad at him because it hurt your pride, when you should be grateful he saved your life,” she said reasonably.

“I don't want to talk about this anymore,” he said, tense all over again. “Let's just go to sleep.”

She pulled away and turned her back to him. “I'm sorry,” she said, “I was under the impression you wanted my honest opinion, not blind agreement.”

He frowned. They didn't fight often, but when they did, it could get heated. He wanted to cut that off at the pass if he could, or he'd be in for a very frosty awakening the next morning. “Of course I wanted your honest opinion. It's just...I'm a doctor. I feel responsible for those deaths. Not only that, but I was on the verge of a significant breakthrough, research that could have helped us break the back of the Dominion's supply of shock troops. I felt the risk was worth it.”

“What good would it have done if you and Miles were killed? That research wouldn't have gotten off that planet. It would've been one small group of Jem'Hadar living in hiding until they died,” she said.

“You don't know that. They might have spread the word, given more Jem'Hadar the opportunity to be free. They might have even turned against the Founders.”

“How likely do you really think that is?” she asked, twisting to address him over her shoulder. “Is the remote possibility of that worth Miles' life? I'm not going to ask you about yours. I know you well enough to know you're willing to make that sacrifice. What about Keiko and Molly? Would you be willing to look them in the eye and tell them you sacrificed their husband and father for a slim chance that the Jem'Hadar might someday rebel against the Founders?”

As much as he hated it, she had a point. He had been so caught up in the idea that Miles knew what he was signing up for when he became a Starfleet engineer that he hadn't thought much beyond that. It could've been just as likely that things would've happened as Leeta said, one small group of Jem'Hadar living without addiction and dying there, Keiko widowed, and Molly growing up without a father just for that. “I suppose you're right,” he said grudgingly. “After I've cooled off, I'll have a talk with Miles.”

“He's a good man, and he's your friend,” she said. “I doubt it was easy for him to disobey a direct order, particularly coming from someone he cares about.”

More than you realize, he thought glumly, the conversation in the shuttle craft before their crash coming back to him now. Miles had come so very close to saying how he wished that Keiko were more like Julian. He had hoped that the engineer's infatuation with him had faded, but that didn't seem to be the case. He knew that sooner or later, he'd probably have to address it. As things stood, he envisioned that to be later. Much, much later. He put his arm around Leeta and pulled her in close, settling his nose at the fragrant nape of her neck. “You're right,” he said without reserve. “Thank you. I'm sorry I was such an ass.”

“We're all entitled to our moments,” she said and covered his hand with hers, tangling fingers. “Now, I hope you're ready for some sleeping moments. I'm beat.”

Quark's tendency to overwork her was another sore point, one he was wise enough to leave alone for that night. One near fight as exhausted as he felt was plenty. “Absolutely,” he said, and the two drifted off to sleep.

Garak

Private Quarters

Garak had just finished eating his modest supper alone when his door chimed. “Computer,” he said, “who is at the door?”

“Major Kira Nerys,” came the response.

Somewhat surprised, he set his napkin aside and stood. “Enter,” he called pleasantly.

The door hissed open, and Kira stepped inside. She glanced at the table. “Oh, I'm sorry for interrupting your dinner, Garak,” she said, sounding a little tense, “but I'm pressed for time. Do you have a minute?”

“Actually, Major, your timing is impeccable,” he said. “I had just finished.” He gestured for her to have a seat on his sofa while he cleaned his table. “What can I do for you?”

She perched herself on the edge of the couch and waited until he could join her. “I'm not entirely sure you can do anything, but...I need some advice.”

His curiosity piqued, he sat forward, leaning toward her. “Sartorial in nature?” he asked. “I've rarely seen you out of uniform, but I doubt you'd like my opinion of Bajoran fashion.”

“What?” she asked, blinking. “No, nothing like that. It's about Dukat.”

That was even more surprising. Warily, he asked, “What about Dukat?”

“He's here on the station. It's a long story, but I heard some reliable information that a ship I've been looking for may have been found, at least a part of it. Somehow, the Cardassian government got its hands on the information and requested to send a representative.” She stopped abruptly and narrowed her eyes at him. “You wouldn't have had anything to do with that, would you?”

Garak snorted a laugh. “My dear Major, I fear you give me far more credit than I deserve when it comes to contact with my government.”

“You got word to them awfully fast about the Klingon invasion,” she pointed out.

He arched an eye ridge. “I would hazard a guess that news of impending invasion ranks a bit higher than the fact that a ship may or may not have been found, wouldn't you say? They would have listened to Morn when it came to that. No, for something of this nature, I have very little sway. They sent Gul Dukat, you say?”

“Legate,” she said tightly with a roll of her eyes. “He's prancing around in the uniform like a glorified harp bird.”

So Dukat scored himself a promotion to Legate thanks to my efforts, Garak thought sourly.

“You really didn't know about any of this, did you?” she asked, reading his expression accurately.

“I'm afraid not,” he said. “What is it, exactly, that you think I can do for you?”

“I was thinking about when the self-destruct sequence got triggered and we were all trapped in Ops together. You said that Dukat was trying to flirt with me,” she said uncomfortably.

“It was rather more blatant than just flirting, but yes,” he said.

“I don't want him getting ideas,” she gestured helplessly.

Garak shook his head impatiently. “He already has ideas. If you want my advice on how to handle Dukat, it's fairly simple. Don't turn your back on him for a single moment. Don't trust a word he says, and don't take anything he does at face value. Don't rely on his better nature to keep him from behaving inappropriately. He doesn't have one. Lastly, if I were you, I'd do my best to discover why a Legate has taken such a personal interest in this ship of yours. It is highly unusual for a Cardassian of that rank to set foot off planet for anything less than a diplomatic mission or an invasion. Can you tell me what the ship was carrying? That may help narrow it down.”

“Bajoran prisoners,” she said.

“So this was a Cardassian ship?” he asked.

“Yes, the Ravinok. Does that mean anything to you?”

He shook his head. “No, I've never heard of it, not that that means much. When are you scheduled to leave?” he asked, thinking he might have some time to look it up.

“Within the hour,” she said, sounding as though she'd rather be doing almost anything else.

That was no good. He frowned thoughtfully, eying her. “All I can tell you with any certainty is that the ship was either carrying something more than prisoners, or Dukat has a personal stake in this. Either possibility mandates that you take particular care if you hope to return in one piece. You wouldn't be the first to have an...unfortunate accident...alone with Dukat, otherwise.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” she said grimly. “Thank you, Garak. I'd best go. The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can get back and have him out of my hair.”

He stood when she did and escorted her to the door. “I'm always happy to be of assistance,” he said pleasantly. As soon as she was gone, he turned and took a seat at his computer terminal. She had piqued his curiosity about the ship. Perhaps he could find something incriminating on Dukat. He certainly hoped so. Legate Dukat, indeed, he thought. We'll see about that.

Kira Nerys

USS Rio Grande

Finally some peace and quiet, Kira thought, leaning back in her seat and shutting her eyes. She could no more meditate in Dukat's presence than she could actually relax, but at least the excuse and the threat of ordering him silent did the trick. Cardassians, she thought in exasperation. Her life would be so much simpler without them. Then again, her life wouldn't be what it was; she wouldn't be what she was without their influence, without the occupation. Would that be such a bad thing? She wondered.

She had always been more of a doer than a thinker. Before her posting to Deep Space Nine, her life had been shaped by the very real threat of death always around the corner. Such conditions were hardly fertile ground for deep thinking or philosophizing. That was for those with the luxury of a certain meal, a safe place to sleep, and no need to have eyes in the back of their head. Everything was different now, including relations between Bajor and Cardassia, as Dukat himself had pointed out. The fact that he was making a blatant parallel between their respective worlds and each other hadn't been lost on her, and she found it offensive. Why couldn't he just leave her alone?

He was out of his mind if he thought that Bajor benefited from Cardassia's rule. Was it possible he truly believed that, or was he saying it to needle her? It was impossible to tell. She recalled Garak's words. Don't trust a word he says, and don't take anything he does at face value. Hadn't Tekeny said something similar about Garak? In some ways, Garak had proven the man wrong since then. She still didn't trust him completely, probably never would, but she couldn't take the position that he was malicious and hell bent on the destruction of every Starfleeter and Bajoran on the station, either. Garak seemed to exist in a confusing world of shades of gray, a world in which she had never been comfortable, but one in which she found herself increasingly in her role on the station.

Now she was on a joint search and possible rescue mission with Gul, no, Legate Dukat. He claimed that he was sent because the crew of the Ravinok had been under his command. Even had Garak not warned her to look for other motivations, she would have found that one hard to believe. How many Cardassian ships from the occupation had gone missing through the years? Of those that had, how many would attract the interest of any Cardassian Legate unless they had been carrying important Cardassian crew? There was something she was missing here. For the life of her, she couldn't begin to piece together what. Maybe she had been hasty in insisting they get underway before Garak could have a chance to look into things. The man was nothing if not good at digging up dirt. Still, if there was even a chance that her friend could be alive and suffering somewhere, she owed it to him and everyone with him to act quickly to find them and bring them home.

Maybe when they learned more, Dukat would reveal more. She'd have to watch him carefully. She wished that she was better at reading people or perhaps more imaginative. Others seemed to grasp nuances that completely slipped her awareness all the time. Shakaar claimed he loved her for her bluntness. It was a quality Bareil had admired as well. She had a hard time seeing what was so great about it. More often than not, it meant she was having to apologize to someone for hurting their feelings or overstepping her bounds. It was something she wanted to change about herself, but she had no idea how to go about doing that.

Sighing slightly, she opened her eyes again, only to shoot Dukat a warning look when she saw him open his mouth out of the corners of her vision. That sigh was not an invitation for him to comment or question. Maybe there was something positive to be said for not being subtle after all, because at her look, he shut his mouth and settled back again, seemingly determined to uphold his end of the agreement that the mission was hers. She wondered how long such cooperation would last and caught herself reflexively touching her phaser. Hopefully, it won't come to that, she thought grimly.

To her amazement, the Cardassian managed the full six hours to the meeting point with the smuggler Razka without saying another word. She wondered if that was a record for him. As they neared Razka's ship in the Badlands, she said, “Let me do most of the talking. Razka has no love for you or any Cardassian. He's going to be plenty ticked off that I have you with me to begin with.”

“Without me, you'll have a hard time determining whether this scrap of his is a piece of the Ravinok or not,” Dukat said reasonably.

“I know that,” she snapped, not enjoying being reminded that she needed him for anything. She tried to smooth her tone over a bit when she added, “I doubt he'll be as understanding. Just keep quiet, OK?”

“As you wish,” he said smoothly, inclining his head with what he probably thought was a charming half smile.

She snorted softly and hailed Razka's ship. The two of them made their way to the runabout's transporter pad and beamed over. As she suspected, Razka wasn't at all pleased to see who she had with her and chided her for not warning him. He relaxed somewhat when she explained that she hadn't known she'd have company at the time she talked to him. However, he immediately began needling Dukat, who of course couldn't resist rising to the bait. She privately wished that she could smack both of them. Nothing was so bad that couldn't be made worse by two males in a pissing contest.

Happily, the mission bore fruit. The scrap was definitely from the Ravinok. Unfortunately, it came from a system light years from where it was supposed to be, which meant even more time spent in the unwelcome company of Dukat. She was glad to get away from Razka and the Badlands. The flight to the Dozaria system was uneventful, the two speaking only because they were trying to figure out how or why the ship got so far off course. She found that speaking to him was less unpleasant when there was a purpose for it and when he was too occupied with thinking to continue with his flirting.

Razka had been right when he described the planet there as barely M-class. There was far too much ionic interference in the atmosphere for a safe beam down, so Kira was forced to take the runabout in for a rough and difficult landing. If she could be said to have looked forward to anything less than spending a long time alone with Dukat in a runabout, it was to having to trek an unknown planet with him on foot. She said nothing of her unease or misgiving, feeling that it would provide him with perverse satisfaction, instead simply gathering together a supply pack and tossing him one so that he could do the same.

When they exited the bay of the runabout, Dukat instantly squinted and shielded his eyes with a hand. Kira pulled at the throat of her uniform and decided to remove her jacket. It was far too hot to travel covered from neck to wrists in thick fabric. She felt Dukat's eyes on her as she removed the garment and frowned to herself, tucking it away in her pack in case she needed it later. Who knew what the temperature would be like at night, assuming they were there that long?

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, exiting the runabout and signaling to close the bay doors so that sand wouldn't blow inside and possibly foul up some of the equipment. She looked around the mostly featureless, barren landscape and pointed her phaser rifle at a rise in the distance. “Let's start over there,” she said. “We'll get a better view of the surroundings from there.”

“As you wish,” he said, gesturing her ahead of him.

“Nuh uh,” she said, shaking her head. “You're crazy if you think I'm going to have you at my back with a rifle.”

“Major, you wound me,” he said, bringing his free hand to his chest.

“I notice you're in no hurry to have me at your back,” she said dryly.

He smiled in a way she didn't quite like. “Together, then?” he proposed.

She rolled her eyes, and they got underway. It was tough going, brutally hot with a wind that constantly whipped them and scoured them with stinging grit. Dukat stayed quiet all the way until they reached the rise. He finally couldn't resist making small talk. “Invigorating, isn't it? A bit sunny, perhaps, but this heat feels wonderful,” he said.

“Only a Cardassian could call this hellhole invigorating,” she retorted, in no mood for his posturing.

“Oh, that's right. I forgot,” he said. “Compared to us, you Bajorans are a bit...fragile, physiologically speaking, of course.”

“Don't worry about me,” she said, pushing past him toward the near crest of the rise. She temporarily forgot her unease at having him at her back in her desire to get a better look. Even that was quelled by the sight that greeted both of them at the top of what they had mistaken for a hill. It was actually the outer edge of an impact crater. All that remained of the Ravinok sat at the center, looking small and broken. Her heart sank. Was this Lorit's final resting place? If so, it was a sorry end for such a good friend. Glancing at Dukat, she immediately started down the other side. There was only one way to find out.

Garak

Private Quarters

Garak waited only long enough to be sure that Lisane wouldn't return before checking his computer interface. He had to admit that she was fairly decent at hiding her activities, but it didn't take him very long to discover her fingerprints in the system. He smiled to himself when he saw that she had taken the obvious bait he left for her to find and never bothered to look for the real hook. He put together and sent a subspace transmission of his own to the same location that she had. It was regretful that Legate Pa'Ren was about to have such a thoroughly unpleasant day, but he really shouldn't have lied about his activities on Bajor during the occupation, at least not when there was even a remote chance that someone someday could discover the truth.

He left the sitting room to clean up the mess and wash himself free of a scent he had no doubt he'd never encounter again. There was no way she would ever let him touch her now. It was almost a pity. He had enjoyed playing that part of the game while it lasted, but he had to admit he enjoyed knowing how much she was suffering even more. The next day he checked for her at the infirmary only to hear that she had called in sick. He hummed to himself all the way to his shop.

He wasn't surprised when a few days later she unceremoniously broke things off with him. By that time, he had other things to occupy him, however. His final two reliable contacts on Cardassia Prime had disappeared after telling him of several civilian uprisings. People could say whatever they liked of Tain, but he realized now more than ever just what a stabilizing force the man and those under him had been, what a stabilizing force he, himself, had been. Maybe I should have risked going home when I had the chance, he thought more than once.

All of that was bad enough. Then the Klingons arrived. Tensions mounted to an alarming degree. It wasn't that the Klingons were being disruptive, loud, and boisterous. That would've been unpleasant. No, these were quiet. They murmured amongst themselves, and they shot him more hostile glances than he would have expected even given the history between the two empires. Every instinct told him they were up to no good, but how to discover what? He couldn't very well walk up to one and ask. However, maybe, just maybe, he could provoke one or more of them into revealing more than they intended.

He gave much thought to this, waiting for the proper opportunity and time. While breakfasting with Odo, it finally came. He risked informing the Constable of the situation on Cardassia, knowing that in providing such a confidence, he could motivate Odo to keep his ear to the ground for any news and share it with him. As they discussed the disturbing rumors, they saw Morn being harassed on the Promenade by a group of Klingons.

Odo rose, and Garak followed. As the Constable confronted them about their behavior, Garak made certain to antagonize them. He let them know he spoke their harsh, guttural tongue, and he was just pushy enough that he was sure they wouldn't be able to let it go. He stayed behind with Odo talking long enough to give them a chance to make their way to his shop, and bracing himself, he then went there himself.

As soon as he came through his doors, four of them stepped to block his exit. Better make this good, he thought, resigned to what he expected would be a thorough beating. “Let me guess,” he said with false cheer, “you're either lost, or you're desperately searching for a good tailor.”

“Guess again,” their ringleader growled and punched him hard enough to take the wind out of him. He fell to the floor, surrounded by a forest of kicking legs and punching fists. At first he began to think that he had miscalculated and that they would simply beat him senseless, or maybe even kill him. He knew he felt and heard bone snap, breathing shallowly to prevent any shards from piercing his lungs.

“That's enough!” the one called Drex barked. “Now, Cardassian,” he said, squatting and grinning a sharp toothed grin, so close to Garak's face that his foul breath washed him in a rank miasma, “you're going to tell us what you know of this station and its defenses, or we're going to finish what we started here. Who knows? Maybe Starfleet will even thank us for ridding them of a spy.”

“Have you seen their uniforms?” Garak wheezed. “They'll never forgive you.”

Drex punched him so hard that he temporarily lost vision in his left eye. “This is your last chance,” he said, pulling Garak up to a seated position by his tunic with one fist.

Haltingly, convincingly, the tailor gave them outdated information that he knew they could confirm with a few computer checks. He trusted that these particular thugs didn't have the wherewithal to hack the system, or they wouldn't be bothering with him, but of course, he couldn't be certain. He clung to consciousness with difficulty. Three more blows from Drex almost took care of that before Odo finally realized that something was amiss and put a swift end to his torment.

Julian

The Infirmary

Things had been almost too quiet since the arrival of the Klingons. That changed when Odo and three other security men carried Garak through his door. “Over here,” he said, moving to prep a biobed. He didn't like the way the tailor's head was lolling, his eyes unfocused and one swelling shut. “What happened to him?”

“A group of Klingons attacked him,” Odo said, sounding thoroughly disgusted. “He insists it was a...misunderstanding...and is refusing to press charges.”

“What?” the doctor demanded, anger rising. He snatched up a tricorder and began to scan the man for damages, his jaw setting to a grim line.

Odo shook his head, his blue eyes steely. “I didn't actually see anything, Doctor. The Klingons are refusing to talk. I can assure you I will look into it further. Maybe you can talk some sense into him.” He glanced down at Garak, gave a soft “hmph”, and cleared his men out so that Julian could do his job.

He didn't try to talk to Garak at first, because he didn't want him trying to respond, not with those broken ribs. It was damned difficult to break Cardassian ribs. Their torsos were built like tanks with a latticed rib structure that protected their bellows-like lungs. After all this time, he still found it hard to keep professional distance when treating Garak for injuries. He wanted to soothe his hurts with more than just cold instruments. He allowed himself the small luxury of pushing back the glossy hair where it clung to his bleeding eye ridge. Garak's eyes followed him more alertly now. He opened his mouth to speak, but Julian stopped him with a touch to his shoulder. “Not yet,” he said gently. “Let the bone regenerator do its work.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” the stubborn man said anyway.

“Don't thank me for doing my job,” he retorted more harshly than he intended. He was worried, and he was furious that he didn't intend to press charges for something so blatantly criminal. He touched him again by way of apology and turned away quickly to check the monitor for his vitals.

“You're angry,” the voice came from behind him, matter-of-fact as was so often the case.

“I can't believe you're not pressing charges,” he said, not bothering to hide his frustration. If he expected Garak to help him with that, he was sorely disappointed. The tailor launched into his usual glib distraction tactics, seeming not to take anything about the incident seriously. What's really going on with you? Julian wondered. He knew Garak well enough to know that he couldn't take all the joking at face value. What don't you want me to see?

He couldn't justify holding him for any longer than it took him to get him mended. He wished that he could lock him away and force him to stay for as long as the Klingons intended to be there. For once, he wished that he could truly protect the man in a meaningful way and not just make his exile on the station a little more tolerable. He wished that he could hold him, and yet, he had been the one to walk away, long ago enough now that any attempt to do any such thing on his part could only be taken as cruelty, not kindness. He watched a bit sadly as Garak stood and tested his range of motion. “How do you feel?” he asked.

“A little sore and stiff, but not bad all things considered,” the tailor answered with a slight smile.

“I'd offer to give you something for the pain, but I already know it would just sit on your shelf like the migraine pills,” he said.

“I take them sometimes, Doctor,” Garak said with uncharacteristic gentleness.

“Are you OK?” he blurted. He hadn't intended to ask in that way. He hadn't intended to ask about what had gone wrong with Decla at all, but it just came out, prompted by what he had just witnessed.

Garak nodded, eying him speculatively. “Are you?”

“Yes. I'm just...worried about you, being alone. If you need to talk...”

“Ah,” the tailor said with an understanding smile. “I can assure you, I'm suffering no hurt. As you pointed out more than once, Lisane and I were not a good match. It's much better this way.”

“You can do better than her,” he murmured, not quite able to meet the brilliant blue gaze.

“Rom often told me the same thing,” he said lightly. “Come now, Julian, let's not discuss this here where your employees can overhear. I have no desire to cause Lisane embarrassment.”

“Of course,” he said, feeling a tad guilty. Garak had a good point. He shouldn't allow his professionalism to slip just because he had been shaken. “Well, if you do need anything...”

“You'll be the first to know,” Garak assured him, stepping close and squeezing his shoulder. “I should get back to my shop. Those Klingons made a mess of things, and blood is much harder to clean from carpet when it's dry.”

He felt the pressure of that hand long after Garak's departure, much as he had upon their first meeting. It didn't make him feel disloyal to Leeta, for he knew that she was aware he would always love Garak on some level. It was one of the things he appreciated about her. She was understanding of that, and she never seemed to judge him, either for breaking the relationship off or having it in the first place. When lunch came, he went to Garak in the shop, determined that the man wouldn't have to clean his own blood from the floor alone, no matter how much he tried to pretend it didn't bother him. It was the least he could do, and Garak seemed to appreciate it.

Garak

Garak's Clothiers

Garak was relieved that all of the Klingons had departed, save one. As that one clothed himself in one of the ludicrously chromatic Starfleet uniforms, he wasn't too worried about running afoul of his temper. He believed that as long as they stayed out of one another's way, neither would have reason to find if the other annoyed or irritated him. Business started to pick up again, even Morn feeling the need to clothe himself in something warmer. He sometimes wondered if the station really had grown colder, or if it was just a psychological effect of all the tension around them.

He saw the big Lurian out, only to hear his comm beep. Turning, he circled behind his counter to answer it. Captain Sisko's voice came clear over the line, “Mister Garak, I'd like to see you in the wardroom immediately. And bring your tailor kit.”

“I'll be right there,” he told him, puzzled. He gathered what he needed and started down the Promenade. He wondered if Sisko intended to pressure him yet again about pressing charges for the attack of several days ago. No, that didn't make sense. He wouldn't need his tailor kit for that. He'd know soon enough.

He stepped into the wardroom and stopped short at the sight of the gathered senior staff. What was this? He heard Dax saying something about over one hundred ships and cut a glance at Sisko. “I'm sorry,” he said. “Am I interrupting?”

Sisko stood and said, “I'd like to be measured for a new suit.”

Garak blinked, taken aback. When Sisko assured him that he was serious and wanted him to measure him right then, he began to comply. The entire day seemed to take on something of a surreal quality in that moment. No sooner had he begun to wonder if the Starfleet captain had cracked under pressure than he tuned back in to what Dax and the new Klingon officer, Worf, were saying. The Klingons were invading Cardassia? Despite his best efforts, his entire body tensed. Everything suddenly made a terrible kind of sense. Starfleet must have given the captain orders not to interfere, and officially he wasn't. He felt a surge of gratitude toward the man and realized that at least some of his efforts to be cooperative over the years had paid off, but would it be too late?

As soon as he could, he left the meeting. He ran toward his shop, faster than he had run in years, feet flying. He didn't care who saw him and narrowly avoided several collisions on the way. They had to be warned. His people had to be told what was coming for them, what would be there in less than an hour. The last person he expected to see when he contacted the Detapa Council was Gul Dukat. There was no time to question him. He tersely explained the situation and wondered if it was Dukat he was speaking to at all, or a Founder. Wouldn't that be the cruelest of ironies?

He wished that he could reach through his screen and shake the man when first he reacted with disbelief and then tried to exchange a few barbs. Of course, it was exactly the sort of thing Dukat would do, so perhaps he wasn't a Founder after all. The gul told him to convince Sisko to stop the Klingons, as though one Starfleet captain could do a thing against one hundred or more Birds of Prey. After a final barb, Garak cut the transmission. They didn't have time for such nonsense! He hated the fact to the core of his being, but for once, he desperately hoped that Gul Dukat would succeed in mobilizing the military, what was left of it after the coup, at any rate. He wanted to tear his hair out. Of all times to be stuck in a glorified tin can in space instead of home where he might actually be of use!

He abandoned his brief impulse toward histrionics in favor of more rational action. He intended to do as Dukat had asked, to speak to Sisko on behalf of Cardassia. He had to do something, and in light of the situation, it made sense. Clearly, the captain was already inclined to help them, or he'd never have called Garak into the wardroom the way he did. The questions were how deep did those sympathies lie, and would Sisko have enough pull with his home government to sway them?

Julian

The Defiant

It was times like these that Julian truly appreciated the kind of man he served under, the kind of man who thought nothing of traveling through a thicket of hostile Klingon vessels in order to save an entire government of people who weren't his friends or allies, but who didn't deserve what the Klingons were doing to them. He still couldn't believe that just like that, the treaty was over and done with. The Klingons were enemies once more. It seemed so short sighted of them in the face of the Dominion threat. It didn't make sense, and even if Founders were responsible for the recent civilian coup on Cardassia, what would an invasion accomplish? The Founders could look like anyone or anything. They could easily lie in wait for the new Klingon overseer, assassinate him, and take his place. No, he knew there was something he was missing, something they all were, but what? That puzzle would have to wait for a better time. He knew that soon he'd have his hands full.

He wished that Garak could have come with them. He knew how difficult it was for his friend to stay behind when his homeworld was at stake. Garak had never been the sort who wanted to wait in the wings. Whenever he could, he managed to throw himself into the action or at least get himself into more than his fair share of trouble. On the other hand, he was glad he wasn't there. Julian would have worried about him and possibly lost needed focus in the process. As they traveled at maximum warp toward Cardassian space, he hoped that they weren't too late. What would happen to Cardassia if they lost all of their leaders in one fell swoop? The loss of the Obsidian Order had been bad enough.

These bleak thoughts occupied him until Worf spotted debris on his sensors. They dropped out of warp, and suddenly the view screen sprang to life, revealing the ominously drifting wreckage of three Cardassian Galor class ships. There could be survivors. The doctor in him wanted to investigate, but the officer in him recognized the sense in Worf's and Sisko's insistence that they didn't. Any Cardassian aboard those vessels would make the same argument. In light of who was at stake, they were expendable. He protested leaving without trying, but he knew he would be overridden. He felt a little sick inside as they left behind the ships and re-engaged warp drive.

More time passed with none of the usual banter that usually made missions on the Defiant more tolerable. None of them knew what to expect at the rendezvous point, if there would even be a Detapa Council left to save. When they finally neared, Worf indicated that he had three Birds of Prey on his sensors attacking a badly damaged Cardassian craft. They picked up an audio distress signal from Gul Dukat. “This is Gul Dukat of the cruiser Prakesh. We're under heavy fire. Our shields are failing. I don't

know how much longer we can hold out. Send reinforcements immediately. I repeat, this is ...”

He grudgingly admired how calm the gul sounded despite the situation. There was urgency in his voice, yes, but he was in control of himself. He turned his attention to the screen along with the rest of the bridge crew, wincing as a Bird of Prey strafed the Cardassian vessel with disruptor fire. There was no way the ship could take much more punishment.

“Orders, Captain?” Worf asked.

“Two decades of peace with the Klingons, and it all comes down to this,” Julian said, his stomach clenched. He didn't need to hear Dax's assessment of the Cardassians' chances to know what they were about to have to do. He wasn't surprised at the captain's orders to arm the torpedoes and decloak. There was no more time for thinking or regrets.

“Red alert,” Sisko said, giving him a nod.

He returned the nod and hastily exited the bridge. They had their work cut out for them, and he had his own to attend. There would almost certainly be injuries and casualties from the Cardassian vessel. He had to be ready for them. He was glad of all the time he had spent converting the ship's pathetic excuse of a medical bay into something he could actually work with and of the staff he had hand picked for the assignment, all but one of them with previous medical experience in combat zones. They were as ready as they could be, and they had vials set aside for collecting blood samples. If any of the people they beamed aboard were Founders, he intended to be ready for them.

The ship rocked with an ominous rumble. They were under fire. So far, it seemed as though the shields were holding, but for how long? “All of you,” he told his staff, “brace yourselves and stay away from the consoles until we need them. If any of them blow, I don't need to tell you what can happen, and I need every one of you in top form.”

They nodded and did as he ordered. He braced himself on one of the biobeds, feeling the deck plate under him vibrate every time they took a hit. He felt the ship lurch sharply and then a particularly violent tremor. One of the consoles showered sparks. Sisko's voice came over the comm. “Sisko to Bashir. Prepare to receive casualties, Doctor. And have security standing by. I want our guests to undergo blood screenings.”

“Understood,” he said, thinking, Way ahead of you there, Captain. “You heard him! Get ready, and I want a full security detail standing by. No one gets in our out of this area without an escort.”

“Yes, Sir,” he heard from all around.

Within moments, the first of the council members began to arrive, all of them older even than Garak or Dukat. Julian realized that there were far more of them than would fit into the medical bay, and he quickly organized them into a queue and sent them to the mess hall, close enough to keep an eye on them and large enough to keep them from being too crowded. He kept a keen watch for injuries or shock, pulling a few from the line and sending them to sick bay. Overall, they were in better shape than he expected. He wasn't sure the Defiant crew would be able to say the same if they kept getting hit so violently without their shields. The entire deck rocked continually as though in an earthquake.

He was glad that he didn't have to tell any of them to stay calm. They handled themselves far better than most Terrans would. Gul Dukat stepped into the mess hall, easily keeping his feet, even when a particularly devastating blast threw several of his fellows to the floor. Dukat's ice chip eyes lighted upon him, and he closed the distance between them. “Thank you, Doctor,” he said. “Now if you don't mind, I'd like to go to the bridge.”

He held up a syringe, taking some small satisfaction in discomfiting the gul after the several times the man had been able to do so to him. Once he was sure that he wasn't a changeling, he let him go on his way with a security escort and made his rounds to help his staff with the rest of the screenings. Some of them submitted willingly; some gave him more trouble. In the end, he had his way. He felt the shift in the ship as they engaged warp. We made it this far, he thought with satisfaction but not exactly optimism. Judging by the lights, they were no longer able to cloak, and it was going to be a long trip exposed to their enemies.

Garak

Quark's Bar

Garak felt as though he had no choice but to get back to business and some semblance of routine. He resisted all impulses to contact Julian or try to arrange a lunch date. He had told him that he'd be there as much or as little as he wanted him. Since he had heard nothing, he assumed that was little indeed. Are you really surprised? he asked himself often. You brutalized him. You got what you wanted. He'll never trust you again.

Since the night he broke, he hadn't had another nightmare. He divided his time among work, researching the missing ships, and trying to socialize a bit. He noticed, somewhat uncomfortably, that there seemed to be a bit of a divide over the breakup. Dax and O'Brien circled the wagons around Julian, while Odo and oddly Kira seemed friendlier toward him. As he made his way to the bar, he pondered this oddity. It was the first time he could bring himself to go anywhere public outside of work besides the Replimat. Morn kept shooting him strange looks, and Quark avoided him, shoving Rom in his direction instead to serve him. That cinched it for him. Something strange was going on, and somehow it involved him. “Rom?” he asked archly.

Rom shot a dirty look at his brother and plastered on a false smile for Garak. “What can I get you tonight? Kanar?”

“That would be a good start,” he said evenly. “And then perhaps you'd like to tell me why Morn seems to think I'm about to start a bar fight, and Quark is avoiding me.”

Rom poured the blue liquor and set it before him. “No,” he said, disconsolately. “I wouldn't like to tell you, but...I will.” He shot a significant look toward a dark corner of the bar. Garak twisted himself to look, only to see Julian sitting at a small table with one of the dabo girls he had seen a few times, a red headed Bajoran whom he had always thought seemed just a little vacuous. He chuffed a soft exhale and turned back toward Rom. “You're aware that Julian and I are no longer together,” he said reasonably. “It doesn't matter to me what he does with his time now.”

Instead of looking reassured, Rom seemed more troubled. “Then you don't know.”

Garak spread his hands. “Apparently not. Enlighten me?”

The Ferengi shot another look toward the doctor and his companion, a resentful look. “That started before you broke up,” he said.

Garak's look took on a fixed quality. “Oh?” he said softly. Things suddenly made so much more sense, Julian's strange behavior in the stock room, his tardiness for their talk. He had been played. As much as it stung his pride to admit it to himself, it was the most likely explanation for the abruptness of the break up and the way it had been handled. Julian had somebody else lined up to replace him, a less complicated option. His rage went immediately cold. Unfortunately, that was when he was at his most ruthless.

Rom nodded. “If you ask me, it's not right. Bad enough that he didn't have the decency to wait before breaking things off with you, but now he's just flaunting it openly without any care about who sees or not.”

He couldn't be sure, but it seemed to him that there was something beyond anger on his behalf in Rom's reaction. That would bear closer examination later on, but not yet. He turned his kanar glass in his hand and took a deliberate swallow, offering Rom a cold, reptilian smile. “Then it would seem that I am very fortunate he decided to leave,” he said. “Who needs such fickleness in his life?”

“Garak,” Rom said in a warning tone, “you're not going to hurt him are you? He's not worth it.”

“My dear friend, that is precisely what I am going to do,” he said quietly. “Only not in the way you seem to think. Give me a little credit, please.”

“No credit,” Rom said automatically, then gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “Sorry, habit. What are you going to do?”

“You'll see,” he said, polishing off the kanar and setting the glass on the bar top neatly. “Now, that doesn't explain Morn's or your brother's behavior.”

Rom looked uncomfortable. “He has a betting pool about whether you're going to kill the doctor or not when you find out.”

Garak set his payment on the bar and walked down the length of it to where Morn sat and Quark tried to appear as though he weren't hiding. “I'd like to lay a wager,” Garak said to Quark, “that you are going to pay me every strip of latinum you've collected on the bet that I would kill Doctor Bashir.”

“Or?” Quark asked carefully. Garak graced him with the look that took less than four hours to reduce a Cardassian doctor to a quivering mass of nerves. It took less than two minutes for Quark to retreat to the back and return with a sizable sack. “Here,” he said, “take it with my sincere apologies.”

“Give me your tally sheet,” Garak said.

“Wh-what?” The bartender looked startled.

“You expect me to take your word that this is all of it?” the tailor asked. “I do hope for your sake that the figures match when I take this home with me to count it.”

Quark quickly snatched the sack back. “I don't know what I was thinking, giving you this ugly old thing,” he said, backing away. “You're a man of taste and discernment. Let me get you something more fitting for your latinum while I fetch that sheet.”

Morn eyed Garak appreciatively and chuckled. Polishing off his drink, the Lurian stood and casually walked away. Perhaps he sensed the danger of Garak's current mood, or perhaps he genuinely had elsewhere to be. It didn't matter to Garak. Quark returned with a nice case and an envelope. “This is better,” he said. “Please, keep the case with my compliments.”

“I trust I don't have to ask that you never start another betting pool revolving around my personal life,” Garak said mildly.

“Noooo. No,” Quark said with a nervous laugh. “I honestly don't know what I was thinking, and you know, I feel a little guilty, seeing as how it's one of my employees who behaved so shamefully.”

“Quark,” Garak said, reaching to pat his shoulder. The Ferengi flinched under his touch. “We both know you don't hire your dabo girls for their enormous...brains.” He left the bar then, making a point of catching Julian's eye and nodding cordially to him.

He had to wait a few days for his opportunity to set his plan in motion. The arrival of one of Starfleet's most prestigious flagships gave him what he wanted, the doctor out of the infirmary for official meeting and greeting. He retreated to his stock room for privacy, steeled himself, and punched his back wall hard enough to break several bones in his hand. Nothing like a little pain to clear the head, he thought grimly, carefully cradling the damaged appendage against his chest and walking down to the infirmary.

Nurse Decla looked up from a terminal, opening her mouth and then shutting it again when she saw his bloody knuckles. A few of the other employees glanced at her, but she shook her head as though to indicate she'd deal with him. “You had better come to the back,” she said. Inclining his head, he followed behind her. His hand throbbed and ached, already beginning to swell and discolor. He sat on the bed she indicated and obediently held his hand out for her to examine when she reached for it. “What happened?” she asked, running a tricorder over it.

“I slipped and fell,” he said smoothly.

She snorted. “You and the doctor are quite the accident prone pair.” She paused a masterful beat before adding, “Or rather, not a pair anymore, I should say.” He bit down on his tongue while she shifted the bones back into place and reached for an instrument to mend them. “Let me guess. When you heard that this Doctor Lense that he can't stop talking about was actually here, on top of his new dabo girl interest, you lost control, just as you did the night you brought him here for treatment of a concussion.”

“You have quite an imagination,” he said with a bland smile.

“I don't need an imagination to know that Cardassians have a temper, Mr. Garak,” she said. “What did you punch?”

He dropped his gaze. “A wall,” he murmured.

She tsked her tongue. “While I can sympathize with you, being abandoned for another, I really can't condone such childish behavior. I would've thought someone like you above punching walls.”

“I'm sure you do sympathize,” he said, “considering you went through it yourself with that Gul of yours. Did he talk to you about his family before he left, or did he leave you to figure it out for yourself after he was gone?”

She glanced up at him from her work on his hand, a complex look beneath the surface irritation. “Make a fist for me,” she said. He did so, blood oozing from his split knuckles. She took another reading and reached for a sanitary cloth to clean his hand, then the dermal regenerator.

“What did you do when he left?” he asked casually. “Your reaction. Is that why you married?”

“Don't push your luck,” she said coolly.

He smiled slightly. “I thought we were simply making conversation. You set the tone at the outset with the personal questions. Was I mistaken in following your lead?”

“You weren't so quick to follow my lead before,” she pointed out, keeping her eyes on her work.

His smile inched wider, his gaze hooded over her bent head. “Come now. We're back to that? Are you actually going to hold it against me that I didn't want to cheat on my lover or allow you to hurt him?”

“I imagine you feel rather foolish now,” she said brusquely, setting aside the regenerator once his hand looked normal again. The fine new scales gleamed with a slight, opalescent sheen. “Wasting your consideration on someone who didn't deserve it.”

“No,” he said, “I don't. At the time, I didn't know he didn't deserve it.” He met her gaze and held it. “Any more than I deserved what you did to me after his attack.” Her cheeks colored faintly. “What was that really about?” he asked. “The more I've thought about it, the more I've come to believe it couldn't have been about me. We were hardly close, and while rejection stings, you also had to know I wasn't rejecting you personally but situationally. It was about your other Cardassian, wasn't it? Just like you Bajorans,” he added more softly, allowing bitterness into his voice. “You see one Cardassian, you see them all.”

“You have some nerve throwing accusations,” she said, her green eyes hardening. “I've done some thinking, too, Mr. Garak. You were here for part of the occupation. I'm not stupid enough to believe you were a tailor. Your fight and drive during your physical therapy disabused me of that notion permanently. You know we have good reasons to feel the way we do.”

“And yet, not only did you take one—a dangerous one—for a lover, you were ready to take another. You're quite the bundle of contradictions, Nurse Decla,” he said. “Or is it about power? The Gul your prisoner, my position less than...optimal...” He curved his smile to a more knowing line. “It can be a rush, can't it, exerting control over those you see as powerful?” Her cheeks colored more deeply. He knew he was hitting close to truth if not directly on it. She wasn't offering heated denial yet. He extended another barb. “Humiliating them?”

“How dare you?” she asked, clenching her fists.

There, he thought, tilting his head quizzically. “I'm sorry?” he asked.

“I'm nothing like you,” she said. “I loved him, and I won't let you sully that with your disgusting innuendo. I've healed your hand. It's time for you to go.” She stepped back to give him room to stand.

He did so, deliberately invading her space just a touch more than was appropriate. “It's understandable,” he said. “You're right. I do know what some of my people were responsible for. No one could reasonably hold it against you for wanting to get back a little of your own, regardless of the appropriateness of your targets.”

“Is that what you're trying to do?” she countered, refusing to retreat even though he could tell she wasn't comfortable with his proximity. “Get back a little of your own? How stupid would I have to be not to see this as your way of trying to get at Bashir?”

He tipped his head back and laughed. “Yes, I broke my own hand to get at Julian.” Mirth danced in his eyes. “As I've said, you have an active imagination. So tell me, what should be my encore? A broken leg? Dislocated shoulder? If I specifically wanted to see you, I could've caught you unawares in any number of places without going through such trouble and pain. Do you honestly believe I keep track of your work schedule?” He eyed her with faint contempt.

Muscle leaped beneath the thin skin of her jaw as it clenched. “No, I suppose you're right,” she said tightly. “You Cardassians are opportunists. You didn't have to plan coming in here to try to dig at me.” She turned. He noticed she didn't fully turn her back on him, keeping him within her line of sight and creating some distance between them. “I suppose you think I deserve it. Of course, you'd think it was malice that guided my hand with your infirmary visitation.”

“Of course,” he agreed, positively fascinated with where she was taking this. She was good. Her expression matched what she was saying and how she was saying it. There was just too much anxiety, though. Her pulse gave her away.

“Computer, close examination room one door,” she said, turning to face him again. “How do you think my staff would have reacted had I granted you unchallenged access to the doctor?” she asked.

“They're your staff,” he said, being deliberately obtuse. “It shouldn't matter what they think.”

She gave an impatient gesture. “How very Cardassian of you. I can't fire them or have them hauled away for disliking me or disapproving of my actions. I have to maintain a cooperative work environment. Believe me. They could make my life and the running of this infirmary a difficult hell if they wanted.”

A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “So it was fear of your staff,” he said. “You. Afraid of your staff.” He laughed again. “I never knew how very amusing you could be.”

“Laugh if you like,” she said, sounding annoyed. “It's not just concern over the work environment, but over how they would feel. I don't know how much the doctor shielded you from this or not, but he suffered quite a bit of difficulty in this facility due to his relationship with you. Had I showed some sort of favoritism, too, we could have had some resignations. With the Dominion threat, it is getting harder to fill any sort of staffing position on this station. I don't know about you, but I don't consider infirmary staff expendable with us sitting right on the gateway to the Gamma Quadrant.”

He invaded her space again, more aggressively this time. He watched her breath rate increase, her nostrils flare slightly. “It all sounds so very reasonable,” he said softly, “except for one problem.”

“What's that?” she asked, her eyes wide, pupils contracted.

“You're afraid right now. Of me.”

“That's ridiculous,” she asserted lifting her chin defiantly. “I would have security in here on top of you before you could finish lifting your hand.”

“No,” he shook his head. “Not of violence. It's something else.”

She swallowed, and before he knew what she was doing, she launched herself against him, wrapping her arms tightly at his neck and kissing him forcefully. It took everything he had not to chortle. That wouldn't do, though. It would spoil the game. He pulled his head back, only to have her tangle her fingers deeply into his hair and draw him back down to her. Slowly, he raised his arms, pressed his hands to her back, let her believe he was surrendering to her charms. Her heart was hammering, yes, so hard that he could feel it through his hands, but her pupils were almost pinpoints. Whatever this was, it wasn't arousal. When she broke the kiss, she whispered, “I've wanted to do that for such a long time. If you thought I was afraid, it was only that you'd reject me again.” Slipping her hands lower, she trailed long, slender fingers over the sensitive ridges of his neck.

He didn't have to feign a physical response to that. He hissed an inhale through his nostrils. “Are you sure it wasn't fear that I wouldn't reject this?” he asked.

“I don't do anything I don't want to, Garak,” she said low.

He didn't doubt that, although he wouldn't put it past her to use an undesirable means to an end, even extreme means. Very well, he thought. We'll play this game your way for now. Either way it worked for him and his own designs. If she believed that she could seduce her way out of his grudge, let her. It would be all the more entertaining when the hammer dropped.

“You're serious about this?” he asked, stepping back from her.

She nodded and smiled tentatively. “I am. If it's too soon for you, I understand.” She gave a soft, uncomfortable laugh. “I can't believe I just did that at work.”

“No, it's not too soon,” he said, allowing a touch of wounded pride into his voice. “If Julian can move on so quickly, why shouldn't I?”

Her expression fell for a split second. He wondered if another Bajoran would have even noticed it. “Well, good,” she said. “So, what do we do now?”

“Nothing now,” he said, giving a glance about the exam room. “You told me once you don't mix work and pleasure, and it's a very good policy. How about dinner tonight at Quark's, and then we can see where it goes from there?”

“You're sure?” she asked. “I would hate for this to be what the Terrans call a rebound.”

“What an odd word,” he said. “Do you know what it means?”

“Not precisely,” she said. “All I know for certain is that they use it in reference to a relationship that starts as a result of a breakup.”

“Do you believe I had no interest before now?” he asked.

“No,” she said thoughtfully. “I could tell that you did.” She nodded then and slid a hand down his arm, tangling her index and middle fingers with his. “I'm...glad we're putting all that ugliness behind us,” she said. “I didn't enjoy it.”

She lies so beautifully, he thought with true enjoyment. “So am I,” he said. “Meet me at Quark's at 2000?”

“All right,” she said. “How should I dress?”

“Wear that red dress of yours. It's very flattering,” he said with a smile. This couldn't have possibly gone better. He had no idea she'd play into his hands the way that she did, thinking it was going to be much harder. Of course, he imagined he would actually have to seduce her and that it would've taken several separate encounters over the next few weeks. It never occurred to him she would take the same tact, just for a different reason. As he left the infirmary, he reflected that she must have loved that Gul very, very much. Even now, she was trying to protect him. He was almost certain of it.

Julian

Quark's Bar

He couldn't believe it. Doctor Elizabeth Lense, his main rival all throughout medical school, just walked right past him as though she didn't even see him, talking and laughing with her crew mates from the Lexington. He felt as though he had just been slapped hard across the face; all of that worry, all of his preparations so that when they finally met and conversed she wouldn't think him an idiot was for nothing, because she thought she was too good even to acknowledge him. He glanced back at Miles, still seated at the table they had shared while waiting for him to find an opening, and the man shrugged, looking puzzled.

He retook his seat, and when Quark came by to deliver more drinks, he glared hard at him, daring him to taunt him again about the woman. Seemingly sensing he was in no mood for it, Quark just set the drinks down and hurried away. He didn't even want to look over at Morn, not wanting to face the Lurian's leer. How could anyone who looked like that get the women he did? It was one of the mysteries of the universe, and in this very moment, the mystery pissed him off. Miles opened his mouth to speak. “I don't want to hear it,” the doctor snarled, downing half of his ale in one swallow.

“Bloody hell,” Miles muttered, glancing toward the door.

“What?” he asked, starting to turn.

The Chief took him by his shoulder to stop him. “Nothin',” he said, going for nonchalance and failing.

“Like hell, Miles,” he said, shrugging him off to turn. He couldn't believe it. Garak, dressed to the nines in one of Julian's favorite tunics, the one with rust chevrons, escorted Nurse Decla into the bar. The woman was stunning in a red gown that bared her shoulders and a tasteful amount of her ample cleavage. She had her hair down and was leaning quite familiarly on Garak's arm. He wondered if this day could possibly get any worse or more surreal as they moved toward the stairs to claim a table on the balcony. He looked away quickly before either of them could catch him staring. “Is this another hallucination?” he grumbled.

Miles snorted. “He's only doin' it to get under your skin. You know that, right?”

“You have no idea how true that probably is,” Julian said sourly, but he refused to explain further. He felt his attention drawn toward them like lodestone to iron. It was time to get out of there before he made a scene. It wasn't jealousy, he told himself, at least not precisely. How could Garak ever allow himself to spend time socially with a woman who had done everything in her power to hurt him when she had the chance? Didn't he know the woman could be dangerous?

He knew that Garak had spotted him talking to Leeta. Was that also why Odo and Kira both seemed a little distant lately? Did they believe the rumor that he had dumped Garak so that he could date Leeta? They weren't even dating, just talking occasionally, and who were either of them to judge? They had no idea what Garak had done to him! Was that a dirty look Rom just shot him? Rom? Now you're getting paranoid, he told himself.

“Julian?” Miles shook his shoulder. “You all right?”

“Not really. Can we get out of here and get drunk?” he asked.

“Music to my ears,” the engineer said with a chuckle and stood.

He told himself not to, but he couldn't stop himself. As he stood, he looked up to the balcony. At that angle, he could barely see their faces. They were awfully close to one another for that to be an act, and anyway, he reflected, even if Garak was just doing this to try to hurt him, how in the hell would he manage to get a woman who hated him as much as she did to go along with him for it? That part didn't make sense at all. I hope you know what you're doing, he thought, genuinely worried beneath his snark.

He followed Miles to his quarters, the two of them wasting no time breaking into the booze and starting the drink fest. “You know,” he said, downing a shot of scotch, “I really need to start contributing to the Miles O'Brien private bar fund,” he said, “as often as we wind up doing this.”

“You're more 'n welcome to,” Miles said. “I won't complain, though Keiko might when she gets back.”

“That's going to be a little strange for you, isn't it?” Julian asked.

Miles shrugged. “It won't be so bad. I miss her 'n Molly. We won't have as much time together, though, you 'n me.”

“I know,” he said glumly, just one more thing to go wrong lately. The truth was that he missed Garak, much more than he had thought he would. The only reason he hadn't called him to set up a lunch date was because he wanted to give him some time and space to get over the break up. Looks like he's well on the way to that, he thought angrily. Maybe he had given him too much space?

He shook himself out of the thoughts. He was only pissing himself off, and what could he do about it? March back there and ask the two of them what they thought they were doing? Miles started to sing, and he quickly joined in, a song he had always loved. This was much better than discussing literature and being insulted over his tastes, right? If only Miles liked theater. His thoughts were all over the place, going back to Elizabeth Lense and his snubbing. Why would she do such a thing? What had he ever done to her? Hell, he had thrown that exam, thrown it, just so no one would suspect his secret. It galled. It galled worse because he could never tell her that he had given her first place, handed it right over because his parents warned him what would happen if he was too visible, not just to him but to all of them.

He scoffed at Miles' theory that the woman was in love with him and felt slightly stung at his assertion that people either loved him or hated him. Was that true? If it was, what would happen when Garak decided he didn't love him, if he hadn't already decided it? How could the tailor believe for an instant that he had started a relationship behind his back? Didn't he know him better than that?

He tuned back in to what Miles was saying, having to smile at two assertions that he quite definitely no longer hated him but his inability to say that he loved him. He kept up his outward cheer, started singing with him again, and privately thought how odd it was that at first Garak had been the one unable to tell him that he loved him, now Miles. Of course, Miles meant it in a different way. He thought back further to his mother, his father. “I love you,” wasn't a common declaration in the Bashir household. Had they said it to him once since he discovered his secret? Maybe people sense something, he thought gravely. Something about me that pushes them away, makes them careful.

He realized that Miles was no longer singing and was looking at him strangely. He plastered on a goofy smile. “What?” he asked, exaggerating his own drunkenness.

“I don't know,” the man said. “You just looked so sad just now. That whole Garak/Nurse Decla thing really got under your skin, didn't it?”

“I suppose so,” he said. It wasn't entirely a lie. Almost none of his lies ever were. They all had a kernel of truth. It was the only way he could ever be convincing with them.

“People move on,” he said. “You've been moving on. Why shouldn't Garak?”

“It's not the same,” he said, staring into his scotch glass. “I like Leeta. She's nice, and I think maybe I would like to date her at some point. I'm not doing it to hurt Garak or even to move past him. Nurse Decla...God, Miles, she tried to keep Garak from seeing me when everyone thought I was dying, and he's content just to set that aside and pretend it didn't happen so he can piss me off? It doesn't make sense. It doesn't make sense that she'd help him. She hates him!”

“Maybe she doesn't hate him as much as you think she does,” he suggested. “A woman scorned, that sort of thing.”

“Maybe,” he said, his brow furrowing. He looked up suddenly. “Why can't you say it?” he asked.

The engineer blinked in confusion. “You lost me there,” he said, tipping back the rest of his scotch.

“You said people either love me or hate me,” he said plaintively. “But all you can say is you don't hate me.”

O'Brien opened his mouth and shut it a few times, looking like a gasping fish. “Well, you know,” he said, flushing at the cheeks and ears.

“No,” Julian said. “I don't know. Tell me.”

The Chief grunted and deftly plucked Julian's glass out of his hand. “I think you've had enough,” he said firmly.

“Garak couldn't say it either,” he said softly, looking at the shiny toes of his boots. “Not for the longest time. When he finally did, I left him less than three weeks later. What does that say about me?”

“Nothin',” Miles said gruffly. “It says things didn't work out. That's not all on you; it's not all on him.”

“What does it say about me that my best friend can't tell me he loves me?” he pressed, raising his gaze to meet the concerned hazel eyes.

Miles' redness deepened. “Nothin',” he said more forcefully. “Jaysus, Julian, is it really that important to you?”

He shook his head, forcing a mischievous grin. “You should've seen your face.”

“Very funny,” the man said, exasperated. “You really had me goin' there for a minute. Don't do that t' me, not when I've had this much t' drink. You want some more?” he asked.

Julian nodded and accepted the refilled glass. He believed that he understood, at least where Miles was concerned. The man did love him, but not just as a friend, not the way he loved Miles. Why else flush, hem and haw, and act so relieved when he let him off the hook? He closed his eyes as he downed the burning drink. How had his life gotten so screwed up in such a short amount of time? “I ought to go,” he said, setting the shot glass on the coffee table.

“You sure? You're pretty gone,” Miles said. “No need to go staggerin' off when you can sleep here.”

“I'm sure,” he said, patting his arm. “I want to get up early so I can confront Doctor Lense before she leaves, and I don't think I'm the best company at the moment.”

“All right,” he said, his disappointment plain in bluff features. “You know I don't expect you t' be perfect company.”

“I know,” he said, smiling faintly. “It's one of the things I...don't hate about you.”

Miles grinned and struggled to stand at the same time he did. The engineer pulled him into a hearty embrace, clapping him on the back and letting him go. “You need anythin', you let me know.”

“I will,” he said. “Thank you, Miles.” Once out in the corridor, he lifted a hand to his mouth. Had he done something to encourage that? He imagined his friend must feel torn in two given the fact that he was married and had a child. He determined that he would be careful, never do or say anything to make things worse. It was the least he could do. Why was it that the people in his life that he did want to love him that way found it so hard, and yet the one person he would least want to see him in that light apparently couldn't help himself?

Instead of heading for his quarters, he made the ill advised decision to return to Quark's Bar. He didn't expect to find Garak or Elizabeth there, yet a perverse part of him hoped that he would. If he found the former, he wanted to see if he was still bothering with his act when his main target had left. If he found the latter, he wanted to ask her who in the hell she thought she was to treat him that way. In his state, both options seemed eminently reasonable.

The crowd around the dabo table was a lively one. A flash of red drew his attention. He angled closer through the press. Yes, it was Nurse Decla, playing dabo. Garak stood by her side, obviously a spectator, not a player, but his hand rested possessively at the small of her back. It was as though his entire world reduced to that sight, a gray hand against a snug red dress, more demonstrative with her in one outing than he had been with Julian for months of dating.

In a split second, he made the decision to confront him. He hadn't gotten five steps before he found himself stopped by a tight hand to his elbow. Whirling to see who had grabbed him, he looked down at Rom. “What are you doing?” he asked the waiter.

“What are you doing?” Rom retorted, glaring at him more heatedly than he had ever seen. He wouldn't have ever suspected him of such fierce emotion.

He made an exasperated sound and tried to shake himself free of the clasp. “What I'm doing is none of your business,” he said. “You had best let me go.”

“Look at him,” Rom hissed, dragging him through the crowd for a different view. “Smiling. Happy. Haven't you done enough? Leave him alone for once!”

His head spun. The crowd seemed entirely too loud. He couldn't deny what he was seeing. The tailor did look relaxed, and he was smiling, particularly when Decla suddenly declared, “Dabo!”, took her money, and threw both arms around his neck, kissing his cheek. She declined another spin, and the two disappeared from his view in the milling throng, only to re-emerge closer to the bar. He had to get out of there. Rom released him as soon as he realized he was heading for the door and not Garak and Decla.

The rest of the Promenade was empty. He suddenly felt too sick to try to go to his quarters. He'd be lucky if he made it to the infirmary without disgorging the contents of his stomach. As he staggered through the door, he waved off help, going to the back and injecting himself with an anti-intoxicant. Gradually, his disorientation and illness faded, but not his hurt and confusion. What if he was being arrogant? Wasn't it possible this wasn't about him at all? Garak had said when they were still together that he had found the woman interesting. Now that he was free to pursue the interest, why did it have to be more complicated than that? “You need to get over yourself,” he said. “He was gracious when he saw you with Leeta. You need to be gracious.” A small part of him he rarely gave voice protested this strongly. But I don't want to!

Want it or not, he knew this was something he'd have to get used to. Decla wasn't going anywhere, and neither was Garak. Maybe he should invite him to lunch soon, start acting like the adult he kept insisting that people treat him as. He walked back to his quarters deep in thought. His maturity lasted for all of the walk, giving in to another bout of drinking and self pity, and ending with him lying flat on his stomach in bed in his full uniform and drooling on his pillow from passing out. Learning the next day that Doctor Lense mistakenly thought he was an Andorian and was actually quite a nice woman once she realized who he was seemed almost anticlimactic to him after all of his deep worry about her. He wished that things with Garak could resolve that simply, but he knew that was asking way too much.

Garak

Habitat Ring Two

Feeling very satisfied with himself, Garak graciously walked Decla, Lisane, he reminded himself, back toward her quarters. She had been everything he could have possibly hoped for at the bar. He had seen Julian's face when they entered and had taken mean delight in how perfectly his expression mirrored how Garak had felt when Rom told him of his betrayal. Not so much fun when the kicking boot is on another foot, is it? he had thought. Not surprisingly the doctor didn't stay, escorted out by his pet engineer. He wondered if Julian knew that the man's affections were somewhat more than they seemed. It amused him overly much to think that he didn't, and that O'Brien would follow him like a lovesick pup for an indefinite time. The racist engineer's dislike of him was thoroughly mutual.

After Julian departed, he had turned his attention toward his companion. Ironically, she was excellent company, intelligent, sharp witted, incisively humorous. It was a real shame that she had so thoroughly gotten on his bad side. Otherwise, he would've enjoyed her for entirely different reasons.

“You're very quiet,” she said, squeezing his arm with her hands and leaning closer as they walked.

“Just reflecting on the evening,” he said amiably. “Don't take this the wrong way, but I didn't expect I would enjoy myself nearly as much as I did.”

“That makes two of us,” she said with a soft laugh. “I've never played dabo before, just watched.”

“You were smart about it,” he said.

“Oh?” she asked, arching a brow.

“Yes. You knew when to quit.” Too bad the same couldn't be said of your infirmary game, he thought, keeping his features carefully bland and pleasant.

They stepped up to her door. “Here we are,” she said unnecessarily. He noticed her pulse quickening and glanced at the wide-set green eyes. Her pupils were small. Fear. Again.

There was a time not so long ago in his past that he might have found that stimulating as well as satisfying. Now, he had to settle for satisfying. “Yes, we are,” he said, covering one of her pale hands on his arm with his own. Her skin was hotter than Julian's, the Bajoran metabolism slightly faster.

She lowered her lashes, shadowing the upper curve of her cheeks. “Do you...want to come inside?” she asked.

He knew she would let him if he pressed the issue and that it would likely take them some pleasurable places, except for the fact that he wasn't interested in bedding a terrified woman, no matter how much he disliked her. That didn't mean he couldn't make her squirm a little. “Do you want me to?” he asked, settling a finger beneath her chin and encouraging her to meet his gaze with light upward pressure.

Her breath caught. He saw her internal struggle to hold his gaze, a losing battle as she looked swiftly to the side. “I'm not sure I'm...ready for that,” she said.

He was quite sure she wasn't. “That's all right, Lisane,” he said in his most understanding tone. “Just going out and having an enjoyable dinner was nice for me. I wasn't expecting more.”

She relaxed slightly and licked dry lips. “Thank you, Garak,” she said. “I ought to confess something to you,” she said hesitantly.

He smiled inwardly. These little acts of hers were growing more entertaining with each passing interlude. “Yes?” he asked, all innocent curiosity.

“I'm half afraid that you're just...biding your time to do something awful to me. I haven't met many Cardassians willing to forgo grudges.”

It was an interesting tactic, he thought, telling him the truth with a false motive. “That's funny,” he said. “I've been thinking the same all night, what it is you really want with me.” Two could play that game.

She curved a smile and looked away, her chin lifting. “I'm attracted to you, more than I should be,” she said. “As I told you before, there's much in you that reminds me of my old lover.”

“So it's nostalgia?” he all but purred the word, dropping into intimate tones.

Her pupils widened slightly before contracting again. He'd have to remember that, that she responded well to audial stimulus. As it wasn't a Cardassian strength, he often forgot that other races were different. “Perhaps a bit,” she murmured. “I probably should get to bed,” she said, taking a step back from him toward her door. She looked genuinely disconcerted beneath her veneer of calm.

“As should I,” he said in that same tone of voice. Faint color blushed across her chest and cheeks. He smiled, stepping back instead of forward, and inclined his head deeply, maintaining eye contact. “Good night, Lisane.”

“Good night,” she said, waiting for him to begin walking away before turning her back to punch in her door code.

He heard the hiss of the door opening, her footsteps darting across the threshold, and another hiss as it closed behind her. He smiled to himself, taking his time in his stroll for the turbolift. She did feel some genuine attraction, and it bothered her. Good, he thought. Can't have you enjoying this game too much. He had a lot of work to do if he intended to bring his plans for her to full fruition. As far as he was concerned, he had already extracted his pound of flesh from Julian. The young man was a victim of his own nature and youth, but this Bajoran woman had no such excuses. The simple fact of the matter was that she had managed to hurt him, deeply, and now? Now she would pay for it.

The End

Author Notes: This story is set before and during Explorers. It doesn't work very well as a stand alone, although knowledge of the events of “Dangerous Game” and “Deconstruction” should be sufficient to make it make enough sense. The dialogue where Leeta introduces herself to Julian is taken from the episode. As always, I've done my best to minimize rehash otherwise.

Summary: Julian and Garak struggle with the aftermath of their relationship strains and emotional turmoil resulting from the destruction of the Obsidian Order and the Tal Shiar in the Gamma Quadrant. When the valedictorian of Julian's graduating medical school class is scheduled to visit the station, his flagging confidence takes another blow, he learns a painful secret, and Garak takes the opportunity to cultivate the seeds of revenge against an enemy, Cardassian style.

Author: Dark Sinestra

Date Written: January 2010

Category: Slash

Rating: NC-17 for adult situations, mild adult language, and explicit sex.

Disclaimer: The handsome doctor, crafty tailor, loyal engineer, cute dabo girl, sleazy bartender, devious waiter, gorgeous station, and plot of Explorers do not belong to me. Too bad, because I'd take very good care of them. The imbalanced nurse, however, is mine. All mine.

Word Count: 16,251

Julian

Private Quarters

Julian lay sprawled on his back in bed, one leg out from under the covers and sweat slowly drying on his body. He rested a hand on Garak's hip and felt the Cardassian go lax under his touch, his breaths evening out to the steady rhythm of sleep. With an echo of pleasure still thrumming him, he carefully rolled to his side and climbed out of the bed, making his way stealthily into the bathroom. Stepping into the sonic shower, he hit the button to activate it and leaned a hand against the shower wall, his eyes closed.

He didn't know what was wrong with him. Garak had been, well, better to him than he ever had during the entire relationship. He was considerate, charming, agreeable, and tender in bed. Maybe that was part of the problem. Julian knew he was holding back, not being himself out of fear of what? Losing control again? Frightening him? He shut the shower off and stepped out, crossing back into his bedroom and picking out something to wear in the very low light. He had done his best to show the tailor that he was committed to making things work and that he had no intention of leaving just because things weren't perfect.

It didn't help that being touched in certain ways or feeling pinned made him react negatively. If given time, he could breathe or think his way through it. The trouble was that Garak was too observant. He'd back off at the slightest sign of the doctor's discomfort. More often than not, he was also still crying in his sleep. When awakened, he'd allow Julian to hold him until he fell back asleep again, his silent tears wet against Julian's chest. He wouldn't talk about it. He claimed that he couldn't talk about it, but he wouldn't explain what he meant by that. Being understanding was difficult when that felt like mistrust.

It was early yet, and he was restless. He grabbed up a random PADD and left a quick recording for Garak in case he awakened, to let him know that he was stepping out and would be back later. Out in the H-ring, he felt as though he could breathe easier. He had no idea how to broach the subject with Garak, and he felt horribly ungrateful considering the Herculean efforts he knew the man was making on his behalf. How could he tell him it was too much, to back off and be an ass again sometimes? The tailor was extremely sensitive to what he called “mixed messages”. He didn't want to give the appearance of game playing or being fickle.

He took the lift down to the Promenade and made his way to Quark's Bar, deciding that coffee would be smarter than alcohol. He didn't need to be drinking in the mood he was in. Activating the PADD, he realized he had lifted one of the crime novels Miles had loaned him. Smiling to himself, he picked up where he left off and sipped at his coffee.

Movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Looking up, he saw a gorgeous Bajoran dabo girl approaching. “Excuse me,” she said, offering him a brilliant smile, “you're Doctor Bashir, aren't you?”

He smiled and said, “That's right.”

“I'm Leeta,” she introduced herself. “I've been meaning to come by the infirmary.” She gave two cute little coughs, her look coy.

It had been so long since anyone other than Garak had flirted with him, he was taken completely off guard. He couldn't help but to play along. It felt nice, and it was harmless. He ordered both of them hot toddies. Just as the waiter left, Dax approached. Not now, he groaned inwardly. It wasn't as though he was doing anything wrong. When it looked as though Dax would be joining them, he typed, “Go away!” on his PADD and handed it to her. She complied, but not before dropping the bombshell on him that the valedictorian of his graduating med school class would be visiting the station in three weeks. He found himself so discombobulated by the news that he couldn't even properly return to flirting.

Leeta sensed his distraction and excused herself after she finished her drink. “I'll come by the infirmary soon,” she said, “so you can have a look at me and tell me if you think I'm all right.”

He blinked, his mouth slightly open, and nodded. “Yes,” he managed, “you should do that. Those coughs can turn nasty before you know it.”

A shadow fell across his shoulder as she sauntered away. He swiveled his head to see Quark. The Ferengi's gaze tracked Leeta's departing backside, but his words were for the doctor. “You're playing with fire, Doctor,” the man said casually.

“Leeta? No,” he scoffed, laughing it off. “She thinks she's coming down with something. That's all.”

“It's not Leeta I'm talking about,” he said with a significant look.

“Well, I really don't know what you are talking about,” he said, smiling and shrugging.

Setting his tray on the adjacent table, Quark efficiently bussed the empty glasses. “During the occupation, I once saw a Cardassian break another Cardassian's neck with his bare hands right outside my bar.”

Julian frowned, his lip curling at the mental image. “That's awful,” he said.

“It was. Apparently, the unfortunate victim had made his interest in the Gul's comfort woman a little too public. They're funny that way, Cardassians. They don't like to share.” He shot a pointed look Julian's way.

He widened his eyes, both brows lifting. “Quark,” he said with a half laugh, “stop worrying. I was just having a conversation.”

“Mmhmm. I've seen it all before,” he said. “The mouth says one thing, the eyes another. But who am I to give advice?” He lifted his tray, tossing parting words over his shoulder. “I bet your neck would be a lot easier to break than a Cardassian's. What do you think?”

Shaking his head, he decided it was time to get back to his quarters. The last thing he needed were rumors starting. The worst part was that Dax still had his PADD, and the novel was just getting interesting.

Garak

Julian's Quarters

He awoke to an empty bed. Pressing his hand lightly to the mattress, he noticed it felt cold. Julian had been gone for some time, then. He stretched and sat up, rubbing absently at his eyes. Wrapping the outer blanket about his shoulders, he slid out of bed and padded into the sitting room, calling up the lights. He wasn't there, either, but a light flashed on the comm. He triggered the message and shrugged. He knew that he hadn't felt nearly as social as usual lately. It was no wonder Julian wanted the chance to get out a little. Thinking nothing of it, he climbed back into bed and fell asleep. The next time he awakened, it was from nightmare, always the same, the Warbird on fire around him, the bridge in shambles, Tain droning on about the old days, rooted to the spot. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't budge him. Then he awakened on the runabout only to see the ship explode in the distance. “Enabran,” he murmured.

“Are you awake, Love?” Julian's voice sounded from the darkness.

He felt a warm arm slide across his chest, and he allowed the doctor to pull him close. “I am now,” he said, settling against the slim form, his cheek against the smooth chest. “Did you have fun out? I got your message.”

“I did. Just sat in Quark's for a while, reading. I hope my absence wasn't what awakened you.” He trailed light fingers over Garak's shoulder and back.

“No. I'm not sure what did. You know I haven't been sleeping very soundly.” He allowed his hand to slide lower and play against the soft trail of hair that started just beneath the doctor's belly button.

The doctor nodded, bending his head and resting his lips in Garak's hair. “I wish you'd consider those pills I told you about. They do help.”

“You know I don't like pills. They do strange things to me. My body doesn't react well to them.” As he slid his hand lower, Julian slightly lifted his thigh and tensed. He instead let his hand cup over the cusp of one of the sharp hip bones. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No, nothing. I'm just tired now and wanting to get a little sleep. You know how we are. If we go back for seconds, we'll be awake until it's time for me to get ready for work.”

“I can make it considerably quicker if you want,” Garak said, turning to nip lightly at his chest.

“Maybe at lunch,” he said, shifting so that he could put his back against the tailor. “I really am too tired right now. I'm sorry. If I had known you'd be awake, I would've come back earlier.”

“It's all right,” he said, careful to keep his disappointment out of his voice. He turned so that they lay back to back and focused on his own breathing until his arousal retreated. As he drifted back toward sleep, he hoped that the nightmare wouldn't return. He had been fairly exhausted lately, too, due to the disruptions of the dreams. When he got to where he could hardly bear himself, he'd talk to Odo about any number of things except what was eating at him. It helped relieve the internal pressure, and he suspected that Odo found it helpful, too, talking to someone who understood him better than most and didn't pressure him to conform to some preconceived notion of acceptable sociability. The two outcasts, he thought with fleeting dry humor. Their unlikely friendship was one of the few good things in his life he could lay at the feet of his father. Had he not tried to have Garak killed, they never would have bonded. He finally fell asleep on that odd thought and remained undisturbed through morning.

Julian

The Infirmary

The work had been steady all morning. As lunch time approached, he found himself thinking as much about the dabo girl, Leeta, as he was about the tentative plans he had made with Garak for a “quickie”, that being a relative term when it came to the tailor. As it was, he knew they'd be cutting things very close. He wondered if he would object to just using the stock room. It would drastically reduce walking time.

He periodically glanced toward the entrance. About five minutes before he needed to leave, she came through the door. She looked different dressed in casual Bajoran style, no less beautiful, though. As soon as her warm brown eyes met his, she smiled widely and approached, coughing discreetly into a fist. “Hello, Doctor,” she said. “As you can see, I think it has gotten worse.”

“Excuse me,” Nurse Decla said, turning toward the two, “but do you have an appointment?”

“It's all right, Nurse,” he said a bit stiffly. “She spoke to me last night and told me she'd be coming by. I'll take care of this.”

“What about your lunch date?” the woman asked too sweetly.

Leeta glanced at him uncertainly. “Is this a bad time? I'll be going on shift soon, and I wanted to make it by before you got off for the day.”

“No, it's fine,” he said, shooting Decla a cold glance as he put a hand lightly to Leeta's back to guide her toward one of the examination rooms. “I'd be remiss if I allowed a social engagement to take precedence over a potential case.”

After they stepped into the room, she turned to face him, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “I have a confession,” she said. “I don't really have a cough. I just wanted an excuse to see you before I had to go to work. I don't get much free time.”

He smiled slightly and moved closer so that their voices wouldn't carry. “I suspected that,” he said. “And I'm flattered, but...I am seeing someone.”

She nodded. “I had heard, and I've seen you out with him a few times. I wasn't sure if you two were very serious or not. You're not very...well...the body language between the two of you is pretty stiff.” She shrugged. “I'm sorry if I assumed something I shouldn't have.”

“No, not at all,” he said. “I mean, I'm not offended.”

“If you decide you want to expand your dating options, you know where to find me,” she said after a moment of speculative silence. “I figure it can't hurt to keep my options open.” She shot him a wink and showed herself out, a subtle perfume lingering in the air after she was gone.

Rubbing a hand down his face, he shook his head and hurried out to the Replimat. Garak was already there. As he approached, the man stood from his seat at their table. “I was beginning to think you changed your mind,” he said.

“No, I haven't. I just had a late drop by. I told her last night I'd take a look at her cough when she had time to come by.”

The tailor smiled very faintly, something serpentine and calculating in the look. “You don't usually expound on your patients, dear. I do hope the cough isn't serious?”

“No,” he said, barely avoiding ducking away from that too knowing look. “So I was thinking of your stock room,” he added, hoping to distract him. “It's much closer than our quarters. We'll have more time.”

“Very thoughtful of you,” Garak agreed, offering him his arm. “Shall we, then?”

Julian slipped his hand through the crook of his elbow and walked with him toward the shop. He thought back to what Leeta said, about their body language being stiff together. It wasn't as though he wanted it that way. He had always bent himself to what Garak found acceptable. After he had seen how dangerous some Cardassians could be, he had stopped questioning that requirement. Things were different now, weren't they? Tain was dead. Most of the Obsidian Order had been destroyed. Why should he not be more demonstrative if he wanted to be?

He leaned in to press a kiss to Garak's cheek, only to have the tailor flinch away and murmur, “We're nearly there.”

“I know that,” he said. “I just wanted to kiss you. Is there something wrong with that?”

A troubled expression fleeted through blue eyes. Garak hesitated then said, “No, I suppose not.” He tilted his head slightly to invite a second attempt.

“Never mind. It's not the same if it's not spontaneous.” He let go of Garak's arm and walked ahead of him into the shop, heading straight toward the back. He was starting to regret agreeing to this. They weren't much in sync at the moment.

Garak closed the shop and stock room doors. He gave Julian an assessing look and without fanfare reached down to unfasten his belt and the lower portion of his tunic. Julian watched him, unsure of exactly what the man intended. When he also unfastened his trousers, pulled them part way down, and crossed to lean over a shipping crate, his intent became clear. Feeling a small thrill of excitement, Julian came up behind him, unzipping his uniform to open it along the front. He stirred to hardness on his way and reached around the tailor to slick his hand with his natural wetness. Smearing it downward onto his cock with a single pump of his fist, he reached again, this time easing a lubricated finger into the tight opening presented to him so temptingly.

It was very rare for Garak to make such an offer without any prompting on his part. Without hesitation, he positioned himself, thumb at the base of his shaft, head teasing circles. Garak pressed back steadily, impaling himself and groaning softly. It was all the encouragement Julian needed. He dug his fingers into the scaled hips and rode forward, leaning over the tailor's back and feeling the thick tunic and his turtleneck nap together in the friction. As he closed his eyes, his mind took him to a new partner, and the thought of doing the same to her pushed him right over the edge. He moaned, his head dropping forward to rest against the broad back beneath him. He rode out every last spasm and lay there, not fully trusting his legs to support him.

Garak shifted as though to remind him that he was still there. Feeling guilty, Julian straightened and pulled out. He reached to turn Garak to face him and dropped easily to his knees to take the length of him into his mouth. There was no corresponding fantasy to match this experience. In part to make up for his mental lapse and in part because he genuinely enjoyed the taste and feel of his lover, he tongued and sucked at him with abandon, feeling the man's wetness slicking his cheeks and chin. Garak's fingers tangled in his hair, but his hold remained gentle. It frustrated him. He wanted more, wanted his force, his fire. He redoubled his efforts, rewarded at least by a tremor in the strong thighs. The tailor leaned back against the packing crate and gripped the edge of it with both hands.

Julian pulled off of him with a soft, wet pop and stood, grasping at him and clutching him against his chest. He kissed him forcefully, thrust Garak's own moisture and taste past his lips and bathed his tongue with it. He felt the Cardassian hard against his belly and an answering stir, bucking his hips and clinging tightly to Garak's hair. Arms encircled him fiercely, fingers spreading and digging across his back. Yes, he thought. This was what he wanted, not the tender care, not right now. He stiffened fully, rubbing cock to cock and then managing to work his way past the scaly ridge, into that velvety slit that was better than anything he had ever felt before he had become this man's lover.

Garak threw his head back, letting out a prolonged, “Ahhh,” that was both pleasure and pain given voice. Julian spared him no mercy, seeking, hungering, and needing. He bit a sharp line down the deeply scalloped scales at the base of a neck ridge, feeling Garak jerk and twist for each pinch of teeth. “My love,” the man gasped, the fingers digging at Julian's back closing to fists in his uniform.

Yes, he thought again. He worked himself into a sweaty mess, no longer thinking of the time or whether they'd meet their deadline. Lifting his head from feasting at the exquisite neck, he thrust his tongue past firm lips, kissed him so deeply his jaw began to ache. Garak's slippery cock leaped between them like a thing alive and with a volition of its own. He pressed harder and tighter, using the friction of the light trail of belly hair to finish him in a glorious explosion. While the tailor was still gasping from his pleasure, each breath captured in the doctor's mouth, Julian came again, feeling his seed flooding the tight cavity and spilling back outward and down over their thighs.

“Your uniform,” Garak said, panting.

Pulling back, he saw that his turtleneck was splotched in several damp patches. Leave it to the tailor to think of such a thing in the moment. “It's all right,” he said. “It won't show once I'm zipped back up again.”

“It might not show, but to anyone with a nose stronger than that snip of a useless thing you humans use, it's going to be painfully obvious what you've been up to,” the tailor said.

“So what if it is?” he said, frowning. “My God, Garak, we've been together off and on over two years. If people haven't figured it out by now, then they're either stupid or blind.”

Garak blinked at the tone in his voice and bent to gather his trousers and pull them back up. He turned away to find his belt and quickly refastened the base of his tunic. Something in the quiet dignity of his actions made Julian believe he had hurt his feelings.

He zipped himself up and touched Garak's shoulder lightly. “I didn't mean to snap like that,” he said.

“You haven't been yourself lately, and we both know why,” Garak said, almost meeting his gaze but not quite. His focus seemed to rest just lower, perhaps at his cheek. “Let's not pretend.”

He sighed. “We don't have time for this discussion right now. I'm probably late for getting back to work.”

“You have precisely four minutes and thirty-two seconds,” the tailor said. “I've been keeping track for you.”

“This new concern of yours for my schedule is touching,” he said carefully. “You've been very considerate about a great many things, and although I appreciate it...it's not really necessary. It's not you.”

“I see,” he said. After a beat, he turned to face the door. “Computer, open stock room door,” he said.

“Garak,” he said, hurrying to catch up to him before he could get far, “I didn't mean it like that. I didn't mean that you're not considerate at all. It's just...it feels like you've been treading on eggshells around me, and I don't want you doing that.”

“You need to get back to work,” the tailor said gently, giving his forearm a light squeeze. “Computer, open shop doors.”

He tried to kiss him. He may as well have been kissing insensate stone. Once more they had gone from aching intimacy to full shut out. This time, he knew it was largely due to what he had just said. However, he had been telling the truth. If the truth brought them to this point, then what were they to do? “Can we talk about this later tonight?” he asked.

Garak nodded. As he left him to get back to work, he couldn't help but to think that the tailor looked somehow lost. It didn't bode well for the later conversation.

Garak

Private Quarters

Dinner cooled on his table. Thinking at first that Julian had been detained in the infirmary, he had placed a call about thirty minutes ago only to be told he had already left for the day. He didn't have the clearance to ask the computer where he was, and he didn't feel like running all over the station looking for him. With a stubborn set to his mouth, he sat down to eat his portion of the meal.

He chewed with slow deliberation and thought about lunch. It wasn't fair, or perhaps he had simply expected too much. Perhaps the limit to the doctor's ability to understand had lessened over time. Could he blame him? For all of their chemistry, they weren't terribly compatible. The longer they were together, the more obvious it became to both of them. He believed that Julian was trying. Maybe the man didn't even consciously realize that he still didn't trust Garak on a most fundamental level. He didn't know how he could make himself any less threatening than he already had without simply not moving and staying completely silent.

He wished with everything he had that he could explain to him why losing Tain hit him so hard, but to do so would endanger his mother. He'd sooner die than do that. It must be nice to be so sheltered, he thought bitterly, to believe that everything will be fine if we all just trust each other, open up, and don't hold back. He threw his fork down in disgust, his appetite gone. Why would Julian ask to talk and then not even tell him he was running late? What was there to say? Obviously, all of his efforts were for nothing. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn't. If that was to be the case, then he might as well do as he pleased. He cleaned up his portion of the meal and retreated to his bedroom to read. Maybe Preloc would calm him down and give him some perspective.

As he read, something niggled at the back of his mind. He hadn't tried to look at any reports out of Cardassia on the doomed joint raid. The thought of it was so painful that he shied away. Sentiment is weakness, he told himself. Setting the PADD aside, he went to his comm and took a seat before it. It was time to stop avoiding the situation like keeping a tongue tip out of a fresh tooth socket. It was time to see exactly who and what had been lost that day. It took him a long time to get to what he was after, but when he did, he couldn't look away. Some of the ships were missing, not destroyed. If there were missing Cardassian ships, might there have been missing Warbirds, too? Was it possible the ship carrying Tain hadn't been destroyed after all? It was probably foolish, but he felt a spark of something he had given up on long ago, hope.

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.

Garak

Quark's Bar

Garak waited for Quark to leave the small back room to make preparations for his end of the bargain. He turned his attention to Rom. “You don't have to do this,” he said. “I hold Quark largely responsible for what happened, but that doesn't extend to you. If we get caught, there could be some serious repercussions for all of us.”

“If I don't do this, you will get caught,” Rom asserted. “You're going to need me, Garak. The security protocols for the infirmary sensors are a lot more convoluted than for most of the station.”

“I do know my way around a system,” Garak snapped.

“I do, too,” the Ferengi said, “and the person I love most in the world isn't lying in a hospital bed right now. How's your head?”

He hissed softly, wondering what had ever possessed him to tell the waiter about his migraines. “Hurting,” he conceded reluctantly.

Rom nodded. “I could tell. You get all pinchy around the eyes. You really want the added stress of deactivating all those sensors, rerouting the computer so that it's not aware they've been deactivated, and creating a false loop on top of having to see the doctor like that?”

“No,” he said. It made his head throb worse even hearing it spoken that way. “I just...Rom, you have a son to think about.”

Rom's mouth tightened into a stubborn expression that Garak had come to understand meant he'd make no headway with him. He had made up his mind. “I do,” he agreed. “I'd much rather my son see me in jail for helping a friend get around something that's not right than for one of Quark's schemes.” He straightened himself to his full height. “I'd be proud to go to jail for this,” he declared.

These friends of his were going to break his heart, he thought in wonder. What had he ever done to earn such loyalty other than be kind to this man? When he thought about the kind of life Rom had led, it made sense, but it also made him angry that someone so good would risk so much for so little. For him. Like Julian? He thought, only to immediately wince away from that sore spot. Now wasn't the time to think of such things. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” he said breezily. “If we do this right, I'm afraid you'll just have to find something else to be proud of.”

Rom smiled and nodded. “I have to get some things together,” he said. “You can go sit at the bar, if you like. We won't be ready for this for at least another hour or so.”

“I think I've made enough of a scene at the bar for one night,” Garak said. “I need to get something from my quarters. I'll be back by 2100 hours.”

“Don't take any of those pills,” the Ferengi warned him.

“Believe me,” Garak said firmly, “I'm not.”

Quark

The Promenade

Heading, Infirmary

Quark fought himself not to scratch at the grainy dark paste he had smeared on his cheeks and forehead. As it dried, it itched fiercely. He had made a point of complaining bitterly several times during the night about being forced to such actions by the furious Cardassian, but deep in his heart, he was secretly thrilled with the scheme. Admittedly, there was no profit to it directly, unless he counted being allowed to continue breathing no matter what happened to the doctor. No, this was the next best thing, a desperate action taken by a desperate man all in the name of love. No matter how much Garak had protested over the course of the past year or so that his feelings ran shallow where his lover's ran deep, Quark had never been fooled. Now, there was no way the tailor could ever deny it to him again and expect to retain a smidgen of credibility. This was true romance at its best, and he had an important part to play.

He saw the two Bajoran nurses Rom had described to him at the entrance and hastened his steps. He had almost managed to barrel right between both of them when one seized him by the crook of one elbow and the other his other. “What do you think you're doing?” the dark haired one asked, eyes narrowed.

“I'm going to see Doctor Bashir,” he said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world for him to want to do.

“Visiting hours are over,” the other said. “You'll have to come back tomorrow.”

Quark shook his head. “What if tomorrow is too late?” he asked. “What if the poor doctor is dead by then?”

“Then you'll get to visit the body,” the first said matter-of-factly.

“You can't do this to me!” the bar owner protested. “I have rights! You Bajorans, always crying and moaning about how the Starfleeters don't respect your traditions and beliefs. What about my traditions and beliefs? What about my...well, the Universal Translator won't manage this one, so let's just say for the sake of argument, pagh?”

“What about it?” the second asked, releasing Quark's elbow and folding his arms skeptically.

“You'd doom me to wander the world an empty shade after death?” the Ferengi asked, looking appalled. “Don't you see? It's my fault this happened. If I hadn't been so naïve about what that horrible Lethean wanted with my friend, I never would have introduced them over lunch. I never would have exposed the good doctor to his evil designs.”

“I appreciate that you feel bad about this,” the first said, trying to be reasonable, “but there's nothing we can do about that. It's up to Nurse Decla, and she says nobody gets in tonight.”

“Well, where is she?” he asked, craning his neck trying to see around them. “Let me speak to her directly. I'm sure she'll understand!”

The two glanced at each other. “She's on a cot in the doctor's room,” the first said. “She went to sleep about an hour ago and said she wasn't to be disturbed.”

Quark eyed each in turn regretfully. “I really didn't want to have to do this in public. It's very...unusual... allowing others to see the atonement ceremony, but I'm not going to be doomed to haunt this station for eternity just because some nurse wants her beauty rest.” He raised his voice and began to sing in the screechiest, most piercing tones he could manage. He hurt his own ears in the process, but it had its desired effect. Within moments, a very angry, very scary looking Nurse Decla was bearing down on him with the full force of her gaze and her wrath.

Garak

Engineering Access Tunnel

Infirmary

Rom winced and immediately adjusted the volume of the feed they got from Quark. Even with his weak hearing, Garak found the sounds coming through the tiny device painful. They had been in the tube long enough for his old phobia to start playing havoc with his nerves. Rom had worked like a fiend to make the proper adjustment to the sensor feeds, but neither he nor Garak could make the move into the actual infirmary as long as they could see Decla lying on her side on the cot she had brought into the room. “Now or never,” Rom said, glancing quickly at him. “Remember, you don't have long.”

“I know,” Garak said. He didn't wait to be told twice, kicking out the access ventilation grill and hoping that it wasn't heard over Quark's caterwauling. As he scrambled out of the tube, he felt a wave of intense relief. He could breathe again without the terrible sensation of walls closing in around him. He straightened and wasted no time in approaching the bed where Julian lay.

He looks so small, he thought. The doctor was a slender man, but somehow, when he was awake and aware, he had so much energy that it wasn't something Garak ever noticed all that much. His life force held any sign of frailty at bay. Even sleeping, he was simply peaceful, not diminished. He searched the smooth, lax features for any sign of the trouble he knew would be playing out in the man's mind thanks to the Lethean's malice. No, his dear doctor was being held down so deeply in his own psyche that there was nothing to be seen.

Carefully, he reached his hand to smooth back the wiry waves of hair above his forehead. Julian felt cool to the touch, as though the energy that fueled him was already in retreat. Regret. He held so much of it that hours of time to express it might not be enough, for all that he had withheld, all that he had obfuscated, all of the pain and uncertainty he had given to this young man for the simple act of loving him. The part that hurt the worst was that he knew that even now, knowing what it might come to, he would not have done anything differently. It just wasn't his way.

Reaching into his trousers pocket, he withdrew something cold and heavy. It was far too large to stay on any of the doctor's slim fingers. Even over his thumb, it twisted too easily. It could fall off, roll under the bed or one of the counters, and no one would know it was there until it was too late. “Garak,” Rom hissed from the tube, “you need to hurry. Quark can't keep her much longer.”

He heard him, but there was something he still had to do. Quickly scanning the transparent cabinet doors, his eyes lit upon a roll of medical tape. He fetched it and tore off a large piece using his teeth, then wrapped the length around the lower curve of the sigil ring again and again until it formed a tight, white cocoon. This time, when he slipped the ring over Julian's thumb, it stayed put snugly.

He traced a fingertip over the black, platinum inlaid cabochon, the design the ancient sigil of the house of Tain, and then bent to place a soft, chaste kiss on Julian's lips. I love you, he thought. He felt ashamed that he couldn't even allow himself to think such a thing unless the one for whom he felt so much was beyond reason or reach to know it. Are you afraid you'd say it if you could, or that you wouldn't? He didn't have an answer for that, but now at least, if Julian did manage to awaken, he would know that his lover had been there for him, that he hadn't allowed anything to keep him away, even if he couldn't stay. In one last move before leaving, he turned the ring inward. Nothing but the small lump of medical tape showed against the tawny skin. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do.

Sheer willpower drove him back into the hateful tube, and he and Rom pulled the grate back into place with mere seconds to spare. They crab crawled backward until they were well out of danger of being overheard before Rom said, “You didn't say anything to him.”

Garak sighed softly and shook his head. “He wouldn't have heard me anyway. Let's get out of here, and Rom?” He squeezed his friend's upper arm. “Thank you.”

He left Quark's Bar by one of the side doors, not wanting to draw attention to himself or run into anyone he knew. All he wanted to do was to return to his quarters where maybe he'd manage some emotional release, or maybe he wouldn't. At least he'd be alone and free to express himself without need of reserve. Maybe he'd even manage a poem. He hadn't written in years.

When he let himself in, he saw that he had a pre-recorded message waiting for him on the comm. Rubbing hard at his temples, he closed the distance and triggered it, surprised to see Kira's face. Her expression was odd, but he was too wrung out to be able to give it the proper attention. Let her keep her secrets, at least for that night. “Garak, I thought you'd like to know that I've managed to make some headway on your problem with Decla. We should be able to get you visitation by tomorrow afternoon if everything goes as planned. I'm sorry I couldn't make it sooner. This is the best I could do.” She hesitated, then added quickly, “Hang in there,” and abruptly ended the recording.

It was more than he expected. He didn't have the heart to tell her or anyone else that at this point, the issue was moot. If he never saw Julian again before he died, he had done all that he could. Being there, not being there, it didn't matter. Julian was beyond his reach. Seeing him so flat and small in that bed drove that point home in a way prior intellectual knowledge of Letheans never could. There was only one thing left to him now. It would have to wait until he knew for a fact the doctor was gone. He wouldn't risk indirectly being the hand that sent him to his grave. There was still a chance, a very small chance, that his lover would fight his way out of this situation. If he did, the Lethean would meet his fate some time down the line, after he had a chance to grow complacent. If he didn't, then Garak would soon be heading to that prison colony Quark mentioned, and it wouldn't matter to him. Tain wouldn't let him survive a week off the station, but would he at least understand? He tried to imagine his father hearing the news, and imagination failed him. After over fifty years, the elder Cardassian was still a mystery to him in most ways.

He stayed wakeful through the night, staring out his star port and seeing little beyond the shades that occupied his mind, past and present intertwined. Julian was there; he wasn't. There was no part of his quarters that didn't contain memory, no part of his body that couldn't vividly conjure a touch or caress. He felt haunted by the living, or more accurately by a man in limbo. He ached to touch him, hold him. For once, he would be the one to warm a cold body and a colder bed. For once, he wouldn't hold back. It was easy to think such things when he knew they were impossible.

At some point the next morning, a doze caught him unaware on his couch. He awoke a few hours later to the sound of his door chime, and his chest constricted with worry. Was this it? Were they coming to tell him that Julian was gone? He answered the door to Odo. The changeling had the decency to take him out of his suspense immediately. “I'm here to escort you to your visitation. They won't allow you there alone. I'm sorry.”

So it was time for the farce, the Bajoran government's gesture of throwing him a bone and making a token move to show the watching Starfleeters that they were willing to pay more than lip service to the treaty. “One moment, Constable. I'm rumpled and I wasn't expecting you so soon. Do you mind?” he asked.

The man shook his head, folding his arms and stepping to the side in the corridor. Since he made no move to come into Garak's quarters, Garak made no move to invite him. Instead, he hurried to the back, changed into one of his most flattering tunics, and combed his hair to perfection. He emerged into the corridor and nodded formally. “I'm ready now.”

“You wouldn't happen to know about a disturbance at the infirmary last night, would you?” Odo asked, looking straight ahead while they walked together.

“I'm afraid not,” he replied. “What sort of disturbance?”

“I thought for certain you would know, since it happened after you frightened half of Quark's customers out of their wits. Does that ring any bells?” He glanced sideways at Garak.

“Scared them?” the Cardassian blinked innocently.

“They seemed convinced you were going to kill Quark. Of course, when I asked him about it, he denied it. However, something prompted him to become remorseful last night, to the point that he insisted on serenading Doctor Bashir from the doorway of the infirmary, since they wouldn't allow him inside. He claimed it was a Ferengi ritual of atonement and death. Ever heard of such a thing?”

“I can't say that I have,” he said lightly. “It sounds very strange. I didn't think they were that sort.”

“They're not,” Odo grated, seemingly content to drop the subject as they neared the turbo lift. They rode in silence the rest of the way. Garak strolled down the Promenade with Odo at his side as though it were any normal day. When he entered the infirmary, he allowed the security chief to take the lead and ignored the glares of the few staff members in his view. Decla was nowhere to be seen. He thought that she might be waiting in Julian's room and was relieved to find that she was not. His anger had yet to grow cold. While hot, he was capable of anything at all.

“I'll do the best that I can to give you your privacy,” Odo said, stepping to the far side of the room and turning his back.

“Thank you,” he said. He pulled up a chair and sat by the bedside, taking one of the limp, cool hands between his own and beginning to talk of inanities and inconsequentials. Just because Decla wasn't there to be seen, it didn't mean that she wasn't watching somehow. He determined to give her nothing to feed from, neither word nor gesture that he was concerned or hurt by her keeping them apart. He acted as though he felt certain that Julian would awaken at any time, certainly in time for his birthday party the next day.

As he spoke, he privately poured over the man's gentle features, the dark curve of lashes against finely sculpted cheeks, the high arch of the bridge of his nose, the well shaped lips that could purse in mischief and humor in the blink of an eye. Yes, he was beautiful, inside and out, and there was no longer a part of his body that the tailor didn't know intimately. He wished that he had more time to explore the mind. When his time was up, he tucked the ring clad hand he had held beneath the blanket, glad that at least so far no one had discovered the jewelry or removed it.

When it was time for him to leave, Odo led him from the room. Dax and Commander Sisko waited in the front, each of them greeting him pleasantly. Commander Sisko assured him that they would be keeping a close eye on Julian's situation and that he would be informed by one of them if anything significantly changed. He thanked them and returned to his quarters. He had no intention of putting himself on display. It was a small station. Gossip traveled quickly. He knew it was likely that the situation was already a subject of wagging tongues. With nothing else to do but wait, he sat at his terminal and began to write. It had eased his ache years before, when he was forced to be apart from the woman he loved. Perhaps now it would do the same.

Julian

The Infirmary

When he opened his eyes, he could hardly believe it. He found himself staring up into the faces of Dax, Commander Sisko, and one of his Bajoran nurses. He could tell by how he felt that he wasn't aged as he had been in the...hallucination? Nightmare? Whatever it was that the Lethean had done to him, it hadn't affected his body. As he cupped his fingers beneath his blanket, he felt something rounded and hard against his thumb. No one seemed to know where it had come from or what significance it had. He wondered if it had something to do with Altovar. Dax removed it for him and sealed it in a clear bag to be turned over to Odo for evidence. He tolerated their fussing over him and scans and found himself wondering why Garak wasn't there. Of course, he had no idea how long he had been out of it. It wasn't until the Commander left him with Dax that he felt comfortable asking.

“Two days,” she said. “How do you feel?”

“Compared to how I felt in that nightmare, amazing,” he said. Glancing around the room, he added, “I'm surprised Garak isn't here.”

Dax's lips compressed, her eyes flashing with a level of anger he wasn't accustomed to seeing in the usually cool and collected woman. “He was here earlier,” she said, seeming to consider how much else to reveal.

“And?” he prompted.

“I don't want to upset you so soon after awakening. You seem fine, but we don't really know,” she said, sounding frustrated.

“Dax, believe me, it's upsetting me far more not knowing what's going on. Tell me. What did Garak do?”

She shook her head abruptly. “Not Garak,” she said. “Decla. Ever since you lost consciousness, she has insisted that almost no one be able to see you, especially Garak. She called him a security risk. Benjamin, Nerys, and Odo have been working almost nonstop to try to gain him access. All they managed was an hour for him a few hours ago. He says it's a personal grudge she has against him. Is that true?”

He nodded slowly. “I believe it is,” he said. “I don't know the full details of everything that transpired between them, but trust me when I say there's no love lost on either side.” He was furious, all the more so because he knew that without direct evidence, he couldn't fire her or demote her for her actions. According to the strictest interpretation of protocol, she had been well within her rights to do what she had done. Of course, she had to know that, too. “Help me stand, Dax. I want to contact him, let him know I'm all right and that I'll see him soon,” he said.

He did so, got himself checked out over Decla's objections, and walked the short distance to the security office to speak with Odo about his ordeal. He sat across from him and handed him the bag with the odd ring, telling him everything he could recall about his very strange experiences. When he finished his account, he asked, “Do you think he established the connection with me through that ring?”

Odo opened the bag and tipped it out into his palm, an odd expression flickering in his blue eyes. “No, Doctor,” he said. “I suggest you put it back on.” He offered it across the desk.

“I don't understand,” he said, accepting it and turning it to have a closer look.

“I've seen rings like that before,” the security chief said patiently, “during the occupation.”

“It's...Cardassian?” he asked, wanting to be sure. Odo nodded. Smiling to himself, he slipped it back into place, amused at the ring of medical tape. “I suppose Garak gave it to me a few hours ago.”

“Perhaps,” Odo said, his look pensive. He offered the doctor a PADD. “You might like to see what we know about these Letheans. You're very lucky to be alive.”

Julian read over the information silently. No one else might know it, but he knew why he survived the ordeal when so few others ever had. It made everything Altovar had said to him about fearing his own potential hit a little closer to home. At last he lifted his gaze from the PADD and handed it back. “Are we done here, then?” he asked. “Garak said he'd meet me at the Replimat. Considering everything Decla put him through, I don't want to keep him waiting.”

“We're done,” the changeling said, nodding. “You've been helpful in my investigation, Doctor.”

“Glad to be of help, and I appreciate everything you did to get Garak in to see me. Dax filled me in. It means a lot to me.”

“You're welcome,” Odo said with a slight incline of his head.

He couldn't help but to smile at the sight of the Cardassian at their usual table, looking handsome and comported. Garak stood when he approached and pressed his palm. As he looked into blue eyes, he saw that there was more emotion than this outward show indicated. It was all he could do not to lean in and kiss him right then and there. Instead, he took his arm lightly as the two stepped over to one of the replicators. “Are you certain you're fit to be checked out?” Garak asked.

“I am,” he said. “Don't you start that, too. Besides, I have far too much to tell you about what happened to want to wait another moment. It was utterly fascinating.”

The two of them sat with their food, and he described the whole course of events with the same level of detail that he used for Odo. He felt genuine embarrassment when Garak pointed out with his usual eye for the important facts that his mind had cast his lover in the role of the villain and then amazement when the man seemed to find it encouraging rather than insulting. As always there was so much more to the Cardassian than met the eye. They shared a smile and continued eating.

“By the way,” he said casually, “I noticed I was wearing a little something extra besides a hospital gown when I awoke. I actually thought it had something to do with Altovar until Odo set me straight.” He held his hand out over the table. “What can you tell me about this?”

“Most Cardassian iconography represents the predatory animals of our planet,” the tailor replied. “That particular species hasn't been seen on our world in over a thousand years. It was quite the fierce hunter in its day, so I hear, known for its strength and endurance.”

“I never took you for the superstitious sort,” he said, touched yet also relishing this rare opportunity to turn his teasing around on the man. “Adorning me with a talisman to help pull me out of the clutches of my enemy.”

“Doctor,” Garak said drolly, “you're reading quite a bit more into that than you ought. You humans are the ones with vivid imaginations and the tendency to anthropomorphize everything around you. I merely wanted you to know that I had been to see you. Of course,” he added a bit touchily, “had I known you wouldn't recognize an obviously Cardassian design when you saw it, I would have simply left a business card.”

Julian threw his head back and laughed. “I can't believe you,” he said. “You're the one who is so secretive about your people that I barely know a thing. I suspect even most of that is more or less creativity on your part. I appreciate the gesture, nonetheless. I suppose you'll be wanting it back now?”

He regarded him silently, his fleeting expression making Julian wish now more than ever that he could at least sometimes sneak a peek inside that inscrutable head. “No, my dear,” he said lightly. “You keep it. Consider it another early birthday present. If you like, we can even get it resized for you.”

“No,” he said, rubbing a finger over the tape. “It's entirely too endearing that you wrapped it like this just so that it would stay on. I wouldn't change a thing. Will you at least tell me the name of the animal it represents?”

“It's not important,” he said, his smile mysterious. “Why look back when so much of interest still lies ahead?”

In that he was correct. The birthday party the next day, no surprise thanks to Miles' inability to keep a secret, was Dax's grandest affair yet. The Mount Olympus holosuite program was lush and fanciful, and it seemed that everyone there, including Garak, was genuinely enjoying themselves. They feasted on ancient Earth delicacies, drank rather more wine than was prudent, and chased wood nymphs and dryads through the sparkling forest, laughter ringing from all around.

A few hours into it, something went wrong. The holosuite shut itself down, leaving all of them standing in a blank room with a plain grid on the walls. “Ugh,” Dax said, “I'll go tell Quark.” She trudged out with her toga balled in one hand to keep from tripping. Everyone else waited, looking around at one another and feeling a little silly without the scenery to support the costumes. When she returned, the news wasn't good. Apparently, a power coupling had blown and wouldn't be fixable in time for the party to continue.

Disappointed, Julian put the best face on it that he could, smiling and thanking everyone for coming and making the effort to make the party such a success. In twos and threes, they all filed away, leaving him and Garak to deal with the small mountain of real presents left behind. As they were gathering them up, Quark entered the holosuite. “Gentlemen,” the Ferengi said, “just allow me to say how sorry I am for this. You're welcome to have a free drink at the bar on me.”

“A free drink?” Garak snorted. “Your holosuite blows during someone's thirtieth birthday party, and that's the best you can do?”

“It's all right, Garak,” Julian said, not wanting to make a scene. “It's not his fault.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Quark said. “That's very reasonable of you. In light of that, I have just one more thing to say.”

“What's that?” he asked, feeling suddenly suspicious.

The holosuite came to life around them once more, but it was no Earth scene. An arid landscape showed through elliptical windows, and at the center of the circular chamber was a platform of sorts of flat rocks surrounding a central heat source. He heard Garak hiss a sharp intake of breath at the same time that Quark said, “Surprise,” offered them both a knowing, toothy smile, and left them to their own devices.

“Garak?” he asked.

“It's a Cardassian style spa,” he said, too taken off guard to disguise his reaction.

Smiling, Julian stepped closer and took the stack of presents out of his lover's hands. “I'm sure you're going to show me how everything in here works,” he said.

Garak smiled a rare, uncomplicated smile and said, “Nothing would please me more.”

Odo

The Infirmary

Few things satisfied the changeling more than catching someone who deserved it flat footed. With Julian occupied with his birthday party, it was the perfect opportunity to have an overdue conversation with the Bajoran nurse who had caused all of them such grief. Garak might not have been his favorite person by any stretch of imagination, but the Cardassian tailor hadn't deserved that treatment. It would've been even worse for him had the doctor not pulled through. Nobody abused other people on the station on his watch, not if he had anything to say about it. He took the woman's following of the letter of the law rather than the spirit as a particularly personal insult.

When he stepped through the doors, one of the nurses on duty directed him toward the back, seeming to know who he was there to see, even if he didn't know why. Nodding, Odo walked down to one of the labs, finding the woman finishing up with a sample analysis. “Constable,” she said without turning her full attention from her work, “shouldn't you be at the party?”

“I've already paid my respects,” he said. “Computer, close and lock door to infirmary lab one.”

That got her attention. She pulled away from the screen and turned to face him. “Was that necessary?” she asked, arching a brow.

“If you'd like for your entire staff on duty to have the chance to overhear our conversation, I'd be more than happy to open the door again,” he said pleasantly.

“Is there a reason I wouldn't want them to hear it?” she asked, tilting her head.

“I'll let you tell me in a moment,” he replied. “Legate Pa'Ren,” he continued. “Sound familiar?”

She feigned giving it some thought, apparently unaware of how well he could read the most minute of facial twitches. “I'm afraid not,” she said regretfully. “Should it?”

“Perhaps not,” he said, his turn to feign emotion, understanding. “After all, it was over twenty years ago, and I believe that you knew him as Gul Pa'Ren, or maybe even just as Feylan.”

“Ah, yes,” she said breezily. “As you say, it was long ago. I'm very busy, Constable. If you have a point to this trot down memory lane, I'd appreciate if you'd make it.”

“Would you like for me to open the door first?” he asked, gesturing back to it.

Irritation flickered in her green eyes. “No,” she said tightly.

“Then I believe you already grasp my point, Nurse Decla,” he said. “It didn't take much for me to uncover that episode from your past. Imagine my surprise when I discovered the prisoner you supposedly accidentally dispatched alive and well on Cardassia Prime. He remembered you, too, quite fondly. I wonder if those who respect you in the Provisional Government would be equally kindly inclined to discover that you put your entire resistance cell at risk by giving in to sentiment?”

Her voice rose to a shrill pitch. “Blackmail? You? The vaunted, high and mighty, eminently fair security chief who is supposedly beyond reproach?”

“You mistake me, Madame,” he said gravely. “I would never stoop to such a level, no, but if I can find that information, there are others on this station who can as well. I can think of one in particular who is probably quite dangerous when given a reason to be. In fact, you gave him just such a reason. I can only protect you so far when you go around making unsavory enemies.”

“So this is concern for my safety,” she spat, folding her arms.

“People make mistakes,” he said. “I'm willing to consider the possibility that your recent actions can be taken in that light. Of course, if there's another incident with similar results, I may have to rethink my entire position. I don't want to see anyone on this station hurt, including Garak. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly,” she said, glaring venom.

“Good, then I can set all of this unpleasantness behind me and close my case. Thank you for your cooperation. Computer, unlock and open infirmary lab one door.” As the door hissed open, he strode out, not at all certain that the woman would be wise enough to heed his warning. He had seen too many looks like that to believe she'd let things go, and he had known enough Cardassians in his time to be sure that Garak would not. The one positive thing he could say about working on Deep Space Nine was that it was always interesting. Then again, perhaps boredom was underrated.

The End