dark_sinestra

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.

Author Notes: This story spans The Adversary and The Way of the Warrior. It's sadly not at all stand-alone. I'm thinking most of them in the series probably won't be from here on out. Too much has happened. Some of the dialogue comes from The Way of the Warrior, more than in other stories simply because it was a longer episode.

Summary: The Dominion shadow grows longer and darker, and a new, unexpected threat shakes life on the station, Klingon aggression. Worf joins the DS9 crew. Newly promoted Julian Bashir gets a further taste of combat. Old enemies and old friends are reunited with disastrous results.

Author: Dark Sinestra

Date Written: January 2010

Category: Het, some slashy angst and flirtation

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

Disclaimer: I am not Paramount. Therefore, I don't own Paramount's toys. I don't profit from playing with them, either, but I enjoy every minute of it.

Word Count: 17,276

 

Decla Lisane

Private Quarters

 

With green eyes locked to blue, Lisane found herself slowly drifting between memory and the here and now, a languid oscillation facilitated by the movement of the man atop her and the sleek feel of a scaled back beneath her spread fingers. Her room was hot, a courtesy she extended to her guest whenever she found herself entertaining him, something that had been happening with greater frequency of late. With just a slight loss of focus and lowering of lashes, she could swim in that blue and diffuse it gray, blur the edges of the sharp eye ridges to something a bit softer and rounder. Then, with that image in mind, she could close her eyes and thaw her heart for a short time until she felt as liquid as her sweat. She didn't think his name, didn't dare, lest she say it aloud and remind the man with her of what she hoped he had forgotten, or never thought to bring to mind to begin with. Still, she knew Cardassians. It meant she had to try harder.

 

She flexed her back and pushed him, wrapping her fingers around one of his thick wrists. He allowed her to do this, to flip him to his back so that it was she looking down and he looking up. Even recumbent he gave no impression of vulnerability. She could feel his strength as a palpable thrum between her legs, centered where they were joined. Always, he managed to drag her out of her past and force her to face him, Garak, whose guise as a tailor fit him considerably less than his well made clothing.

 

He reached for her thighs. She pushed his hands back, twined fingers to fingers, pressed palms to palms, and shoved the backs of his knuckles into the mattress. With extra pressure for emphasis, she released them and lightly traced her fingertips over the elaborate scroll work in scale and ridge of his chest and ribs. Again he allowed this, kept his hands where she put them and curled his fingers inward toward the palms. His gaze was pressure enough, claim enough, so intense at times she could hardly bear his touch. She wasn't fooled into mistaking his cooperation for submission. She knew better.

 

She also knew this was her fault, all of it. Had she left well enough alone, he never would have wounded her pride; she wouldn't have lashed out as soon as she saw the opportunity. The two of them wouldn't be embroiled in this nerve wracking game. Maybe on some level, she blamed Feylan, too, sought to punish what remained of him within her with this completely unsuitable lover. It didn't matter how it started. They were too deeply involved in it now to back off and quit. She realized she was digging her nails into both of his main pectoral ridges, and by the darkness of his eyes, she could tell that he liked it. At least there's that, she thought, leaning forward to bite at his jaw. He likes when I hurt him as much as I enjoy doing it. He gave a soft warning growl and shifted his head suddenly. She drew back with a thin ridge surface scale between her teeth, translucent once separated from its mates, smiled and spat it to the side with a careless flick.

 

“You really are a savage, my dear,” he purred in the tone of voice that turned half of her innards to jelly and made her damp even when they weren't so intimately engaged. “Those aren't made for tearing off.” He ran his hands up the tops of her thighs, and this time she allowed it. She readjusted herself to his grip at her hips but resisted his attempts to quicken her rhythm.

 

“Aren't they?” she asked, flicking a finger over the fresh one in its place. “It's not as though they don't self replenish.”

 

“Skin heals. Would you say that makes it made for cutting?” he retorted with a significant look.

 

She tilted her head curiously and pretended to consider the question. She glided her hands down his chest and over his smooth belly. Curving her fingers inward, she dimpled the rows of scale and used her thumb nails to flick at the undersides. He inhaled sharply, and his grasp of her hips went from tight to punishing. She smiled again, wider. That was more like it. Before he could stop her, she ripped one of the scales loose and sent it sailing into a fold of the twisted covers.

 

Just as quickly, he surged beneath her and flipped her to her back, pinning her flat to the mattress and seizing both of her wrists. She didn't make it easy for him, struggling and forcing him to put real effort into securing her arms above her head. “That,” he growled low, his face mere centimeters from hers, “was not nice.”

 

She laughed and lunged for him, her teeth snapping on air and not his lower lip only thanks to his reflexes. “Since when am I ever nice?” She knew he'd hurt her for crossing a line, and he didn't disappoint. She liked his wrath most of all, because it was when he least resembled her Feylan. It was when she could despise him with a clean conscience, and when it was over and he crushed her beneath his lax weight, it was when she could admit to herself that anything less no longer had the ability to move her at all. Tears slid freely from the corners of her eyes and mingled with her sweat to darken the hair at her temples from flax to wheat.

 

He pressed up to one elbow and shook his head. “You should have said something.” He flicked away a tear with distaste curving his mouth downward into a line that flirted with contempt.

 

“Right,” she whispered, expressing the same in reverse, her lips curving upward. “No, Garak...stop, Garak...you're hurting me, Garak. You'd have eaten it with a spoon and gone for a second helping. I don't think so.”

 

“This is the second helping,” he said drolly.

 

She smirked. “True, and not bad for a man your age.” She kissed him on the nose, something she knew he didn't like.

 

“Speaking of that, aren't you a little long in the tooth yourself to be quite so insatiable?” he asked, rolling off of her with a soft grunt and settling on his back.

 

“What can I say?” she rolled a bare shouldered shrug, glad of the chance to let her sweat dry and cool her in the stifling air. “You bring all sorts of things out in me that I find surprising.”

 

“I'll just bet.” He stayed quiet for a while after that. She wasn't lulled into believing he was falling asleep. He rarely fell asleep first. “Do you want me to stay?” he asked, breaking the silence.

 

She sighed. “We've been through this. If you want to stay, stay. If you want to go, go.”

 

“Yes,” he agreed, “and it occurred to me that in forcing my hand at showing a preference, you keep me at a distinct disadvantage. Tonight, you decide.”

 

Rolling to her side, she rested her head on her upward extended arm and prodded at his calf with a toe. “I could just as easily not decide, and the result will be the same. You'll either stay or you'll go.”

 

“Yes, I'll stay, and I'll keep you awake. My job doesn't require much of me. Being well rested or not so much, I can cut a pattern and stitch a straight line. With the doctor away on the Defiant, can you say the same of yours?”

 

For the first time that night, she felt genuinely cross. “That's very childish of you,” she said.

 

“So is your insistence that I always choose.”

 

As satisfying as she knew it would be to dismiss him and make it clear to him that he had served his purpose for the night, she also knew it wouldn't further her own agenda. “You're an irritating man,” she said, lifting up onto her elbow and propping her cheek in her hand. “So we're discussing insistence?” she asked, very careful only to show him her irritation and not the fact that he just gave her the opening she had been angling for ever since they began this dance.

 

“Yes,” he said, suddenly cautious.

 

“Then why are we always here? Why my quarters every single time and not yours?” she asked bluntly.

 

He blinked his surprise. “My dear, you've never expressed an interest in visiting me in my quarters.”

 

“Inviting myself? I may be a savage, as you say. That doesn't mean I have no manners,” she said, tightening her mouth.

 

“How deftly you imply that I have none,” he said, dryly amused. “Very well, Lisane. When next we meet privately, we'll meet in my quarters. I never realized this was such a thorn in your heel.”

 

“No more than I realized exerting your own free will to stay or go taxed you so,” she said in saccharine tones. “Why not stay? If we awaken in time, we can argue for the full duration of breakfast and still manage to clean our plates.”

 

“I never knew you were such a sweet talker,” he said, matching her tone. “You make the prospect positively irresistible.”

 

Sleeping with him was actually one of the more pleasant aspects of the association. She had missed having someone in her bed since the death of her husband. Unlike her husband, Garak didn't snore, and he was cool and dry against her skin instead of oppressively hot and sticky. He didn't cling to her in his sleep like a drowning man to a life line. He didn't make her feel guilty for her uncharitable thoughts of him. He had the decency to deserve them.

 

She feigned sleep until he fell asleep and slowly opened her eyes. Starlight from her view port added its scant illumination to the faintly glowing night lantern she kept atop her dresser in case she needed to arise in the dark. The bluish light suited the Cardassian's pale gray skin, paler than many of his race she had seen during the occupation. She had always assumed it to be a regional variance in the species. Feylan, for all of his genuine devotion, was as tight lipped about his people as Garak. The only reliable knowledge she had of them came from her own experiences, as a professional in the medical field, a former resistance fighter, and an unlikely lover. It was more than most non-Cardassians possessed.

 

It was said among her people that to see a true face, one had but to watch a sleeper. If such were true of Garak, it meant there was little behind his facade. He looked neither innocent nor guilty, malicious nor kind. His sleeping face reminded her of nothing so much as a death mask, his papery eyelids so translucent she imagined that she could see iris and pupil beneath. She knew, however, that it was a mere trick of light and shadow.

 

His chest rose and fell slowly. She spread her hand very lightly atop it and felt the strong, languid thumping of his heart at rest. So slow, she thought, recalling the first time she had lain her head atop Feylan's chest and how she thought he was in shock. We never had time, she thought, irrationally angry with Garak that they did, had they truly wanted it. They had nothing but time while waiting for the entire quadrant to exhale over this Dominion threat. Bajor had barely drawn her first free breaths in over sixty years, and already someone else was eying her hungrily.

 

The Prophets, she thought contemptuously, opening wide the Celestial Temple so that we can be devoured whole. She knew such blasphemous thoughts would get her in trouble if ever she spoke them aloud. She passed a fingertip down the soft, shallow depression over his sternum, the Cardassian navel. He opened his eyes and seized her wrist, both happening so quickly she had no time to react. “I'm sorry I woke you,” she murmured, inwardly cursing her own stupidity. He was never a heavy sleeper.

 

“What is it, Lisane?” he asked, matching her volume. He shifted to his side to face her, his clasp migrating upward to encircle her fingers in a loose grip.

 

“I don't know,” she said. It was only partially true, for she was aware that there were several things combined keeping her awake, keeping her unsettled. Any one of them could be the cause of her current discomfiture and inexplicable need to touch him. His eyes caught a sliver of starlight and glinted silver. She shivered.

 

“You can't be cold,” he said. He released her fingers and bridged the small gap between them with his outstretched arm, teasing her still damp hair off of her shoulder and releasing it to slide over her back.

 

She shivered again, harder. “I'm not,” she said, but it was a lie. Inside, she felt like ice. His cruelty was much easier to stomach than his kindness. “Go back to sleep. I'm sorry I disturbed you.” She tried to turn her back to him. He prevented her, shifting himself and pulling at her until she lay propped against his side with her head resting in the relatively soft hollow of his shoulder. “Garak...” she said uncomfortably.

 

“You didn't ask me for this, so don't be stubborn,” he said, a hint of irritability sharpening the murmur.

 

That felt more familiar. She smiled against his chest and let her eyelids set their own rhythm toward sleep. She didn't know if he slept again that night and didn't really care. In his arms, she was always undisturbed by dreams, like claiming a little death of her own.

 

Garak

Replimat Café

 

Sitting in the Replimat and people watching was such a habit for him now that he often found himself in the place when he wasn't really hungry or wanting company but wished to think somewhere that the silence wasn't deafening. For the first time since he could ever recall, Garak found himself worried about the stability and survival of his homeworld government. News out of Cardassia, scant as it was, wasn't good, and another of his contacts had recently gone mysteriously quiet, whether in hiding or dead, he couldn't be sure.

 

He had known that the destruction of the Obsidian Order would leave a power vacuum, and power vacuums were dangerous. They practically begged to be filled. Indeed, they drew in malcontents, the power hungry, and do-gooders alike, the dissidents wanting anything but what they had, the power hungry seeing opportunity, and the last naïve enough to believe that whatever they had to offer would actually be better than what was currently in place. He wondered if he hadn't made a mistake in remaining on the station, only to mock himself. Watch it, Elim. You're dangerously close to do-gooder territory. No, his presence on Cardassia Prime would not have been a stabilizing influence whatsoever. Those scarred by the legacy of Tain would associate him with the old guard and mistrust his motives, and those with grudges would see him as a threat to their own designs for power.

 

He wasn't interested in power these days. In his younger years, he had drunk his fill of it, glutted until he swelled and nearly burst. What had it gotten him? In an affair with a married woman with a powerful and dangerous husband. A handful of interrogations and executions of which he could feel genuinely proud. The illusion of security that once shattered very nearly shattered him as well. An irreparable breach with his father. Painful distance from his mother. The long, cold fall into the oblivion of his exile and blood on his hands that he knew he had no right to have shed. On the surface he could claim self-defense, but it was his own machinations and hubris that led to the attack by Palandine's husband. No, he'd leave power to those who still lived the dream. For him survival had become infinitely more attractive, not just his own but that of the Union.

 

What a mess, he thought disconsolately. His tea was cold and almost untouched. A warm hand on his shoulder nearly sent him out of his own skin. It had been ages since anyone managed to startle him like that. He must have been thinking entirely too hard. “You're a million kilometers away,” Julian said with a soft smile, easing into a chair catty corner to him instead of across.

 

“Yes,” he said, brightening. “I can't decide if hem lines are trending upward or down this season. What do you think?” It wasn't one of his better lies; he'd be the first to admit. He narrowed his eyes as his gaze lighted upon Julian's collar, sheerly by happenstance, of course. He wasn't staring at the doctor's neck. Lying to himself could sometimes be entertaining, too. “You've been promoted,” he said, sounding almost accusatory.

 

The doctor nodded. “I think you're an abominable liar, to answer your question,” he said cheerfully.

 

“I am an excellent liar,” he retorted, sitting up a bit straighter.

 

Julian smiled warmly and shook his head. “If you're wondering why I didn't tell you about the promotion, it's just not something I felt like bragging about.”

 

“You should feel proud of your accomplishments, Lieutenant,” Garak chided him and teased him in the same breath.

 

“I am. I mean, yes, I feel as though I've earned this promotion. I worked hard for it, and we've all been through a lot facing the threat of war. It's just that my rank and position have never had much bearing on our friendship. We have much more interesting discussions.”

 

“Except about what happened aboard the Defiant,” the tailor said, watching for the uneasy flicker that showed itself in the man's eyes every time he mentioned their last excursion. He wasn't disappointed.

 

“Garak,” Julian said, warning in the tone.

 

“I know. I know. It's a Starfleet matter.” He had to resist the urge to cover the warm, brown hand resting on the table so close to his own. Feeling skittish for his own reasons was hard enough without seeing similar unease in someone he loved. At least one of them should have their equilibrium at any given time.

 

“What's bothering you?” the doctor asked, speaking more quietly and leaning closer, close enough that he could smell the infirmary still upon him.

 

“I need to start curtailing my late nights,” he said, knowing that it would deflect the line of questioning more quickly than almost anything else he could say. It would also put needed distance between them. No matter how much affection he had for the Starfleet officer, he had no intention of taking them a step back when they were making true progress as friends and when Julian's career seemed back on track.

 

The man leaned back again and slumped slightly in his chair. “Rest is important,” he said neutrally.

 

“So it is,” he agreed. Pushing to his feet, he lifted his mug. “I've wasted enough time away from the shop for one afternoon. I should have gotten back at least an hour ago.” He took the mug to the recycler and returned to the table. “Shall I walk you back to the infirmary first? I need to speak to Lisane about something, and I'd enjoy the company on the way.”

 

“I don't see why not,” the doctor replied, standing and falling into step with him. “So, things are going well with you two?” he asked.

 

Bless him, he almost managed to subsume completely the stress in his voice that accompanied the question. Garak admired the effort. He wasn't inclined to speak to him about his dabo girl at all if he could help it. “As well as you might expect,” he answered vaguely.

 

Julian tried unsuccessfully to hide a wry smile. “You're a Cardassian who was here during the occupation, and she's a former Bajoran resistance fighter. How well do you think I'd expect? Frankly, I'm surprised that one of you isn't dead by now.”

 

Garak smirked. “My dear man, it is never dull.” He closed his mouth in a way that indicated he was done expounding upon that particular subject and watched the doctor from the corners of his eyes, not easy to do with the wide curve of eye ridges in the way. He looked good. He carried himself a bit more confidently and wore his experience well. He was a far cry from the man Garak singled out at the Replimat those few years before. Although he liked to think that in some small way he had a part in the development, he knew that most of it was due to Julian's exceptional intelligence and dedication to his work.

 

When they reached the infirmary, Julian said, perhaps a tad more loudly than was called for, “So we're still on for lunch tomorrow?”

 

“Of course,” he replied, inclining his head. “I simply cannot wait to tell you my opinion of 'A Midsummer Night's Dream',” he added very, very dryly.

 

Snorting softly, the doctor cast one glance between him and Lisane as she approached and made a graceful retreat toward his work station. “Garak?” she asked when she reached him.

 

Despite what he had said to Julian, the two of them had not spent another night together in nearly two weeks since their discussion of where they met. He wanted to be convincing, that having her in his space was difficult and not what he had been working toward since formulating his plan. “I'm sorry for approaching you at work,” he said in a low murmur. “I simply wanted to extend this invitation before I could change my mind.” She lifted a brow and waited. “I'd like for you to join me in my quarters after dinner. I regret that I can't accommodate you before then, but I have some pressing business to attend that cannot wait.”

 

She considered for so long after he asked, that at first he thought she might refuse him after all. “All right,” she said. “Expect me at 2300, unless that's too early?”

 

“No, that will be perfect,” he said, letting his genuine relief show in his smile. She would almost certainly mistake the motive behind it. It gave him great satisfaction to see the hostile glances he evoked for both of them by his mere presence there. Her Bajoran co-workers were less forgiving of her than they had ever been of Julian for the association. He knew that for a fact from things both Rom and Quark had told him. “I'll let you get back to work,” he said, not taking things so far as to try to touch her in front of the others. He knew she'd never allow it. As he left, he only just avoided humming under his breath. This was the first real progress he had made in some time. He could only hope that she was as skilled and devious as he thought she might be, or he had been wasting his time and efforts.

 

Decla Lisane

Garak's Private Quarters

 

From the moment she set foot into the impeccable, tastefully appointed sitting room, Lisane knew that she was in trouble. She thought she had prepared herself for what she needed to do. She thought that getting what she had worked so hard to attain, access, would provide her with a tremendous sense of satisfaction. Instead, cold dread came to roost in the pit of her stomach and made itself at home. She thought for the first few moments after her arrival that she would literally be sick. Garak took her gift of a small cashmere throw from hands that felt like someone else's. His pleasant smile faded to a look of concern. “My dear?” he asked, setting the gift aside and taking her by the hands. “You're as white as a sheet. Come sit.”

 

She allowed him to direct her to his sofa and sank onto it gratefully. White spots danced in her vision. Pull yourself together, she thought angrily. This isn't your first trip into hostile territory. Stop acting like a green recruit. Had she already managed to grow soft in the few years since the occupation ended? Had three squares, a regular place to sleep, and a steady income quenched her fire completely? Her cold, pale cheeks flared red with self-loathing and shame. “I'm OK,” she said brusquely, “although I think I may be coming down with something. I haven't felt quite right all afternoon.” She could lie as facilely as he when she needed to. She met his gaze without hesitation.

 

“Your hands are like ice,” he said, rubbing them between his. The friction of his scales warmed her quickly. “I'll get you some tea.” She watched him stand and move to the replicator. If she allowed herself to believe the lines of concern in his eye ridges, she thought she might truly be sick. He was convincing, so very convincing, and it wasn't the first time he had taken her care into his hands with such solicitation. He returned to her and pressed her the hot mug, not releasing it until he was sure she had a good grip. “You should have sent me a message that you're not feeling well,” he chided her. “I would've understood.”

 

She smiled faintly and took a bracing sip of the tea, surprised to find that it was not red leaf, but deka. “How did you...” she started to ask.

 

He smiled. “Major Kira tells me that deka tea can be quite palliative, when the leaves have been aged.”

 

She nodded and took a few more sips of the astringent brew. Her tongue and throat tingled, and warmth settled and pooled in her stomach, easing its clench. I can do this, she thought. “I'm surprised Kira talks to you at all,” she said.

 

“We have...an understanding,” he explained. “Your color is returning. Do you want me to escort you back to your quarters so that you can rest?”

 

“No,” she said, leaning to place her mug on a side table. “I want to spend some time with you. We've hardly seen each other lately. I finally have more time with the doctor back. I don't intend to waste it.” She glanced about his living space, finding it not at all surprising in its décor. “The place is really you.”

 

“It suffices,” he said with a shrug. He rose from his seat beside her and crossed to where he had placed the throw. “You were kind to bring me a gift.” He brought it back with him, spreading it to have a closer look. “Green and rust,” he glanced at her. “You do pay attention.”

 

More than you could ever imagine, she thought. She offered him a brilliant smile. “You make it easy,” she said. “Do you like the fabric? I was quite taken with it. I ordered a cashmere sweater about a year ago. I only regret that I haven't had more occasion to wear it.”

 

“I do like it, yes,” he said. He stopped before her and bent to wrap it lightly about her shoulders. “I should make something green for you. It sets off your eyes.” She sat perfectly still while he arranged the blanket, hardly able to breathe. When he stood over her like that with gentle hands and dangerous eyes, the contradictory impulses he evoked nearly overwhelmed her. To her relief, once he had the blanket arranged, he backed off and retook a seat further down the sofa.

 

“It is somewhat cold in here,” she said, not having realized it until the warmth of the cashmere brought it to her attention.

 

“You're kind enough to accommodate me when I visit you. I felt it would be boorish of me not to return the favor,” he said.

 

“It's not necessary,” she said. “I like the heat. It's one of the few times I ever get to sweat on this station. Set it to your comfort level.”

 

“You're certain? I don't want to tax you if you're becoming ill.”

 

She made an impatient noise, shrugging out of the throw and unfurling from her seat. In two quick strides, she reached him and lowered to straddle his lap. “I don't want your damned solicitousness,” she said, balling both fists in his thick tunic and narrowing her gaze, “any more than you want it from me.” She hadn't intended to do this so artlessly, but he just had to give her that covetous, hungry look when speaking of putting her in something green. She kissed him roughly, beyond pleased when he responded in kind, both of them careless of teeth.

 

“Computer,” he said when she let him up for air, “reset environmental controls to my usual default.” He seemed as though he intended to say more. She didn't give him the opportunity. When the ravening hunger had been awakened, she couldn't get enough. She didn't have to worry about taking care with him, physically or otherwise. She knew that had he chosen, he could easily kill her, and she believed that somewhere behind those passion dark eyes of his lurked a desire to do just that. Do you hate yourself when we do this as much as I do? She wondered. She hoped that he did, that deep within him there was a twin to the part of her that recoiled from this contact and watched, appalled and silent.

 

She felt pressure between her legs where there had just been none and smiled inwardly, lifting herself so that he had to arch upward to maintain contact. She laughed aloud when he grabbed her hips and forced her back downward; the laughter died off on a moan as he ground a tight circle. She continued to fight him, the sofa rocking and creaking with the force of their struggles.

 

He pushed one foot against the floor and twisted them to the side. Scrabbling for purchase, she managed to scramble down half the length of the couch before being dragged back by the back of her belt. She quickly unbuckled it and would have given him the slip had he not gotten a tight grip on her ankle. He jerked her back to a stomach down sprawl over the sofa seat and crushed her with his weight atop her. She felt his forearms thrust beneath her and the clutch of his hands over the tops of her collarbones, the pressure of his fingertips bruising and painful.

 

Jerking her head back, she popped the cusp of his chin. He withdrew with a hiss of pain between clenched teeth, and once more she started to scrabble forward. She managed to curve a hand over the sofa arm. His weight lifted and shifted to a straddle over her lower back. He yanked her hand free of its hold and pressed her face straight into the sofa cushion. Now she struggled in earnest, arousal giving way to fear that she may have pushed him too far. The harder she struggled, the tighter he pressed her face, until her breath came in sharp, painfully difficult wheezes.

 

“Why do you insist on making this so hard on yourself?” he asked, sounding only slightly out of breath from exertion.

 

She made a small, mocking noise in the back of her throat, earning herself a complete obstruction of all air. She lay still for as long as she could, her body finally taking matters into its own hands and thrashing when her lungs began to burn and spots danced in her vision. Only when her vision started to tunnel did he release the pressure and allow her a few ragged gasps.

 

“No answer?” he purred, pressing her face down again. “Is it the only way you can justify this to yourself, Lisane? Creating the illusion that I'm forcing you, when we both know all you'd have to do is say 'no' and mean it? Or perhaps it's that this is how you have to see me.” He snorted a soft, derisive laugh.

 

She worked her free hand from beneath her and reached back, stroking lightly over the side and top of his thigh. He always had the uncanny knack of hitting his marks with his pointed observations. It was just one more way he scored her, but she had her ways of wounding him, too. She felt his grasp of her wrist and her hair loosen, and she took the opportunity to turn her face to the side and take a few more unrestricted breaths. “Don't try to pretend you don't enjoy it this way, Garak,” she murmured. “For all of your veneer of civility, this is closer to your true nature. I'd think you'd appreciate having someone who sees it and doesn't force you to hold back.”

 

“I hold back,” he said. “You should thank your Prophets that I do.” His nails raked her scalp as he tightened his grip again.

 

She had seen what his people were capable of. She knew there was much truth in what he said. “Not for my sake,” she said spitefully, “but yours. What would happen if you crossed that line, not because someone back home gave you orders, but simply...because you wanted to? You crossed it with Bashir. Do you have to love someone to want to hurt them?”

 

Agony shot from her captured hand all the way up her arm to ball and throb in her shoulder. She couldn't tell what he had done. It felt like just the smallest shift of his clasp, and yet whatever it was, he had set her nerves on fire. She bit down over an outcry and held still for as long as she could stand it then began to struggle. Finally, she couldn't help herself. She let out an anguished groan. “Enough! Damn you, that's enough!” She gasped and shuddered with relief as soon as he released the hold.

 

“You won't mention that to me ever again, I trust,” he said very casually.

 

“Did I touch a nerve?” she asked, inwardly trembling at her own audacity. Do you want this man to kill you? Are you that far gone?

 

“Do you want to find out how many nerves I can touch?” he asked in that same casual way that chilled her far more than if he had growled his threat.

 

She tried to turn over beneath him, and he lifted enough to allow it and resettled. Watching his cold eyes, she reached down and felt for him, finding his trousers stretched taut and damp through the thick fabric. “You seem to like the idea,” she said, scratching her nails lightly over the upper curve of the bulge. “How far would you take it?” She pressed her palm flat and rubbed upward, feeling his cock leaping against the pressure.

 

“If you want to know that, mention Julian again,” he said, one corner of his mouth curving sardonically.

 

As much as she wanted to, her shoulder was still throbbing, and something about the look in his eyes made her believe that if she crossed that line, not only would it cost her in pain, he'd then toss her out and likely never look back. She closed her eyes to hide the resentment she felt toward him for what he might possibly hold over her and swallowed when she felt his hands unfastening her tunic. Dry heat greeted her bare skin, the environmental controls quick to do their work.

 

If she kept her eyes closed and didn't prompt him to talk, she could almost imagine Feylan now, except that Garak was more skilled, more...thorough. Divorced from her mind, her body responded to him with such visceral pleasure that it left her weak and panting. She allowed him to do as he wished, as having his way with her after dominating her seemed to please him, and that night more than any other before she wanted him exhausted. She coaxed and maddened him in small ways, playing his desire as skillfully as he hers. Indeed, she had studied him with single minded focus and knew how to drive him to the edge of his control.

 

She couldn't recall exactly when or how they made it to the bedroom. His bed was smaller than hers, forcing them to stifling closeness. It worried her, because there would be no way to get out of it without awakening him once he fell asleep. Even exhausted, he was much too light of a sleeper for that. She rarely bothered washing until the next morning when she was with him, so she knew that breaking the routine was a bit of a gamble. Anything at all could raise his suspicions. She had to try. “Ugh,” she said with a soft laugh. “You didn't tell me your bed was so small.”

 

He nipped the cusp of her shoulder lightly. “Had I, you would have simply accused me of trying to make excuses to keep you from my quarters.”

 

“Mm, probably,” she said, pressing her back against his chest and stomach. “Would you think me horrid if I insisted on bathing right now? The thought of being this sweaty so close all night just isn't at all appealing.”

 

“Do as you wish, Lisane,” he said, releasing his one armed hold of her. “I want you to feel comfortable here.”

 

“I'll try not to awaken you when I come back to bed,” she said, slipping from beneath the sheet and giving a careless caress of his cheek.

 

“You probably will, but it's all right,” he assured her. “You know what a light sleeper I am.”

 

All too well, she thought grimly. She retreated to his bathroom, as clean and well decorated as the rest of the quarters, and took her time getting clean. If he was true to form, he would take a little time to fall asleep, more than a Bajoran who had similarly exerted himself. He had marked her surprisingly little this time, almost gentle after their initial tussle on the couch. Almost. She rubbed light fingers over a purpling bruise at her collar bone and winced slightly. Instead of a shower, she took a bath, and when she was drying, she had the computer take the lights down nearly all the way. She needed to be acclimated to the darkness.

 

She stepped into the bedroom and waited. When she heard his even, deep breaths, she waited even longer. She had to be sure. Stealthily she slipped from the bedroom and padded on silent, bare feet into his sitting room. She sat at his terminal and pulled up a display of recent activity, using her medical override code to bypass the usual privacy settings. She noticed several transmissions back and forth between him and various contacts on Cardassia, none of them names she recognized.

 

On impulse, she tried a search of Feylan's name. The system pulled up a single file. Unfortunately, it was encrypted. Grunting softly, she systematically went through everything she knew about Cardassian encryption, trying various codes. Her fingers flew over the terminal, and always she kept a sharp ear to the room behind her. Sweating as much from anxiety as heat, she thought, Come on. Come on! All those intercepted transmissions have to count toward something now. She had almost decided that she'd have to give it up that night when a much older code, one of the first she ever learned, worked. She inhaled sharply and bit her tongue to blood when she read exactly what the “tailor” had managed to gather on her former lover.

 

How? She thought numbly. How did he manage all of this? Who has he spoken to on Bajor? She didn't have to know Garak to know that he could completely ruin Feylan Pa'Ren's career, his very life, with what he had discovered. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Why did you provoke him? Why didn't you think? If she could take back her ham fisted power play in the infirmary, she'd do it a hundred times over. She raked a shaking hand through her still wet hair and pressed her lips to a thin line. What can I do now? She wondered.

 

She knew she had no choice but to try to contact Feylan. She had to warn him of what she had potentially unleashed upon him. Hopefully, he would have enough contacts and political clout to bury anything Garak tried to throw at him. She hastily composed a brief but informative message and sent it on an encrypted subspace channel. She then did everything that she could to erase any trace of her presence in Garak's system. She knew that if Bashir were really paying attention, he might notice that she had made an unauthorized use of her medical override code, but he had been so distracted lately with training drills for dealing with changeling infiltration that he probably wouldn't be combing computer usage records that thoroughly. It was a risk she had to take, and it would be easier to lie her way out of any inconvenience from breaking protocol than it would be to sit back and let Garak destroy the man she loved.

 

Nausea twisted her gut at the thought of having to climb back into bed with him. Her worst fear about him, her very worst fear, was true. All of this time that he had been engaging her company, he had been working to undo her, not directly, but in the worst possible way. Every smile, every caress concealed cold, determined malice. The sour taste of bile burned the back of her throat, and she lifted a hand to her mouth. Any worse than your trying to seduce him out of his justified rage? She asked herself. Yes, came the fierce response. Feylan is an innocent in this! And Doctor Bashir wasn't?

 

“Prophets,” she whispered aloud, squeezing back the burn of tears. She stood on shaking legs and tottered to the bedroom. The sight of him beneath the covers finished what her disturbing discovery started. She rushed to the bathroom just in time and fell to her knees on the cool floor, retching again and again.

 

She didn't hear him enter the bathroom and very nearly banged her head on the waste basin when she felt cool, dry hands gathering her hair and lifting it away from her face. She couldn't speak, taken over with dry heaves. Eventually, she slumped to the side, gasping and trying to regain some sense of equilibrium. “You shouldn't have pushed yourself tonight,” he said, his voice having an odd, disembodied quality in the near total darkness.

 

“I'm fine,” she rasped harshly. “I really think I should get back to my quarters, though. I've made enough of a mess here.”

 

“I'll help you,” he said.

 

“No!” She dug her nails into her palms to try to calm herself. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. I just...I hate having anyone fuss over me when I'm ill. It's a nurse thing.”

 

“I understand,” he said. “Let me at least gather your clothing for you.”

 

“All right,” she said weakly. She stayed where she was while he retreated and rested her cheek against the wall. Did you really think you'd be able to persuade him not to seek vengeance? You couldn't keep Feylan with you, and he loved you. Kosst Cardassians! She wiped her eyes before the tears could fall.

 

She heard his footsteps approaching and hauled herself to her feet, accepting the press of clothing into her outstretched hands. He left her alone so that she could dress herself. When she left the bathroom, she saw that he had the lights pulled up dimly for her, and she found him wrapped in a robe and waiting for her in the sitting room. She forced herself not to look at his computer terminal. “I don't feel good about allowing you to walk back to your quarters alone,” he told her. “You look like you can barely keep your feet.”

 

“I'll make it, Garak,” she said. “I'm just sorry for leaving you a mess to clean up.” She had no idea how she could sound so normal speaking to him when all she wanted to do was to bash his head against a bulkhead until it split.

 

“I can hardly hold that against you,” he said, moving to walk her out. “I just hope that you feel better soon.”

 

“I'm sure I will,” she said, her voice sounding hollow in her ears. “Thank you. Good night.” She walked the corridor until it curved and took her out of sight of his door, and then she began to run. She knew it was futile. She couldn't outrun the disgust she felt for him or herself, and no amount of bathing would remove the taint of his touch.

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

Kira

Monastery Grounds

Bajor

 

Kira had employed every technique she had at her disposal to try to find any traces of Garak or the missing vedeks to no avail. The other priests who had joined the search gave it their full attention and had done everything she asked of them. She had no complaints with their efforts. It was frustrating that the use of scanners was of only limited benefit. It made their job so much harder.

 

She didn't notice it at first, but the sky grew lighter until the first red rays of dawn spilled over the compound walls. It was no use. Wherever Garak was, it couldn't be on the grounds. They had covered every square centimeter to no avail. She called them all back to her, commended them for their efforts, and recommended that they regroup back at the housing complex. Looking at the worried, demoralized faces, she knew they were thinking the same thing that she was. If the funeral occurred without Garak in attendance, any hope of lasting peace they had with Cardassia would be dashed.

 

As soon as she was back inside, she hurried to find Odo, hoping for something better than what she had managed to find. She was surprised to find Julian there as well. As the two told her all that had happened in her absence, her bleak mood plunged even lower. She didn't blame Julian for contacting the Commander. Under the circumstances, she knew he had absolutely no choice in that, nor did she blame him for Sisko's putting two and two together and blaming her for not putting him in the loop sooner. Sisko's wrath was nothing to her fear of Cardassian involvement with and knowledge of the situation. Was it possible that Winn could have been telling the truth after all? Was she right to suspect Garak of sabotage? With Tain involved, she no longer knew what to think anymore. “Please, tell me that we at least have some good news,” she pleaded, shifting her gaze from brown eyes to blue ones.

 

“Maybe,” Odo said cautiously. “I'm just waiting for...ah, here it comes now.” He read the text transmission scrolling across his screen. “Alith and Bannen are actually siblings, Visnen Kelleth and Visnen Roban, both from the Kendra Valley. They're much older now, so it's hard to tell from these images,” he pointed a finger at the screen to show Kira and Bashir, crowded close over his shoulders.

 

“No,” Kira said. “I see the resemblance. They're the same people. The Kendra Valley, the site of the massacre. What does that have to do with anything? Could it be that we've been going about this all wrong from the start? Maybe this isn't about the treaty at all. Maybe it's just about revenge.” She was sorry she said it as soon as it came out of her mouth, glancing quickly at Julian and reading the fear naked in his eyes. She instinctively reached to squeeze his shoulder, trying to bolster him with an encouraging look.

 

“Could be,” Odo said, narrowing his eyes as he continued to read. “Both of their parents went missing over a decade ago under mysterious circumstances. Shortly after that, the siblings went missing, too. The case was never closed by the Kendra Valley authorities. I'm going to contact them, and let them know what we've found. Maybe they have more information from their investigation that can shed more light on this.”

 

“I'm going to ask Daran for a blueprint of the complex,” she said. “We went over every bit of ground outside, and I've checked all the surveillance feeds from the walls. No one entered or exited the monastery all night. If they had, the sensors would have picked it up, and they would have been recorded. The security here is very tight thanks to the Kai.”

 

Odo nodded. “Take the doctor with you,” he said distractedly, looking up the contact information for the Kendra Valley officers.

 

“Thanks a lot,” Julian said angrily.

 

Kira put a hand to his arm. “He's right,” she said. “This is his area of expertise, and you and I both will just be in the way if we hang around. I can definitely use your help and your eyes for this. Come on.”

 

She completely empathized with the doctor, despite the fact that the subject of his concern was Garak. She knew from painful experience that having to wait around and let others do things for an endangered loved one was excruciating and difficult. She was impressed with how well Julian was holding up and staying focused. There was more to him than she had initially thought when they met. He had gone from annoyance to respected and dear friend. As they walked together to find Daran, she prayed silently to the Prophets that she'd be able to give him a better outcome than he had managed for Bareil with his heroic efforts. At least one of them should be allowed some happiness.

 

When she explained to the vedek what she wanted, he seemed to understand immediately why. He hurried away from his office and returned from archives moments later with an armful of rolled blueprints. “We've been meaning to get these transferred over to data rods,” he said, “but honestly it hasn't been a large priority.” He cleared space on his desk and unrolled the first. “This is the oldest,” he said, “from when the monastery was first built. Of course, this isn't the original blueprint. Those were destroyed by the Cardassians decades ago. We've had to piece together what we could from fragments.”

 

“So this might not be accurate,” Kira said just to be clear.

 

“Right. The newest ones are, though. Do you want to start with them first?”

 

“No,” Julian said before she could. “Let's look at them in order, or we might miss something.”

 

Odo

Monastery Office

Bajor

 

Odo liked dealing with police better than military. It seemed that they were always more on the same wavelength. He found the detective that he had been put in contact with to be a straightforward, decent man who recognized the case immediately and became quite excited at the lead. The man didn't seem to mind a bit that he had been roused from bed early. He sipped a mug of something hot as he walked back and forth across the screen, in and out of Odo's view while gathering things from a box he kept at home.

 

“OK,” he said, resettling in his chair before his monitor. “Let's see.” He licked his thumb and flipped through several papers. “Yes, here we go. Hmm.” He glanced up at Odo. “You say those two vedeks of yours have gone missing along with a Cardassian?”

 

“Yes,” Odo replied. “We're afraid they may have kidnapped him, actually, not the other way around.”

 

“That's odd,” he said softly. “You see, their parents were suspected of being collaborators. Our agency was close to making an arrest on the case when they disappeared. The kids were too young to have had anything to do with it. We kept an eye on them more out of hope that we could track their parents; you know, in case they tried to contact them or anything like that.”

 

“Yes,” Odo said, nodding. He didn't want to rush the man's flow of concentration, but he hoped that he would make his point soon. The funeral was less than two hours away.

 

“When the kids disappeared, too, at first we thought the parents had come to get them after all, but we found some evidence to the contrary. Indications were that they might have been abducted by someone with a grudge against their parents. That list was so long, we didn't even know where to start, and the case eventually went cold. I dearly wish I could talk to those two right now.”

 

“You and I both, Detective,” Odo said with a sigh. “Could you send me the case files? Sometimes a fresh pair of eyes can find things that those too close to a case may have missed.”

 

“I'll be glad to,” the man said. “Do let me know when or if you find those two. We'll want the chance to question them, ourselves.”

 

“You have my word on that,” Odo promised.

 

Garak

Unknown Location

Bajor

 

Garak awoke with a strange taste in his mouth and a fuzzier head than usual upon awakening. He realized that he was not lying in bed. Instead, he was seated in a hard chair, bound at the wrists and ankles. Subtle testing of the bonds showed him that he was tied well. He'd not escape soon or easily. He heard two voices whispering off to his right, and if he craned his head, he could just make out two huddled shapes in the very dim light of what looked like a hewn rock chamber. He doubted that they could see him as well as he could see them. After another moment or so of watching them, he was sure they were Alith and the man whose name he had never gotten, the one who hadn't shown a negative reaction to his arrival. He decided that allowing them to plot together unhindered wasn't in his best interest, so he cleared his throat to announce to them that he was awake.

 

Alith drew closer; the other held back to the shadows, perhaps unaware that Garak could see him quite well. “You don't have to worry,” she told him in what she probably meant to be a soothing tone. Instead, she just sounded extremely nervous, something that wasn't remotely comforting to the tailor. Nervous people were dangerous people. “We aren't going to hurt you. All you have to do is stay calm and quiet until after the funeral. You'll then be released unharmed, and as long as you stay quiet about what happened, you'll stay that way.”

 

“You'll forgive me if I find you less than trustworthy,” Garak said sardonically. “I have...issues...about people who drug me and tie me to chairs. I can't imagine why.”

 

“Stop talking to him,” the man said. He sounded nervous, too.

 

Wonderful, Garak thought. These two aren't running this show, obviously, so who is?

 

“I don't want him scared,” she retorted. “You'd want somebody being kind to me in a situation like this, wouldn't you?”

 

“He doesn't believe you,” the other snapped. “You're just making things worse. Leave him alone, and get back over here. Don't you remember what they said? He's dangerous.”

 

“He's quite right,” he told the woman casually, letting the expression in his eyes bely his casual tone. He allowed her to see his uncertainty over the situation. “I don't believe you.”

 

She nibbled her lower lip. “I'm sorry,” she said, her hands fluttering at her sides like captive butterflies. “You'll see, though. When it's over, you'll be free, and you'll be fine.”

 

“You could say exactly the same if your intent was to kill me,” he countered. “Isn't that how you people see death? As a form of freedom?”

 

The man stepped closer, frustration in his posture. “Alith!” he said. “I mean it. Get away from him.”

 

“Of course,” Garak continued, ignoring the man and keeping his gaze locked to the woman's, “you could go a long way toward convincing me of your benign intent if you'd allow me to relieve myself. It's quite cold in here, and I seem to have been asleep for some time, if the numbness in my hands and feet is any indication.”

 

“Right,” the man barked a laugh. “We're going to untie you so you can snap our necks and make a run for it. I don't think so.”

 

“Then your intent is to torture me,” he said, still speaking casually and still speaking entirely to Alith. He knew from her look that he had her complete attention. She couldn't look away from him if she wanted to, and more importantly, she didn't want to.

 

“No!” she said vehemently. “We're not like that. Bannen, what if he does have to go?”

 

“Then he can piss himself for all I care,” the vedek spat.

 

“Don't say that!” she snapped, still looking at Garak. “He doesn't mean that,” she said, a pleading tone in her voice. “Things...you don't know what all of this has been like.”

 

The man closed the distance between them and struck her hard across the face. “That's enough!”

 

She cowered away from him, lifting a hand to her cheek, but there was defiance in her look as she straightened. “It has come to this? You'd strike your own flesh and blood?”

 

“You have a big mouth,” he said, but the tailor could hear the strain in his voice. That blow had cost him, too.

 

“I can't help it,” she said, her voice rising. “What am I supposed to do, enjoy this? This isn't who we are! Mother and Father would never approve of our becoming kidnappers for their sakes. This man has done nothing to us, and he's here on Bajor for a noble purpose. I hate this!”

 

“We're committed to this,” he said, sounding much less sure of himself. “We can't just back out now. This is their only chance to get off the planet, to start a better life. You were there. You heard what those men said, the same as I did, and you were just as ready to do this as I was. Don't try to deny it.”

 

“That was before,” she said, casting a quick glance back at Garak. He did his best to look as pathetic as possible without overdoing it. “Look at him! Do you know what he does on the station? He's a tailor, just a tailor, and he's afraid, Roban, afraid of us.”

 

Garak decided he had let that go on long enough. If either of them worked themselves up much more, they could become volatile and completely unpredictable. He cleared his throat again. “I hate to press a point in the midst of your discussion, but I truly do need to go,” he said, allowing urgency to emphasize the last three words. “If you could just untie my feet? One of you could unfasten my pants. What am I going to do with a chair strapped to my back and my hands bound to the chair?” he wheedled.

 

He watched their silent power struggle as the two of them glared at one another. Finally the man relented. He took something from his belt at his back and passed it over to the woman. Garak caught a glimpse of it, a Bajoran phaser. He saw the man shift the setting, but at that distance, he had no idea how it was set. “Keep that on him,” he said sternly. “If he even twitches funny, shoot him.”

 

“They want him unharmed,” she said uncertainly.

 

“That's why I have it set to stun,” he told her. He glared at Garak. “Even on stun, it's going to hurt a lot if you make her have to shoot you.”

 

“I have no interest in being shot,” he said. “Will you please stop talking already? My bladder is about to burst!”

 

Still glaring, the man came closer. He knelt in front of Garak and began working at the tight knots binding his ankles. Garak watched him mildly, his intent completely hooded. He felt nothing but contempt for the idiot's actually kneeling and thereby insuring that he wouldn't be able to react quickly to anything that the Cardassian decided to do to him. Once both of his feet were free, he launched an attack in the blink of an eye, kicking the Bajoran's chin hard enough to snap his head back. He braced his weight on his other foot and stood, whirling quickly. The chair bashed the kneeling man from the side, the legs smashing and showering both of them with wood splinters.

 

The woman screamed, her first shot going wild, her second completing the destruction of the chair. Garak rushed her with his head down and his hands still bound behind his back, but he wasn't quite fast enough. Her third shot caught him almost squarely in the chest. As he went down, on fire with agony, he realized that the man had lied. The phaser wasn't set on stun at all. There was a good chance that he was about to die.

 

Julian

Vedek Daran's Office

Bajor

 

The three gathered around the blueprints each exhibited their frustration in different ways, with Julian running a hand down his face, Major Kira her fingers through her hair, and Vedek Daran tugging at his earring. They had been over each of the renderings several times apiece, feeling as though they must be missing something. Kira said, “This is ridiculous!” and stormed from the room.

 

Angry at her outburst and that she'd just give up, Julian briefly turned away from the table to look out the oval office window. Sunlight streamed inward. The funeral would start in an hour. As he looked out over one of the gardens, he heard someone enter the office. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that the Major had simply gone to fetch Odo. He felt a bit guilty for his uncharitable thoughts and returned to the table.

 

The three humanoids watched the changeling systematically go over each blueprint with a thorough eye. Nodding slightly to himself, he looked up from the table. “Let's go back to the room,” he said. “We have to have missed something.”

 

They gave the vedek the courtesy of leading the way, but Julian wanted to run ahead. He had an indescribable mixture of emotions running through him, not the least of which was guilt. It was his idea to bring Garak there. In his own way, the tailor had tried to warn him. Major Kira had, too. He naively believed that Odo would be enough to protect the Cardassian from harm without factoring his regeneration cycle into the mix. He should have insisted on staying in that room, himself.

 

When they reached the room, he resisted the impulse to lift one of the folded tunics from the bag and hold it close. He did allow himself to touch the bed, the center of the soft mattress still indented from where it had held his lover's weight. Odo paced the small confines of the room like a panther circling in its cage, working himself up in his frustration. “Where is it?” he said to himself. “Where is it? I'm missing something. Where?!”

 

“He couldn't have gone through the tikka hole,” Major Kira said, echoing Odo's frustration.

 

Odo stopped cold and shot an intense look in her direction. “What did you just say?” he asked.

 

“What?” she said, blinking. “Oh, it was idiotic! I said he couldn't have gone through the tikka hole.” She pointed at the small, unevenly gnawed hole at the base of the wall.

 

In an instant, Odo shifted to liquid form and rushed through the hole. Julian watched in fascination. He didn't often have the chance to see the changeling in action, and even though he was worried sick about Garak, it still had the ability to fill him with wonder. The three waited, looking at one another with mingled anticipation and dismay. Suddenly, they heard a rumbling sound, and the entire section of the wall with the hole at the base dragged inward, revealing a smooth, dark opening. Vedek Daran looked completely thunderstruck. “I...” he said, staring into the dark passage beyond, “I had no idea this was here.”

 

Odo stepped from deep shadow. “I'm betting almost no one did except our kidnappers,” he said. “We're going to need some lights. The passage slopes steeply downward about two meters in, and I can't see a thing.”

 

Daran ran from the room, and Julian and Kira crowded the opening. The passage was ingenious in its design. There were so many cracks in the old plaster of the storage room wall that the cracks that outlined the irregularly shaped hidden door were indistinguishable from the others. “I wonder how long this has been here,” Julian said, itching to hurry while knowing it would be pure folly to rush off into pitch blackness.

 

“It's impossible to say,” Kira said. “It could have been created during the occupation, or even before. It's no wonder it didn't show up on any of the blueprints. If it goes down instead of just inward, there could be an entire subterranean level that wouldn't have shown up on the maps. It may have been left out on purpose, in case the vedeks or the Kai needed an escape route.”

 

Odo ran his hands along the inside of the wall door, bending and making a small, satisfied exclamation. “Found you,” he said. As he straightened, he showed them a tiny device in the palm of his hand. “I was wondering how they timed the abduction to my regeneration cycle. We were being watched through the 'tikka hole' with this.”

 

“Let me see that,” Kira said, holding out her hand. She turned it over and held it so that Julian could see it, too. “This isn't Bajoran tech,” she said.

 

“No,” Julian agreed with a sinking feeling. “It looks very Cardassian. May I?” Nodding, she tipped her palm and dropped the tiny device into his. He held it up to the dim artificial light of the storeroom and squinted at it. It was just too dim to make out much detail. “We should be careful,” he said. “It's possible we're being watched through this right now.”

 

“There's a cheerful thought,” Odo grunted.

 

Vedek Daran returned out of breath with an armful of palm lights. “Sorry it took so long,” he panted. “We keep these all the way on the other side of the complex.”

 

“That's OK,” Kira said, taking one and tossing it to Julian, another to Odo, and keeping one for herself. Drawing her phaser, she said, “I'm taking point. Odo, I want you at my back. Julian, you bring up the rear with Daran.”

 

It was on the tip of his tongue to protest this arrangement. He wanted to go first, but she shot him a complex look, and he suddenly understood. She didn't fully trust Daran, and she wanted him to watch the vedek. It made sense. He was too emotionally close to all of this to take the lead. He might make an emotional mistake. Focusing instead on watching another gave him enough to do that he wouldn't be a liability to the rest of them. Yet again he found his respect for the former resistance fighter increase. She knew what she was doing, and she did it well.

 

Drawing his phaser and setting it to heavy stun, he indicated that Daran should go ahead of him. The Bajoran did so willingly, the only one of them unarmed, at least as far as Julian could tell. He wanted to trust the man who had been so helpful to them since this whole mess started. He truly did. Perhaps he had spent enough time around Garak to realize that just because one wanted to trust someone, it wasn't a good enough reason. He watched the man closely from the back, in particular his hands. The group of four descended a steep slope with a low ceiling cut directly into bedrock. Julian wondered how far down it went and dreaded what they might find at the bottom.

 

Garak

Unknown Location

Bajor

 

Try as he might, Garak could barely move. He groaned as he twisted himself and tried to flinch away from Alith when she approached him. Through swimming vision, he saw her fear contorted face. This is it, he thought bitterly, angry at the idea of being taken out by such idiots. Hadn't Enabran always said untrained enemies could be the most dangerous of all because they were so unpredictable? He knew that had he been in this same situation just ten years before, he would've been fast enough to take out the woman, too. His age had betrayed him.

 

“I don't understand,” she said, kneeling beside him and touching his chest.

 

He cried out sharply in agony. He couldn't help it. There were few things in the known universe more painful than a direct phaser blast that somehow didn't quite manage to kill.

 

She jerked her hand back. “I'm sorry!” she said. “I...why would he lie to me?” She lifted the weapon to look at it. “I've never handled one of these before. There's no way it was set to stun! He wanted me to kill you, but why?”

 

He shook his head, that small bit of movement costing him. “Don't...know,” he gasped. If he rolled his eyes upward, he could barely see the prone form of the male vedek on the floor. He wasn't moving. He couldn't see if he was still breathing or not. “Help me,” he said, looking back at her.

 

She nodded and tucked the weapon into her belt at her back. “I will,” she said. “I...it's going to hurt.”

 

He nodded, too. He knew that. She knelt behind him and worked at the knots binding his hands. When the pressure released, he felt very slight relief. He directed his focus inward, calming his erratic breathing, slowing his racing heart. He had never been as good at this as his superiors wanted him to be, one reason for the misguided implantation of the wire, but now he knew his life depended on it. If he couldn't bring his body under control before he sank fully into shock, he would be dead before she managed to drag him ten meters.

 

She first tried to lift him under his arms. “Nnnoooo!” he keened, thrashing involuntarily. She immediately released him and jumped back. Panting heavily, he gasped, “Feet.”

 

He could feel her hands trembling when they cupped under his heels. She had a strong grip for her size, though, and as she began to drag him over the floor, he could tell that she was capable. He fought to hang onto consciousness, fearing that if he slipped into darkness, it would be the last thing he ever did. His pajama top rode up and bunched under his shoulder blades. Rough stone scraped his scales the wrong way. He could feel some of them tearing and coming loose. It was like the difference between being bitten by insects and torn apart by hunting hounds, the searing agony of his chest and torso preventing him from registering the other pain as anything more than pressure and odd discomfort.

 

She dragged him from the small chamber, and he could feel the ground beginning to slope upward. Soon, she was out of breath. He felt her set his heels down. “I'm sorry,” she panted. “Feel like I'm going to pass out.”

 

“Rest...but not long,” he told her, his voice pain constricted and weak.

 

To her credit, she did as he asked. He knew he was heavy. Dragging dead weight was never easy. Dragging dead weight up a slope must've been worse. She didn't waste her breath on talking to him, but she did periodically check to make sure he was still breathing with each brief rest period. He had no idea where they were or how far away they were from help, but as they made steady progress upward, he decided that maybe he would survive this after all. Giving up just wasn't in his nature.

 

Julian

Unknown Passage

Bajor

 

The air grew colder and wetter. The doctor was surprised at how far down the passage seemed to delve with no sign of hitting bottom. He heard Kira's voice ahead, but thanks to the low ceiling he couldn't see her as well as he would've liked. “I've got something,” she said back to them, and then her voice grew sharper. “Stop right there! Put your hands where I can see them. Hands where I can see them now!”

 

“Don't shoot!” came a voice he recognized. Alith! He thought. “I've got a phaser in my belt at my back. I'm not reaching for it. He needs help! He was shot, and please, my brother is back there. I don't know if he's alive or not.”

 

“Doctor,” Odo said, turning, “get up here.”

 

He shoved past the vedek and the Constable, his heart racing. As soon as he saw Garak prone in the passage and how pale he was, he felt himself go cold. “Garak!” He flung himself to his knees and carefully unbuttoned the bunched pajama top. The damage was extensive. Garak's eyes rolled, eventually focusing. He was too weak to say a word, but the look of relief in his eyes almost brought Julian to tears.

 

Julian tried to remotely activate the transporter of the Mekong. Nothing happened. “Damn! The natural radiation levels must be preventing me from making contact. We've got to get up to the surface. He's dying!”

 

Kira emerged from darkness with Alith, the two carrying an unconscious Bajoran between them. “He is, too,” Kira said grimly of the battered man.

 

Odo flowed into the form of a stretcher beneath Garak. “You and the vedek can carry him this way,” he told Julian. Daran nodded and grabbed one end. On Julian's signal they lifted as smoothly as they could. Garak made a sound the likes of which the doctor had never heard from him before. It wrung his heart knowing he was in that much pain.

 

As soon as they emerged from the passage, he set his end of the Odo stretcher down and triggered his comm badge. “Doctor Bashir to the Mekong. Six to beam up, directly to the infirmary. Energize.”

 

The storeroom disappeared, and the small sick bay of the runabout came into view around them. Now in his element, Julian barked orders to every able bodied person he had available to him, getting both Garak and the fallen vedek onto biobeds and working to get them stabilized. He didn't care about the funeral anymore. All he wanted was to make sure he wasn't going to lose either man. He injected Garak with a heavy dosage of analgesic, monitoring to make certain he didn't have a bad reaction.

 

Alith stood huddled off to the side under the watchful eye of Odo. She watched the progress with both men with wide eyed worry. As angry as he was with her, Julian found himself feeling a bit sorry for her, too. She looked like nothing more than a scared kid in way over her head.

 

Julian adjusted the settings on the biobed to Garak's physiological specifications. The Cardassian reached up and grasped his wrist in a stronger grip than he would have thought possible for his condition. “The funeral,” he rasped. Kira glanced over at both of them, startled.

 

“Absolutely not,” Julian said. “You took a direct phaser blast to the chest, set to kill. It's only by some miracle I can't even explain that you're not dead.”

 

“Listen to me,” Garak hissed. “If I'm not there, my injuries are the least of your worries.” He glanced over at Kira as though seeking her support.

 

“Garak,” she said, approaching the bed, “you have to listen to Julian.”

 

Anger simmered in the blue gaze. “Bareil did more in worse shape. Get me mobile. I know you can, and bring me my clothes.”

 

He was about to protest again when Odo cut in unexpectedly. “He's right,” he said. “There's more at stake here than just him. If he wants to do this and believes that he can, you need to let him.”

 

“I agree,” Vedek Daran spoke up. “I'd never willingly risk a man's life to no real end, but he's expected there. If he doesn't show, it could have wide ramifications for the way our people view the treaty and the way the Cardassians view us. We have a decent medical ward in the monastery. We can handle Vedek Bannen now that he's stabilized, and we can detain Vedek Alith.”

 

“The last time I allowed a patient to dictate his treatment, I lost him,” Julian said. He looked hard at Garak, pleading with his gaze, Don't make me do this.

 

Garak's expression was implacable. “This isn't last time,” he said evenly, his voice starting to slur from the pain medication. “As a citizen of the Cardassian Union, I demand that you release me to my own recognizance until such time as I say otherwise. You have no right to treat me against my will.”

 

Kira

Monastery of the Kai

Bajor

 

The four of them, she, Odo, Julian, and Garak, beamed directly into the funeral crowd where they had seats reserved with just minutes to spare. It caused quite the stir, but the assembled crowd quickly settled again at a gesture from the Kai. With Odo to her left, Garak to her right, and Julian to Garak's right, she furtively glanced about, her heart swelling with pride and love as she saw just how many people were in attendance. Although she knew it to be a fanciful thought, it seemed as though half of Bajor had turned out to pay their final respects to the beloved vedek. His funeral arch was a thing of beauty, lovingly crafted by his brothers and sisters of his order. The sky, clear that morning, was now overcast and threatening rain, but it was the warm season. She wasn't worried.

 

She couldn't stop glancing at Garak from the corners of her eyes, his posture stiff, his bearing regal. If one didn't look directly into his eyes and see how unnaturally wide his pupils were, one would never guess that he was medicated to the hilt and holding onto himself by a thread. She could hardly believe that he had fought so hard to be there, and what troubled her about it the most was that she couldn't think of a single selfish reason for it that made any kind of sense at all. Maybe Antos was right to hope, she thought with a small shiver. It wasn't comfortable having to respect a man she knew at gut level she couldn't trust. Hadn't Tekeny Ghemor said as much? What if he was wrong?

 

She frowned slightly and looked straight ahead. The gongs sounded, their sonorous voices so deep and resonant that she felt her body vibrating from them. Garak made a very small, constricted noise, and she glanced at him in concern. His fists were balled tightly over his thighs. Hesitantly, she slipped a hand over the fist closest to her and leaned in to whisper, “Squeeze my hand instead. It helps.”

 

She felt the large hand turning against her palm, the texture as rough as she recalled from other, unwelcome touches from other Cardassians long ago. She thrust those thoughts away and winced slightly as his fingers forced hers together painfully. He quickly shifted his hold, and she relaxed again, as much as she could under the circumstances. She smiled slightly when she saw Julian take his other hand. On impulse, she reached for Odo. It felt right, the four of them from the station joined like this and sharing this moment.

 

Kai Winn addressed the crowd, the system set up masterfully so that it sounded as though she spoke to each of them personally. As much as Kira despised the woman, she appreciated that she at least sounded sincere. The things she said of Bareil were all true. Kira felt her tears begin to flow freely, all the grief she had held bottled inside for two days coming out and finally having its way with her. She was unashamed as she wept for the man she had loved, still loved. Sorrow flowed through her powerfully, cleansing her and completing the cycle of love and loss that almost every sentient being experienced at some point or another in life.

 

She joined her voice with the others in the public death chant. After a few rounds of it, she heard Odo's voice added to hers. She squeezed his hand with gratitude, and then she heard Julian. Garak didn't join, a fact for which she was strangely grateful, but his hold tightened on her hand and she knew on an instinctive level that it was for her pain and not for his. That was too much to process in the moment, something she set aside and would examine at a time when she could figure out how to handle it and where to put it. The road she started down thanks to Amin Marritza and had continued on with Tekeny Ghemor took yet another unexpected turn. She briefly wondered where it would end.

 

A little over halfway through the ceremony, the rain began to fall. It plastered hair and clothing, mingled with the tears of the crowd, and washed everything in its wake clean and fresh. The damp scent rising from the rich soil beneath their feet renewed her spirit. Music swelled at the end of the ceremony, not somber and sorrowful, but rousing and inspiring. She felt so full of love and gratitude for the wonderful man who had all too briefly touched her life that she hardly knew what to do with herself. Sunlight mingled with rain through a break in the clouds, and the Bajoran officer smiled through her tears.

 

Back on the Mekong a few hours later, Odo and Julian piloted the runabout toward Deep Space Nine. Kira sat beside Garak's biobed, the Cardassian deep in the clutches of a drugged sleep. He had collapsed as soon as they beamed away from the feast that followed the funeral. Only then had it hit her exactly how much he had risked to be there and that were he even slightly less tough, he wouldn't have survived the experience.

 

Asleep, he was as much cypher to her as when he was awake. She wondered how it was that someone as open and straightforward as Julian had come to love him with his sly mannerisms, cutting wit, and secretive agendas. He embodied so much of what she loathed about Cardassians, and yet, she couldn't discount his actions of the day as a fluke or a self-serving game. There was nothing self-serving about almost dying just to attend a funeral. How can I like you when I can't trust you? She wondered, reaching to adjust a wrinkle in his blanket. She decided that she didn't have to decide that right in that moment. It was enough and more than she had ever expected of herself that she could even entertain the thought.

 

Julian

The Infirmary

Deep Space Nine

 

It had been a tense three days since they had returned from Bajor, Garak's condition fluctuating dangerously several times before finally truly stabilizing. He wasn't sure that the tailor didn't have permanent nerve damage. It was too soon to tell. The doctor felt wrung out and stretched thin, barely able to sleep, yet knowing that if he didn't, he couldn't effectively treat his lover. It was different when the person on the bed was someone that he cared about deeply. Had there been anyone else aboard the station that he felt he could trust with the complicated treatments, he would have likely allowed it.

 

The small private room incongruously filled with flowers, the first bouquet from Major Kira. When she had brought it for the brief visit he allowed, she had shrugged uncomfortably and set the vase on the bedside table almost as though she thought it would bite her. “The room just looks so empty,” she had said by way of explanation. Dax had followed suit next, then one of Garak's Bajoran customers and his family, even Rom. Julian couldn't wait until Garak was properly awake to see them. He hoped that he was there for the reaction.

 

Late that night, just as he was about to head back to his quarters to snatch a bit of sleep, the comm chimed. When he answered it, he was startled all over again by the sight of Enabran Tain, smiling benevolently and drinking something from fluted stemware. “Hello, Doctor,” the agent said. “I wanted to congratulate you on finding what you misplaced and returning it to its proper location. I trust you understand now why I like to keep it there?”

 

“Yes,” he said, wondering what subtext there might be to the remark. Did Tain actually care for Garak, or was it just that he wanted to be the one in control of whether he lived or died? He believed it was something he might never know.

 

“I'm glad to hear that,” he said. “It's a very healthy attitude. In light of our newfound sense of cooperation, I'd like to ask you a personal favor, Doctor Bashir, a small thing, really.”

 

“What is it?” he asked cautiously.

 

Tain's smile deepened. “Buy Garak an Edosian orchid, and tell him it's from me.”

 

He considered, his eyes narrowed. It couldn't be as straightforward as it sounded. It likely wasn't even a benign gesture. However, Enabran Tain wasn't the sort of man one lightly refused. Worried that he was being drawn into a hurtful game, he reluctantly agreed. “Very well. May I ask why?” he ventured.

 

Tain chuckled. “Old time's sake,” he said and abruptly cut the transmission. The doctor breathed a small sigh of relief and placed the order for the orchid. He figured that Tain had his way of knowing if he didn't and might also have his way of making him pay for breaking the agreement.

 

Garak

The Infirmary

 

His life had reduced to feverish dreams and hallucinations for days, with the tailor never knowing if what he was experiencing was real and in the present moment, a scene from his past haunting the present, or a product of his own vivid imagination. He found himself lying in a hospital bed and staring at a very familiar sight, an Edosian orchid of sublime beauty and perfection, less than two feet away. “Father?” he murmured.

 

A pair of pale blue eyes in an indistinct face hovered closer and vied for his focus. “No,” whoever it was said. “It's me, Odo.”

 

He felt the last traces of confusion drop away in gossamer strands, releasing his mind. “Where did that flower come from?” he asked tightly, now realizing he was surrounded by all sorts of flowers on all sides. What could it possibly mean?

 

Odo stood and reached for its tag. “Enabran Tain,” he said, sounding surprised.

 

Garak's eyes widened. “Get it out of here, Odo,” he said. “Get it out of here right now and incinerate it. Make sure no one smells it. Has anyone smelled it?” he asked, panic rising in his breast.

 

“I don't think so. Calm down, Garak. I'm doing as you asked,” the changeling assured him and disappeared through the doorway.

 

When he returned, Garak asked, “Where is Julian?”

 

“He went to bed about an hour ago,” Odo replied. “I told him I'd watch over you for a while. What has you so worked up?”

 

The Cardassian shook his head. “Make sure he's all right,” he insisted.

 

Frowning, Odo did so, the computer informing them that Julian was asleep in his quarters, his vital signs normal. Pulling his chair closer to the bedside, Odo regarded Garak evenly. “You have no intention of telling me what that was about, do you?” he asked.

 

Garak shook his head, already bone weary just from that bit of excitement. “Tell me what I've missed,” he said, closing his eyes. His head felt as though it weighed at least twenty pounds more than it should, and periodic jolts of pain shot through his chest as though his nerves were misfiring.

 

“I've been instructed not to tire you,” Odo replied, “but if you're anything like I am, wondering will just tire you more. Your abductors were the children of collaborators. The Bajoran authorities haven't been able to find who arranged for them to take you, but their parents were found hiding in a cave formation less than twenty kilometers from the Monastery of the Kai.” He frowned, a note of distaste creeping into his voice. “Kai Winn claimed credit for their very public arrest. The news even overshadowed coverage of Vedek Bareil's funeral.” Garak cracked one eye open, and the two exchanged knowing looks. “There was some scant evidence of Cardassian involvement, a spying device in that tikka hole in our quarters. I...kept that to myself,” Odo confessed, sounding uncomfortable.

 

“Wise of you, Constable,” Garak murmured. He stayed quiet after that for a long time, almost drifting back to sleep but fighting it for just a bit longer. “Odo,” he said, “how long? How long do you think this treaty will last?”

 

“I'm not known for my optimism, Garak,” he answered.

 

Garak snorted softly and winced. Laughing hurt. “I just wonder...if what I did was for nothing in the long run.”

 

“No,” the changeling said with such conviction it surprised the tailor.

 

“No?” he rasped, his voice a ghost of what it should have been.

 

He felt Odo's hand covering his through his thick blanket. “Garak,” he said earnestly, “kindness is never wasted.” Before the Cardassian could think of an appropriate retort, Odo stood and began to circle the room, stopping at each bouquet and reading aloud from the cards. “'Thank you, and get well soon. Nerys.' 'I know you'll make a speedy recovery. Dax.' 'Nala wants to know when she can show off her new dress for you. Konil.' 'I miss our lunches. Rom.' 'I love you more than words can say. Julian...'”

 

At some point during the litany he drifted to sleep. He hardly knew what to do with the emotions rising in him at each new revelation. Some of them he couldn't even name. What he did know, possibly for the first time since his exile, was that he was no longer as alone as he thought himself to be. He slept easier than he had in years.

 

The End

Author Notes: This time I decided to do something a little different. It always bugged me to death that there was no real follow through to Life Support, and it was a recurring complaint I had with DS9, that many of their recurring character deaths had no aftermath and no apparent consequences. This story doesn't follow the plot of any other episode, and it takes place between Life Support and Heart of Stone, my version of an episode that never was but that I think should have been. I also branch away from just Julian's and Garak's points of view, covering some of Kira's and Odo's thoughts and reactions, too. Overall, I'm pleased with the way it turned out, and I hope you enjoy it, too.

Summary: In the wake of the new treaty between Cardassia and Bajor, Bajor mourns the loss of one of its own. Complications arise, as not everyone is happy with the tenuous peace and will stop at nothing to bring it to an end. Will Major Kira, Odo, Doctor Bashir, and Garak be able to prevent catastrophe, or have events been set into motion that are too large to be contained?

Author: Dark Sinestra

Date Written: December, 2009

Category: Slash

Rating: Mild R for implied sexual intimacy, mild adult language, strong adult themes, and violence.

Disclaimer: The plot is mine, but alas the characters and settings are not. I love them anyway.

Word Count: 20,229


Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red sky at morning, sailors take warning. --Old Earth Proverb

 

Julian

Garak's Quarters

 

As Julian rolled over, his hand flopped onto a hard, ridged plane. Emerging from sleep like a swimmer breaking the surface of a warm lake, he smiled to himself. It hadn't been a dream. He was in bed with his Elim, and after their brief conversation before he fell asleep, he was pretty sure this wasn't a one time fluke. He pressed his palm flat over the slowly rising and falling chest of his sleeping companion. Despite being sore in pretty much every part of his body, he didn't believe he had felt better in a very long time. Then he recalled the reason he came to Garak in the first place and felt an intense stab of guilt. How could he lie there, acting like the cat that ate the canary, when Vedek Bareil was dead, and Nerys was hurting? He rubbed his cheek lightly against the man's shoulder, pressed a soft kiss, and rolled to get up.

 

Garak's fingers coiled loosely about his bruised wrist before he could stand. “Did you really think I wouldn't awaken?” he asked.

 

“It took you longer than it usually does,” he said with a shrug and a slight smile. “I thought perhaps you needed your rest.”

 

“They'll want you on Bajor soon,” the Cardassian said, tugging a bit harder. “But I don't think they'll begrudge you a few minutes.”

 

He allowed himself to be pulled back into the bed, stretching lengthwise next to his lover. The slow, sensual kisses, such a contrast from the night before, made him wish that he had all day to stay. If they did nothing more than that, he'd be satisfied. The tailor's fingers kneaded broad circles in his back muscles, somehow avoiding the sore bite that he reminded himself to treat later, just in case. Cardassian bites weren't nearly as prone to going septic as human ones. Even so, he was never one to push his luck with such things. “Why are you being so nice to me?” he asked, the change in attitude so profound it made him suspicious.

 

“Because I was anything but nice last night,” Garak admitted.

 

The doctor shook his head and laid his index finger against the man's firm lips. “Not another word about that, now or ever. I don't care if you were angry or vindictive. I loved everything you did to me, and I wouldn't change it for anything.” He looked him in the eyes until he saw concession. One advantage of Garak's uncanny ability to read him was that it was ridiculously easy to convince him that he was telling the truth when he actually was. A sudden thought struck him. “You should come to Bajor with me.”

 

“And slap every single Bajoran in the face with my presence? I think not,” Garak said.

 

“This is different,” the doctor insisted. “Vedek Bareil gave his life for a treaty of peace between your people and the Bajorans. To hear Kai Winn talk, you'd think he was barely an accessory to the fact when he was that treaty. Legate Turrel was leaving early this morning to return to Cardassia. You're the only representative of your people here, quite possibly the only one who knows the truth of how this treaty came to pass. Your presence there would send a strong message reinforcing what that man gave his life to do.”

 

Garak's look grew thoughtful. “Talk to Major Kira,” he said at last. “Find out how she feels about this. I have no desire to cause her further pain.”

 

Julian couldn't help his surprised reaction. “I thought you couldn't stand her.”

 

“There is still a good deal about me that you don't know or understand,” he said simply. “Ask her, and Julian, if she says no, don't push her. I know how persistent you can be,” he said a bit dryly.

 

After a quick breakfast and a stop in the infirmary to self-treat the bite wound, Julian discovered that Major Kira was in the station's Bajoran temple along with every other Bajoran on the station who could clear their schedule. He didn't know what they were doing, although he didn't believe that it was the actual funeral. He was almost certain that would be held on Bajor itself. He heard repetitive chanting and realized it must be the death chant. Feeling like an intruder, he slipped away to the infirmary but kept an eye on the Promenade for a sudden flux of Bajorans. Eventually, he saw what he was watching for.

 

He stepped into the crowd and walked against the flow, gently touching shoulders as he eased by. Eventually, he spotted her and made his way to her side. He struggled with what to say, for although as a doctor he had lost many patients in his time, dealing with grieving loved ones was never routine or simple. She took the choice out of his hands, offering him a tremulous smile and saying, “Doctor, I know he would have wanted me to thank you for respecting his wishes, and for...” her voice wavered, but she got it under control quickly, “doing the right thing by him in the end. And I want to thank you for standing up for him and being his advocate when I...when I couldn't.”

 

“Nerys,” he said gently, “he never had a stronger advocate than you.”

 

She quickly lifted a hand to swipe at her eyes. “Thank you, Julian,” she said, her voice trembling more. She took several deep breaths, sounding more in control afterward. “Funeral arrangements are being made as we speak. I would appreciate very much if you'd come down to Bajor with me and sit with me. Word has already spread of the efforts you made to save his life. It would mean a lot to my people, and to me.”

 

“Of course,” he said, “I'd be honored.” He felt bad about bringing up Garak, but he genuinely believed that having him there would do more good than harm. “Nerys,” he said, his brows drawing together and upward at the center, “I want to ask you something, and I...I know it's going to be difficult to hear.”

 

She stopped walking and touched him lightly on the back of the hand, drawing him aside into an alcove. “Ask,” she said sincerely, meeting his gaze squarely.

 

He realized then that things had changed profoundly between them. Whereas before, she tolerated him and perhaps liked him in an abstract sort of way, now she viewed him with respect and gratitude. She was treating him as an equal. He forced himself to hold the black gaze and willed her to understand his reasoning. “I...want to invite Garak to the funeral,” he said.

 

“Julian!” she said with such hurt reproach he immediately regretted the decision. However, he knew that if he backed down from it without even offering an explanation, she would believe he asked for purely selfish reasons, which couldn't be further from the truth.

 

“Vedek Bareil believed in this treaty,” he said earnestly, “with everything he had. Legate Turrel is gone, and Winn is already over-inflating her importance in the negotiations. Garak knows what Bareil did, and he respects it. You and I both know that extremist factions on both worlds are just looking for an excuse to undermine the hard work. Having a Cardassian presence at the funeral will underscore his importance and remind people of who really made this happen.”

 

She narrowed her eyes and folded her arms tightly beneath her breasts. “Did Garak put you up to this?” she asked.

 

“No. In fact, when I suggested it to him, he said he'd have no part of it if you didn't agree wholeheartedly, and he instructed me specifically not to push you. Nerys, I'm not pushing, but I wanted you to understand my reasons for asking.”

 

She reacted with surprise to that, her expression growing troubled, and then thoughtful. “It does make sense,” she said quietly. She sighed. “More importantly, it's exactly the sort of thing Antos would have wanted. All right, Julian, he can come, but if we're bringing him, we should probably bring Odo, too.”

 

“Surely you don't believe he'd try something in the runabout or on Bajor?” he asked.

 

Once more, she gave him her reproach, though not as forcefully as when he first broached the subject. “No,” she said impatiently, “but I wouldn't put it past someone on Bajor to try to do something to him.”

 

He hadn't even considered that, frowning. “You're right,” he said. It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest they scrap the whole idea when he realized just how selfish that would be. Garak, himself, must have known the inherent danger in what Julian was proposing. If he was willing to make the gesture, and another man had already given his life to make that gesture possible, who was Julian to balk, particularly while facing the woman who had the difficult task of continuing after loss? “If you want us to ride separately, or sit somewhere else...” he offered.

 

Her jaw tightened to a determined look he had come to know well. “No,” she said. “If we're going to do this, then we're going to do this all the way. He'll sit with us. It's what Antos would've wanted.”

 

He respected her so much in that moment, and he wanted nothing more than to pull her into the tightest hug he could manage to comfort her. She wouldn't want that, though. Her control was already hanging by a thread. Any such gesture on his part could completely unravel it, and he knew she'd be mortified. “If you need anything,” he said, reaching to squeeze her shoulder and leaving his hand there a few moments longer than he normally would, “please, don't hesitate to ask.”

 

She took a deep breath. “There is one thing,” she said. At his nod of encouragement, she continued. “Please, tell Garak that unless I talk to him, I don't want him talking to me. I'm sorry,” she added quickly, “but the last thing I can take right now is some sort of misguided attempt at comforting me from a Cardassian.”

 

“I understand,” he said, and he did. “I think he'll understand, too. Were situations reversed, he would almost certainly feel the same way.”

 

She nodded. “Thank you. I should go. I have a million things to do before we leave.”

 

He watched her hurry away with mixed feelings about the whole idea, but he still felt that it was the right thing to do. He walked to Garak's shop to let him know what had been decided. After that he had several things to tend, himself, such as finalizing his notes and record of the Vedek's passing and making certain that staffing would be adequate in his absence.

 

Garak

USS Mekong, heading Bajor

 

Seated toward the back of the runabout, Garak did his best to be unobtrusive. Julian and Odo piloted, and Major Kira sat midway between them and Garak. The only words he had exchanged with the woman took place right before they boarded. He had simply asked her if she was certain she was all right with having him there. Her reply had been less than encouraging, that what she wanted was secondary in this matter. Although he understood the custom and need to respect the dead, he would never understand the desire to live one's life following supposed wishes or dictates of them. The dead had no wishes. Desire was the purview solely of the living.

 

He had never seen a Bajoran burial of state. He thought of his and his father's—he would always think of Tolan Garak as his father—work in the Tarlak Sector on Cardassia Prime, tending the gardens and monuments to Cardassia's great fallen, and felt a deep ache. He missed Tolan's stoic wisdom and gruff affection. In all his life, perhaps aside from his Julian, he believed that no one, not even Mila, had ever loved him more.

 

He thought of the Bajoran burials he had seen, grubby affairs of half starved people keening ancient words over broken bodies and scrabbling in the dirt, sometimes with their bare hands, to give a proper send off to their deceased. Inadvertently, he cast Bareil and Kira in the roles, and he felt his gut clench, for a very brief moment wondering if he'd be ill. He knew his people, his government. Was it sedition to hope that for once, their intentions were at least somewhat straightforward? You've been gone from home too long, he thought direly. You don't even sound like yourself anymore. A quieter, more insidious voice asked, Is that so bad? He grunted softly. When Kira whipped her head around, he turned it into a convincing cough. She looked away just as quickly.

 

Eventually, Julian and Odo brought the runabout into synchronous orbit of Bajor. Garak, Julian, and Kira gathered their bags, Odo his bucket, and the four transported down to the surface. Several vedeks stepped from the front doors of Bareil's former monastery to greet them. “If you'll please come this way, we have rooms prepared for you,” a fair haired man in the lead said. “I'm sure you'll want to refresh yourselves after your journey.”

 

“Thank you, Daran,” Kira said, stepping to the fore of their small group. “This is Doctor Julian Bashir,” she gestured at Julian. Garak noticed the shift in expressions. They knew very well who Julian was, and they respected him greatly. “Deep Space Nine's Security Chief, Odo,” she continued, and they seemed to know who Odo was, too, “and Garak, the tailor who lives on the station.” Oh, yes, they knew who he was, also, all but two of them showing a subtle negative reaction. He knew Odo would see it, but he wondered about Julian and Kira. He was more curious about the two who didn't react than those who did. He inclined his head in the traditional way of his people and followed along with them.

 

The heavy wooden doors swung shut behind them, closing with a dull thud. Garak felt a small shiver crawl over his scalp. He never liked that sound. It didn't matter that the courtyard was spacious and laid out in a pleasing way. There was a closed, locked door at his back, and tall, thick walls encircled the monastery compound. He focused instead on the sky above him with its lacy tracery of high white clouds. It was too blue by far and more humid than he cared for, but he breathed the fresh air deeply, regretting when they led the group inside.

 

The wide foyer smelled of jumja wax candles and mapa bread. One of the vedeks who hadn't shown a negative reaction to Garak stepped to his side. He tensed slightly. “I'll be taking you to your quarters,” the woman said to him pleasantly.

 

“You'll be taking us to our quarters,” Odo corrected her, stepping up beside Garak.

 

“Of course,” she said, not missing a beat. “Right this way, but if you change your mind, we do have a room set aside for you.”

 

“I won't be changing my mind,” Odo grated.

 

“I'll catch up to you in a bit,” Julian called to him as he and Major Kira were led toward a different corridor.

 

He didn't like to admit how glad he was that Odo was there. The entire situation had him on edge. He had no faith in the inherent goodness of vedeks, or any other sort of priests for that matter. He had even less faith in Bajorans and their intentions when it came to him. He and Odo followed the woman down a narrower, darker passageway. The scent of bread and candles faded, replaced with the dry scent of dust. Looking down, he noticed that a thin layer of it lined the floor, interrupted at the center by the recent passage of feet, not including their own.

 

“Here we are,” she said, opening the arched door and letting the two precede her inside the small room. It had no window and a somewhat stale scent, although someone had tried to remedy that with a plate of freshly picked leaves of some sort. Their astringent fragrance lent an antiseptic touch, not at all pleasant to his refined sense of smell. The bed didn't seem to belong in the room, as it was cleaner than the rickety shelves lining the wall opposite it. Something had been stored on those shelves that was no longer there, recently removed if he was to believe the dust rings illuminated by dim, yellowish artificial light.

 

Hiding the silver while the riff raff comes to visit? He thought sardonically.

 

“We thought you might be more comfortable away from the main areas of foot traffic,” she explained solicitously. “If you'd prefer other quarters, it can be arranged, of course.”

 

“No,” he said, “this is fine. Thank you for your hospitality.” He was careful to keep his internal sarcasm to himself. Sticking someone in what was obviously an old storeroom was anything but hospitable by any standards of which he was aware.

 

She pressed her hands together and gave him a small bow. “You're free to explore the grounds as you like, but please be back within the main building by sun down. We lock the doors then, and we don't open them again until morning. Also, please stay away from the temple. We're asking that everyone except members of our order stay out.”

 

“Understood,” Odo said, setting his bucket down beneath the lowest shelf.

 

“If you need anything, ask for Alith. That's me,” she said, gifting both of them a pretty smile and hurrying away.

 

“I suppose I'm expected to find the facilities while I'm 'exploring',” Garak said dryly.

 

Odo snorted softly. “I wouldn't recommend you do too much wandering about. No matter what she said, I get the feeling they won't appreciate running into you unexpectedly.”

 

“Really?” Garak asked, giving the changeling his best innocent face.

 

“Don't start, Garak,” he said, shaking his head. “My job is going to be difficult enough as it is. I don't like the way they were looking at you.”

 

“Alith and my unknown male admirer?” he asked.

 

Odo favored him with a long, considering look. “Exactly.” With a wet sound, he shifted to golden liquid and snaked about Garak's waist. Seconds later, Garak had a new belt.

 

He sighed, feeling very put upon. Having Odo look out for him was one thing. Having to wear Odo was another matter. “Really, Constable,” he said testily, “if you're going to do that, at least match my shoes.”

 

The belt buckle formed a mouth, “Garak...” it warned.

 

“I'm serious!” he said. “No one will believe it isn't you, otherwise.”

 

“Fine,” the belt said with Odo's voice, rippling and changing to an exact match of the material of his ankle boots.

 

“Also, Constable, if you could try not talking? Having a conversation with my belt is a tad too surreal for my taste at the best of times, and this is not the best of times.”

 

“Hmph,” it said and then stilled, the buckle reshaping to resemble plain metal.

 

Garak picked up the plate of leaves and headed back down the corridor. As he walked, he took a close look at the tracks in the dust. As far as he could tell, they happened when a couple of people were bringing the bed. Here and there, he saw where they may have set it down and a couple of spots where a leg briefly dragged. He bent and swiped a finger over one of the drag marks. No dust. So the bed was moved very recently, probably when they were informed he was coming.

 

He emerged back in the foyer, looking for a place to dump the smelly leaves. He almost bumped into Kira and Julian as they emerged from their wing. “What are you doing with a plate of deka leaves?” Kira asked.

 

“Trying to dispose of them, Major. They were in my room, and I'm afraid I find the scent unbearable.”

 

She briefly tucked her upper lip behind her lower teeth. “I wouldn't move those if I were you,” she said.

 

“Why not?” he asked.

 

“They're usually used to keep vermin out. If they had a plate in your room, you might be subject to night visitors without them,” she replied. “Where is your room, anyway, and for that matter, where's Odo?”

 

The belt squeezed him lightly. He almost jumped, pushing his stomach out forcefully as though to say, Stop that! “My room is down this way,” he showed her the corridor. “As for the Constable, I believe he's off somewhere getting the lay of the land.” He eyed the leaves and considered. “Are you sure they aren't just trying to send me a message, Major?” he asked.

 

She made an impatient noise. “They're not like that here,” she said, snatching the plate out of his hand. A few thin leaves drifted downward. “Come on. I'll show you.”

 

Cutting a glance at Julian, he followed in her wake, regretting his decision more and more by the moment. She shoved open his door and immediately began looking along the base of the walls close to the floor. “Aha,” she said, pointing. “There. You see that?”

 

He dutifully looked and noticed a small, unevenly gnawed hole. He frowned, “Why don't they stop it up with something?”

 

“Because if they do, it will just chew another hole somewhere else,” she said, glancing around the small room. She frowned slightly and set the plate near the hole. “I could have them give you another room. This looks like some old storage room. If they were keeping food in here, the leaves might not be enough to stop the tikkas.”

 

“What happens if these...tikkas...come into my room in the night?” he asked warily.

 

“They won't hurt you, but they might get into your things. If they do, they'll shred your folded clothes and scent mark. It's...hard to get out.”

 

Lovely, he thought. “No, Major, I don't want to be an imposition on the vedeks. They went through the trouble of getting the bed in here. It would be rude of me to turn my nose up at the accommodations.”

 

“It's rude of them to stick you in a storeroom,” Julian murmured. Garak shot him a warning look.

 

She lifted his bag from the bed and stuffed it on the highest shelf. “They'd have a hard time getting to it up there,” she said. “That should keep your things safe for the short amount of time we intend to be here. Did Alith show you where the communal facilities are?” He shook his head. “Come on then. I'll take you there.”

 

“I'm going outside to get some fresh air,” Julian said. “You can come find me later if you like, Garak.”

 

“Thank you, Doctor,” he said politely. He didn't know if Julian had told Major Kira or Odo yet that they were back together, and being private as a rule, he didn't intend to show it overtly, particularly given the circumstances.

 

He followed Major Kira down the wider, better lit corridor all the way to the end. They turned right, and she pushed open a heavy door. “You're aware that there are no differentiated facilities for men and women here, right?” she asked him.

 

He hadn't been aware, but he was glad to be told. “I am now, Major,” he said. “Thank you. Is there anything in particular I should avoid doing so as not to offend?”

 

“Basically just don't stare,” she said with a one shouldered shrug. “And don't be afraid to call anyone out for staring at you. They all know better, even the prylars.”

 

He nodded, taking this all in with more outward calm than he felt. Cardassians were a modest people. They didn't readily reveal their bodies, only to close family and lovers, and only in certain circumstances. He didn't like the thought of being walked in on while cleaning himself or in a more vulnerable state of relieving himself. She didn't have to worry that he'd stare. He didn't think he'd be able to lift his gaze from the floor if anyone else were present. He became aware that she was observing him and was immensely grateful for the fact that except in very specific circumstances, Cardassian skin wasn't given to changing shades.

 

“I know it's not...easy...for you to be here,” she said. “When Julian approached me about it, I wasn't thrilled, but...I appreciate the gesture, and I think at least some of my people will, too. I know you're taking a risk. I just...wanted to tell you that.”

 

“Thank you, Major,” he said, inclining his head deeply. “The vedek was a credit to your people.” They held eye contact for the space of a few breaths, something passing between them, although if asked, he couldn't say what.

 

She let out a breath he hadn't been aware she was holding. “I think I'm going to go meditate for a while in my room,” she said. “Would you have Odo or Julian come get me if I don't show up for supper? Sometimes I fall asleep if I go too deep.”

 

“Of course,” he said. They parted company in the corridor. He caught a glimpse of her room as she slipped through the door. It was sunlit and spacious, filled with flowers, and immaculate. If he had needed any further confirmation that Bareil's people were slighting him, that was it.

 

Sighing to himself, he pushed open the heavy front door and walked out into too bright sunlight. Then again, maybe they were trying to be accommodating in their own way. They surely knew of Cardassian sensitivity to bright light. If all of their guest rooms had windows, he would be subject to intense discomfort either in the morning or the afternoon, depending upon which way his window faced. So early in the game, it was impossible to discern their true intent.

 

His feet found a worn path that didn't easily show in the swept dirt of the courtyard. He followed it instinctively, circling around the side of the main living quarters. Dirt gave way to greenery, and as he explored further, he came into what must have been Bareil's arboretum. He had heard several of his customers speak of it in addition to the Major from time to time.

 

As he stood in the cathedral of green, he thought once again of Tolan. How he would have loved to see this, a magical place of running, brown, dimpled water, bright splashes of color where least expected, and sculptures that blended so well with their surroundings that one could almost believe they grew there naturally. His fingers itched to delve into the deep, black dirt, but he knew better than to do any such thing. He doubted that any of the vedeks would take kindly to a Cardassian imposing his own idea of order in their fallen brother's domain.

 

As he turned slowly in place, taking it all in, he thought he saw a flash of orange through thickly clustered leaves. He strode forward quickly. By the time he arrived, there was nothing there save for one suspiciously bobbing leaf. He tapped his “belt” and felt it ripple in response. Odo had seen.

 

“There you are!” Julian exclaimed so loudly that he jumped.

 

“Doctor!” he said in his most put out tone of voice. “How many times have I told you not to sneak up on me like that?”

 

Julian frowned. “I wasn't sneaking. It's not my fault you can't hear normal footsteps on soft ground. It's truly beautiful, isn't it? A real testament to the kind of man Vedek Bareil was.”

 

“It is,” Garak agreed. “It almost makes me wish that I had the chance to get to know him better.”

 

“Almost?” the doctor asked, stepping to his side.

 

Garak turned to look at a bromeliad perched in the crook of a tree just as Julian tried to slip a hand into his. He pretended that he hadn't seen. “Yes, almost. I don't have much patience for religious twaddle, I'm afraid.”

 

“I'm not religious, myself,” the doctor said. “That doesn't mean we have to treat the Bajoran beliefs with dismissive contempt. After all, there really is a wormhole, and there really are aliens living inside it.”

 

“Exactly,” Garak said, glancing at him by turning his body. It was a rare Cardassian who could turn his head at such a sharp angle. “Aliens living in an artificial construct, not prophets living in a temple. Tell me, Doctor, would you think it rational to worship, oh, I don't know...how about the Q Continuum?”

 

“Of course not,” he scoffed. “But if I didn't know who they were, and I lived somewhere they made frequent appearances without revealing their natures or identities, I might be convinced that they were gods. Is that so hard to accept?”

 

Garak fixed him with a brilliant blue gaze. “Any 'gods' that would allow their people to suffer the way the Bajorans did during the occupation deserve to have a mob at their proverbial doorstep with disruptor cannons and phaser banks, not hoards of worshipers chanting ancient chants and hoping everything will somehow turn out all right,” he said. “We Cardassians did the sensible thing long ago and turned our backs on our goddess as soon as she turned her back on us.”

 

“Your goddess?” Julian asked, intrigued. “I didn't know Cardassians ever had a unified religion.”

 

“Cardassians didn't,” Garak replied mysteriously. He refused to elaborate any further, no matter how Julian hounded him with questions. He tipped an eye toward the sky, judging the light level through the treetops. “I believe it's time for us to go inside,” he said. “We don't want to get locked out here until morning, no matter how lovely it is. I doubt the night insects would be gentle on either of us.”

Julian

USS Defiant Infirmary

Gamma Quadrant

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

Garak

The Promenade

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Julian

The Infirmary

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Garak

The Promenade

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Julian

Ops

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Mmhmm,” she said, nodding vigorously.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Elim”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

Author notes: This story spans the Deep Space 9 episodes The Search, Part I through Second Skin. I made some slight changes to the opening scene of Equilibrium to include our favorite tailor in the continuity, but for the most part, as before, I wrote around the episodes to avoid redundancy. The story works as a standalone, but it's also a continuation of what started in “Slow Burn” and continued in “He's No Romeo”.
Summary: As the threat of the Dominion looms large over the station, Doctor Julian Bashir and tailor and spy Elim Garak must make some tough decisions regarding love, loyalty, and the meaning of duty. Each will be forced to sacrifice, but in the end, is the price too high?
Author: Dark Sinestra
Date Written: December, 2009
Category: Slash
Rating: R for some implied scenes of sex, mild adult language and intense adult themes.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these lovely characters, episode plots, or settings from Star Trek Deep Space 9. All remain the property of Paramount, and I receive nothing but satisfaction in playing God.
Word Count: 12,238

Garak
Julian's Private Quarters
2371

The heap of blankets covering Julian's bed stirred slightly. Garak was now awake, that transitional moment for him always nearly instantaneous. His Cardassian eyes had no trouble penetrating the deep gloom. With minimal shifting, he managed to encourage his still slumbering lover into his embrace, Julian's head in the hollow of shoulder and chest, a bare arm and leg snaking over Garak's torso and thighs. Stroking his fingertips delicately over Julian's shoulder and down the length of his exposed back, he coaxed the man to wakefulness. He still marveled at how the doctor awoke in increments, as though parts of his brain came to awareness more quickly than other parts, one of their many differences that secretly delighted him. He looked down into upturned brown eyes, aware that to Julian's perception, his face was currently little more than shadow.

“Mnh,” the doctor protested, his arm tightening in its hold. “Is it really morning already?”

“I'm afraid so,” Garak said, tipping his chin until the man's wavy hair tickled his lips. “What time are they expecting you to report to the docking ring?” he asked.

“0700 sharp,” came the glum reply. “I wish they'd allow you to come along.”

Garak allowed himself a small smile and pressed it to the top of Julian's head. “I'm just as glad they haven't considered it. They'd simply try to put me to work, and before long I'd feel in over my head and completely useless. What place does a tailor have aboard a warship?”

Julian's snorted laughter tickled his scales and pectoral ridge. “You never tire of that game, do you?” he asked, lifting his head and inadvertently letting cold air under their warm cocoon of blankets.

Making a soft sound of protest, the tailor reached up and sealed the breach. “No more than you,” he said. “I'd love to be able to tell you that I awoke in time for us to have a more proper send off for you, but I'm afraid I didn't. If you want to be on time, you're going to have to hurry.”

“Well, then,” the doctor said, bending to nibble along the ridge conveniently in reach, “you will simply have to use some of the down time you'll have while I'm away concocting a plan to make it up to me.”

“After last night, I'm surprised you can say that to me with a straight face,” he replied drolly.

“After last night, I'll be surprised if I can do anything straight for some time,” Julian said smartly. “Nonetheless, I expect you won't disappoint.” He leaned up and kissed Garak soundly then slid from the bed, disturbing the blankets as little as possible.

Garak appreciated the consideration, even more when Julian called the lights up at just fifteen percent. It was still bright to his dark adjusted eyes, but at least it didn't stab into his skull like the tip of a dirk. He watched with unabashed enjoyment while the well built, slender man moved naked about the room, gathering all of his fallen clothing and passing it to him under the blankets. “You really expect me to dress without showering?” he asked.

Julian's lips pursed with amusement. “You're such a bundle of contradictions. You clearly have no issue with getting messy, and you don't insist on jumping right into the shower after even our most strenuous exertions, but you won't put your clothes on without a shower?”

Reluctantly, Garak sat up to face the chill of the room. “If you spent as much time making your clothing as I've spent on mine, it would make perfect sense to you, Doctor,” he said primly. “Besides, I was thinking we could shower together.”

“Since you put it that way...”

They spent the rest of their brief time left together performing what Garak privately thought of as the dance of polite lies, with Julian assuring him that he had no reason to worry for his safety and Garak in turn giving assurances that worry was the farthest thing from his mind. He had a backlog of work to keep him busy, and he knew that they wouldn't be gone overly long. He had every confidence that they would succeed in whatever it was they were endeavoring to do. Julian, of course, regretted that he couldn't just come out and tell Garak what that was, but it was a matter of Starfleet security. Surely he understood. Of course he did, and he'd never put Julian in such an awkward position as to ask!

He had learned over time that the best way to handle any sort of leave taking with the younger human was to keep it simple and light, the proverbial difference between the cut of a scalpel and that of a saw. As soon as he left his lover's quarters, he dropped all pretense of levity. The truth was that the growing threat of invasion had him deeply concerned, and much of that concern centered around his own safety. The others, if necessary, could flee Deep Space Nine and be reasonably assured that at least for some time, they would be safe again. Garak had no such assurances. If he went anywhere but exactly where he was supposed to be, an entire fleet of Federation warships wouldn't prevent the lone assassin in the dark that he knew would find him.

The Promenade was more deserted than he had seen it since the end of the occupation. While he did have a backlog of some work, he wondered if the customers would even be around to pick up their finished products when all was said and done. He couldn't blame any of them, not the Bajorans retreating back to Bajor, nor the other aliens who were booking passage away on any available transports that they could. He would have already done the same if the option were available to him with the promise to write Julian when he was settled. He was not one for heroics and last stands. While they might make entertaining reading for some whose lives lacked sufficient stimulation and excitement, for him heroics was just a synonym for stupidity, and last stands were for those who lacked the wit to escape a situation before they found their backs to the wall.

He worked on his backlog for most of the day. Only when he was sure that the Defiant had departed the station for the Gamma Quadrant with most of the senior Starfleet staff and some of the Bajoran staff aboard did he risk sending a coded transmission to his clandestine contact on Cardassia. He never received anything more than an acknowledgment of his transmissions for his trouble, and sometimes he didn't even receive that. Still, it made him feel useful in a small way to know that despite his exile, he did his part in service to the state. Who better to know the developing situation with the mysterious Dominion than someone close to the front lines?

If his dear Julian knew just how much he gleaned from their seemingly innocent conversations, he would probably never speak to Garak again out of fear of revealing more. Garak didn't have to ask questions or hear anything specific to read between the lines. He sighed softly, reflecting that in his life he had experienced few things worse than the knowledge that he was a well made, finely honed tool crafted for a purpose he was now denied. Tain and the others were being short sighted not using a resource they had cultivated so carefully and for so long, and Cardassia could well suffer for it. You can keep me from my contacts and resources, but you'll never keep me from doing what I know I do best, he thought.

Feeling bolstered after sending his report on the status of Starfleet's intentions with the Dominion, he closed up shop for the day and decided to take a brief detour into Quark's. To his understanding, Quark was included on the Defiant's journey because of Ferengi business dealings. In a small way, it rankled the professional in him. Of course, he had worked hard to cultivate the image that he was nothing more than a tailor. He knew they didn't believe him, but he also knew they had no idea just how useful he could be and that they saw any potential benefit in trying to find out far outweighed by the detriment of his loyalties.

It took him a second or two to realize what felt out of place in the bar. Morn was nowhere to be seen. For that matter, aside from a smattering of tense looking employees, neither was anyone else. He strolled to the bar and took a seat opposite a very disconsolate looking Rom. “Hi, Garak,” Rom said. “Wh-what can I get for you?”

“I'll have a glass of kanar,” he said. “I see my business isn't the only one with a dearth of customers today.”

“Today, tomorrow, probably forever,” the Ferengi said glumly. He set Garak's glass before him and glanced around the empty space behind him. “It's not fair.”

Garak pulled his glass closer and lifted it for a sip. “Fair?” he asked.

Rom nodded, his mouth setting in a bitter line. “All this time I've waited and worked in my brother's bar, hoping that some day it would be mine. Now, even if it happens, it'll just be a place run over by the Dominion!”

“Maybe it's time to come up with a new plan,” Garak said mildly. He genuinely liked Rom. The Ferengi had always been kind to him and deserved better than Quark for a brother and ambitions so curtailed by a lack of confidence.

“Like what?” he asked skeptically.

Garak peered at him a moment before answering, “I have every confidence that you'll figure it out,” and downing the rest of his kanar in a swallow. He set payment to the bar top.

“Y-you do?” Rom asked, eying him mistrustfully, as though he expected a hidden barb.

“I do,” he said, nodding and not elaborating. No amount of unsolicited advice was going to drag the man out of his self-imposed holding pattern. It was quite possible that this Dominion threat could be one of the best things that ever happened to Rom, he believed. As he had personally experienced, there was nothing like the prospect of losing one's entire accustomed way of life to inspire creative thinking.

Rom smiled hesitantly. “Thank you, Garak,” he said.

He inclined his head graciously and returned the smile. “I should be on my way. If things get too quiet tomorrow, come by the shop for a bit. My replicator is on its last legs, but I believe it can manage some tea.”

“I'll do that,” Rom said eagerly. “Maybe I can do something about the replicator, too.”

“That would be very kind of you,” he replied, having his doubts. “Good evening.”

Rom came by early the next day, bearing a small toolkit and asking Garak to direct him to the replicator. He guided him into his stock room and showed him the ailing device. “I've had a request in for some time now for someone to come have a look at it,” he said, “but I'm not high on the priority list, I'm afraid.” Quite the opposite he knew, if Chief O'Brien still felt the same level of hostility toward him as he had displayed in their last encounter.

“We have the same problem at the bar,” Rom told him, kneeling down and removing the panel covering all of the device's inner workings. “My brother says it's because Odo doesn't like him. I think it's Starfleet. They're just like that, thinking they're better than everybody else when they're just the same. Worse, even, because they try to pretend they're not.” He disconnected the power source and got to work.

As Garak watched the work in progress, he found himself startled by two things, the first being that Rom actually seemed to know what he was doing with that toolkit of his and the second that while he was working, he lost his tendency to stammer and hesitate. Not only that, his observation about Starfleet was pointedly accurate. “I try to tell the doctor the same thing all the time,” he said.

“He's nicer than most of them,” Rom said, digging in further and twisting his head to have a look at some of the wiring, “but he's still one of them.”

“That he is,” the Cardassian agreed. “Tell me, does Quark know you're this talented with machinery?”

“No,” the Ferengi replied. “He doesn't have any idea how often things break down in the bar. I just fix them when he's not there.”

“Why don't you tell him?” Garak asked, intrigued at this glimpse into a family dynamic he had never understood very well.

“Because then he'd expect it of me,” he answered, pulling out some wires with degraded insulation. “You're lucky I found these,” he said, reaching up to hand them to Garak. “With all this cloth back here, you could've had a bad fire.”

Garak dutifully took the wiring and gave it his attention. “Yes, it is fortunate you found that,” he agreed, but he was determined not to be deterred from his original line of questioning. With everyone of interest to him on the other side of the wormhole, he craved distraction. “Would it be so bad if he had higher expectations of you?” he asked.

Rom shot him an incredulous look. “He already expects too much, and there's barely enough time in the day to do what he asks. If he expected me to fix everything, too, I'd never have any time to myself.”

“But you fix everything anyway,” he pointed out.

“On my schedule, not Quark's.” He stood then and brushed at his hands. “You've got some burnt out components in there. I have a collection of spare parts at the bar. I'm going to go see if I have what you need. I'll be right back.”

Garak watched him hurry away with that odd, crabbed gait of his, bemused. There was much more to the Ferengi than met the eye. It was a shame he was wasting himself in that bar. It was also a shame he had never bothered before now to talk in depth to the man. He decided that he would carve out a little more time in his schedule for such socializing. Who knew what sorts of things he could learn from unguarded moments?

Rom returned with a tray loaded with various parts. Garak raised an eye ridge. “That much needs replacing?” he asked.

Rom shook his head. “No, but I don't know how many of these are in working order. I scavenge stuff the engineers throw out before it gets taken off for incineration. They're really wasteful sometimes. Just because one component doesn't work, they chuck it out when they could rebuild it instead.” He knelt back in place and began testing the parts.

Garak found himself smiling slightly. He could respect the ethic of frugality. How often had he made it out of a situation simply because he wasn't quick to part with his resources? He knew enough about what Rom was doing to realize that not only was he competent, he was good, really good. He worked with a surety of purpose that no mere tinkerer would possess. After less time than it would have taken Garak working on the same problem with limited resources, Rom had the replicator turning out a decent spice pudding in addition to red leaf tea. “Is that better than it was?” he asked Garak.

“Far better,” Garak replied. “I feel as though I should pay you for this.”

“I did it as a favor,” the Ferengi said, looking somewhat put out at the offer.

Truly, he was full of surprises. Garak inclined his head respectfully. “Then you have my thanks. At least stay for tea and pudding.” Rom beamed and nodded, and the two of them managed to make a pleasant time of it together.

Isolation and idleness had always been challenges for the tailor. He spent much of his time writing in his journal when he wasn't working and staring out his star port when he wasn't writing. Being the one left behind was always more difficult than being the one in the thick of things, he thought. He had new appreciation for all of the patient Cardassian wives whose husbands were married more to their careers than their spouses and thought it a shame that most of those career military men had such little respect or even understanding of just what price their families paid. Were the results worth it? He found himself wondering. Come back safely to me, became a familiar refrain for his solitude.

Julian
USS Defiant
Gamma Quadrant, heading Alpha Quadrant

After the third hail to his cramped quarters, Julian relented. “Enter,” he said.

Dax stepped through the door and waited for it to slide shut behind her. She graced him with an understanding look. “I thought you might want to talk,” she offered.

He nodded, and she took the seat opposite him. It took him some time to formulate what was running through his mind into coherence. The knowledge that his experience of watching Garak shot to death by a Jem'Hadar right before his eyes was just a simulation wasn't much comfort at all. He feared that he would discover that something terrible had happened for real when they got back. If it hadn't, there were still some extremely disturbing implications to the scenario that filled him with nothing less than cold dread. “I know I didn't act like it,” he said, “but the moment Garak went down, I was lost.” He couldn't meet her gaze.

“I'm sure you were,” she said, leaning forward and covering his hand with hers. “But you stayed focused, and you did what you had to do. He'd expect nothing less of you.”

“I know,” he said, nodding and glad of the touch. He was shaken to his core. “The thing that really disturbs me is that most of us in that scenario were hooked in somehow. That Vorta had us linked so that our respective actions were what we'd really do in that situation.” He lifted his gaze to hers and held it. “The real Garak wasn't there, and yet I couldn't tell the difference.”

“You can't blame yourself for that,” she said. “Things were so tense...”

“No, Jadzia, you don't understand,” he interrupted her. “That's just it. There was no way for me to tell, which means that someone has been watching Garak very closely long enough to peg his mannerisms to a 't'. Not just to have his mannerisms down, but to extrapolate his most likely course of action. The Dominion is not only aware of Garak, it clearly views him as a threat.”

She inhaled slowly and sat back, now looking as concerned as he felt. “I see your point,” she said. “Garak isn't the only one they were able to simulate well enough to fool us. Benjamin found the Admiral quite believable, even if he was frustrated with her decisions. And I was completely taken in by their version of Eddington.”

“I'm frustrated. According to Starfleet protocol, I can't tell Garak anything about what we experienced here. I can't warn him of the danger he's in,” he said, feeling the unusual urge to hit something.

Dax smiled slightly. “I truly don't think you have to worry about that as much as you think you do. Garak is one of the wariest, most mistrustful people I've ever seen, not just in this lifetime, but in all my lifetimes. He may not be specifically aware that he's in the Dominion's sights, but you can believe he's not going to be taken by surprise. I think the rest of us are in worse danger than he is.”

“You're so comforting,” he said dryly.

“I have my moments,” she said with an impish quirk of her lips. “You really love him, don't you?”

“Beyond reason,” he said with a sigh.

“Why?” she asked, tipping her head. He started to bristle, but she held up her hands. “I'm not asking that to slight him. I just want to understand.”

“Sorry for being defensive,” he murmured, “but I hear enough versions of 'he's evil and can't be trusted' from Miles and even Major Kira. I know he can't be trusted in the way that most of us consider decent or right, but if you know him well enough, you can have a pretty good idea of what he will and won't do. He wasn't raised with Starfleet ethics, and it's not fair to expect him to have them.”

“I don't disagree with you,” she said reasonably. “I feel the same way about the Klingons, but that's not what I asked you.”

“Why does anyone fall in love, Dax? What is it that connects heart to heart? If I had the answer to that, I could retire from Starfleet a wealthy and famous man and solve a lot of problems before they ever even started. He...tries my patience to within a centimeter of my self-control. Half the time, no, over half the time he argues just for the sake of arguing, has exacting expectations, can be insufferably arrogant and condescending, moody, and downright curmudgeonly. He's cynical, sarcastic, and the most stubborn man I've ever met in my life.”

Dax laughed and fanned herself. “Be still my heart. With a list like that, who could possibly resist him?”

He snorted a soft laugh. “I know. To hear me talk, he's awful, but it's what's beneath all of that that takes my breath away. Just when I think he won't understand something that's really important to me, he grasps it better than people who have known me far longer. While he chides me for not being careful enough and criticizes me for being too trusting, when I do get hurt, his patience and compassion are bottomless. He has seen me at my worst and never flinched away, and he has cared for me as conscientiously as I would a fragile patient. He...doesn't let me get away with not expecting the most from myself, and he keeps my ego in check better than anyone I've ever known. What's not to love about that?”

Her smile softened. “Thank you, Julian,” she said.

“For what?” he asked, confused.

“Helping me to understand. Garak isn't the only one who worries about you, you know. I think after this conversation, at least where you and he are concerned, I'll worry a lot less. Do you want me to stay a while?”

“No, that's all right,” he said, standing and offering her a hand up. “If you really want to stop worrying, get to know him. I think you might be pleasantly surprised.”

She walked with him the short distance to the door and paused. “We'll see,” she said. “He makes me uncomfortable. I do believe he cares for you in his own way. He doesn't have that same sentiment when it comes to the rest of us.”

“He never will if you don't give him a chance,” he countered.

She smiled faintly and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “I will consider it,” she said, “but I can't make any promises. Good night, Julian. Try to get some sleep.”

He tried to follow her advice to no avail. As the Defiant continued on its homeward course for the wormhole and Deep Space Nine, he realized he wouldn't truly be able to relax until he saw Garak with his own two eyes, assuming he wasn't still involved in some sort of mind game simulation. And I accuse Garak of paranoia, he thought ironically.

Garak
Garak's Clothiers

Garak was putting the finishing touches on a new rack display when he heard rushed footsteps closing behind him. Whirling to face whoever it was, he barely had time to say, “Ah, my dear, you're back,” before being clenched in an embrace that would've been uncomfortable to anyone with less solid bone structure. He returned the embrace with a bit more care, somewhat taken aback at how fervent the doctor was in his affections. “It has hardly been that long,” he said, amused and trying to pull back. Julian wouldn't allow it. His amusement faded. “Tell me,” he said. “What is it?”

“I can't tell you,” the man replied, his voice muffled against Garak's shoulder. “I just...I need you. Right now.”

“But the shop,” Garak protested.

“Has no customers,” Julian said gruffly.

Baffled, Garak nonetheless obliged. “Computer, close and lock doors,” he said. “At least let me take you to the back. I don't think the few people on the Promenade would appreciate a floor show.”

The doctor released him only to seize his hand and tug him toward the stock room. He was too confused by the uncharacteristic behavior to feel aroused. More than anything, he was worried. He followed in his wake and just for good measure closed the door to the stock room, too. “I'd be much more cooperative if I knew what this was about,” he said.

“It's about this,” Julian replied, kissing him crushingly. “And this,” he murmured against Garak's mouth, reaching down between them to stroke the tailor through his trousers. Garak realized he'd get no real answers as long as his lover was in the throes of whatever strong drive pushed him to such reckless abandon. His body responded well before his mind decided to back its decision wholeheartedly. The doctor took him quickly and roughly in a storm of passion that ended for both of them in record time.

As Garak lay panting on the floor and staring up at the artificial light strip, again he wondered what that had been about. “You do realize you're going to have to tell me something,” he said a bit crossly, turning his head to look at the man sprawled partially naked at his side.

“I don't ever want to lose you,” the doctor replied cryptically and laced his fingers in his to squeeze.

He didn't know what to say to that, but it filled him with trepidation. Whatever had happened on that mission to the Gamma Quadrant, it couldn't have been good. “How very morbid of you,” he said, sitting up and reaching for his undershirt and tunic, both crumpled together on the floor nearby. It was too cold for him to want to lie about for long in a state of partial undress. As much as he hated putting clean clothing over a soiled body, he hated the thought of traipsing half naked back to his quarters far worse.

“I wish I could tell you,” he said earnestly, also sitting up and starting to comport his uniform.

Garak watched his face as he spoke. He saw the minute pinching together of the brows, the drawing in of the lower lip. Whatever had happened pained the doctor much more than his regret at not being able to share it. He couldn't tell how it had anything to do with him, but perhaps he'd understand more in time. “We've been through that before,” he said gently. “You know I don't expect you to compromise your job on my behalf. Surely you can understand, however, how barging into the shop and ravaging me to within an inch of my life during work hours is troubling?”

“Ingrate,” the doctor said, his lips curving into a sly smile that Garak could tell was mostly feigned.

“No, my dear,” he said, leaning to kiss him lightly before climbing to his feet. “Never that. Everyone else made it back in one piece?” he asked carefully.

“Yes,” he answered and stood up beside Garak. “We're all unharmed. I appreciate that you asked.”

“I know they're important to you,” he said. “In that context, how could I not care? As much as I missed you, I really don't want to set a precedent of closing the shop at odd hours of the day. With business as sparse as it is, I need all the hours here I can manage. Can we continue this conversation when I get off work?”

For some reason, that seemed to amuse the doctor. He gave Garak a final tight squeeze, a very naughty grope, and kissed him with such tender emotion that it stole his breath all over again. “Yes,” he said. “We certainly can. For what it's worth, I missed you, too.”

“It's worth quite a bit,” Garak assured him, opening the stock room door and allowing him to precede him out.

Over the next few days, he believed that he was able to piece together at least part of the puzzle. A conversation with Quark helped a little bit. He was disappointed to discover that the Ferengi had not been present with the rest of them for some of the trip. It didn't stop the bar owner from having his own theories. In particular, what he said of Odo's behavior on the return trip was of keen interest to Garak. It felt strange to be taken deeper into Quark's confidences and to share at least a bit of information with him in return. Common enemies make strange bedfellows, he thought.

Strangest of all so far was Julian's sudden announcement one evening that he and Garak had been invited to dinner by Commander Sisko. Garak took one look at his excited expression and knew that no amount of squirming and begging off would spare him from attending. Resigned, he told the doctor to accept for them and braced himself for an evening of supreme discomfort. Hearing who else would be there just made it worse.

He took off a bit early the afternoon of the engagement to give himself plenty of time to prepare, physically and mentally. It was important to him to look his best, as a good suit went a long way toward making him feel more confident. He also drank a single glass of kanar to take the edge off. It truly didn't matter to him what any of the people attending thought of him. It was what his presence could do to Julian that worried him. He believed that their relationship was a detriment to his long term career prospects by virtue of his very existence and race. The least he could do was to make certain that he said and did nothing to give the Commander or the others reason to believe that he was just using the doctor and that the doctor was too naïve to see it.

Despite expecting the door chime, it still startled him when it sounded. “Enter,” he said. He took one look at what his beautiful doctor was wearing and groaned. “You're actually wearing that?” he complained.

“You're such a flatterer,” Julian said dryly. “I feel so much better now.”

Garak sighed and shook his head. “Honestly, I had hoped that by now at least some of my taste would have rubbed off on you. How many times have I said this cut is all wrong for you? Don't even get me started on the hideous color combination.”

Seemingly exasperated and amused in equal measure, the doctor said, “Just hand me my spare uniform from the closet and give me five minutes to change.”

He tsked primly. “That's an improvement, I suppose, but only just. Hurry up and don't muss your hair, or we'll be late.”

Julian

For all of Garak's fussing, they were nowhere close to late, quite the opposite. They were the first to arrive. Jake greeted them at the door. “Hey, Doctor Bashir...Mr. Garak,” he said. “Come on in. Dad and I are still cooking.”

“Hello, Jake,” Julian said cheerfully. Garak inclined his head in that way he had come to associate with Cardassians in general, and the two of them stepped into the quarters. Delicious smells filled the air, and he was very surprised to see Commander Sisko actually cooking on hot plates.

“Welcome, Doctor, Mister Garak,” Sisko said with a smile. “Make yourselves comfortable. There's wine on the sideboard and a few hors d'oeuvres scattered about.”

“Thank you, Commander,” Julian said, returning the smile and moving to pour himself and Garak a glass of white wine. “Everything already smells amazing.”

“Indeed,” Garak added. “It was gracious of you to invite us.”

“It's my pleasure,” the man replied. Jake rejoined him, and the two continued the meal preparation.

Garak took a seat, looking rather formal and stiff while he waited for Julian. The doctor brought him his glass and sat beside him. “So,” he said just a little too brightly, “when you invited us, I didn't realize you meant that you would actually be cooking.”

“Dad loves to cook,” Jake said. “He's really good at it, too.”

“Thank you, son,” Sisko said, beaming. “It's a weakness of mine, a real home cooked meal.” He turned his attention to Garak. “Tell me, Mister Garak, have you ever had Cajun food?”

“I haven't,” the Cardassian answered between sips of wine. “Judging from the smell, I believe I should be sorry to have to say that. I'm looking forward to trying it. Now, is that a reference to some sort of regional cuisine, or a specific style of cooking?”

The doctor felt a small thrill. He hadn't known what to expect from Garak in this sort of situation, as he had never had the chance to see him in a purely social context with his co-workers. So far he seemed to be maybe not exactly enjoying himself but on his best behavior. He knew that he was scoring at least a few points with the Commander by showing an interest in something that obviously interested him.

“A little bit of both, actually,” Sisko answered. He quickly warmed to the subject, all too happily indulging Garak's curiosity. Julian was content to listen. He didn't want to interrupt the moment, so he sipped his wine and tried some of the cheese ball on the low table in front of him on a cracker.

The door chimed, and Jake moved to answer it. “Hi, Major Kira,” he said. “Come on in.”

The doctor stiffened slightly, glancing out of the corners of his eyes at Garak. The Bajoran woman followed Jake inside and visibly paused when she spotted the tailor seated beside the doctor. Perhaps he should have given her advance warning that Garak would be there, but he had been afraid that if he did, she might not come at all. The look she shot Julian could have bored a hole in the station hull. “I'm glad to see I'm not late,” she managed, bee lining for the wine.

“Not at all, Major,” Sisko said. “Will Odo still be joining us?”

“The last I spoke to him he said he intended to,” she replied. She turned with a full glass and eyed each seat, settling on the one furthest away from the Cardassian. She perched on the edge. “He probably got tied up in Security at the last minute.”

“I was under the impression that things were rather quiet of late,” Garak said mildly.

She glanced sharply at him, again cut a look at Julian, and said, “I really wouldn't know. Things come up.”

“That they do,” Julian cut in. “Just this morning, I wound up with three cases of Bolian rhino virus in the infirmary, even though the last Bolian left the station several days ago. Incubation periods, you know.”

“Fascinating,” Garak said in a way that made him want to elbow him. Had they not been in polite company, he would've. “The Commander was just explaining Cajun cuisine to me, Major,” he said pleasantly. “It has quite the intriguing history, a people forced to leave their ancestral home, settling anew, and being forced to move again. They trek across an entire continent, settle in a region most consider uninhabitable due to all manner of dangerous wildlife, and turn it into food. I do hope I got that right?” he asked, glancing at Sisko.

The Commander looked highly amused. “You did, Mister Garak; I believe in the most succinct way I have ever heard you speak.”

“Brevity is the soul of wit,” he quipped.

“That would explain a lot,” Kira said a bit flatly.

“As you see,” the tailor gestured to the Major with a broad smile.

“What is this wine?” Julian cut in desperately. “It's really very good.” At the rate those two were going, he could tell he'd be drinking a lot of it that night.

“Oh, it's just a nice table brand of Pinot Grigio,” Sisko answered. “I'll make sure you leave with a label if you really like it. I order it on a fairly regular basis. I can always include an order for you with mine.”

“I'd like that,” Julian said. He didn't like the way Garak and Kira were eying one another at all, but he wasn't sure what he could do about it without making things worse. Kira's attitude was to be expected, he supposed. It was Garak's that worried him. He knew that look. It meant trouble, mischief, and provocation. It meant that if Garak wasn't careful, he might get himself slapped. “Here,” he said, standing and plucking Garak's mostly empty glass from his hand. “Let me get you a refill.” He used the moment he had his back to the Major to glare daggers at his lover and mouth, Behave!

“Thank you, my dear,” Garak said. The doctor couldn't tell if he intended to follow his order or not. Nothing had changed in his demeanor. “May I pass you anything, Major?” he asked, waiting until Julian was too far away to intervene. “You're seated quite the distance from the food.”

“No,” she said sharply, adding with some difficulty, “thank you. I'm fine.”

“Don't eat too much,” Jake said gamely. “You'll want to save room for the main course.”

“I wouldn't dream of spoiling my appetite,” Garak assured him.

Kira's mood improved visibly with the arrival of Odo. The changeling took an interest in the food preparation, heading over to watch Sisko and Jake up close. With Kira's attention now on the trio, Julian leaned close to Garak and murmured, “I don't know if it's that you can't help yourself or you won't, but please at least try not to provoke her and make things awkward.”

“My dear Doctor, I have no idea what you're talking about,” he said innocently, sipping his wine.

They turned their attention toward Odo, who was getting an impromptu lesson in souffle making. Everything seemed as though it would work out well after all, until Julian discovered that part of the meal included sauteed beets. “Beets?” he asked without enthusiasm. He should have known better, for the conversation went exactly as it did any time one expressed a dislike for a particular type of food. He was quickly informed that he simply hadn't had them prepared properly.

Dax's arrival gave Garak an opening. He murmured close to the doctor's ear, “Don't be difficult about the food. It's quite rude!”

He couldn't tell if he was serious or just taking the opportunity to goad him. Knowing Garak, the chance of either was around fifty/fifty. The pre-dinner banter continued until Dax discovered Jake's keyboard on the table and began playing around with it. At first, it didn't sound like much, but suddenly, she played a very lyrical refrain.

“That was lovely,” Julian said, surprised since she had expressed her belief that she had a complete lack of musical ability.

“Quiet!” she snapped, trying again unsuccessfully.

Taken aback, he blinked in surprise and stilled. No one said anything for a few uncomfortable moments. When she couldn't reproduce the piece again, she finally gave up, but he could tell she didn't want to. Jake broke the awkwardness with the welcome announcement that dinner was ready.

The food was every bit as delicious as the smells had promised. He did not like the beets, but he ate a few anyway, as much to satisfy Garak as Commander Sisko. He didn't have the heart to tell the man that to him, they just tasted like dirt, sweet dirt, but still dirt. Dax seemed a bit subdued and preoccupied for the rest of dinner, not at all like her. He determined that he would ask her later if something was wrong or if he had offended her in some way. He hoped that her attitude wasn't because of Garak's presence there. It didn't seem too likely. She was as friendly to the tailor as she was to any of them that night.

He was grateful that whatever mercurial mood had seized his lover early in the evening eased with the enjoyment of the meal. Garak made no further effort to provoke Major Kira in any way, and he contributed pleasantly to the dinner conversation without dominating it or becoming overbearing. It was as close to a normal social outing as Julian could have hoped for. They chose to leave at the same time as Dax, earlier than Major Kira and Odo so that they wouldn't be those people, the sort who were first arrivals and the last to depart and always so taxing to a host.

As they strolled back toward Julian's quarters, the closer of the two, they walked arm in arm. “I want to thank you,” Julian said, “for letting me have a pleasant evening out with you and coming along. I know you didn't want to.”

“I'm glad that I did,” Garak replied lightly. “It was most informative.”

Julian arched a brow. “Do you really expect me to believe you found the history of the Acadians and Cajun cuisine that intriguing?”

Garak sighed. “Every time I think you're making real progress, you say something like that and dash my hopes to pieces. It's very cruel of you, you know.”

He rolled his eyes and stopped before his door to key his entry code. Garak gestured for him to precede him inside. He did so, turning toward Garak once the door closed. “I can't imagine what else you may have learned. No one said anything earth shatteringly interesting, and aside from Dax's somewhat odd behavior, nothing of any real note happened.”

The Cardassian's lips quirked into the smile that Julian found his most maddening. It managed to imply that Garak knew something he didn't, felt that he ought to know it, and found it amusing and disappointing that he didn't all at once; not to mention it was mocking. He knew from over three years of association that nothing he said or did would pry the information out of the man once he got that smile. “Be that way, then,” he said in exasperation, heading to his bedroom to change out of his uniform.

He returned to find Garak gazing out the star port. For a few minutes, he stood quietly in his bedroom doorway and simply watched. At times the man held such profound stillness, usually in moments when he wasn't aware anyone was looking. It was hard to catch him like that. When Julian did, he felt as though he bore witness to a gulf of sadness and isolation that he was helpless to combat. No matter what he touched in Garak, he knew on an instinctive level that he never touched that. He doubted that there was a person alive who could, and he wondered if it would disappear were Garak able to return to his beloved Cardassia or if it was an indelible part of his character, forged long before his exile.

To his surprise, he found that while he lost himself in thought, he had become the observed. “Such a look,” Garak said softly.

“I could say the same thing,” he replied, his false cheer ringing flat in his ears. He closed the distance between them and stood behind the man, slipping his arms about his waist and resting his chin on one of his shoulders. “What are you looking at out there?”

“I'm not,” the tailor said cryptically. He covered Julian's hands with both of his and didn't elaborate.

“Something...in here, then?” the doctor asked hesitantly, twisting his neck to press a kiss to Garak's temple so that he'd know what he meant.

Garak turned in his arms and smiled an odd smile. “You are learning after all,” he said. “Aren't you going to ask me what it is?”

Julian nuzzled him nose to nose. “No,” he said. “You'll tell me when you're ready, or you won't. I'm not going to ask.”

The Cardassian's smile deepened, his blue eyes shining. “Oh, my dear, we truly have made some progress. Now, let's go get sweaty so we have an excuse for pillow talk.”

He laughed, startled right out of his contemplative mood. As they headed for the bedroom, he wondered if that hadn't been exactly Garak's intention. Some of his manipulations were so much more subtle than others that it was always safest just to assume intent.