dark_sinestra: (Default)

Garak

Quark's Bar

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Give me your tally sheet,” Garak said.

 

“Wh-what?” The bartender looked startled.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“I slipped and fell,” he said smoothly.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

You're afraid right now. Of me.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Julian

Quark's Bar

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“What?” he asked, starting to turn.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Garak

Habitat Ring Two

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“You were smart about it,” he said.

 

“Oh?” she asked, arching a brow.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

The End

dark_sinestra: (Default)

Julian

Quark's Bar

 

Julian knew that he ought to head to Garak's. His third ale into his bar sitting, he still hadn't made the move. Leeta wasn't anywhere to be seen, either already off shift or perhaps occupied at some private party Quark occasionally hosted in one of the back rooms. Dax saw him and approached, taking a seat on the stool beside him. “So,” she said, leaning in to bump her shoulder against his, “spill.”

 

“Spill what?” he asked, taking a swig of the ale.

 

“Why were you so eager to get rid of me last night?” she asked.

 

He knew he'd have to face that question sooner or later. He tried his best to be casual. “I don't know. I suppose I was just enjoying her company, and I wouldn't have been as able to get to know her with somebody else at the table.”

 

“You were flirting,” she said.

 

“There's nothing wrong with flirting,” he said defensively.

 

“You're right. There's not,” she said entirely too agreeably for him to trust it. Her next words confirmed his suspicion. “At least if your relationship is secure, and you both have an understanding that it's no big deal. What do you think Garak would say if he saw you flirting with a dabo girl?”

 

“Quark seems to think he'd break my neck,” he said glumly.

 

Dax's eyes flashed. He could tell she was still angry about what he had told her. “He had better not even think about it,” she said. “Still, if it made him angry, don't you think that would be reasonable under the circumstances?”

 

“Probably,” he said, polishing off his ale. “As much as I appreciate what you're trying to do, I'd just as soon not talk about it. This is something I need to work out for myself.”

 

“Fine,” she said, signaling Quark and ordering a colorful drink Julian wasn't even sure he could pronounce properly. “Why don't we talk about something else, like Doctor Lense? You must be excited about seeing your old school mate.”

 

“Just thrilled,” he said flatly. “I just recalled that I promised Garak we'd talk about something important tonight. I had best get to it.” As he slid from his barstool, he thought he caught a flash of a knowing smile from her and wondered if driving him back to Garak's hadn't been her intention from the start.

 

He chimed the Cardassian's door three times. He was about to ask the computer for Garak's whereabouts when a very distracted sounding, “Enter,” had the door sliding open to admit him.

 

He felt bad when he saw dinner sitting out, some of the sauce congealed in a very unappetizing way. Garak barely acknowledged him, tapping away at his comm with an intensity he hadn't seen in him since before the raid. Curious but unwilling to interrupt his concentration, instead he cleaned up the cold food and replicated himself some hot. “I'm sorry I'm late,” he said. “I had a late patient.”

 

The tapping stopped, and Garak twisted to eye him reproachfully. “If you're going to lie, it ought to be something I can't easily verify. I already checked with the infirmary over an hour ago.” To Julian's surprise, he turned back to his comm and began the typing again instead of pressing the point.

 

“You're not angry with me for lying?” he asked.

 

“I'm irritated that you didn't even put any effort in it to be creative,” he said airily. “If it matters that little to you, you may as well have told the truth.”

 

“I was at Quark's, having a few drinks,” he said, suddenly not very hungry anymore. “What are you doing?”

 

“Just a little research into the latest fashions on Risa,” the tailor replied. “They do set summer trends for a large portion of the quadrant.”

 

“I don't believe you,” he said, pushing his plate away and standing to approach him.

 

“Mm,” Garak said, hitting a couple of display buttons and shutting the entire screen down. “That's a pity. There was a particularly daring shirt that would suit your frame perfectly.”

 

“I think we should take a break,” he said, surprised at the words coming out of his own mouth.

 

Garak stood and turned to face him. “I thought we already tried that,” he said. “It lasted four days. We had three amazing days after that, and then things got awkward and stayed that way. Admittedly, lunch was pleasurable today, but only for as long as we weren't talking.”

 

Feeling a little light headed, he said, “I mean a break from the relationship entirely.”

 

“For how long?” the tailor asked, his eyes hooding.

 

Julian sighed. It was so hard to talk to him when he shut down like that. “I don't know,” he said honestly. “I just need some time to think about things. You'll be glad to know that the document I filed isn't official without your signature. You're not bound to me in some uncomfortable way.”

 

“I'll be happy to know that, will I?” Garak asked. “Funny, Doctor, I'm not the one proposing a break. You are, so why would I be happy?”

 

“You didn't seem happy with the idea of doing it in the first place; career suicide you called it, if I recall correctly,” he said, folding his arms.

 

“Yet I agreed, to make you happy. So, you don't know how long you want this supposed break. Can you at least tell me to what end? Do I cloud your thinking so terribly that you simply can't do it if we're together?”

 

“Truthfully? Yes, you do. There are times you start talking, and I no longer know up from down or left from right. I know you've been trying to protect me since that night. It's not making things any better. It's making them worse. I don't want some bland, safe yes man to cater to my every whim and desire, agree with my every statement, and back off at my first sign of discomfort. I didn't fall in love with that man. I fell in love with you,” he said.

 

Garak made a soft sound that may have been frustration or something more complicated and closed his eyes briefly. “I don't know what you fell in love with, Julian, but it most surely wasn't me,” he said heavily. “I think we've established that beyond any doubt.”

 

“You expect me to believe that the violence is more real than anything else you've shown me?” he asked, incredulous.

 

“No,” he said. “But there's no pleasing you. I'm too rough or not rough enough. I keep too many secrets, but when I tell you the truth, it's not the truth you want to hear. I'm too accommodating or annoyingly contrary. I've tried my best to find the middle ground, but there is none with you. We're not just speaking different languages. Our very thoughts and emotions travel in completely different channels. We couldn't be less compatible if one of us were Vulcan and the other Andorian.”

 

“You really believe that, that I'm the one never satisfied?” he asked.

 

Garak nodded. “So why don't we be truthful this once? Calling this a 'break' is insulting to my intelligence. You want to leave. After everything I've put you through, I can hardly blame you. Actually, I'm relieved.”

 

“Relieved?” Julian asked, frowning deeply.

 

“Yes, relieved,” the tailor answered. “When I decided to give us another chance, I told myself that come what may, I wouldn't do that to you again. I wouldn't be the one to break it off, no matter how bad it might get. I let myself believe that if I allowed myself to love you, we'd bridge the large divide put between us by our respective cultures. It was naïve of me, which goes to show, I suppose, that one is never too old to be naïve.”

 

“You're such a liar,” he said to him, feeling his throat constrict, “and you're breaking my heart. Stop it. You don't want this. Say you don't want it.”

 

“Why? So you can throw it back in my face and walk out that door anyway? I think not,” he scoffed. “If you want revenge, you'll have to be more subtle than that.”

 

“This isn't about revenge! God, you're doing it again, and I'm walking right into it,” he said, feeling disgusted with himself. He stepped closer to him. “Do you get that I'm telling you I'm about to walk out that door, and when I do, we're done?”

 

“Yes, dear, you made that quite clear,” Garak said, his eyes glittering.

 

“And you expect me to believe that's what you really want?” he asked.

 

Garak drew in a deep breath and let it out. He finished closing the distance between them, and to the doctor's surprise, he wrapped his arms loosely about his waist. “So I beg you to stay,” he said softly, his expression almost as gentle as when he was making love to him, “and I know you will, for a while at least. You never could bear to see me in pain. We'll continue this deteriorating cycle, fuck each other senseless, and sooner or later wake up to realize we hate each other, except when we're fucking, perhaps even then, and we'll lie to ourselves and call it passion.”

 

He wanted to deny it, but the words froze before ever reaching his lips. Those eyes had never looked so blue, or so sad. He couldn't look away if he tried. Lifting his hands, he rested them against the deep chest and felt the slow, steady heartbeat strong beneath the tunic. He couldn't recall his lover ever using such crude language, even in the heat of passion. The tailor was more often than not elegant and refined. He didn't know what to say.

 

“I'd sooner have it end this way, while we still love each other, than when it gets to that point, and I believe that you would, too. Lie to me all you like, my darling, but please don't lie to yourself. That road leads to ruin. This isn't a break. This is the break,” Garak said.

 

“I didn't want this,” Julian said, his breath hitching.

 

Garak tilted his head forward, resting his forehead against the doctor's. His breath came warm against his lips. “I'll be here as much or as little as you need me to be,” he whispered. “I could no more turn my back on you than you could a patient of yours. We're just not compatible lovers. I don't want to lose you altogether. Stop being stubborn, dearest; I'm agreeing with you for once, honestly and openly.”

 

He wrapped both arms around the man and squeezed, burying his face against the cool, scaled neck. How was it possible that both of them could try so hard and fail so spectacularly? He wanted to weep, except that all of it wound itself tightly in a ball in his chest to the point that it physically hurt. He felt lips in his hair, and then a cheek resting against the curve of his skull. Garak held him until he was ready to pull away. “I don't know what I'm going to do,” Julian said miserably.

 

The tailor lifted a hand and cupped his cheek, stroking downward with his thumb. “I have every confidence that you'll figure it out,” he said. “You should go. We're only prolonging the inevitable, and I need some time alone. I wasn't expecting this quite so soon.”

 

“But you were expecting it?” he asked, his nose tickling and his eyes stinging. The threatening tears were getting closer. Garak hesitated and nodded. “Don't you ever get tired of being right?” Julian asked, chuffing a laugh that very nearly turned into a sob. Yes, it was time to go.

 

“More than I can say,” he said, giving him a final squeeze and then pushing lightly against his chest with both palms flat. “Go. We'll see one another. We'll talk. We'll be the friends we should have stayed all along. You'll see.”

 

Julian nodded and turned, actually managing to make it out into the corridor before tears blurred his vision. Garak may have wanted to be alone, but he didn't. He desperately didn't. This time it wasn't Dax's company he wanted. He didn't think he could take being held tenderly and stroked. He needed colder comfort, preferably something in a bottle and someone who wouldn't let him curl into a ball of abject misery and pain. Even though it was getting late, he headed in the direction of Miles' quarters and reached up to scrub at his eyes. The crying could come later.

 

Garak

Private Quarters

 

When the door closed, Garak let himself go. Feeling for the chair behind him, he sank into it and lowered his head into his hands. No matter how much of a brave front he put up for Julian just now, this was the one thing he had hoped wouldn't happen. It felt as though everything that had meaning to him was falling away, leaving him to stand alone, a cold pillar of stone in a raging sandstorm. There was no solid ground, no shelter. His tenuous thread of hope that the Warbird might not have been destroyed could snap at any moment. His past had caught up to him and cost him his present and his future. That old Elim was the worst enemy he had ever had and now too distant to be called back for his strength.

 

Instead of burying himself back in his new research or retreating to the safety of the demands of the shop, he forced himself to sit exactly where he was and feel everything running through him. If he flinched or turned his back on it, it would consume him. That break in his control that Julian had so hoped to see finally arrived, long overdue. He wept until he felt he had nothing left inside and then climbed into his bed fully dressed, so exhausted that when he slept, he didn't dream.

 

Julian

Miles' Private Quarters

 

“Come in,” Miles answered the hail through the comm.

 

Julian stepped into the quarters that had increasingly taken on the appearance of a bachelor pad the longer Keiko and Molly remained on Bajor for Keiko's botany survey. Spare parts littered the top of the dining table and a mate-less sock draped over the back of the sofa. “Where are you?” Julian asked.

 

The engineer emerged from the back, wiping his hands on a greasy looking rag. “I was in the workshop,” he said, the “workshop” in question the bedroom he had shared with Keiko. “Bloody hell,” he exclaimed as he drew closer, “what's wrong wit' you? You look like you just lost your best friend.”

 

“No talking,” Julian said tightly. “Drinking.”

 

Eying him a moment more, Miles nodded and crossed to his sideboard, uncapping a whiskey bottle and pouring into two lowball glasses. Julian sat heavily on the sofa and accepted his glass. Miles sat beside him and set the bottle on the coffee table in easy reach. “So, what're we drinkin' to?” he asked.

 

“Nothing,” the doctor said, starting to raise his glass to his lips.

 

Miles stopped him with a hand to his wrist. “You can't just drink to nothin', Julian,” he said. “'S bad form.”

 

“Then you pick,” he said morosely.

 

“All right,” the Irishman said, looking thoughtful. “I have it. T' whiskey, women, an' darts.” He cocked a side glance at Julian. “Good enough for you?”

 

“Perfect,” he said, not caring one way or the other as long as it meant he got to down the drink. He did so in one gulp and leaned to pour himself another. The strong liquor burned him all the way down and started a small fire in his belly. “I hope you're not going to insist we come up with something for every glass,” he said.

 

Miles grunted. “No, just every bottle.” He grinned and tossed back his drink, letting Julian pour him a second. The two of them made fairly quick work of the first bottle and started on a second before the engineer let his curiosity get the better of him. Slurring a bit, he asked, “So's this about that dabo girl, or th' doctor comin' here on the Lexington?”

 

Julian blinked several times. “Who told you about all of that?” he asked, then held up a hand. “Don't tell me. Dax,” he said, irritated.

 

“You're half right,” Miles said. He decided to forgo his glass since he was having a hard time aligning the bottle neck over the top of it and swigged directly from the source. “Dax told me about th' doctor. Quark told me about th' dabo girl.” He slid off the couch onto the floor, looking more comfortable there. Julian joined him.

 

“Quark!” Julian snatched the bottle from Miles' grasp. “That disgusting little toad! What'd he say?” he demanded.

 

“I don' remember specifically,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Tell you th' truth, I didn' take it all that seriously.”

 

He tried to focus through his drunken fog, setting the bottle aside and almost tipping it over as he pulled his hand away. “Miles,” he said very seriously, leaning closer to the man and fixing him with huge eyes, “this is very important. What...specifically...did Quark say about me and Leeta?” If word got back to Garak, the man would almost certainly assume that Julian broke it off with him in order to pursue a new relationship, and that would destroy any chance they had of remaining friends. When Miles reached for the bottle, he snatched it out of his reach. “You can have this after you remember,” he said tartly.

 

“You don' have to be such a scab,” the engineer said with a scowl. “It was his usual malarkey. He was takin' bets on how fast Garak would find out th' two o' you had been flirtin' and whether he'd kill you for it or not.” He snorted a laugh and reached for the bottle again.

 

Julian crabbed backward out of reach, sloshing a bit onto his uniform and coming to an abrupt halt as his back hit the soft chair behind him. “And you didn't...” A belch came up, interrupting his ire. “Didn't see fit to tell me about this?” he demanded.

 

“O' course not,” the man shrugged and rolled to his knees to crawl forward, intent on the bottle. “Quark does these sorts o' things all the time. It doesn't mean anything.”

 

“I left Garak tonight,” he said. “If he hears that...”

 

Miles stopped advancing and sat back on his heels, whistling low. “Julian,” he said, clearly shocked. “It's not true, is it?”

 

“No!” he said impatiently. “She...we flirted a little, but I had no intention of doing anything. But if this gets back to Garak, how's it going to sound to him?”

 

“I think you know the answer t' that,” he said, leaning forward suddenly to swipe for the bottle, over balancing, and falling onto his face over Julian's legs.

 

“Shit,” the doctor said, more out of concern over Garak than the clumsy entanglement. He helped right him and thrust the bottle into his hand. “I've got...I've got to go. Got to tell him...”

 

“No! Are you a bloody idiot?” Shifting to his side, Miles propped himself on an elbow and leaned his back against the base of the sofa. He swigged with his free hand, some whiskey dribbling down his chin and onto his vibrant blue shirt. “Y' do that, then he's goin' t' believe it for sure!”

 

“I don't understand,” he blinked at him blearily.

 

“Th' worst thing you can do wit' gossip like that is t' give it weight. The harder you deny, the more guilty you look. Trust me. I've been there before. If he comes t' you about it, then you say it's ridiculous, an' you leave it at that.” He rested the bottle against his chest, nodding sagely.

 

“So you're telling me,” Julian said, bending forward to reach for the whiskey, only to have Miles play keep away, “that if this was happening to you, and Keiko were the one in danger of hearing such a rumor, that you'd completely ignore it until she said something to you?”

 

An odd look came into the hazel eyes. “That's exactly what I'm tellin' you,” he said.

 

Frowning and scratching at his chest, he sat back and tried to puzzle out that look. “What?” he finally asked.

 

“What what?” Miles retorted, lifting a brow.

 

He gestured in a circular manner, largely because he couldn't hold his arm steady. “That...look you got when I asked you about Keiko. Has somebody been spreading rumors about you?”

 

“Pff, it's nothin',” he said, shrugging it off and lifting the bottle for another swig.

 

Taking advantage of the opportunity, the doctor leaned forward and snagged the neck. They struggled for a few minutes, grunting and cursing at each other, only to spill the remains over the carpet. “Now look what you did,” Julian said.

 

“What I did? Y' bloody bastard, you're th' one who got all grabby!”

 

“I can't seem to do anything right lately,” he said, his mood turning maudlin. He sat back against the chair base again and drew his knees up in a loose hold, resting his chin on a forearm.

 

Rolling his eyes, the Irishman struggled to his feet and staggered toward his sideboard. “Look, I'm gettin' another bottle, so don't start that. If I've learned anythin' in my life, it's that when it comes to relationships goin' wrong, nothin' is ever entirely one person's fault. You're far from perfect...”

 

“Thanks ever so much,” he interrupted him dryly.

 

“You gotta keep perspective,” he said with a humorous twist of his mouth, staggering back toward Julian and sitting beside him. “Move over,” he said, nudging until they could share the chair base as a resting spot. He placed the bottle with exaggerated care into his hand. “As I was sayin' before I was so rudely interrupted, bein' with you is no bed of roses...”

 

“Miles O'Brien, how would you know that?” he asked crossly. “You've never been with me.”

 

“You keep interruptin' me, I'm going to take that bottle back and kick your skinny arse to the curb,” he said gruffly. “I'm...” he struggled to find the word, then shrugged. “It's easy to tell that just from bein' your friend. You're no picnic on the Shannon, but neither is Garak,” he said, seeming satisfied with himself for making his point.

 

“You wax so poetic when you're drunk,” he said, amused in spite of himself. “You're no cruise down the Thames, yourself.” He uncapped the bottle and took a long drink. His nose and lips were long past the point of numb, and he could no longer really taste the whiskey. His whole body felt too warm, so he reached up and unzipped the top part of his uniform.

 

“I'm not, am I?” Miles asked, his lips twitching as he snatched the bottle back for a swig. “Then why're you here?”

 

He mustered as much dignity as he could in his state and said, “I suppose the Thames is overrated sometimes.”

 

Miles grinned and pawed him over the back of his head, ruffling his hair. “Nicest thing you've ever said to me, I think,” he said, offering the bottle back.

 

“I'd better not,” he said, holding up his hand flat. “As it is, I don't think I'll be able to find my quarters, much less walk there.”

 

“Then stay here,” he said, shrugging. “Y' can sleep in Molly's bed or on th' couch.”

 

Those tears that he had done such a good job of keeping at bay caught him by surprise and slid from the corners of his eyes. “That's too kind of you. I don't deserve such kindness.”

 

“Hey now,” the Irishman shook his head and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in with a rough squeeze. “None o' that. That's th' booze talkin', you hear? Whiskey never said anythin' smart. Why don't we go ahead an' get you settled while you can still move?”

 

“In a bit,” he said, taking more comfort from the warmth of his friend at his side than he cared to admit. It was what he needed, gruff affection that didn't make him feel fragile, only supported. Tentatively, he rested his head on Miles' shoulder, pleased that the man didn't shove him away; instead he just settled a little lower so that he could lean his head back comfortably against the chair seat. Neither of them moved again until morning, an unpleasant awakening of hangovers, sore necks, and in Julian's case, a uniform stained with more than just whiskey since he had never changed from the day before.

 

“God help me,” Miles groaned as he sat up, reaching both hands up to the back of his neck.

 

“I can't do much for your neck, but I can give you a hangover cure,” Julian said, leaning away from him and rubbing at his own neck.

 

“You're answering t' 'God' now?” the engineer asked wryly. “Always said that ego of yours was out of control.”

 

“Very funny,” he snorted. His mouth tasted about like he imagined that lone sock on the couch might. He replicated both of them something for their hangovers, zipped his uniform up, and left in pretty short order, turning down the offer of using the shower. It wouldn't do him much good to shower and then don a dirty uniform. He'd still smell like sex and booze. With that thought, he felt a small eruption of panic. What if someone with a sharp sense of smell saw him leaving Miles' quarters? That was the stuff of the worst sorts of rumors.

 

He couldn't relax until he made it back to his quarters with no one seeming the wiser. The place looked and felt empty. “Better get used to it, Jules,” he said quietly. “It's what you asked for, after all.”

dark_sinestra: (Default)

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

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

Author: Dark Sinestra

Date Written: January 2010

Category: Slash

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

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

Word Count: 16,251

 

Julian

Private Quarters

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

He smiled and said, “That's right.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Garak

Julian's Quarters

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Julian

The Infirmary

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“No, not at all,” he said. “I mean, I'm not offended.”

 

“If you decide you want to expand your dating options, you know where to find me,” she said after a moment of speculative silence. “I figure it can't hurt to keep my options open.” She shot him a wink and showed herself out, a subtle perfume lingering in the air after she was gone.

 

Rubbing a hand down his face, he shook his head and hurried out to the Replimat. Garak was already there. As he approached, the man stood from his seat at their table. “I was beginning to think you changed your mind,” he said.

 

“No, I haven't. I just had a late drop by. I told her last night I'd take a look at her cough when she had time to come by.”

 

The tailor smiled very faintly, something serpentine and calculating in the look. “You don't usually expound on your patients, dear. I do hope the cough isn't serious?”

 

“No,” he said, barely avoiding ducking away from that too knowing look. “So I was thinking of your stock room,” he added, hoping to distract him. “It's much closer than our quarters. We'll have more time.”

 

“Very thoughtful of you,” Garak agreed, offering him his arm. “Shall we, then?”

 

Julian slipped his hand through the crook of his elbow and walked with him toward the shop. He thought back to what Leeta said, about their body language being stiff together. It wasn't as though he wanted it that way. He had always bent himself to what Garak found acceptable. After he had seen how dangerous some Cardassians could be, he had stopped questioning that requirement. Things were different now, weren't they? Tain was dead. Most of the Obsidian Order had been destroyed. Why should he not be more demonstrative if he wanted to be?

 

He leaned in to press a kiss to Garak's cheek, only to have the tailor flinch away and murmur, “We're nearly there.”

 

“I know that,” he said. “I just wanted to kiss you. Is there something wrong with that?”

 

A troubled expression fleeted through blue eyes. Garak hesitated then said, “No, I suppose not.” He tilted his head slightly to invite a second attempt.

 

“Never mind. It's not the same if it's not spontaneous.” He let go of Garak's arm and walked ahead of him into the shop, heading straight toward the back. He was starting to regret agreeing to this. They weren't much in sync at the moment.

 

Garak closed the shop and stock room doors. He gave Julian an assessing look and without fanfare reached down to unfasten his belt and the lower portion of his tunic. Julian watched him, unsure of exactly what the man intended. When he also unfastened his trousers, pulled them part way down, and crossed to lean over a shipping crate, his intent became clear. Feeling a small thrill of excitement, Julian came up behind him, unzipping his uniform to open it along the front. He stirred to hardness on his way and reached around the tailor to slick his hand with his natural wetness. Smearing it downward onto his cock with a single pump of his fist, he reached again, this time easing a lubricated finger into the tight opening presented to him so temptingly.

 

It was very rare for Garak to make such an offer without any prompting on his part. Without hesitation, he positioned himself, thumb at the base of his shaft, head teasing circles. Garak pressed back steadily, impaling himself and groaning softly. It was all the encouragement Julian needed. He dug his fingers into the scaled hips and rode forward, leaning over the tailor's back and feeling the thick tunic and his turtleneck nap together in the friction. As he closed his eyes, his mind took him to a new partner, and the thought of doing the same to her pushed him right over the edge. He moaned, his head dropping forward to rest against the broad back beneath him. He rode out every last spasm and lay there, not fully trusting his legs to support him.

 

Garak shifted as though to remind him that he was still there. Feeling guilty, Julian straightened and pulled out. He reached to turn Garak to face him and dropped easily to his knees to take the length of him into his mouth. There was no corresponding fantasy to match this experience. In part to make up for his mental lapse and in part because he genuinely enjoyed the taste and feel of his lover, he tongued and sucked at him with abandon, feeling the man's wetness slicking his cheeks and chin. Garak's fingers tangled in his hair, but his hold remained gentle. It frustrated him. He wanted more, wanted his force, his fire. He redoubled his efforts, rewarded at least by a tremor in the strong thighs. The tailor leaned back against the packing crate and gripped the edge of it with both hands.

 

Julian pulled off of him with a soft, wet pop and stood, grasping at him and clutching him against his chest. He kissed him forcefully, thrust Garak's own moisture and taste past his lips and bathed his tongue with it. He felt the Cardassian hard against his belly and an answering stir, bucking his hips and clinging tightly to Garak's hair. Arms encircled him fiercely, fingers spreading and digging across his back. Yes, he thought. This was what he wanted, not the tender care, not right now. He stiffened fully, rubbing cock to cock and then managing to work his way past the scaly ridge, into that velvety slit that was better than anything he had ever felt before he had become this man's lover.

 

Garak threw his head back, letting out a prolonged, “Ahhh,” that was both pleasure and pain given voice. Julian spared him no mercy, seeking, hungering, and needing. He bit a sharp line down the deeply scalloped scales at the base of a neck ridge, feeling Garak jerk and twist for each pinch of teeth. “My love,” the man gasped, the fingers digging at Julian's back closing to fists in his uniform.

 

Yes, he thought again. He worked himself into a sweaty mess, no longer thinking of the time or whether they'd meet their deadline. Lifting his head from feasting at the exquisite neck, he thrust his tongue past firm lips, kissed him so deeply his jaw began to ache. Garak's slippery cock leaped between them like a thing alive and with a volition of its own. He pressed harder and tighter, using the friction of the light trail of belly hair to finish him in a glorious explosion. While the tailor was still gasping from his pleasure, each breath captured in the doctor's mouth, Julian came again, feeling his seed flooding the tight cavity and spilling back outward and down over their thighs.

 

Your uniform,” Garak said, panting.

 

Pulling back, he saw that his turtleneck was splotched in several damp patches. Leave it to the tailor to think of such a thing in the moment. “It's all right,” he said. “It won't show once I'm zipped back up again.”

 

It might not show, but to anyone with a nose stronger than that snip of a useless thing you humans use, it's going to be painfully obvious what you've been up to,” the tailor said.

 

So what if it is?” he said, frowning. “My God, Garak, we've been together off and on over two years. If people haven't figured it out by now, then they're either stupid or blind.”

 

Garak blinked at the tone in his voice and bent to gather his trousers and pull them back up. He turned away to find his belt and quickly refastened the base of his tunic. Something in the quiet dignity of his actions made Julian believe he had hurt his feelings.

 

He zipped himself up and touched Garak's shoulder lightly. “I didn't mean to snap like that,” he said.

 

You haven't been yourself lately, and we both know why,” Garak said, almost meeting his gaze but not quite. His focus seemed to rest just lower, perhaps at his cheek. “Let's not pretend.”

 

He sighed. “We don't have time for this discussion right now. I'm probably late for getting back to work.”

 

You have precisely four minutes and thirty-two seconds,” the tailor said. “I've been keeping track for you.”

 

This new concern of yours for my schedule is touching,” he said carefully. “You've been very considerate about a great many things, and although I appreciate it...it's not really necessary. It's not you.”

 

I see,” he said. After a beat, he turned to face the door. “Computer, open stock room door,” he said.

 

Garak,” he said, hurrying to catch up to him before he could get far, “I didn't mean it like that. I didn't mean that you're not considerate at all. It's just...it feels like you've been treading on eggshells around me, and I don't want you doing that.”

 

You need to get back to work,” the tailor said gently, giving his forearm a light squeeze. “Computer, open shop doors.”

 

He tried to kiss him. He may as well have been kissing insensate stone. Once more they had gone from aching intimacy to full shut out. This time, he knew it was largely due to what he had just said. However, he had been telling the truth. If the truth brought them to this point, then what were they to do? “Can we talk about this later tonight?” he asked.

 

Garak nodded. As he left him to get back to work, he couldn't help but to think that the tailor looked somehow lost. It didn't bode well for the later conversation.

 

Garak

Private Quarters

 

Dinner cooled on his table. Thinking at first that Julian had been detained in the infirmary, he had placed a call about thirty minutes ago only to be told he had already left for the day. He didn't have the clearance to ask the computer where he was, and he didn't feel like running all over the station looking for him. With a stubborn set to his mouth, he sat down to eat his portion of the meal.

 

He chewed with slow deliberation and thought about lunch. It wasn't fair, or perhaps he had simply expected too much. Perhaps the limit to the doctor's ability to understand had lessened over time. Could he blame him? For all of their chemistry, they weren't terribly compatible. The longer they were together, the more obvious it became to both of them. He believed that Julian was trying. Maybe the man didn't even consciously realize that he still didn't trust Garak on a most fundamental level. He didn't know how he could make himself any less threatening than he already had without simply not moving and staying completely silent.

 

He wished with everything he had that he could explain to him why losing Tain hit him so hard, but to do so would endanger his mother. He'd sooner die than do that. It must be nice to be so sheltered, he thought bitterly, to believe that everything will be fine if we all just trust each other, open up, and don't hold back. He threw his fork down in disgust, his appetite gone. Why would Julian ask to talk and then not even tell him he was running late? What was there to say? Obviously, all of his efforts were for nothing. He was damned if he did and damned if he didn't. If that was to be the case, then he might as well do as he pleased. He cleaned up his portion of the meal and retreated to his bedroom to read. Maybe Preloc would calm him down and give him some perspective.

 

As he read, something niggled at the back of his mind. He hadn't tried to look at any reports out of Cardassia on the doomed joint raid. The thought of it was so painful that he shied away. Sentiment is weakness, he told himself. Setting the PADD aside, he went to his comm and took a seat before it. It was time to stop avoiding the situation like keeping a tongue tip out of a fresh tooth socket. It was time to see exactly who and what had been lost that day. It took him a long time to get to what he was after, but when he did, he couldn't look away. Some of the ships were missing, not destroyed. If there were missing Cardassian ships, might there have been missing Warbirds, too? Was it possible the ship carrying Tain hadn't been destroyed after all? It was probably foolish, but he felt a spark of something he had given up on long ago, hope.

dark_sinestra: (Default)

Author Notes: This story takes place during and after the episode Distant Voices. It closely follows “Eye of the Needle” in continuity and probably won't make too much sense as a stand alone.

Summary: Doctor Bashir suffers a psychic attack from a mysterious alien, leaving him incapacitated and with the Bajorans in full control of the infirmary. Garak quickly discovers just how little influence he has without Julian's advocacy, and tension mounts high. Can Odo find a way to interrupt the growing cycle of enmity between the tailor and Nurse Decla before it turns deadly?

Author: Dark Sinestra

Date Written: December, 2009

Category: Slash

Rating: PG for mild adult language and themes.

Disclaimer: I own no dashing doctors, tempting tailors, or staunch security chiefs, but I take all the blame for the nasty nurse.

Word Count: 11,641

 

Garak

Garak's Clothiers

 

Garak hummed to himself as he tidied up for the end of the day. In a good mood, he was looking forward to Julian's upcoming birthday party, even if Julian himself was feeling extraordinarily grumpy about turning thirty. Thirty, ha! He thought to himself. If he was so bent out of shape about thirty, he wondered how he'd feel about fifty. He was rather enjoying the other side of that landmark, even if it did mean that he put on weight more easily than he once had. Humans were so backwards about so many things that the age issue should have come as no surprise.

 

“G—Garak!” Rom's voice startled him out of his thoughts, the Ferengi waiter hurrying toward him quickly.

 

“What is it?” he asked, concerned. He had rarely seen the man so anxious.

 

“You have to come,” Rom told him, seizing him by the elbow and drawing him toward the door. “I just heard from Morn that something has happened to Doctor Bashir!”

 

“Where is he?” Garak asked tightly, no longer needing Rom's prompting to hurry.

 

“In the infirmary,” he answered.

 

“What happened?” he asked, trying to stay calm. With such little information to go on, panic was premature.

 

“We're not sure. Odo is keeping it to himself, but it has something to do with that Lethean that was being so pushy with Quark earlier today. I saw him being dragged into the security office.”

 

The Lethean. Garak felt himself go cold. From the moment Quark brought the hideous alien to their table, Garak had a bad feeling about him. He hadn't liked the way he stared at his doctor after Julian flatly refused to sell him contraband. I should have followed him, he berated himself silently. A more insidious thought followed closely after. I should have killed him.

 

As they reached the infirmary, both men tried to hurry inside. They found themselves stopped cold by two burly male Bajoran nurses. “Sorry,” the darker haired of the two said, looking straight at Garak. “We're under strict orders not to let you in.”

 

“Orders? Whose orders?” Garak demanded.

 

“My orders,” a familiar voice said from behind the second nurse. Nurse Decla stepped into view. “You're a security risk. With the doctor unable to fulfill his duties, I'm in charge of this infirmary.” She glanced at Rom. “You can come in, but you can't see the patient.”

 

Rom shot a darting glance from her to Garak. “Wh—Why would I want to come in if I can't see Doctor Bashir?”

 

“That's a good question,” she said, one corner of her mouth curving up in a condescending half smile. “Perhaps you should stay out of our way if you can't find an adequate answer.”

 

Garak shot her and the Bajorans blocking his way a look that could freeze lava. Perhaps sensing trouble, Rom plucked at his elbow insistently. “Come on,” he said urgently. “Garak? You need to come with me.”

 

In his mind's eye, he had already felled all three of them with a complex move he learned long ago, his training so thorough that his hands and feet could move completely independently of one another in lethal maneuvers that were difficult for most other races to adapt to. He took one step forward, only to find Rom squarely in his path, his toothy mouth agape in dismay. “Garak!” he said in a tone of voice the Cardassian had never heard from him before. It got his attention. His gaze slid to meet deep-set blue eyes, rounded with fear, not of him, he realized, but for him. The Ferengi shook his head very slightly, and his concern reached something in Garak that anger and fear could not.

 

The crisis passed, for the moment. He felt his lethal intent give way, although he knew it hadn't gone far. It was waiting for him to call it back at any time. He allowed Rom to take him by the shoulders and turn him away, completely pliant to his direction until they were far enough from the infirmary not to be watched or overheard. “Let go of my arm,” he said, dead calm.

 

The man did so immediately, but he said in a low, intent voice, “Whatever you're thinking, don't. They're not worth the trouble you'll get into. Look at me, Garak. Promise me,” he said.

 

Garak's smile didn't reach his eyes. “Haven't you heard? I can't be trusted.” He walked for the turbo lift, grateful that the Ferengi had stopped following him. He knew he meant well, but in his current state of mind, he feared he would say or do something to him that he wouldn't easily be able to take back. Once in the lift, he directed it to Ops.

 

As he stepped off the lift, he noticed Dax, Kira, and O'Brien all glance at one another. By some unspoken agreement, Dax moved to intercept. “Garak,” she said, striding over to him and addressing him in a low voice, “you can't be here. You know that.”

 

“No, apparently the only time I can be here is when the station is about to be flooded with deadly gas thanks to inept Starfleet poking around, and the rest of you don't know what to do with yourselves,” he said acidly. “Then, of course, I'm a welcome sight.”

 

She winced slightly. “I'm sorry,” she said in such a way that he believed she meant it. Not that it mattered. “I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”

 

“I need to speak to Commander Sisko,” he said, setting his feet the moment she tried to get him to move.

 

She glanced over at Kira who gave a subtle nod. “All right,” she said, turning and falling into step with him as he crossed the work area.

 

What do they think I'm going to do? He wondered contemptuously. Look at the control panels? They're already Cardassian technology, outdated Cardassian technology at that.

 

He climbed the steps to the office and paused when she touched his shoulder lightly. “Let me let him know you're coming,” she said, hurrying ahead into the office. He waited in stony silence for longer than he felt was appropriate under the circumstances. When she came out again, she said, “Go on in.” She shot him a look that he supposed was meant to be supportive. He was too angry for gratitude.

 

The doors parted to admit him. “Commander,” he began immediately, “this is an utter outrage.” His voice thrummed with suppressed emotion. While he was not shouting, the words had no less impact for lack of volume.

 

Sisko, already standing, circled his desk to Garak's side of it to face him. “Slow down, Mr. Garak,” he said, his baritone pitched to calm him. “Tell me what's going on.”

 

Oh, Commander, really!” he said, his eyes narrowing. “Don't try to play games with me, now of all times. A security risk? You're going to toss that flimsy excuse to keep me away from my l...from Doctor Bashir's side when something has happened to him?”

 

Sisko reacted with what seemed like genuine surprise. He hadn't known, or he was a much better actor than Garak had given him credit for up until now. “A security risk? I know you find it difficult to trust me, but you have to believe me when I tell you I don't know what you're talking about.”

 

That Bajoran harpy, Decla,” he spat, “refusing me entrance to the infirmary.” So great was his outrage, that for a few moments, he couldn't even speak. Too many words vied for expression all at once. “She said that with the doctor no longer in charge, she has final say as to who is admitted and who is not.”

 

The Commander frowned deeply, folding his arms and lifting a hand to rub at his chin. “Unfortunately,” he said heavily, “she's telling the truth about that. She does have that authority.”

 

But it's a flimsy excuse to promulgate a personal vendetta against me!” Garak said, no longer able to contain his volume. “How can I be any more of a security risk in the infirmary than anywhere else on this station? If Doctor Bashir's condition is too fragile for visitors, that's one thing. Of course I'd respect that, but this? This is something else entirely, and it cannot be tolerated!”

 

Please, calm down,” Sisko said, gesturing with both hands flat, palms down. “I sympathize with your position. I truly do. I'll be willing to talk to Nurse Decla, but I can't make any promises. I don't have the authority to override her judgment in this matter.”

 

How convenient!” Garak spat. “It seems Starfleet exerts plenty of authority whenever it wishes, only to retreat behind protocol and platitudes the moment it's faced with a situation with which it would just as soon not get involved.”

 

Mr. Garak,” Sisko said sharply, “I said I'd do what I can. I'm sorry I can't do what I know you want me to do, march in there and order Decla and the other Bajorans to stand down. I share your outrage at the possible reasoning behind the decision, but even as Commander of this station, my hands are tied!”

 

He stared hard into the dark eyes and felt himself deflate slightly. It was true. No matter what he wanted them to do, they weren't going to do any more than their toothless protocol allowed. “It won't make a difference,” he said stiffly, clinging to the only thing he had left to him at that moment, his pride.

 

Sisko seemed to deflate a bit at this as well. “You're probably right,” he conceded. “I'll still try.”

 

Thank you, Commander,” Garak said, inclining his head formally. “Can you at least tell me how he is?”

 

He's unconscious,” the man replied. “At the moment, I don't know any more than that. I'll head over there now,” he offered, gesturing Garak out ahead of him.

 

The Cardassian paused. “Commander, if I may, I'd like to speak to Major Kira.”

 

Sisko considered a moment and nodded. “Wait here. I'll send her in to you.”

 

He did so, lacing his hands tightly behind his back, fingers clasped together. He had to keep them contained, or he'd do something rash. He could see Kira ascending the steps and braced himself for further confrontation.

 

Garak,” she said the moment she had passed the threshold, “I know what you're going to ask me, and I can't do it.”

 

Can't,” he said frostily, “or won't?”

 

She narrowed her black eyes. “Look!” she said sharply. “You and I have had our differences. Still do, but it's not fair for you to stand there and accuse me of standing by and letting this happen when you have no idea of the politics of the situation or the shitstorm it would cause if I were to try to override this woman. This goes way beyond one petty bitch, you, and Julian. I'm sorry, but it does.”

 

He understood difficult politics better than most. He reflected that the night Decla had boasted to him of her connections, it was no idle claim. “I'm sorry, Major,” he said, much subdued. “I shouldn't have lashed out at you like that.”

 

Turbulent emotion roiled very close to the surface in her expressive eyes. “I wish I could help,” she said, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “I know how hard this is for you. I went through something similar with Winn pushing Antos.”

 

I know you do, and did,” he said, his mind already moving forward to his next option. “Maybe there is something you can do, after all. How does your Provisional Government feel about Odo?”

 

They trust him,” she said. “He has been invaluable to us since the Cardassians...since the end of the occupation.”

 

So if Odo were in the presence of someone declared a security risk...”

 

Kira smiled tightly. “No one could reasonably object without throwing his entire career into question, something not even Decla could do without costing herself some support.”

 

Garak nodded, moving for the doors. “Will you please inform the Constable that I'm on my way to see him?”

 

I will,” she said. She stopped him briefly with a light hand to his forearm. “Don't do anything stupid, OK? If anything happens to Decla, you'll be the first person they look at after this.”

 

Don't worry, Major,” Garak said tightly. “I wish that one a very long, very miserable life. Your concern is appreciated.” He strode from Ops with his head up, his bearing regal. He wouldn't allow any of them to see the gnawing, clawing desperation mounting with every road block thrown in his way to seeing with his own two eyes what had happened to his lover. If Odo also told him no, he'd be back to option one without a friend there to stop him.

 

The shape shifter was waiting for him in Security. “Major Kira apprised me of the situation,” he said. “Unless Decla manages to come up with a better reason, I'm not going to allow her to do this to you.”

 

The stolid offer of support came close to undoing his control. As he fell into step beside the security chief, he wondered how it was that kindness could be so much more emotionally devastating than cruelty. He inclined his head deeply, in that moment not at all willing to trust his voice. The two walked nearly shoulder to shoulder, arriving at the infirmary only to see the same nurses guarding the front. When the two saw Odo, they glanced at one another uncertainly.

 

I understand there's some concern about a security risk,” Odo said in saccharine tones. “As you can see, I'm here to ensure nothing untoward happens while Mr. Garak visits the infirmary. I suggest you stand aside.”

 

We're under strict orders,” one of them said tentatively. The other shook his head and stepped out of the way, seeming to know when to quit. Garak ignored both men as though they weren't even there. If he allowed himself to meet either of them eye to eye, he didn't trust what he'd do.

 

Decla spotted the two of them from the hallway leading to the surgery room. She strode forward quickly. “Constable Odo,” she said, “this is highly irregular.”

 

Indeed it is, Madame,” Odo said, his steely look matching his tone. “Is Doctor Bashir's condition so critical that he can't be allowed any visitors?”

 

I'm not at liberty to reveal details of a patient's condition,” she said smoothly.

 

Then we'll have a look for ourselves,” Odo said, brushing past her and pulling Garak in his wake with a solid grip to his upper arm.

 

She took a few trotting steps and positioned herself in front of both of them again. “Not while I'm here you won't,” she said firmly. “You may have authority out there,” she gestured toward the Promenade, “but this is my domain. If you have a problem with how I'm handling a critical case, feel free to contact the Bajoran Medical Board and file a formal complaint. I'm told they've been working on their backlog. Your petition has a good chance of being heard by the end of the year.”

 

You can be sure that is exactly what I intend to do,” Odo said, turning around and pulling Garak with him. The Cardassian tried to resist, but he could tell by the tightness of the grip that if Odo felt that he needed to drag him physically from the facility, that was exactly what was about to happen. He yielded, only to prevent giving Decla the satisfaction of seeing him manhandled.

 

Once they were back out on the Promenade, he shook himself free. “So that's it?” he demanded, his voice more shrill than he intended for it to be. “She says go, and you walk out?”

 

The changeling dropped his voice and leaned closer. “You heard her. While she's there. She can't stay there indefinitely. She has to leave at some point, get some sleep. We'll try again with whoever she leaves in charge.”

 

It won't matter,” Garak said, ready to tear his own hair out from frustration. “They all hate me, every last one of those Bajoran staff members. They resent our relationship. They think he's too good for me. They've been waiting for the chance to do something to put me in my place. Now that they have it, there's no way they're going to relinquish their advantage.”

 

I'm not giving up,” Odo said staunchly. “Neither should you.”

 

Commander Sisko emerged from the infirmary and walked over to the two of them. Garak could tell by his expression what he was going to say before he said it. “I'm not going to ask what you did to garner such animosity,” he told Garak, “but that woman is bound and determined that you not be given access to the doctor. Unfortunately, without good cause, I can't override her, can't have her removed, and can't go over her head with the Bajorans.”

 

Even if you did, they wouldn't listen,” Garak said. “They'll never side with a Cardassian over one of their own, no matter how wrong she is. I'm their token, a convenient target for all of their resentment over the wrongs they suffered during the occupation.”

 

Sisko frowned deeply. “I doubt that every Bajoran feels that way. Not all of them will be willing to forget that you were at Vedek Bareil's funeral or how much you risked to be there.”

 

Please, Commander,” Garak said tiredly, reaching up to rub at his temples. A headache was coming on. “Good news and goodwill both die quick deaths. We both know that.”

 

I'll talk to Major Kira,” Sisko said.

 

No,” Garak shook his head. “She told me there's nothing she can do.”

 

Perhaps she'll see things a little differently if I ask,” he suggested.

 

No,” Garak said more sharply. “I don't want her to feel pressured to do something that will put her in an awkward position.” At Odo's look of surprise, he continued. “Who knows when she may need her political capital, or for what? No, as much as the situation pains me, I can't ask the Major to sacrifice any advantage she may have over my personal concern. There's nothing of value that I could give her in return.”

 

You saved her life already,” Odo said simply.

 

Please, Constable,” Garak snorted softly. “You and I both know that was no noble act.”

 

The changeling tightened his lipless mouth to a thinner line than normal. Glancing from Garak to the Commander, he said, “I'll talk to Major Kira. Perhaps between the two of us, we can come up with something. In the mean time,” he pinned Garak with a very keen gaze, “don't do anything rash. While you have my every sympathy for the unfairness of this situation, I will not tolerate your breaking the law or harming Nurse Decla or any of her staff members. Don't make me have to lock you up.”

 

Garak nodded, not willing to verbalize any sort of agreement to that effect. Odo would hear it for the lie it was as soon as it left his lips. While he wasn't yet back to the point of doing anything that drastic, he knew it wouldn't take much to get him there. Shaking his head as though he knew he had wasted his breath, Odo strode quickly away, leaving Garak alone with Commander Sisko.

 

I was able to see him,” Sisko said more gently than he had ever spoken to Garak before. The Cardassian stiffened, detesting so much as a whiff of pity sent his way. “He's not visibly injured. As of yet, we're not one hundred percent sure of what has been done to him, although we have our suspicions.”

 

Garak knew. It was a psychic attack. Letheans were notorious for them. He felt his hands clenching spasmodically and had to fight to relax them again. He wanted nothing more than his fingers around that ugly throat to squeeze until it was pulp. It wouldn't help. If anything, it would make things much worse. If the alien died while part of his consciousness was delving into Julian's mind, the psychic backlash would quickly kill Julian as well. No, that wasn't the answer, although if Julian did die, it just might be the last thing Garak ever did. He could give his lover no comfort and support, but he could give him revenge.

 

Garak?” Sisko said, clearly not liking the look in his eyes.

 

I'm sorry, Commander,” he said mildly. “I'm developing a migraine. I should probably rest for a while. I trust that if the Constable and Major Kira work something out, I'll be contacted?”

 

Immediately,” Sisko said. “You have my word on that.”

 

Thank you, Commander,” he said, inclining his head and watching the man head toward the turbo lift. It was strange to him, knowing that he could take at face value something a human authority figure said to him. Were he dealing with a Legate or even a Gul, he knew he could have no such assurances. Strange creatures, humans.

 

He waited until the man was out of sight and turned toward Quark's Bar. At the last moment, he decided on a different ingress, taking the stairs two at a time to the second level of the Promenade and ducking in through one of the smaller side doors. His eyes adapted very quickly to the lower light level. He saw Nog stationed near the front door, looking expectantly outward. So the uncle was expecting this visit. It didn't matter. Nothing short of Odo and a full contingent of Bajoran security guards was going to stop him from this.

 

He wove between tables as silently and sinuously as a cobra that some Terrans claimed Cardassians resembled with their scales and flared necks. Scanning the bar from his shadowed vantage of the balcony, he saw Quark at the very far end of it, nervously drying a glass and looking toward Nog. Good, he thought, keep looking for just a moment longer.

 

He was down the stairs, over the bar, and on the hapless Ferengi before anyone even knew he was there except Morn, who was too startled to say a word. He bunched both fists into Quark's jacket and yanked him clean off his feet. “You!” he growled in a voice he barely recognized as his own. “You brought that piece of filth to our table knowing fully well that the doctor wouldn't do what he asked!”

 

Garak!” Quark squeaked. “P—please! You have to believe me! I had no idea what he intended to do!”

 

He's a Lethean! What did you think he would do?” Garak bellowed, shaking him so hard he could hear the man's sharp teeth clacking together.

 

Uncle!” Nog shouted from somewhere off to his left, “do you want me to call Security?”

 

At Garak's look of potentially lethal intent, Quark quickly shook his head. “N—no, Nog! Be a good boy, and watch the bar.” He licked his teeth nervously. “Garak, please, you're scaring my customers. C—can we take this to the back?”

 

Garak flung him back so forcefully he stumbled and sent an entire row of glass shelving crashing to the floor in a spill of alien alcohol of various lurid colors. He cowered to shield himself from the breaking glass and scuttled into the back room, the tailor hot on his heels and feeling dangerously close to murderous. “If he dies, in addition to that Lethean,” he hissed the alien word, “I'm holding you personally responsible.”

 

He threatened me,” Quark gibbered. “What was I supposed to do? How could I know he'd be crazy enough to attack a Starfleet officer? Garak! You know I like Doctor Bashir. Whatever you think of me, and whatever I might be, I'm not a murderer! Please!” He placed his wrists together in that odd Ferengi begging gesture that resembled a man in cuffs. “I'll do anything I can to help you, just don't kill me!”

 

That insane bitch won't even let me see him,” Garak rasped. His head felt as though it would explode, and Quark's unrestrained desperation threatened to unleash his own.

 

The Ferengi looked confused. “Wait,” he said, “Decla? Rom told me about that.” He slowly lowered his hands, eying Garak as though he had a bomb strapped to him that could go off at any moment, or perhaps as though he were the explosive device. “M—Major Kira! I bet she could help you.”

 

I've already talked to her,” the tailor snarled. “I didn't come here for any of your schemes. I've done everything I can short of killing the lot of them in that blasted infirmary.”

 

Quark blinked at him, calming further and looking grave. “Listen to me, Garak. I know Rom has already told you this, but you can't do something like that. It won't help the doctor, and it'll get you put away for life. What good will that do?”

 

What good is this doing?” he asked through gritted teeth, gesturing sharply.

 

Not being in a prison colony has all sorts of advantages,” Quark said evenly. “I know you say you don't want my ideas, but I think I have something you haven't thought of. There is more than one way into that infirmary, and I don't mean any of the doors.”

 

Garak stilled, fixing the man with a burning stare. “I'm listening,” he said tersely.

 

Odo

Kira's Private Quarters

 

After leaving Garak, Odo stopped first in the security office and downloaded a small file onto a data rod. He was hoping he wouldn't have to use it; however, he was a careful man, and he planned for as many contingencies as he could. He knew that it wouldn't be long before Nerys' shift ended. He decided the best course of action would be to wait for her outside her quarters rather than trying to intercept her from Ops. His wait hadn't been a long one. She came home straight from work and allowed him to come in with her.

 

“We have to talk,” he said.

 

Turning abruptly to face him, she raised a hand impatiently. “Look, Odo, if this is about Garak, there's nothing to say. You know as well as I do what the situation is like down on Bajor right now. Any influence I had is pretty much gone thanks to Winn and all the people wanting to kiss up to her. I'd actually like to still have a career by this time next year.”

 

“This isn't right,” he said pointedly, “and you know it.”

 

She unfastened her uniform jacket and tossed it over a chair. “You're right. It's awful. Decla is being a royal bitch, but honestly, Odo, what's at stake? She and the rest of the staff are caring for Julian as well as they can. Garak's being there, or not, isn't going to make a difference, not if what you said about Letheans is true.”

 

“Any more of a difference than your presence with Bareil made at the end,” he said ruthlessly. Her gut punched look hurt him, and knowing he put it there hurt worse. Nonetheless, he held his ground.

 

She sucked in a swift hiss of air through her teeth. “How can you say that to me?” she asked.

 

“How can you know what that man is going through and not even try?” he retorted.

 

She shook her head and turned away from him. “He's a Cardassian,” she said flatly. “Do you have any idea what he has put Julian through in that relationship? He told him...he told him outright he doesn't love him. You'll have to forgive me if I find this sudden show of his just a little suspect in light of that,” she snapped. “If anything, it seems more like...like a territory dispute!”

 

She could be so stubborn, so blinded by her prejudices. It angered him when she got this way, and it disappointed him, too. She was better than that. Sometimes, it took a lot of pushing to get her to remember it. “Naturally, you find it easier to believe that he's lying now, rather than in telling the doctor he doesn't love him,” he said querulously.

 

“Frankly? Yes!” she said. “Look. I appreciate what he did about the funeral. I do. I even think that maybe in some way, it's the most selfless thing he has ever done, but...”

 

“It's not,” he cut her off abruptly.

 

She shook her head. “Oh, don't start! Don't even try to talk about that trip to Cardassia. You and I both know that Commander Sisko threatened him with deportation to get him to agree. Even so, I half expected that he would have just as soon shot me and Tekeny instead of Entek, if he thought it would get him something.”

 

Sighing to himself, he produced the data rod, offering it to her silently, his look a challenging one.

 

“What's this?” she asked, taking it from him and turning it over in her hand.

 

“It's a copy of the transmission Garak received regarding your abduction,” he replied. “It took me a long time to find it, even longer to decode it, but I know it's authentic. He doesn't know that I have it, and I'd like for it to stay that way.”

 

She frowned deeply. “What does this prove?” she asked, her voice taut with suspicion.

 

“What are you so worried about?” he asked, a mocking tone rising in his voice. “You're so certain you're right. This should mean nothing, right?”

 

With a stubborn set to her jaw, she crossed to her terminal and shoved the rod into its slot. He watched her body language closely as she read the short line of text. She caught her breath, then sagged, her head dropping slightly forward. “I don't understand,” she said softly.

 

“What's not to understand,” Odo demanded, “if you accept that Garak actually loves the doctor a great deal more than he knows how to handle or can even admit to himself? The only way his actions in light of that transmission don't make sense is if we accept your version of what he's like.”

 

She scrubbed a hand back through her hair. “I always assumed he was ordered to do it, some game within a game they're all so fond of. I...” she trailed off and sighed. “Fine,” she said, resigned. “I'll do what I can. I just don't know if it'll be enough. The only person I can think of who might have even close to enough influence to pull strings like this is Shakaar, and I don't think he'll be thrilled with the idea of doing something like this for a Cardassian.”

 

“He won't be doing it for a Cardassian,” he said reasonably. “He'll be doing it for you.”

 

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

 

He, too, felt resigned for a different reason. “I'm going to contact Doctor Mora,” he said. “He has some pull with the Bajoran Medical Board. None of them may be fond of Cardassians, but I believe that all of them are professional enough to know that visitation protocol should never be shaped by the personal feelings of the attending medical personnel in charge of the facility. I'm also going to dig deeper into this Decla's background. There may be something there we can use.”

 

“Odo,” she said hesitantly, “we don't have any evidence that this is personal, just Garak's word against Decla's.”

 

“I'm sure Doctor Bashir could enlighten us further,” he said.

 

“If he wakes up, yes,” she said, nodding. “If he doesn't...”

 

“Nerys, if he doesn't, I'll accept whatever fallout occurs because of our actions. We're doing the right thing. That's all that matters.”

 

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered darkly, turning to make the call to Shakaar.

dark_sinestra: (Default)

Julian

Quark's Bar

 

Although he rarely put Garak off when the tailor wished to have dinner with him or otherwise engage him for the evening, he couldn't help himself. He was far too curious about the newly arrived Cardassian scientists and what they were like. He nabbed Miles shortly after his meeting with them in order to get a run down.

 

They're all right,” the Chief said diffidently as he signaled for Quark to bring them their drinks.

 

That's not at all vague,” the doctor said playfully.

 

Miles shot him a mildly irritated side glance. “They're about what you'd expect.”

 

Humor me,” he pressed. “I don't really know what to expect.”

 

You're in a relationship with one, aren't you?” he asked, turning once he had his ale and putting his back to the bar.

 

Julian lifted his ale and turned, too, suppressing his annoyance. “I'm in a relationship with one Cardassian male, who may or may not be fairly typical of his species. He's not a scientist, and he seems to think that they would be irritating company.”

 

One of the first honest things that's come from him,” the engineer snorted. At Julian's look, he continued. “Don't go gettin' your back up. I'm not sayin' anything you don't already know. Ulani's all right, I suppose. She heads the team, but that Gilora and Dejar are somethin' else. If I were Garak, I'd be avoidin' 'em, too. Can't say I'm lookin' forward to tomorrow.”

 

Why? What happens tomorrow?”

 

Gilora and I have to work things from this end while the others hop through the wormhole on the Defiant and get things situated there,” he said, swigging his ale grimly.

 

It can't be that bad,” Julian said with a laugh.

 

Miles just eyed him and shook his head. “Much as I'd like to sit here half the night and just forget what I've got to do, I'd better call it an early night. I'm goin' t' need all my ducks in a row to get through tomorrow without takin' off that woman's head or losing my own.”

 

Julian nodded and watched him get underway. Maybe contentiousness was a race trait after all. He doubted that he'd get an honest answer about that from Garak. For all that he had come to know the man at least somewhat during their association, the tailor was famously tight lipped when it came to information about his people. He dropped tantalizing hints here and there, hints that raised more questions than they answered. He wondered how Garak would take it if he arranged to have dinner with one or more of the women just to satisfy his own curiosity. He had never displayed much in the way of jealousy, if he discounted his expression when he walked in on him and Kira that time in the infirmary. However, that could just as easily have been about the oddness of the circumstances or the fact that at the time Kira was someone who hated Garak as it was about Julian's being with someone else. Anyway, they had been broken up at the time.

 

He decided that he was going to go find Garak and bring it up when the Cardassian saved him the trouble by walking into the bar. Before he could go greet him, someone else sidled out of the shadows to approach the tailor. At first he didn't recognize the attractive, mature blond, and then it hit him. Nurse Decla? Never having seen her outside of work, he was fascinated. Had the two arranged to meet? Surely not, because Garak had invited him for dinner, and their dinner dates almost never ended until the next morning. Besides, the tailor had seemed just as surprised to see her as Julian was.

 

He resisted the urge to reveal his presence. The two seemed to be exchanging pleasantries, both looking quite relaxed. He supposed that he should be glad that the nurse was willing to speak to Garak outside of the infirmary setting. So few people ever truly sought his lover out for socializing and conversation. Most of his encounters were secondary results of invitations for Julian. The Cardassian said something, and the woman tipped her head back and laughed a full throated laugh.

 

Whether he ought to be glad or not, he wasn't any longer. Garak may not have been flirting with the woman, but she was flirting with him. He slid from his stool and stopped in his tracks. A Cardassian woman, almost certainly one of the three scientists, approached the duo. She said something that had the Bajoran nurse's expression shifting toward the frosty end of the spectrum. Garak looked mildly apologetic. The nurse excused herself, and Garak allowed the scientist to lead him toward an empty table.

 

He couldn't bring himself to interfere with that encounter. Instead, he decided to intercept his nurse. He didn't think about whether this was a good or bad idea. He was acting on an instinct that wasn't completely within his conscious awareness. “Nurse Decla,” he called to catch her attention before she could become involved with the dabo game she had paused to watch.

 

She craned her neck to see who had called to her and curved a smile. When he was close enough for her to address without shouting, she said, “Good evening, Doctor.”

 

Hello,” he said, moving to stand at her side. “I don't believe I've ever seen you here before. Come here often?”

 

From time to time,” she said casually. “I don't often enjoy crowds. Now and then, it's fun. Do you?”

 

Some,” he said. “Sometimes Garak gets in a gregarious mood, or I meet friends here after work.”

 

I just saw him,” she said, gesturing vaguely back toward the door. “Then that dreadful woman came over. Quite rude. I got the impression that she knows him, although he didn't seem to recognize her.”

 

That intrigued him, but it wasn't enough to put him off of what he intended to say. “Yes,” he said, “I saw you with him.”

 

You should have come over,” she said, glancing away from him as someone yelled dabo.

 

You didn't look as though you'd welcome the interruption,” he said, not liking the peevish tone in his own voice and not quite able to control it.

 

She blinked at him, taken aback. “Why ever not?” she asked.

 

You tell me,” he said, meeting her gaze with a level look.

 

She laughed. “I'm sure I don't know.”

 

As she continued to blink at him, he started to wonder if he had been imagining things. After all, he saw them from a distance, and he hadn't heard anything of what was said. Garak could be very amusing and entertaining. “I'm sorry,” he said, lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “I suppose I'm just not used to seeing Bajorans willingly associating with him.”

 

I'm sure you're not,” she agreed. “In fact, I'm sure that you're very used to having most of his company to yourself.”

 

It was his turn to blink in surprise. What was she getting at? “Actually, he likes to spend a good deal of time alone. He likes his privacy.”

 

Mm,” she said, no longer looking at him, instead watching the dabo game in progress.

 

If you have something to say, by all means say it,” he said, irritated all over again. “This is a purely social setting. I assure you I can keep it separate from work.”

 

I wasn't worried about that,” she assured him.

 

Then what?”

 

How much of his reticence do you believe is a product of a private, introverted nature, and how much of it is a product of his surroundings? If you lived somewhere that you knew you would be reviled and whispered about at every turn, how introverted might you become?” she asked, still watching the dabo wheel.

 

I make certain he gets included when he wants to be,” he said a bit defensively.

 

She made a scoffing sound. “As an overzealous parent might a socially awkward child?” When she looked at him again, it was with the same, intense focus he had come to expect from his lover when making an important point. “Don't you think he knows how much of his socializing is at your behest and by your graces? Come, Doctor. He's an intelligent man. Give him some credit.”

 

Dismayed, he asked, “Has he said something to you about all of this?”

 

Of course not,” she said. “I, however, am intelligent, too.”

 

He didn't know what to say to that or what point she was trying to make. As he looked into the wide-set green eyes, he realized he didn't know this woman at all except on the most superficial of levels. “If you want to associate with Garak outside of work,” he found himself saying, “I have no intention of standing in the way, if that's what you're getting at. I want him to have friends of his own.”

 

Yes, I'm sure you do,” she said, her lips curving into a smile that wasn't entirely pleasant. “It makes it easier to associate with your own friends without having to feel guilty about him off in his room alone waiting for you.”

 

He opened his mouth and shut it again, biting back the first thing that came to mind. He didn't want to get in an argument in the middle of Quark's with enough people around who knew him to spread gossip about it later. “I don't care for that insinuation, Nurse,” he said coolly.

 

Please,” she said, “just Decla. We're not working right now, are we, Bashir? What insinuation? I believe that I spoke quite clearly.”

 

You're making it sound like...like I'm treating him like some sort of kept man,” he said, “when nothing could be further from the truth.”

 

She tilted her head. “I said no such thing, not even close. Are you sure it's not your own conscience coloring how you're viewing this conversation? You're the one who came over here, puffed like a hara cat, implying that I would be possessive of the man's company for reasons I can hardly fathom. I had spoken to him for less than five minutes. What could either of us have possibly said or done to account for your reaction?”

 

To his chagrin, he felt his face coloring. How had she so thoroughly managed to turn this around on him? “You're mistaken,” he said.

 

Am I?” She let the question hang between them, giving no quarter.

 

He let out a small huff of air. Garak was right. He was a terrible liar. “All right,” he conceded. “I...overreacted to seeing the two of you together. It was difficult for me to turn over his therapy to someone else. I suppose in some ways I envy what you're able to do for him, when I'd like to be the one doing it.”

 

You love him very much,” she said.

 

He nodded. It still felt strange saying it aloud to others, particularly people he barely knew. “Probably more than I should,” he confessed.

 

What an odd thing to say,” she said, tilting her head curiously.

 

The blush that had started to fade returned. “I suppose. It's just that he...well, it's complicated, and I'm sure it's nothing you want to hear.”

 

If you want to tell me, I want to hear it,” she said, her tone and look growing more gentle.

 

Maybe he had misjudged her. Her concern had a matronly air to it, and he could detect no hint of condescension. “He's always telling me that he doesn't feel the same way, that he can't. I believe him, but it doesn't change how I feel.”

 

I see,” she said, touching his arm lightly. “That must be difficult to hear.”

 

He nodded again, surprised to find her so understanding. He felt silly for having antagonized her in such a way over nothing more than a laugh. “I didn't mean to dump my issues in your lap. You must think I'm horrid.”

 

No,” she said. “You're just young, and you're involved with a man almost twice your age. That has to be confusing and intimidating, trying to measure up to that level of experience. When you add the extra complication of an interspecies relationship, well, I'm amazed that you even decided to give it a go in the first place. That's very brave of you and admirable given what the association could do to your career. Not many would take such risks.”

 

Yes,” he said, suddenly uncomfortable having some of his deepest insecurities about the relationship laid bare so quickly and easily by this woman who barely knew him. Yet again, he wondered if Garak had said more to her than she was telling him, or if he truly was that easy to read. No wonder Garak might have been looking for outside company. No wonder Nurse Decla seemed like an attractive choice. Could that be why he visited her earlier and why he was so reluctant to discuss it with Julian when he asked? Did he not want him feeling bad about his isolation? Or did he just want something to himself for a change? “I meant what I said,” he managed. “I won't mind if you associate with him outside of work. In fact, I'm sure he'd enjoy it.”

 

Really?” she asked. “Why do you say that?”

 

You're a facile conversationalist. He loves a good conversation.” He hazarded a glance over to the last place he had seen Garak and the Cardassian scientist, only to find both of them gone. “If you'll excuse me, I believe I've had my fill of Quark's for the night. I'm going back to my quarters.”

 

All right,” she said, turning her attention back to the dabo table. “I'll see you at work, then.”

 

Yes,” he said, “you will.” As he all but fled the bar, he inwardly cursed himself. That couldn't have gone any worse had he grabbed her by the arm and slapped her. The worst part of it was that she made some very salient points. He had a good deal to think about.

 

Garak

Quark's Bar

 

Irritated with how abruptly the Cardassian scientist dismissed Nurse Decla, Garak nonetheless followed the woman to a table and took a seat with her. He was too curious about what she wanted to dismiss her, although he wasn't prepared to discount the option outright should she remain churlish. She claimed the seat with the best view of the door, forcing him to take a less advantageous option. Frowning, he said, “I trust you have a good reason for interrupting my evening?”

 

Getting familiar with the local fauna?” the woman asked, smirking.

 

Such an unenlightened attitude,” he chided her, waving away the Ferengi waiter who came by to take their order, “given the new treaty.”

 

Her eyes glittered with contempt. “That's right,” she said. “You had something of a hand in that, from what I hear. Oh, not with the negotiation itself, of course, but quite the public display afterward.”

 

I didn't catch your name,” Garak said.

 

I didn't offer it,” she responded, flicking a small piece of lint from her sleeve. “You may call me Dejar. You're Garak.”

 

I see my prowess with a needle and thread precede me,” he said dryly.

 

Don't flatter yourself. Your disgrace has become a thing of legend among Probes all over Cardassia, one of the very few living examples of what happens to those who cross Enabran Tain and the powers that be. Better off dead, many say. I have to agree with them if you're going native to the point of flirting with them in a dive like this and attending quaint religious ceremonies that are bad for your health.”

 

My health is excellent, as you can see,” he said, unruffled.

 

You're amazingly composed. You must know by now what I am,” she said casually.

 

Indeed,” he agreed. “If you intended me harm, you'd have already attempted it, not announced your presence to me like an attendee of the latest formal ball. How is Tain by the way?”

 

I wouldn't know,” she snorted. “He's in retirement, as I'm sure you're aware. No one hears much of him these days. You, on the other hand, caused a stir.”

 

And you're here to correct my oversight?” he asked.

 

She pursed her lips slightly. “Don't get in my way. I haven't been given specific instructions regarding you one way or the other, which to my mind gives me some leeway.”

 

Creativity can be a dangerous skill,” he said lightly. “You do realize that had you said nothing to me, it's likely I'd have had no idea of your association and no reason to suspect you of anything?”

 

You may be in disgrace. That doesn't change who, or what, you are,” she said. “I believe in being thorough. On one hand, consider this a professional courtesy, and on the other morbid curiosity. I wanted to see what a de-fanged hound looks like up close.” She stood then, glancing at him down her nose. “Frankly, I'm not impressed.”

 

He gave her a mocking smile and an incline of his head, blue eyes hard. So, the young pup wished to play, did she? He stood from his seat and left the bar at a leisurely stroll after he was sure she was gone. No one had contacted him, directly or indirectly, after the funeral. He believed that had his actions proved antithetical to the will of the Cardassian Union, something worse than his inept abduction would have occurred. It was no secret to him that in many ways, the various heads that composed the state were rarely in full agreement. The trick was in backing the one with the most influence at any given time. So, he was no longer considered an active agent? Then what he intended to do wasn't prohibited. Cardassian citizens were encouraged to support the wise decisions of the state.

 

With his lips curled in an unconscious expression of mild contempt, he let himself into his shop and retreated to the back for a little research. It was ridiculously easy to pull up files on both Ulani Belor and Gilora Rejal. Now, which would be the better to approach? He scanned their records, weighing one against the other, and eventually came to a decision. He sent a small, simple message via the internal comm and retired to his quarters for the night. It was too late of an hour for anything else that evening.

 

The next morning, at 0700 hours, his door chimed. “Enter,” he said pleasantly. Fully dressed, he sat relaxed at his table with a mug of rokassa juice and a PADD before him.

 

A tall, rather attractive Cardassian woman stepped into his room, eying him with caution and curiosity in equal measure. “I received your message, obviously,” she said. “What was so urgent that we had to meet privately in your quarters? Garak, is it?”

 

Yes, Garak,” he said pleasantly. “May I get you anything? Have you eaten?”

 

I'm fine,” she said. “I should be getting to work soon. I hope you'll make this brief.”

 

Your record is exemplary,” he said, “top third of your class at the Institute, several commendations for your papers on communication relays, the effects of subspace anomalies on wave variances, and never even a whiff of scandal, and yet you were very outspoken in your early years in support of historical research regarding Hebitian ruins and beliefs, as well as evidence of cross species contact in the early days of Cardassia Prime. You considered being a historian, did you not?”

 

She folded her arms defensively. “Who are you?” she asked. “I thought it was bad enough that the military was sending us a supervisor to keep us on a short leash. This is offensive.”

 

The military?” he asked pointedly.

 

The Obsidian Order,” she said. “Not that I need to tell you that. You reek of their methodologies. So what is it your superiors want of me?”

 

He shook his head slightly as though that were of no consequence. “It's remarkable, isn't it, Bajorans and Cardassians cooperating on an important project? It's almost as though the voice of history is whispering to us from eons ago.” She remained silent, no longer looking quite so certain of him. “How often is it that history is given a voice, I wonder? How many of our people have the ability to listen?”

 

Our government is listening,” she said softly but fervently. “Regardless of what others say or think of us, I don't believe that this treaty was entered into lightly.”

 

Nor do I,” he said, holding her gaze with his.

 

You're...warning me of something,” she said very slowly, as though she hardly dared to believe it.

 

I knew your record spoke of itself,” he said, smiling.

 

I could land myself in more than a little trouble if I interfere with the Order,” she said.

 

There is a treaty,” he reminded her. “Regardless of who wants what, at least for the time being, overt actions will be in support of that. You have a promising, public career. I would advise that you continue to be as extroverted and outspoken as you are, in the name of good science, of course.”

 

Who are you really, Garak?” she asked, unfolding her arms and letting them drop back to her sides.

 

I'm just a plain, simple tailor,” he replied with a bright smile. “And I rather like this new spirit of cooperation between the two governments. Don't you?”

 

Julian

Garak's Quarters

 

Can you believe it?” the doctor asked Garak excitedly, pacing before the seated man on the sofa. “Who would have thought that a Cardassian civilian would have the bravery to speak up and expose an Obsidian Order agent's scheme to sabotage the project? Miles was very impressed, and so am I. It's looking as though this treaty truly does have the support of the Cardassian people.”

 

Garak smiled mildly. “So it seems,” he said. “Who would have thought that a scientist would be overtly political?”

 

Quirking his lips, Julian knelt in front of Garak and took his hands in his, lifting them to kiss the knuckles. “You said everything is political when it comes to your people, my love.”

 

Did I?” Garak tilted his head. “Hmm. You're quite sure I was sober when I said this?”

 

Garak! You haven't had a drop of kanar in weeks. Yes, I'm quite sure, and you weren't out of your head on pain medication, either.” He rubbed his thumbs over the backs of the man's hands. “Speaking of that, I...wanted to ask you something.”

 

I thought we settled that matter, dear,” he said, reversing the hold and brushing one of Julian's knuckles with his lips. “Of course, if you're asking for a repeat demonstration, I'm sure I can accommodate.”

 

The doctor grinned and squeezed his hands. “Later. That's not what I was talking about.” His grin faded. “I had an interesting conversation with Nurse Decla the other night at Quark's.”

 

Did you?” the tailor asked, nothing more than curiosity to be seen in his gaze. “About my physical therapy? My medication? I haven't been having any problems with it. As you can see, I've made quite a bit of progress over the past month.”

 

Yes,” he said, “and I'm proud of you for it. I also appreciate what she has done for you. Turning over your treatment to her was the right decision. She has been much harder on you than I could ever bring myself to be.” He took a deep breath. “She's...very attractive, isn't she?”

 

She is,” Garak agreed.

 

He almost balked at hearing that, but he pressed on, determined not to be selfish. “She's also very interesting. She has a quick wit. She seems to like you.”

 

Yes,” the tailor agreed again.

 

Do you like her?” he asked, dropping his gaze but forcing himself to lift it again almost immediately.

 

I do,” he replied without elaborating.

 

Damn it, Julian thought in exasperation. He should have known that the tailor wouldn't make such a discussion easy on him. “It occurred to me that you don't get out much, at least not unless I invite you to various gatherings and functions to which I've been invited.”

 

True,” Garak said, nodding.

 

Is...is that by choice?” he asked.

 

I'm not entirely sure what you mean,” the man said. “It's my choice whether I attend these functions with you or not. We've been together long enough by now that you should know I rarely allow you to pressure me into anything I'd find onerous.”

 

No, that's not what I mean. I mean...would you be more social, given the chance?”

 

Garak eyed him oddly. “You said you had a conversation with Nurse Decla?” he prompted.

 

Yes. She...she seems to think you'd be more social if you had the opportunity. Is that true?”

 

I suppose it is,” he said casually. “I haven't given it much thought.”

 

Do you want to be more social with her?” He winced at the thin note in his voice at the question.

 

Are you sure you want to talk about this?” Garak asked.

 

I'm sure we need to. I've assumed, rather arrogantly, that I would have you all to myself, and I'm not entirely proud to say that I've behaved with something of a sense of entitlement when it comes to your company. You've been very patient and accommodating with me when it comes to spending time with Miles or Dax, and...and you've never said anything to me about what happened with Major Kira.”

 

You were under the influence of outside telepathic influence,” the Cardassian said reasonably. “It would be very unreasonable of me to take you to task for that. Besides, I had broken things off with you at that point. If you wanted to sleep your way through Quark's entire stable of dabo girls and every co-worker you have, I wouldn't have had the right to say a thing about it.”

 

He frowned, listening carefully to how that was phrased. “What about now?” he asked.

 

Are you trying to tell me you're involved with Major Kira?” Garak asked, irritation flashing in his eyes.

 

No! Of course not. I wouldn't sneak behind your back like that,” he said. “I suppose, in my own clumsy way, I'm trying to ask you what rights you do think we have with one another. Are we...exclusive?”

 

I suppose I should be the one asking you that,” Garak said. “This is about Nurse Decla, is it not?”

 

Julian nodded, feeling more miserable by the minute. “You've said to me so many times that you don't feel the way I do. All along, I've said I accept that, and I do,” he added quickly. “It just never occurred to me that included in that...disparity of feeling...there might also come a time when the question of...sharing you might arise. It would hardly be fair of me to expect you to behave as though we're bonded to one another in some way or to ask you for fidelity that you don't feel. As much as I enjoy all of the time we spend together, I'm not so naïve as to believe that I'm the only company you need.”

 

My dear boy,” Garak murmured, cupping his cheek gently with a hand. “Every time I think I've charted the course of where your emotions lead, you surprise me.”

 

He leaned into that touch, part of him ashamed that he was so eager to accept the barest crumbs of affection the older man deigned to offer. How could he deny that at least for him, approval was a powerful aphrodisiac? “Do you want her?” he asked, only by willpower alone preventing his voice from trembling in the question.

 

I can't deny that I've considered it,” Garak said, stroking a thumb lightly over his cheek. “I haven't acted on it.”

 

Although he had no reason to believe the latter to be true, he decided to accept it, simply because it was easier on him. “I...don't want to stand in the way of that,” he said softly, closing his eyes. He didn't know if he could bear seeing relief or eagerness in Garak's in that moment. “All I ask is that if you do decide to act on that attraction, you don't let me know about it, but...if you develop feelings for her...well, if it's something you want more than this, you'll tell me. I think I can handle the thought that you might be indulging curiosity and appetite as long as it's not thrown in my face, but I don't want to be the third side of a true triangle. I just...I don't think I could take it.”

 

Garak continued that gentle stroking of his cheek. “What did she say to you, my dear?” he asked very softly. “Please, be as exact as you can.”

 

O...OK,” he said, a bit taken aback. Despite his perfect recall, he fuzzed a few of the details, much the way that any average human might. He didn't understand why it seemed so important to the tailor, but he saw no reason not to answer. As he continued, he saw the man's expression harden, a decidedly unpleasant gleam coming into the brilliant blue eyes. “I...I'm sorry,” he said, faltering. “I know I had no right to discuss you like that. I shouldn't have even approached her.”

 

The man's brow ridges dipped downward and he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Julian's forehead. “You have nothing to apologize for, understand?”

 

Not entirely,” he admitted.

 

She was right about one thing,” he said with a sigh. “You are young. There's no flaw in that and no shame. I know that I play fast and loose with what you like to call the truth,” he said, “but I want you to believe me when I tell you that you have nothing to worry about in regard to this woman. I won't be visiting her bed or taking advantage of social opportunities. In fact, I believe that I'm far enough along in my physical therapy that I would like for you to resume it, if,” he paused, regarding him intently, “you promise to push me.”

 

Relief flooded him so strongly, he felt momentarily weak. He leaned forward, hugging both of Garak's calves and resting his cheek against a thigh. “I'm afraid I really don't understand now,” he said.

 

You understand everything that's important,” Garak replied, caressing his hair lightly. “Are you still interested in testing to see if I've had a medication relapse?”

 

Such things are important,” he said, an impish smile teasing his lips upward. “I'd be remiss as your doctor not to make certain.”

 

Garak

Habitat Level H-2

Chamber 703

 

Garak watched the gracefully clad Bajoran nurse retreat from admitting him to her quarters with a sway to her hips and a subdued smile at him over her shoulder. “I wasn't expecting to see you tonight,” she said. “After Doctor Bashir told me he'd be taking your case back, I didn't know what to think. Were you worried that having me as your physical therapist would make things awkward? It wouldn't have for me, but I know how you Cardassian males are.”

 

Your knowledge of males in general seems extensive,” Garak replied.

 

She gave a soft laugh and turned back to face him before taking a seat on her sofa. “Are you trying to insult me?” she asked.

 

No, merely making an observation. You played our doctor quite well the other night at Quark's from what I hear.”

 

She sat up a bit straighter and pushed a lock of hair over her shoulder. “I'm not sure what you mean by played. I merely told him things I felt he needed to hear. Was I mistaken about you in anything that I said?”

 

No,” he said, moving to stand behind the chair opposite her. “You painted quite the vivid and accurate picture of my condition on this station. You also managed to pin a good number of the doctor's insecurities in the process. I'd congratulate you, except that the young are such easy targets. Rather like plucking eels from a barrel.”

 

You can't honestly tell me that he meets your needs,” she scoffed. “You're right. It was all too easy to line him up and knock him down. If you ask me, he deserved it, the way he takes you for granted. Before his little infatuation, I hear he was quite the skirt chaser. Do you really think those days are over?”

 

Garak smiled coldly. “You're not as good as you think you are. My insecurities aren't quite that easy to find. I didn't come here to quibble with you about what the dear doctor does or doesn't provide for me. I came here to warn you.”

 

Warn me?” her eyes narrowed. “You had better watch yourself. You may have earned a few points with the Provisional Government with your grand gesture at the funeral, but it won't mean a thing if you go around threatening Bajoran citizens on this station, particularly ones as well connected as I am.”

 

Who said anything about threats?” he asked innocently. “No, my dear, I'm not here to threaten you. There's a difference. Pay attention. I may not be head over heels in love as only the young can truly be, but I feel a good deal of affection for Doctor Bashir, and I tend to take it very personally when he gets his feelings hurt. You were with a Gul. You know just how personally we Cardassians can take things,” he said, pausing to let that sink in. “You also know that we almost never threaten.” He gave the last word special emphasis.

 

She scowled. “I think it's time you left now,” she said acidly, all traces of seduction gone from her husky voice.

 

I couldn't agree more,” he said, moving to comply. “I'm so glad to have had this little heart to heart.” He paused at the door. “It's just a shame that you couldn't keep things strictly between you and me. It could have been...interesting.” He left her to ponder that, feeling only slight regret that things didn't work out differently. Truth told, she really was a little too aggressive for his taste and more like Palandine than he had originally realized. Going backward had never really been his style.

 

The End

dark_sinestra: (Default)

Author Notes: This story is set before and during the episode Destiny. It's a direct sequel to “Red Sky at Morning” and probably won't make a tremendous amount of sense without that in context.

Summary: While Garak recovers from a devastating injury, Julian is forced to confront some harsh realities about their relationship and certain things he has taken for granted. When three Cardassians visit the station for a joint venture with Bajor and Starfleet, the new treaty is put to the test, loyalties are challenged, and both men develop a deeper sense of what they're involved with, both with one another and in the larger scheme of events.

Author: Dark Sinestra

Date Written: December, 2009

Category: Slash

Rating: NC-17 for some scenes of explicit sex and mild adult language and situations.

Disclaimer: These guys aren't mine. I just borrow them and the setting from time to time from Paramount, and I don't even get paid!

Word Count: 17,070

 

Julian

Quark's Bar

 

I'm just sayin' I miss her when she's gone,” Chief O'Brien said, shrugging his shoulders and hunching over his pint on the small table.

 

Julian sighed and stared morosely into the depths of his ale, no longer having to feign being in his cups. “'S better than missing her while she's here,” he slurred.

 

Garak still bein' difficult?” Miles asked, his brows lifting.

 

The doctor quirked his lips in dry amusement. “You may as well ask if Garak is still being Garak. Yes. He's still being...difficult,” he said, sighing again. “I don't understand it. I mean, of course, I understand why he hasn't wanted to be physical...”

 

The Irishman pulled a face. “You don't have to say everythin' that's on your mind,” he said quickly. At the other man's look, he held up a hand. “I'm sorry! There are just some visions I don't need dancin' t'rough my head, alright?”

 

Julian conceded the point with a wave of his hand then put it to his chest while he hiccup belched. “Fine,” he said. “All I meant was I know he still has pain from his injury. But he won't even let me stay over. He claims we see plenty of one another while we're awake, but half of that time is his physical therapy, so I don't think it counts,” he added crossly.

 

Miles took a long swig of his pint and set the glass down, beckoning Rom over for another round. “Make that two,” he said and turned his attention back to the doctor. “You've got to look at it from his perspective, Julian,” he said pragmatically. “The Cardies...Cardassians,” he corrected himself, “don't like to show weakness, right?”

 

But it's not weakness,” he protested. “He took a phaser shot at almost point blank range to the chest! By all rights, he should be dead. If he were weak, he would be.”

 

That's the way you see it,” he continued. “It's not how he sees it. Look, if there's one thing I've learned bein' married, it's that you've got to be able to see things from the other side. You don't have to agree wit' 'em; you don't even have to like it. But you'd damned well better be able to see where they're comin' from, or you're doomed to go round and round until one or both of you get tired of it and walk away.” He sat back while Rom set their drinks in front of them and cleared away the empties.

 

I suppose,” Julian said, frowning.

 

Suppose not'in',” Miles snorted. “You either figure out how to do that, or plan to spend a lot more nights missin' him, even after he's fully recovered.”

 

That touched on yet another worry. He lifted his eyes to the Irishman's. “What if he doesn't fully recover?”

 

Miles swigged down half of his pint in one swallow. “Why don't you cross that bridge when you come to it? You've got enough t' worry about right now as it is.”

 

Garak

Garak's Clothiers

Stock Room

 

With every line and ridge of his face taut with concentration, Garak licked his lips and tried yet again. It was so simple that at one time he could've done it in his sleep. He held a slender needle between the thumb and index finger of his right hand and a black thread the same way in his left. As he brought them closer together, minute tremors shook his limbs, spreading from his shoulders downward. He couldn't even make the tip of the thread touch the eye, much less get it through. Roaring his frustration, he kicked the clothing form before him, sending it and the jacket it held flying.

 

I think you've subdued it,” a gravely voice came from behind him.

 

Whirling, he saw Odo leaned in the stock room doorway, his arms folded loosely. “How long have you been there?” he demanded.

 

Long enough,” the changeling said. “I've been getting...reports...that you've been behaving erratically on the Promenade. Outbursts. To my knowledge, you haven't kicked anyone like that, or this would be more than a social call.”

 

I'm fine,” Garak said, flinging aside the needle and thread and moving to right the clothing form.

 

Never better,” Odo said agreeably.

 

While I appreciate cutting sarcasm more than most, I could do without it this morning,” the tailor retorted.

 

Has it occurred to you that you may be pushing yourself too hard too soon?” he asked.

 

Has it occurred to you that it's none of your business?” Garak shot back, glaring.

 

Odo regarded him for several long moments silently. “When you start causing trouble, it becomes my business,” he said stiffly. “Believe me, Garak, I don't want it to be my business. I have better things to do than follow you around and ensure you don't harass the other business owners on the Promenade. I understand better than most how it feels to want to be left alone. I also understand better than most how it feels to be frustrated by...limitations.” He grew silent again, giving that time to sink in.

 

As much as I'd love a fascinating heart to heart,” the Cardassian said acidly, “I have work to do. If I agree not to give you a reason to make my business yours, will you agree to let me get back to it?”

 

Unfolding his arms and giving that odd little nod of his that usually meant he completely disagreed and thought someone was making an ass of himself, the changeling said, “Have it your way. See to it that you keep your side of the bargain, or the next talk we have will be in my office over paperwork.”

 

Garak held his shoulders stiff until he was sure the security chief was gone, then let himself sag. He was sick to death of this solicitousness from every side, none of it welcome. Even Major Kira's intense looks these days were a great deal less venom and a lot more habit. They had no right to treat him like a toothless hunting hound that had lived past its usefulness but was of too much sentimental value to be put down. There was one Terran phrase that made a lot of sense to him and seemed to apply perfectly to his situation, No good deed goes unpunished. At the rate all of them were going, he was determined that his one good deed would be the last one, at least the last one he performed openly. It wasn't worth the fallout.

 

He had lain in the hospital bed surrounded by flowers, as though he were already dead, for much longer than he liked. Did any of them bother to ask him how he felt about that, or what it looked like to him? No. Afterward, he had been subjected daily to Julian's intense scrutiny, his every move watched, every spasm and tremor noted, every faltering step righted before he had a chance to fall. Did Julian once think such attention might be insulting? Of course not, and if he had to tell him, well then, he would never be sure if the man wasn't doing it simply because he told him not to or if he truly understood that he was strong enough not to need that. The physical therapy was the worst and most grievous insult of all. Julian wasn't pushing him, not nearly as hard as he should have been. Then he wondered why he wanted time to himself? Humans, he thought with a mental growl. They were as soft on the inside as they were on the outside, and they wanted to reshape the entire galaxy in their image. Bah!

 

He was coming to a very unpleasant realization as he hunted for the stray needle he had flung. There was a good chance he might never again possess the dexterity he needed for the fine needlework for which he was known. Over time, he had dealt with several salesmen hawking various wonder machines, promising to cut his work time into one third of his current rate, miraculous devices that could shape any stitch he could imagine and even accept programming from him for new stitches not already in their databases. To a one, he had thrown the blasphemous charlatans out, insulted beyond measure that they didn't understand the difference between manufacture and craft.

 

A sliver of a glimmer caught his eye. He bent too quickly, finding himself suddenly doubled over in pain. Gasping aloud, he grasped the tops of both of his thighs in an iron grip until the wave of burning agony finished roiling through his chest. Julian assured him that such episodes were indicative of his nerves healing. It could've fooled him. He reached a shaking hand out to pluck the needle from the floor and held it up to eye level as he carefully straightened. No amount of skill in the world would serve him if he couldn't properly handle his tools. He had to make a living. He would never accept charity or live off of Julian. Maybe it was time to swallow his pride and call one of those loathsome killers of craft for a demonstration.

 

Not yet, he told himself. Not quite yet. He cut another length of thread, darted the end lightly between his lips, and started all over again. If he could just manage to thread the needle, he knew he'd be getting somewhere. The minute tremors grew with his efforts until he shook like a man afflicted with palsy. He wasn't aware of the passage of time, the simple act having grown in his thoughts to a task of monumental importance. It was a battle of wills between his body and his mind, and unfortunately, his body had the advantage.

 

In time he became aware that he had another watcher. Dropping his hands to his sides, he eyed the woman with hostility until his obsession receded far enough for him to recognize her as one of the Bajoran infirmary nurses. “Can I help you?” he asked, wondering what she was doing there and why she hadn't said anything before then.

 

For starters you can be on time,” she said primly, lifting a hand to pat a small strand of her simply coiffed blond hair into place. “While I appreciate your dedication to your work, it's not physical therapy, and it won't get you where you want to be.”

 

Excuse me?” he asked, his brow ridges dipping downward.

 

The time, Mr. Garak, is 1100 hours. 1112 to be precise. You were due in the infirmary seventeen minutes ago. I like for my patients to come a little early,” she replied, turning and shooting him an arch look over her shoulder as though to ask, Are you coming?

 

Setting the needle and thread aside, he hastened his steps to catch up with her. “Please, just call me Garak, and explain what you mean by your patients. My appointment is with Doctor Bashir.”

 

I'm not comfortable with such informality, Mr. Garak,” she said serenely. “I do hope you'll understand. You may call me Nurse Decla or Ms. Decla. Doctor Bashir has turned your physical therapy over to me. If you wish to know why, you'll have to ask him yourself. I'm sure I don't know.”

 

He could hardly believe it. He never thought he'd see the day that Julian would entrust his care to anyone else. Intrigued, and if he was being completely honest with himself, very slightly intimidated by this tall, middle aged nurse with wide-set, cool green eyes, he allowed her to lead him back to the infirmary and ensconce him in the physical therapy room. He took a seat where she indicated and waited as she glanced over a chart.

 

She made a soft tutting sound with her tongue against the roof of her mouth and lifted her gaze. “Was this shamefully lax schedule his idea or yours?” she asked.

 

His,” he said, blue eyes flashing and chin lifting slightly.

 

She smiled in a way he didn't exactly like. “I'm glad to hear that. After watching you with that needle, I was hoping I had someone with some spark on my hands. You're going to need every bit of it if you expect to make a full recovery from that phaser blast.”

 

Do you honestly believe that I can?” he asked her frankly. On more than one occasion since his ordeal, he had read doubt in Julian's eyes when they discussed his injuries, and even though he would never openly admit it, it had eroded his own confidence.

 

You're going to discover very quickly that what I believe doesn't matter one whit,” she said, setting the chart aside. “Do you believe that you can?” She didn't give him time to answer, throwing a ball at him from the depths of one of her pockets. He barely caught it in time to avoid being smacked squarely in the face. As his hand cupped around it, he realized that if it had hit, it would have hurt him. It was only the beginning of her nasty surprises of the session.

 

With one demanding task after another, she put him through his full paces, ignoring any grimaces or hisses of pain. She seemed determined to squeeze his entire hour long regimen into the remaining time they had left. He knew that were he human or one of the other races that could sweat, he would've been soaked with it less than halfway through. While he had wanted Julian to be more demanding, this Bajoran woman was monstrous. He couldn't help but to believe that she was enjoying herself thoroughly. She seemed to take in his every indication of strain, discomfort, and outright agony with enthusiasm, those cool green eyes far more expressive than he would've believed possible the few times he had seen her before.

 

Just when he believed that he had reached the end of his endurance, with every muscle shaking and juddering uncontrollably, she called a halt to his efforts and had him lie back on the bed. As he lay there trying to catch his breath, he could just see her moving in his peripheral vision off to the side. She returned to view and reached for the hidden hooks of his tunic. He caught her wrists with difficulty in his spasming hands. “What do you think you're doing?” he asked.

 

The look she shot him was unbelievably withering. “Mr. Garak, would you like for me to come into your shop while you are hard at work and get in your way? Would your creations turn out well with a third hand in the mix and someone there to question your every move?”

 

No,” he answered.

 

Then why are you interfering with my job?” she asked.

 

Feeling a bit foolish, he released her and dropped his hands back to the bed beneath him. He closed his eyes while she unfastened the top third of his tunic, not wanting to see the clinical assessment in those disturbing eyes. He felt one of her hands slide quickly down the neck of his close fitting undershirt and leave something in place. The next thing he knew, warmth spread from whatever it was and began to radiate outward in soothing waves. His eyes flew open again, just in time to see her adjusting a dial on a panel not so far away. “What is this?” he asked, almost not wanting to trust his voice. After the torture of the therapy session, it felt too good.

 

It's a neural stimulator,” she said. “You've reached a point in your healing process where it will finally do you some good. Too soon, and your system would have been overwhelmed. It will probably cause you to have more frequent pain attacks outside of therapy, at least at first. If it does, you need to tell me so that we can get you some medication to help manage it.”

 

I hate pills,” he snapped.

 

Settling a hand to her hip, she narrowed her eyes. It made her resemble one of those Earth creatures Julian kept considering getting as a pet, a cat. “I'm going to spare you the technical explanation and cut to the chase,” she said, her voice sharp. “Pain causes stress. Stress causes a buildup of chemicals in your body that inhibit healing and even have the power to permanently alter your brain architecture. If you're serious about making a full recovery, you'll tell me when you're hurting, and you'll take whatever we give you for it, in the proper doses and without alcohol. If you're not serious, then you're wasting your and my time, and I won't have that. You're welcome to skip off down to the bar and drown yourself in kanar for all I care, but you won't be welcome back here. Are we clear?”

 

Suddenly, he felt warm from more than just the neural stimulator. He used every ounce of his focus to make certain that only he would be aware of that fact. He was quite sure that she wouldn't appreciate it and wasn't provoking him on purpose. “Your bedside manner leaves something to be desired,” he snorted.

 

You'd do well to focus more on what's good for you and less on your bedside needs, Mr. Garak,” she said frostily. As she turned away and left the room with his chart, he was almost certain he saw a gleam of amusement in her eyes. That even more than what she said mortified him. How did she know?

 

Uncertain of what he was expected to do next, he stayed put on the bed and let the neural stimulator do its work. His shaking ebbed, leaving him in a state of tranquil lassitude. Almost never one for naps, he seriously considered closing down the shop for the afternoon to take one. He hadn't felt this good since before he was shot.

 

Nurse Decla returned with a pill bottle and tucked it into his right hand. “I want you to take two of these at lunch when you leave here, then one before bedtime and one upon awakening until you run out. No kanar while you're taking these! I'll string your little Ferengi friend up by his toes if I see him serving you, and that's nothing compared to what I'll do to you.”

 

Very well,” he said, resigned. He wasn't concerned with her threats; it was what she had said about his recovery and stress impeding it. He was serious about getting better. He didn't want to have to give up everything he had worked so hard to achieve with his shop or his reputation for the quality of his clothing. He sighed when she turned the machine off, that delicious warmth immediately fading to nothing more than memory. He allowed her to remove the pad from his chest and then fastened his clothing as quickly as he could. “Are we done?” he asked.

 

For today, yes,” she said. “By the end of the week, I'll have some exercises for you to perform upon awakening and before you go to bed. I'm cross referencing to be certain they're compatible with your physiology first. Those pills I gave you are just for baseline pain management. If it's not enough, what are you going to do?”

 

He sat up, swinging his legs over the bedside and planting his feet on the floor. He waited to answer until he could stand. She was tall enough that they were nearly eye to eye. “I have no intention of wasting your or my time, Ms. Decla,” he said without blinking. “You'll hear from me.” She inclined her head in a way that looked very Cardassian to him and forced him to step around her to leave the room. He wondered if Julian knew exactly what he had unleashed upon him and why it had taken him this long to realize it was necessary. He decided he'd invite him over for dinner and try to find out, in a roundabout way, of course.

 

Julian

Garak's Quarters

 

He felt silly for being nervous when Garak greeted him with more enthusiasm than he had shown for him since their return from Bajor. The dinner invitation had been completely unexpected. Maybe Miles was right, he thought. Maybe just the act of trying to see things from Garak's point of view eased the mounting tension between them. He was glad he had taken the emotionally difficult step of turning Garak's care over to someone else. As he stepped into the familiar quarters, he smiled brightly. He could smell the spicy richness of a red curry dish, the unmistakable nuttiness of basmati rice, and the garlic-y whiff of naan. Best of all, there were no Cardassian food smells to mingle with the others and trigger his gag reflex. He had gotten to the point where he could take one or the other by themselves, but Terran food and Cardassian food were not a harmonious marriage.

 

Indian food!” he exclaimed unnecessarily. “How incredibly thoughtful. To what do I owe this treat?”

 

I can't just be generous from time to time?” the tailor asked in a way that made him instantly suspicious.

 

You can,” he said, amused. “But you rarely if ever are 'just' anything, my love.”

 

So paranoid,” Garak said with a brilliant smile. “Come then. Let's eat while it's still hot, and you can tell me of your day.”

 

He sat at the table across from the tailor, and the two of them helped themselves from the central dishes. He didn't have a tremendous amount of news to discuss. Truthfully, he was much more interested in hearing about how Garak's session went with Nurse Decla. However, he kept Miles' advice in mind and kept his questions about the therapy to himself. If this dinner was a result of his backing off, he decided that he could stand to do more of it in the future. As he ran out of incidentals to discuss, he did finally hazard, “How was your day?”

 

Garak dropped his gaze to his plate and sopped at traces of the curry sauce with a torn section of naan. He took his time chewing and swallowing, had a long swallow of lassi, and said, “Where in the world did you manage to dig up that dictator Decla? That woman is a menace, Julian. I think she's out to kill me.”

 

He blinked in surprise, as that was the last thing he expected to hear. “Nurse Decla?” he asked. “Blond...”

 

Sadistic, Kai Winn green eyes, barking voice, acid tongued Bajoran female,” Garak finished for him. “Yes, yes, that Nurse Decla. Surely you're not going to sit there and pretend you don't know how she is?”

 

He was flummoxed. “Honestly? No, I don't. She has only been with us for about three months now. She came very highly recommended from the Bajoran State Hospital in Jalanda City. Her work ethic has been superb, never late, always thorough, an eye for detail, and nothing but perfectly polite and respectful, both to me and our patients.”

 

Garak frowned, and it seemed as though the air between them dropped a few degrees in temperature. “I see,” he said.

 

What?” Julian asked, thoroughly confused.

 

Nothing,” the tailor responded. “Do you want dessert? I didn't replicate any because most of them don't do that well sitting out.”

 

No, I don't want dessert,” he said with a sinking feeling. He didn't want to turn their pleasant evening into a fight, but he also couldn't just let whatever had just happened lie to fester. “I do want to know why it seems as though you're upset with me now. At first you were railing at me about her, but as soon as you found out I didn't know that she was the way you described her, you seemed even more upset. I don't understand. Do you want me to assign you to someone else? I will. All you have to do is ask.”

 

Garak rose to clear off the dishes. The doctor could see the tremor in his hands and had to sit upon his own to avoid instinctively reaching out to offer help. He waited for an answer, but after nearly every dish was cleared, he realized he wouldn't be getting one, not unless he pushed. “Elim?” he asked, his brows drawn together in concern.

 

I don't want another therapist,” he said tightly.

 

All right,” he answered, trying to be reasonable. It was getting harder. “I'll leave you with Nurse Decla, although I don't understand why you want to be, given...” He stopped suddenly as it hit him. Garak wanted to be pushed. He had all but begged him during many of their sessions, and he clearly thought that Julian had finally realized that and assigned him someone who would challenge him. Instead, it must have sounded as though he gave him his safest choice. Isn't it true? He thought ruefully. Damnable Cardassian stubbornness and pride! Something else occurred to him, and now he was as angry as Garak seemed to be. “Tell me something,” he said sharply as he stood.

 

Garak paused in front of the recycler, the last dish from dinner clasped in both of his hands. “What?” he asked, his expression shifting from irritation to wariness.

 

That time when I came back from the parallel universe, when you were so kind to me and gave me the pajamas, was that pity? Contempt?” He felt his fists balling at his sides.

 

He slid the dish into the slot and turned to face Julian. “Of course not. I was worried about you.”

 

Why? Because you think I'm weak and can't handle myself?” he demanded.

 

No! Julian, what has gotten into...you...” the tailor trailed off and chuffed a soft laugh. He held up his hands. “I surrender. You've made your point.”

 

Have I?” he asked, feeling some of the anger drain away when he realized that his sudden fear was unjustified.

 

Yes,” Garak said, crossing to him and sliding his hands over his hips to draw him closer. “Masterfully. I can't promise that I won't continue to bristle when I think you're fussing over me too much. I'll at least try to remember it's not an insult.”

 

He smiled in spite of himself and carefully wrapped his arms around the lower part of Garak's waist. “So,” he said, nuzzling him gently nose to nose. “You like Nurse Decla?”

 

She's a monster,” he replied. “Without mercy or pity, implacable, sarcastic, and cold. She's perfect for the job.”

 

If you want, I'll try to find out if she has a problem with Cardassians. I don't want her hurting you,” he offered, wary of making Garak angry again yet considering this a valid concern.

 

Garak nipped him painfully beneath his ear for his trouble. “If you say a word to that woman about me beyond what must be said for the treatment protocol, I will be extremely cross with you.”

 

He grunted his discomfort and wince laughed. “You've made your point.”

 

You'll have to forgive me if I'm not convinced and intend to press it,” the tailor said, biting him again and soothing over it with a delicate circling of his tongue tip.

 

His body responded instantly, hungry for this contact he hadn't dared to pursue while the Cardassian was still recovering. Even now he doubted that it was the smartest course of action. It was up to Garak to decide what he could or couldn't handle, though, and with him out of actual danger, he decided to leave it up to him as to how far this went and how strenuous it became. He tilted his head back and to the side to expose the expanse of his throat to the rough treatment, not doubting there'd be bruises to handle tomorrow before heading for work. His lover seemed to delight in marking him as much as he delighted in having it done. At one time in his life, he would never have believed he would enjoy pain of any sort. Garak had shifted his perspective on so many things and was particularly skilled in manipulating sensations. He tried not to think too hard about how or why that might be.

 

He raised his arms to facilitate being peeled out of his form fitting shirt, one of the few he had picked out for himself that the tailor didn't detest on sight. The Cardassian pulled him close against the rough, thick fabric of his tunic, his hands sliding up Julian's back, fingers and nails digging. “I want to feel you, too,” Julian gasped.

 

Later,” Garak growled, sinking his teeth into the muscle at the juncture of the doctor's neck and shoulder.

 

Julian arched against him, writhing from conflicting impulses, his body's desire to escape the pain and his mind's desire for more. So this is how it's going to be tonight, he thought, feeling a slight flutter in his belly. These moods of Garak's could sometimes be frightening, times when he wasn't entirely sure his lover was fully in control of himself and wouldn't do something that would cause more than just pain, times when he understood on a visceral level that no matter how familiar they might become, his Elim was still an alien being, another species not well known or understood, and he'd be a fool ever to forget it.

 

Garak turned him and pulled Julian's back to his chest, his arms wrapped tight and his hands moving restlessly up his torso. The doctor leaned his head back, resting it against a sturdy collarbone and twisting so that he could nip and tease at the ridged jawline so tantalizingly in reach. Fingers pinched and tugged sharply at his nipples, pleasure and pain so intertwined there that it was impossible to separate one from the other. He felt his hips lifting, thrusting at nothing but air in a wanton, involuntary dance of need. How was it that the tailor could get him to this point so quickly? With one hand still at his chest, Garak slid the other down to put a stop to his thrusts. Even through the thick fabric of the tailor's clothes and his own thinner pants, he felt the hard swell of his lover's desire pressed tightly between his cheeks. Moaning softly, he deliberately clenched, twisted, and ground himself back.

 

You little tease,” Garak murmured, warm breath spilling over Julian's ear and followed by a wet lick that left none of the creases and folds there unexplored.

 

I'm the tease!” he gasped incredulously, his eyes rolling back.

 

I'm glad to hear you agree,” the voice came again in a dangerous tone that thrilled him down to his curling toes. “Now, be still and stop trying to push me. It never works. It just makes me irritable.” He pinched a nipple in emphasis, making Julian gasp and jerk again.

 

I don't know how you expect me to be still when you keep doing things like that,” he said shakily.

 

Shall I stop?” Garak asked, his hands stilling altogether, although he didn't loosen his tight hold.

 

What ever happened to you'd never make me beg?” he asked, panting and desperate for those hands to start moving again. When he felt the hold loosening, he added quickly, “No! Please, I don't want you to stop.”

 

Then you'll behave?” the voice purred close to his ear.

 

Damn you, yes. I'll behave. You know I will. You know when you get me to this point, I'm nothing but putty in your hands,” he said through gritted teeth. It wasn't exactly something he was proud of, the undeniable hold the man held over him when he was this aroused, but as of yet, he had found no way to combat it. He knew from hard experience that if he became truly defiant, the tailor would unceremoniously kick him out and leave him to fend for himself alone, an unsatisfying end to the sort of build up he provided.

 

Garak's only answer was to resume the delicious torture of hands and mouth, with the added reward of freeing Julian from the uncomfortable press of his fastened trousers. He noticed it took both of the tailor's hands instead of just one to do so, but he said nothing of it. He reached back and twisted his fingers into the hem of Garak's tunic, needing something to hold to prevent himself from that mindless grinding.

 

Garak gripped his right wrist and tugged his hand free. Julian stifled a groan. Was he truly going to insist that he just stand there, take everything he threw at him, and react as little as possible? To his shock, the tailor didn't stop at that. He cupped his hand around Julian's and guided it to clasp around his own stone hard erection. “Don't make me do all the work, dear,” he murmured wickedly.

 

He flushed from his chest to his hairline. It wasn't the first time he had done such a thing in front of the tailor, usually driven to it by too much teasing and then prevented from following through. It was the first time Garak had ever asked him to do it, and for some reason, it made him feel self-conscious. He could feel small tremors in his lover's grip over his hand, tremors that had been a constant since the injury and likely had little to do with arousal, and he believed that he understood. Shifting his lean against the man enough that he could support himself even if his legs grew weak, he tightened his grip, closed his eyes, and began to do as he had been asked.

 

Garak didn't let him get far before stopping him. “Over here,” he said, guiding him to the sofa and pushing him to a seat with pressure at his shoulders. He leaned back and lifted his hips to allow the tailor to pull his trousers down and off of him. The man remained kneeling there between his spread knees, his eyes as black as night, the blue all but gone.

 

Drawing his lower lip inward for a rake of teeth, Julian cleared his throat. “You...ah...you want me to...keep doing that?” He knew he was blushing furiously. Even his ears felt burning hot.

 

I'd hate to interrupt,” Garak responded, a slightly mocking tone in his voice.

 

In the past, you've stopped me when I've tried,” he said, hoping to put him off of the idea.

 

I'm not stopping you now,” he said reasonably. “Nor were you so coy about it then.”

 

He heard the unspoken question, of why this was any different, and he knew almost beyond a shadow of doubt that Garak also knew the answer to that question, that it was different doing it when he didn't have the heat of the moment as his excuse and when he had large, dark eyes fixed on him in a way that seemed more predatory than loving. Swallowing thickly, he nodded, squeezed his eyes shut, and closed his hand over himself.

 

No,” the Cardassian said sharply. “Open your eyes.”

 

Elim,” he said, doing so, “I...I'll do this for you, but...I need to feel that you're here with me, not watching me like...like...I don't even know like what. I just know it's uncomfortable.”

 

Expressions shifted beneath the glassy surface of those black eyes too quickly for Julian to read. Not all of them were pleasant, but the one that finally surfaced and remained was. “I'm sorry, my dear,” he said, rubbing his cheek against the inner curve of his knee. “Sometimes I forget myself when I'm with you.”

 

I don't mind that so much,” he said, reaching his free hand to caress through the black hair. “As long as you don't forget me, too.” Now that he felt they were back on solid ground, he didn't fret over this. In fact he found that he enjoyed it, giving the gift of his pleasure to the man he loved. He saw the intense heat coming back into the black eyes, only this time, there was something there that stayed connected, something he could reach and touch, something he understood.

 

He went from slow, sensual strokes to a less measured rhythm as the pleasure began to run away with him. He tried to stay focused on the intent gaze at his knee level, but eventually, he lost even that control, his head tilting back and his mouth sliding open for harsh, spasmodic intakes of air. He half expected Garak to stop him at the last minute, but he didn't, allowing the doctor to bring himself to completion. As his hand slowed and he managed to lift his head, he saw the tailor rising to brace himself with his hands to the back of the sofa at either side of him. The dark head dipped downward, and his lips and tongue followed in the wake of every last splash. Julian shivered from head to toe, the sensations almost too much for his heightened sensitivity.

 

Your turn now?” he asked, meeting the black eyes now so close to his own.

 

He could taste himself in the man's mouth when he kissed him, simply nodded his answer and pulled back to stand. “In the bed,” he said, offering Julian a hand up.

 

He gladly accepted the help, his entire body still weak and wobbly but regaining strength. The shaking in the hand was greater than before. He wondered if it was from supporting his weight against the couch for the short amount of time that he had done so. He didn't dare express his concern and ruin the moment. With Garak lying in the bed, he knew that at least to some extent he could control how much or how little he exerted himself. He wasn't going to tax him beyond reason.

 

To his delight, Garak allowed him to strip him. He loved all of the hidden, discreet hooks of the tunic and the way the ridges that delineated the thick musculature of his torso showed clearly through the thin layer of his undershirt. As much as he wanted to nip and bite over those ridges through the fabric, he refrained, knowing the man's chest was still sensitive and prone to random attacks of nerve pain. He carefully lifted and pulled the shirt away, guided him to sit on the edge of the bed, and squatted to pull off his boots and socks. “Have I ever told you I adore your feet?” he asked, smiling up into the shadowed face, the bedroom lights down to a mere five percent of normal.

 

No,” the tailor said, sounding perplexed. “And I can't imagine why.”

 

It amused Julian and perplexed him, too, the way that Garak could be so confident on so many levels and yet so utterly self-conscious when it came to his body. As he rubbed over the leathery soles, flexing the tailor's thick calves by pushing back on his feet, he wondered if this was a Cardassian trait on the whole or if it was something peculiar to his Cardassian. One day he thought he might ask him, at a more neutral time and setting. “Well, I do,” he said, letting his fingertips dance lightly behind his ankles and trace the indentation between the bone and the Achilles tendon.

 

You're a very strange man,” Garak said, shaking his head.

 

That may be. I happen to think I have excellent taste, and I won't allow you to insult it,” he informed him. Reaching up, he deftly unfastened the trousers and began to tug them downward. The heady scent he associated with his lover's acute arousal assaulted his senses, and he felt wetness slicking his fingers from the fabric. He groaned softly and rested a burning cheek against the large, broad scales that lined the top of Garak's thigh, reminding him of nothing so much as pictures he had seen of the belly of a crocodile. “Then again, you have excellent taste, too,” he murmured, working his way upward.

 

As Garak turned and reclined upon the bed, Julian followed him up, straddling his lower legs and treating himself to what he had been wanting ever since they started that night. “Cover your eyes,” he said, glancing up at Garak.

 

What? Why?” he asked.

 

Computer,” Julian said, ignoring the questions and smiling when he saw realization hit. Garak quickly took the pillow from beneath his head and pressed it to his face. “Lights at...thirty percent.” He wanted a good view, and he got what he wanted without the discomfort of too much light at once. He traced a fingertip at the inner lining of the ridged slit, drawing it back so that he could see the pink skin usually hidden by the tough gray outer scale. Dipping his face lower, he closed his eyes and gave a slow, experimental lap of his tongue. Garak's inhale stuttered, and he smiled to himself. For all that the Cardassian liked to talk of how sensitive humans were, he had plenty of weaknesses, if one knew where to look.

 

He probed more deeply with his tongue, the slick inner skin one of the few places that gave off almost as much heat as Julian's and the source of the lion's share of the wetness that accompanied male Cardassian arousal. Garak shifted restlessly beneath him, and his nails scraped against Julian's scalp. Determined not to be rushed any more than Garak had been, he nibbled very lightly at the scales until he was rewarded with the barest moan.

 

Reaching up with both hands, he drew him open, exposing more of the base of the almost charcoal dark shaft. He worked his thumbs downward, feeling for the subtle swell of a knot that when massaged just so made the tailor squirm helplessly. His fingers crossed over one another and pinned the slick member flat against the even scalloping of belly scales while he delved. There, he thought in satisfaction as Garak began to twist.

 

If he were further along in his healing, he would have penetrated him member alongside member, something both of them enjoyed intensely and that he suspected was painful for Garak in the same way that much of what the man did to him was painful, mingled too closely with pleasure to want to stop. He flexed and circled his thumbs, finally giving in to his desire to cover him with his mouth, relaxing his throat and taking him fully. Groaning, Garak lifted his hips and dug his heels into the mattress. Julian hummed low, something else he knew drove the man nearly to distraction.

 

As well over two hours passed with no sign of the tailor coming close to release, he started to get the sense that something wasn't quite right. The Cardassian's level of desperation was greater than he usually revealed, and his vocalizations sounded more frustrated than pleased. With his jaw aching, the doctor lifted his head. “Elim,” he said softly, “what is it?”

 

I...don't know,” Garak panted, the look he shot him wide eyed. “I can't seem to...” he gestured helplessly with shaking hands.

 

You're not stressed about something, or worried about something?” he asked, sitting back on his heels and rubbing his palms soothingly over the man's thickly muscled thighs.

 

I wasn't, until I realized that you could do this to me all night, and it wouldn't make a difference,” he said sharply.

 

Let me think a minute,” he said, as flummoxed as his lover. Of all of their many difficulties through the years they had known one another, sexual dysfunction had never been one of them for either of them. “Oh,” he said, struck by a sudden thought.

 

Oh?” Garak asked testily. “Care to share before I explode from sheer frustration?”

 

Ducking his head a bit guiltily, he said, “It's probably the pain medication I prescribed for you.” The blue eyes fixed him with such a hard, level look he felt halfway tempted to scramble off the bed before the man could hurt him. He stayed in place only because he didn't want to distress him further. “It's not a common side effect. In fact, I can't even recall if it is a known side effect, but you have to understand that most of the medicines I have available to me aren't of Cardassian manufacture, and aren't even designed with Cardassian physiology in mind.”

 

So I'm your test subject?” he growled, pushing himself back to sit up.

 

No! Of course not. I know this medication has been used in the field to treat Cardassians during the war with no ill effect.” He scrubbed a hand back through his damp hair. “Do you think that any one of them would have told us if...well, if something like this had happened to them after taking the pills?”

 

That seemed to mollify him only slightly. “Well,” he said, “what do we do?”

 

The only thing we can do is to wait for it to pass out of your system. I'll try to find something else to treat you with. I'm really sorry. You know I'd never do something like this to you on purpose,” he said miserably. Garak closed his eyes and nodded tightly, lifting both hands to rub at his eye ridges. “You're not getting a headache, are you?” Julian asked.

 

No, I'm not getting a headache. I'm just...” he gestured at his full blown erection. “At least tell me it's not going to stay like that until those pills are out of my system. I can't very well go to work like this.”

 

I don't think it will,” he said. “I think that's just...well, we've been at this a long time tonight, particularly if you count what you did to me on the sofa. Do you want me to leave?”

 

He growled and leaned forward, pulling him down with him in the bed. “If you leave me like this, I'll never forgive you,” he said gruffly. “Get under the covers.”

 

He did so, with Garak holding him back to chest once again. He decided against counseling him against the imprudence of grinding against him. Under similar circumstances, he would probably be tempted to do the same thing. He realized with a sinking feeling that it was going to be a very long unpleasant remainder of the night and that neither of them would be getting any sleep.

dark_sinestra: (Default)

Author notes: This story spans the Deep Space 9 episodes The Abandoned through Life Support. I used a few lines directly from the script of Civil Defense, namely the computer notifications and one brief exchange between Bashir and Garak in Ops. Although I didn't modify the basic plots of any of the shows I included, I did give a pretty different take on Fascination. They played it for comic effect, but at its core, the situations set up in that show were pretty disturbing and would be scary for those involved. Plus, it made no sense to me only principal cast members were affected when Lwaxana was all over the Promenade. This story could still qualify as a stand-alone, but with the weight of back story building up, it makes more sense at least in the context of “The Servant of Your Heart”.
Summary: Julian Bashir and Elim Garak walk the edges of the line in the sand that Garak drew, each believing himself to be right. In a world of ever shifting alliances and increasingly complicated politics, the two discover that a balance of power is almost impossible to maintain.
Author: Dark Sinestra Date Written: December, 2009
Category: Slash
Rating: NC-17 for explicit violent sex, mild adult language, intense adult themes, and character death.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the people, places, things, or events from Star Trek Deep Space 9. All remain the property of Paramount, and I receive nothing but gratification in the knowledge that I would've enjoyed my TV show more.
Word Count: 16,519
 

Julian
The Infirmary

The doctor frowned and flinched away as Dax tried to hold him firmly by the chin and take a closer look at his face. “Will you stop squirming, Julian?” she said in frustration. “I'm trying to see if that Jem'Hadar boy cracked your temporal fossa or your zygomatic process when he hit you.” She took a scanner from a nearby nurse and ran it close to his cheek and the side of his eye.
 

“I'm fine,” he said yet again. “And he's not really a boy anymore, is he?”
 

“Not so much, no,” she said grimly. She turned off the scanner and handed it back to the nurse. “Thank you,” she said to her and turned her attention back to him. “You got off lucky, no fractures. You ought to let them treat you for the contusion, though.”
 

It was on the tip of his tongue to protest, but he knew that level look. It would be more trouble than it was worth. “Fine,” he said, beckoning the nurse over to help him. “What I really need is to be able to examine him further and see if I can synthesize that missing enzyme. I'm certain it's contributing to his erratic behavior.”
 

“Probably so. I'm sure Benjamin will want to see us in the wardroom soon. Do you want me to wait for you?”
 

“No,” he said. “You go ahead. I'll catch up.” He didn't know how to tell her that her solicitousness since Garak abruptly broke things off with him wasn't always welcome. He wasn't sure she would listen to him anyway. As things were, the only solitude he managed to carve out for himself was during work, when he could legitimately claim that he didn't need the distractions of others, and late at night, when he desperately did but couldn't bring himself to disrupt his friend's sleep. He sat still while the nurse ran the tissue regenerator over his swollen cheek, feeling the throbbing pain ease.
 

Under normal circumstances, he'd view the chance to observe a growing Jem'Hadar up close as an exciting, once in a lifetime opportunity. To be sure, he was taking copious notes and paying close attention. However, it didn't thrill him. Nothing did. He felt as though he was just going through the motions, and the pain never went far. All he had to do was to look down the Promenade and see Garak's shop or catch a glimpse of him going about his routine, and he was right back to that feeling that he couldn't get enough air and that too much of the light had gone out of his world.
 

He thanked the nurse and followed in the earlier footsteps of Dax toward the wardroom. The meeting went about as he expected it to go. Of course brass wasn't going to want to pass up the opportunity to study one of the enemy's shock troops up close. Kira's overly enthusiastic support of the idea of turning the young being into a lab experiment irked him. He was pleased to have the opportunity to throw in his support with Odo. He remembered very well how it felt to be a laboratory subject, the pain of all the changes he went through during his illegal gene therapy treatments. He wasn't certain if he had his complete memories from that time, but he had enough. As he listened to the Constable's impassioned plea on the young warrior's behalf, he wished that he could let the changeling know just how much they had in common. It would be a relief to be able to talk to someone who understood.
 

Commander Sisko asked to speak to Odo in private, and Julian decided to go check on the boy. It was hard to stop thinking of him in that way, even harder to believe that he had just recently held him in his arms as an infant. When he reached the security office, he found the powerful alien flinging himself against the holding cell shielding, and no amount of explaining on his part would calm him. Only the presence of Odo managed that, so it was fortunate that he joined them shortly and talked him down.
 

It made the doctor burn with anger to think of a race of beings so carefully bred and manipulated. They were nothing more than genetic slaves to the Founders. If he could help this one, he fully intended to. He also knew how it felt to be designed and engineered, to wonder what parts of oneself were genuine and what parts were put there at the request of others. He wondered if he would every truly and fully be able to forgive his parents for that. He didn't think of it often. In facing the Jem'Hadar, he found the issue brought front and center in a way it hadn't been in years.
 

Having such a challenging task set before him as synthesizing the complex enzyme missing from the boy's system kept him blessedly distracted for hours. He was disappointed that Miles and Odo managed to find a hidden cache of it before he succeeded. As it was more important that the boy be given some relief, he discovered that the best way to pass it quickly into his body was through the carotid artery. He kept samples aside for study and research and gave the rest to Odo for safe keeping. The two left the infirmary together.
 

A few hours after that, he heard a hail on the infirmary comm and turned to accept it personally. He had made progress on his analysis of the enzyme and hadn't noticed how much time had passed. He recognized the doctor on the screen as an expert in xenoimmunology whose papers were almost always cropping up in most of the medical journals he kept up with, someone stationed on Starbase 201. He schooled his features to politeness, but he was angry. Starfleet was obviously not willing to let this go. “I see I didn't awaken you, Doctor Bashir,” the older man said. “Good. I wanted to extend the professional courtesy of requesting all of your notes and the results of any experiments you've run on that Jem'Hadar of yours personally. You've been making quite a name for yourself lately.”
 

“Thank you, Doctor Ramirez,” he said, distantly polite. “I've read many of your papers. Your work on the polymerase chain reaction of the J8B5 virus for safer vaccines along the Tzenkethi Border is particularly brilliant. You've likely saved hundreds of lives.”
 

“That's why we do it, isn't it?” he said, obviously flattered. “Having the chance to study this specimen may save hundreds, if not thousands, more. I must say I envy your position there, right at the cusp of the passage to the Gamma Quadrant.”
 

“It's rarely dull,” he replied, impatient with the jocular small talk when a sentient being's life hung in the balance. “I trust you'll treat him well?” he said.
 

The man blinked. “Who? Oh, you mean the specimen? Well, of course, we'll treat it as well as we can, but as you know, we can't always be as non-invasive as we like.”
 

“Of course,” he said, his voice hardening. “Doctor, my apologies, but it's very late here. It will take me some time to collate the data for transmission, as I wasn't expecting to have the situation taken out of my hands this quickly. We told the boy he would be staying here for now.”
 

“Of course,” the man said, completely ignoring the not so subtle rebuke. “I eagerly await your findings, Doctor. Ramirez out.”
 

The transmission ended, and Julian slammed the flat of his hand down on the table beside it. “Damn!” he said.
 

A late shift nurse stuck his head around the corner. “Is everything all right, Doctor?”
 

“No, but we have work to do. Help me get this data sorted,” he said, making room for the nurse. “We'll be sending it off to Starbase 201 in short order.”
 

He left the infirmary very late, affording himself less than four hours of sleep before it was time to get back to work. It wasn't the first and wouldn't be the last time he stretched himself thin. It came with the territory for medical staff. His mood improved somewhat when he heard the next day that the Jem'Hadar had managed to commandeer a runabout and escape and that no one got hurt in the process. Good for you, he thought. Don't ever turn back. You're probably better off with your Founders.

He didn't like feeling this way, disgusted with his superiors and his government, first over the treatment of Garak, now this. It made him wonder if he hadn't made a mistake in joining Starfleet. He could have made a decent career for himself as a civilian doctor and never faced so many ethical challenges. He could have stayed in Paris and never had his heart crushed. In leaving, had he not done the same to his fiancée? He had justified himself by saying that they were too young to have gotten engaged and that he hadn't thought hard enough about how he had his whole life ahead of him. In hindsight, in light of his broken heart, he realized that his decision was selfish, childish, and cruel. How many women had he dallied with, nearly all of them more serious about him than he was them? How many hearts had he broken? Maybe in some way, he deserved to feel the way he did.

He grumbled at himself for entertaining such bleak thoughts. Connecting what Garak had done to anything in his past was illogical. There wasn't some giant scale in the sky, keeping track of words and deeds and bringing down a hammer to equal the balance. The only relevant part of what he had been thinking was that it was irresponsible to make commitments he didn't know if he could keep at the time he made them. If getting hurt this badly prevented him from breaking other hearts in the future, then something positive came of it. It's a pity I'm just not that good at lying to myself, he thought. I don't feel any better at all.

Garak
Garak's Clothiers

On early mornings, the Promenade was now deserted. Garak toyed with the idea of opening his shop later, not that it would matter much. Early, late, he had few customers. He counted himself lucky that even when things were going well financially, he had lived frugally and modestly. He was in no danger of losing his roof over his head or his basic necessities. He knew the Ferengi across the way were much more worried and had far more to lose than he.
 

With Julian out of the picture as his steady lunch companion, he had taken to lunching at times with Rom. It wasn't the same, of course. Rom wasn't much of a reader and knew very little of any alien literature. He did, however, speak at length about his son Nog, his brother, their family life, and the situation at the bar. Garak took a vicarious sort of pleasure in this talk of family. He'd never tell Rom, but there were times he envied him his freedom in having a child and raising him openly. It was a luxury he would never be able to afford, no matter how much money or resources he might accrue.
 

He thought as little of Julian as he could, something he knew that most of the doctor's friends would judge as typical and misconstrue as a lack of care. They were so closed minded. Any Cardassian would understand his reasoning easily. Closed doors wouldn't stay that way if one were constantly opening them and peering at the contents they were meant to shut away. He had good, sound reasons for cutting things off when he did. It was unfortunate that in the process both of them were hurt. They would have been hurt much worse if things continued to progress along the course he saw, and it could have cost the young officer his entire promising career. No matter what the doctor thought in his love blindness, Garak knew that a relationship with him wasn't worth that price. He had nothing that valuable to give to the dear man in return, not even the ability to say, I love you, and mean it without ambivalence.
 

He bustled about and tidied the already immaculate place as he did every morning, lifting his head and straightening when Lieutenant Dax strode through his doors looking like a woman on a mission. He had been expecting this, either from her or one of the others. “Good morning,” he said pleasantly. “Have you been enjoying your new dress?”
 

“I haven't had the chance to wear it yet,” she confessed. “I haven't been able to do much socializing lately. Have you?”
 

He arched an eye ridge. “My dear Lieutenant, if you look around you, you may notice that we have a...lack...of civilians of late. Alas, I have more than enough time on my hands but few potential companions to choose from.”
 

“I wanted to know if you'd like to have lunch with me today,” she offered.
 

It wasn't exactly what he had been expecting. Now he simply expected that conversation to occur at a later date. “I regret that I have a lunch date already.”
 

She looked surprised. To her credit, she hid it quickly. “Well, how about dinner, then?”
 

“Do we have enough to discuss for a dinner?” he asked her, favoring her with a somewhat pointed look.
 

“We don't have to talk about Julian at all,” she said. “I'm sorry if I gave you that impression. So, are you interested?”
 

“My dear, I'm positively intrigued,” he replied. Perhaps they wouldn't have that expected conversation at all, if she was to be believed.
 

“I'll come by after work to pick you up, then,” she said. “I'd wear the dress, but I don't want to give anyone the wrong impression.”
 

He smiled, delighted at how deftly she made it clear that she had no interest in him without ever really saying such a thing at all. It was unnecessary, the lack of interest mutual; however, he knew that she received more than her fair share of romantic offers. Rebuffing them before they came was probably second nature by now. “No,” he agreed. “We can't have that. I shall see you then?”
 

“Yes,” she said, nodding and leaving for Ops.
 

He worked through the morning, enjoyed his lunch with Rom, and caught up with some reading on a seat behind his counter during the afternoon. As evening approached, he began to think of the coming dinner plans and wonder what Dax might want with him, if not to discuss Julian. The computer's voice coming from his counter console had his head jerking up in surprise, keen gaze flashing to focus on the terminal. “Warning...worker revolt in progress in Ore Processing Unit Five...security countermeasures initiated.”
 

“No,” he said, jumping up from his seat. “What have those fools gotten into now?” Before he could key in a query, Gul Dukat's face popped up on screen to relate a pre-recorded message that he recognized all too well. He sighed deeply and pressed his lips together in irritation. The beginnings of a headache announced themselves behind his eye ridges and along the top of his skull. He had much bigger things to worry about than a migraine, such as the fact that he seemed to have now been shut out of his own computer terminal. “Oh, you pompous windbag,” he growled under his breath. “You think you're so clever!”
 

He immediately left the shop, locking it down and heading toward Security. He reached the office only to find Odo and Quark inside. “Excuse me, Constable,” he said, “but I seem to have been locked out of my computer. I was wondering if perhaps I could use yours?”
 

Odo glanced up at him impatiently. “Not now, Garak,” he grated. “I can't even use it. I don't have high enough clearance.”
 

“I've been telling him I can give him Level Seven,” Quark said, rolling his eyes, “but does he listen to me?”
 

“Be quiet, Quark,” Odo and Garak said at the same time.
 

They glanced sharply at one another. Before Garak could ask for access a second time, the computer's voice said, “Warning. Workers have escaped from Ore Processing Unit Five. Initiating station-wide counterinsurgency program.”
 

“Oh, damn,” Garak said mildly, turning and rushing down the Promenade just in time to avoid the forcefield that sprang to life, sealing Odo and Quark inside. He didn't have time to argue anymore. Perhaps they'd listen to him in Ops. He hoped they would, or things were about to get much more dead than they had been of late. He had a moment of anxiety when he hit the first forcefield in front of the turbolift, but his access code worked. He hurried as fast as he possibly could, having to stop again and again to deactivate more fields. He noticed they sprang back to life as soon as he passed. Dukat's ostentatious voice droned on and on. “He always did love the sound of his own words,” he muttered.
 

When he reached one of the hallway terminals, he tried to shut down the program with his access codes. Nothing happened. He then tried to quick and dirty a few subroutines to no avail. “Of course, it's not going to be that easy,” he said in frustration.
 

By the time he reached Ops, he had heard the threat about the habitat rings being flooded with neurocine gas. Well, Elim, he thought dryly, you always worried you'd die on this station. It may happen much sooner than you anticipated. He saw Major Kira, Dax, Julian, and some personnel he didn't know in Ops behind the forcefield. At least they had managed to pry open the door. They seemed more than a little surprised to see him. No one will ever believe I'm just a tailor now, he thought. Oh, well, better to have the chance to worry about how to get out of that later than die for the perfection of a lie.

Julian
Ops

As ridiculous as it made him feel on one level, Julian was extremely glad to see Garak just then. It didn't make their situation any less grim, and he wasn't certain they'd manage to get out of the trouble they were in alive, but at least if he did die, it would be with someone he loved. He shouldn't have been surprised that the canny Cardassian had a plan. It didn't work out the way any of them expected, instead triggering yet another level of the counterinsurgency measures. Despite the setback, Garak forged ahead with another plan, one endorsed and improved upon by Dax. When he was sure that Dax's burned hands were as all right as they could be under the circumstances, he stood off to the side and watched the tailor trying to forge Gul Dukat's codes in order to shut down the system. He couldn't help but to smile and tease him. It might be the last chance he ever got to do it. He had never been more proud of him than in that moment.
 

Garak inadvertently tripped a failsafe before Dax had a chance with Kira's help to disable internal sensors. The wall replicator sprang to life, and in the flash of an eye, a man was dead. Shocked, the doctor dove for cover and watched the rest of them do the same as energy beams blasted from the now deadly machine. Every move they tried to make earned them more blasts. He narrowly avoided losing an arm trying to reach Major Kira's phaser. He could just see Garak under Dax's console as they all shouted back and forth to one another, doing their best to formulate a plan under fire.

 

My poor Elim, he thought sadly. Every time you try to do the right thing by any of us, things just get worse for you. He knew the tailor wouldn't be in any danger at all had Commander Sisko, Miles, and Jake not been poking around in the deserted guts of the ore refinery. He wished that he could apologize to him on Starfleet's behalf, but now wasn't the time or place for that.

Gul Dukat's sudden appearance, for real this time, in Ops cut off all further thought in that direction. He watched him very closely, not nearly as intimidated in his presence as he had been three years before. He waited for an opening as the Gul spoke to them, and when the arrogant Gul disabled the blaster in the replicator to make himself some tea, he almost had it. Surging to his feet, he had no choice but to dive right back down again, the diabolical lens reappearing as soon as Dukat stepped out of the way. That was too close, he thought.

Dukat approached Garak, and he tensed again. He wouldn't let him hurt him, no matter the cost. He felt his fists ball as the man taunted the tailor. To his horror, Garak seemed to be rising to the bait, swiftly standing from his cover. He couldn't stop himself from crying out, “Garak!”

Easy, Doctor... it would seem that the computer is only targeting non-Cardassians after all,” Garak said with his eyes locked to Dukat's.
 

He felt his limbs flooded with the weakness of relief. Thank God, he thought. He listened in uneasy fascination to the calmly delivered but hostile exchange between the two. Old friends indeed, he thought dryly, recalling what Dukat had said of Garak the first time he had ever spoken to him. His dislike of the Gul intensified to something more visceral as he openly threatened Garak. He was glad that the tailor refused him the satisfaction of getting a rise, for he knew his ex had a temper underneath his blasé facade.

He slowly stood after Dukat deactivated the blaster and retreated with Major Kira into Commander Sisko's office. “What do you think he wants?” he asked the others in a low voice.

He obviously wants the station,” Dax said grimly, glancing at Garak. “Do you think this will fly with your government?”

Julian watched Garak's face as he considered his answer. “If he has enough support in the military, it might,” he said. “I wish I could tell you for certain, Lieutenant, but I'm no longer familiar enough with the political climate on Cardassia to provide an educated opinion.”

He wanted so badly to have a moment alone with the tailor. Their eyes met briefly, and it hurt him to see cool assessment instead of any warmth. It was Elim in the infirmary all over again, vulnerable and yet stubbornly refusing to yield a centimeter. He was angry with himself for expecting anything different and dropped the eye contact first.

Garak,” Dax said, “since it's looking like we might not have that dinner date after all, I want to tell you the main thrust of what I had to say to you. I'm only sorry I'll have to be much briefer than I intended.”

Julian looked between the two of them, irrational hurt flaring and then subsiding again. Of course it wasn't a date date. Dax would never do that to him. If she had, she certainly wouldn't be bringing it up in front of him now. “I can't give you any real privacy, but if I step to the far wall and you speak quietly, I won't hear you,” he offered.

No, Julian, it's all right,” she said. “I don't mind if you hear this.” She shot a questioning look at Garak to see if he did.

I'm fine with that, Lieutenant,” he said.

Good. I wanted to thank you for helping us save Nerys,” she said.

It's not as though I had a choice,” Garak responded, a touch of steel beneath his polite tone.

I meant before that,” she said, unphased. “When you did.”

The doctor felt a surge of gratitude for the Trill that he tried to convey with his eyes alone. He didn't want to butt in, and he wanted Garak to have a chance to respond. It meant more to him that she would make that gesture than he could express. The fact that she had intended to do it in private made it mean that much more, for he knew that it truly was for Garak and not for him that she said it.

Garak waited a few beats to respond. “My only regret is that I won't have the chance to see how you intended to stretch that out for the length of an entire meal,” he said with an incline of his head.

Both doctor and science officer chuckled, their levity fading quickly when yet another announcement came from the computer regarding Dukat's cowardly attempt to escape the station and his failure to maintain order. As the self destruct sequence was announced, only Garak laughed. It had a very dry, ironic sound to Julian's ears.

I don't see what's so funny,” Dax murmured.

Garak simply indicated Kira and Dukat coming out of the Commander's office with a tip of his chin. Dukat's expression was thunderous. Despite the desperation of the situation, Julian felt tempted to laugh as well. There was nothing quite so gratifying as seeing a blow hard hoisted upon his own petard.

They all gathered around Dukat at the central table and watched him try to disable the security measures. Garak laughed again at the man's failure, and Julian found himself privately grateful that their breakup hadn't been acrimonious. He had no doubt that otherwise, he might have found himself on the receiving end of the tailor's extraordinarily pointed barbs. It seemed that for those who earned his true dislike, his malice knew no limits. As entertaining as it was to see Dukat repeatedly put in his place, particularly when it came to his misguided hitting on Major Kira, it wasn't helping matters. He finally spoke up and told Garak such, hoping that he'd direct his attention back to finding a way out of the deadly situation.

In the end, it was Dax and Dukat who came up with their best chance for success. Unfortunately, it relied on the Commander and Miles being able to reach a critical area of the station and disable the laser fusion initiator to prevent an overload of the main reactor core. They all waited together in tense silence with less than ten minutes left to discover their fates, life, or a quick, fiery death that would leave them nothing more than vaporized particles adrift in space.

Julian positioned himself in front of Garak and drew in a breath, determined to tell him how much he meant to him and that he didn't hold it against him for the decision he made. The tailor cut him a very sharp warning look and flicked his glance quickly to the side to indicate Dukat not so very far away. It was too late. Dukat had already noticed that he was about to speak to Garak, and his pale blue eyes were focused on Julian with intense interest. “It may be bad timing,” the doctor said, “but I was just wondering if you ever managed to hem those pants I brought to you last week.”

I can't believe you,” Kira said. “We could be space dust any minute, and you're worried about a pair of pants?”

They're very nice pants, Major,” Garak said mildly. “As a matter of fact, they're ready to be picked up. I intended to tell you this evening, Doctor, but I got a little distracted.”

Dukat looked away from all of them in disgust, and Julian took the opportunity to offer Garak a very small smile. Affection surged in his breast as he realized that even now, Garak was behaving and thinking as though they would survive the situation. For as much as the Cardassian liked to claim that he was a cynic and a pessimist, he kept Julian from revealing a potential weakness in front of a dangerous enemy in case they all lived to face another day. Garak didn't return the smile, but Julian noticed a slight softening of his gaze. It was enough.

Let's get people moving,” Dax said. “We might have time to get at least some of the people off the station before it blows.”

There was no more time for good-byes. They all got to work, doing what they could. After a few minutes more, it became clear that the crisis had been averted. Dukat beamed away before any of them could stop him. They had worse problems to deal with, such as the fact that life support had been destroyed, and they had but twelve hours to get it back online and operational. Julian retreated to the infirmary, expecting and receiving several cases of people who had been overwhelmed with panic. There were even a few heart attacks during and after the crisis. He had no idea where Garak went or what he had done after they parted company in Ops, but he knew he'd see him again. Perhaps he'd be willing to talk then without Dukat in the way.

Garak
Private Quarters

He hated those pills Julian gave him for his migraines, as they affected him strangely and usually made him have nightmares. The pain was too great this time to combat with kanar alone. The strain of the past several hours combined with having to endure Dukat's company in close quarters insured a headache to rival all headaches. As soon as he had managed to reach his quarters, no easy task without the turbolifts functioning, he took a handful of the wretched things, killed the lights, and lay down on his couch with a cool, wet cloth draped over his forehead and eyes.
 

He was starting to drift into nightmare, the faces of many of his former victims floating into his view like dead, bloated things on the surface of dark water, when his door chime dragged him back to the waking world. He sat up, disoriented and still in pain. The almost dry cloth fluttered from his face and startled him when it landed on his hands. “Computer,” he said thickly, “lights, ten percent, and who is at the blasted door?”
 

“Rephrase the question,” the computer said as dim light flooded his sitting room.
 

They could program it to do so many things, and yet recognizing slang seemed beyond it. “Who is at my door?” he asked, exasperated.
 

“Major Kira Nerys.”
 

He quirked an eye ridge and immediately regretted it. Steeling himself for whatever was about to happen, he wished his phaser wasn't all the way in his bedroom. “Enter,” he said quietly.
 

The door slid open, and Kira stood beyond the threshold. She seemed reluctant to step into the dim room, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. Tucking her head down slightly, she pressed her lips thin and stepped across the threshold. Her shoulders twitched when the door shut behind her. “Why is it so dark in here?” she demanded.
 

“Major,” Garak said, wincing, “please, keep your voice down. I...have a headache.” He didn't like to admit even that much weakness to her. If he didn't, he knew that she would continue barking things at him, and her voice would pierce straight to the center of his brain.
 

“Oh,” she said, blessedly more quietly. “I'm...sorry to bother you.” She stood just before his door, looking awkward and uncertain.
 

He wondered if he should wait her out or just ask what she wanted. She was so volatile, it was hard to judge moment to moment the best way to handle her. Pain was very much a factor in his asking, “Is there something I can do for you, Major? You'll have to forgive me for my limited hospitality at the moment. I was asleep.”
 

“Maybe I should come back another time,” she said, sounding relieved.
 

That relief changed things. His eyes narrowed very slightly. “No, not at all,” he said more brightly, forcing himself to sit up straighter. He gestured her over to the chair opposite his sofa. “You came all this way with the turbolifts offline. It must be important.”
 

“I prefer to stand,” she said. She made some concession to him, however, by stepping closer so that she could speak more quietly. “I...wanted to...thank you,” she said, speaking with difficulty, “for getting Dukat to back off. I...you know, I wasn't even aware that he was...” she paused and shuddered, “that he was hitting on me until you said something and he reacted the way he did.”
 

Garak inclined his head, surprised that she was thanking him, but even more surprised that she hadn't been aware of what was so blatant that it was offensive to him. “You were a bit distracted,” he said.
 

She snorted softly. “Still...was he really? Isn't it just as likely he was trying to goad me? He's such a complete ass, it wouldn't surprise me.”
 

“With all due respect, Major, perhaps you don't read Cardassians as well as you think you do,” he said. “I can assure you that he was very aggressively trying to impress you to a degree that I felt was unhealthy, particularly in light of his family situation.”
 

She scowled. “That's so disgusting. Why? Why me of all people?”
 

He had several theories, none of which he was inclined to share with her. No matter how much he hated Dukat, he was not going to give a Bajoran insight into the Cardassian psyche willingly. “That's something I'm afraid I can't answer,” he said. “You'd have to ask Dukat, not that I recommend it.”
 

“I think I'll pass on that,” she agreed. “Why did you tell Julian about my abduction?” she asked abruptly.
 

He graced her with an ironic half smile. “Are you going to believe anything I say in answer to that?”
 

She pressed her lips together again. “Probably not,” she replied.
 

“Then I'll just let you draw your own conclusions,” he said tiredly. “It takes less energy, and it's what you'll do anyway.”
 

She regarded him in silence, her black eyes reflecting the low light in twin gleams like the surface of a mirror. “I am grateful,” she said at last, “but it doesn't change anything. I think you're a snake who'd sell all of us out the first chance you got.”
 

“It's always good to know where one stands,” he answered, not that he needed her to tell him any of that. He knew it all too well.
 

She folded her arms. “Do you know how many Bajorans died during the occupation, Garak?”
 

“If you want to know the truth of it, I never gave it much thought,” he said in an offhand way. He wanted her to leave now, and he knew that goading her would be the quickest way to get his way.
 

“Why does that not surprise me?” she asked. “Ten million. Ten million men, women, and children who never did anything to your people to deserve what you did to them, to us. I don't know what your role was in the occupation, but I promise you if I ever find out that you were responsible for even one of those ten million, I'll do everything in my power to see that you pay for it.”
 

He didn't want to think about it, and his mind rejected the figure outright. What did she expect him to do about it? What did she expect any Cardassian who had a hand in that to do? Did she honestly think the state had any more compassion for disobedient servants than it did for those it occupied? He knew from first hand experience, being one of the tools for discovering dissidents, that it did not, and she should have known after seeing the recording by Kell regarding Dukat's supposed cowardice in trying to abandon the station during the “revolt”. He felt a flare of anger for this woman whose life he had saved at great personal risk having the temerity to come into his quarters and harangue him about something over which he had no control. “If you ever do find such a thing,” he said lightly, “I'll be happy to indulge you then. Until then, as far as I'm concerned, the subject is closed.”
 

“You're as arrogant as Dukat,” she spat, clenching her fists.
 

“No, dear Major,” he said. “Dukat merely thinks he is the best at what he does. I know I am. That's not arrogance. It's confidence. Was there anything else you needed? Your uniform let out a bit, perhaps?” The glare she shot him was hot enough to melt latinum. Without another word, she whirled on her heel and stalked from his room. All in all, he had handled that somewhat more ham fisted than was his wont, but she did catch him at a bad time. The things that came out of his mouth during his migraines sometimes surprised even him.
 

After re-wetting his cloth, he resettled on his couch, the bedroom too daunting a trek in his state. “Computer,” he said, “lights out, and disable door chime. I don't want to be disturbed again tonight unless the station is in danger.” The nightmares returned in force, but he slept so deeply that by the time he awoke close to lunchtime, he remembered nothing more than vague, disturbing impressions that seemed connected to things that Major Kira had said. Why had he ever let her in his quarters to begin with? He knew it could only end badly. Live and learn, Elim, he thought dryly. Live and learn.

dark_sinestra: (Default)
Garak
Quark's Bar


He had been left to his own devices again, this time with Julian taking an unexpected trip to Trill. As was always the case with these professional excursions, the tailor was left to put together incomplete pieces and draw his own conclusions. He knew it had something to do with Dax's increasingly strange behavior. He hoped the trip wouldn't end in tragedy, more for Julian's sake than the Trill's. It wasn't that he had anything against Dax. He just parsed out his concern judiciously.

He picked at his food without much of an appetite. The continued threat of a Dominion invasion hung over the entire station like a pall. The Replimat was completely deserted. At least at the bar, he had a little company in passing and a few people to watch.

He saw Odo enter the place from his vantage on the second floor. He thought that the changeling must be as bored as he with things so quiet and uneventful. On an impulse, he called, “Constable!” When Odo swiveled his head his way, he lifted his hand in a wave. The changeling paused, considering, and changed his direction from the bar to the stairs. Pleased with this turn of events, Garak waited patiently for him to arrive at his table. “Slow night?” he asked.

“Yes,” Odo grated. “Was there something in particular you needed, Garak?”

“Oh, no. I was simply saying hello.” He paused a beat and asked, “Have you ventured any further into cooking? You seemed to enjoy helping with the souffle at the dinner party.”

Odo gave him a searching look, his deep set blue eyes wary. “I haven't,” he said. “I know that you're aware that I don't eat.”

“Of course,” Garak said. “That doesn't mean that you can't cook for others.” He smiled pleasantly.

“Hmph,” Odo snorted. “And who would I cook for?”

“Good question,” the tailor said, pretending to give it some consideration. “How about Major Kira? She enjoyed your cooking, too. How did she put it? That you were...cute?”

Odo rolled his eyes and nodded his head slightly, realizing that he walked right into that one. “Good night, Garak,” he said rather pointedly. “Enjoy your dinner.”

Garak watched him leave with nothing short of glee. He was right in his suspicions. It was always nice to discover he hadn't lost his touch.

It was almost a week before the doctor returned with a healthy Dax in tow, and he took yet another trip shortly after that to Klaestron IV. Although he tried not to be, he found himself envious of the doctor's freedom. Aside from their one clandestine sojourn to Bajor to investigate Rugal, he had not set foot off the station since shortly before the end of the occupation. His trips during the occupation were no pleasure excursions, and they intruded on his present reality more than he cared to admit, even to himself. He knew that Julian didn't understand his impulse to goad Major Kira. He did. She was an unpleasant reminder of unpleasant things, and the accusation in her burning eyes every time she looked his way was like a sharp prod under his scales. Such discomfort always brought out the worst in him.

He adjusted to the tension in the environment just as he had always adapted to the changing circumstances of his life. As long as he was able to maintain some semblance of routine, he felt that he could keep his equilibrium. Returning to his shop after another enjoyable lunch with Julian, he worked through the afternoon. Just before he was about to close, he noticed an unusual prompt flashing on his terminal. With his heart racing, he instructed the computer to close and lock his doors, typed in his decryption code, and read the succinct message from his mysterious contact in the Order. He could hardly believe his eyes and knew that like it or not, he had to tell Julian right away.

Julian
Private Quarters


The doctor paced, his stomach tied in knots. He had never felt so torn in his life than when Garak came to him in the infirmary and told him that Major Kira was being held by the Obsidian Order on Cardassia Prime. He knew that he had to tell Commander Sisko, and he knew that Garak must have known he'd have to do so. He wasn't at all happy when Odo showed up at his quarters, insisting that Garak come with him for a meeting with the Commander, alone. Had he placed his lover in danger? What other choice did he have?

Garak had been gone a long time. The thought struck him that perhaps he was done with his meeting with Sisko. “Computer, where is Garak?” he asked.

“Garak is on Habitat Level H-3, Chamber 901,” came the answer.

“Damn,” he breathed, hurrying out the door and running down the corridor. He was breathless by the time he reached the tailor's quarters. He hailed him and received no answer.

Undeterred, he repeatedly pressed the button until Garak's voice came over the comm, sharper than he had ever heard it. “Go. Away!”

“Not happening,” he retorted. “Open the door, or I'll open it.” He waited several moments. “Have it your way,” he said tightly. “Computer, open lock, Medical Override code...”

He didn't have time to get it all out, the door suddenly sliding open to reveal a stranger with his lover's visage. He took a step back involuntarily, his body convinced of something his rational mind would never have believed, that Garak was about to attack him. The Cardassian made no further move, glaring at him with that frightening look for several long moments before deliberately turning his back on him and retreating back into his quarters. Julian followed, wondering if he was making a mistake.

Garak continued to the back. Keeping his distance, the doctor followed, only to find him packing a small bag. He was startled into asking, “Where are you going?”

“Where do you think?” he snarled.

His eyes widened. “They're taking you to Cardassia?”

“Your grasp of the obvious is stunning,” he said cruelly, sealing his luggage and setting it near his bedroom door. Julian stepped back to give him room.

“Garak,” he said, feeling completely helpless and appalled, “I had no choice. You know that.”

“I have no choice, either,” the man said, his rage so palpable Julian thought he could feel it radiating off of him in waves. “Your Commander was quite clear about that. I suppose you've been taking lessons from him, too, seeing that you're in my quarters when I want to be alone.”

He felt a stab of guilt and shame. “I...I was worried about you,” he said lamely.

“Well, of course, that makes it all OK, forcing yourself on me using your Starfleet security codes. You Starfleeters always have some happy little justification for the things you inflict on others. Major Kira's life is much more important than mine, your desires also more important than mine. Even Quark is more important than me, so why should I be surprised to find myself at last openly abused after years of suppressed hostility? After all, I'm just a spoonhead.”

Julian gasped aloud. “You can't mean that you think I feel that way about you,” he said.

“You're here against my wishes,” he insisted, glaring so hard it seemed his glacial eyes would bulge from their deep set sockets. “Perhaps there's something else you want, too?” He ripped his tunic open, the fabric tearing along the hooks. “I've been told I have many uses.”

His head spinning from the force of that glare and the unmitigated cruelty of the words, he stumbled back. “I'm leaving now,” he managed to get out. “I'm sorry I've upset you.”

“But things were just getting interesting!” Garak's cold voice followed him as he fled.

Before he even reached his quarters he had started to weep. He couldn't hold it back. He felt literally torn in two. He was grateful he didn't run into anyone along the way, but if he had, it wouldn't have made a difference. Once inside he flung himself across his couch, cradled his head in both arms, and cried as he hadn't since the day he found out his parents had been lying to him for years about who he really was and what had been done to him. He knew that Garak understood why he told Commander Sisko the news about Kira. Why had he insisted on forcing his way into his quarters? Why had he violated him on such a fundamental level?

Everything Garak had said pained him beyond words, and if the tailor actually believed even half of it? Well, why shouldn't he believe it? Most of it was true, wasn't it? The Commander would use Garak to save his own people if he could. It was his duty, just as it had been Julian's duty to report what he had been told. No matter how much he personally loved Garak, he would never withhold information that could save someone's life to protect him. Even if it means sacrificing him in the process? What if the Cardassians killed Garak for this? What if Tain did? How would he ever live with himself?

And hearing that ugly, ugly racial slur coming out of Garak's mouth, it hurt almost worse than what he had done and implied by ripping open his clothing. As a member of a hostile government in foreign territory, he had no status, no power, and no choice but to be used as others saw fit if he wanted to survive. That was the harsh reality of his existence. What if on some level he had acquiesced to Julian's desires last year because he felt he had no choice or because he was so desperate for any friendly face that he would have accepted any genuine offer that came along? Had he taken advantage of a desperate man? If so he was no better than the Cardassian task masters with their comfort women. He felt as though he might be sick.

He cried himself dry and fell asleep face down on his sofa. When he awoke late for work, he discovered that the Defiant had already departed for Cardassian space with Commander Sisko, Odo, and Garak aboard. He was too late to try to apologize or say good-bye. He knew that if he never saw Garak alive again, he would never be able to forgive himself for that fight or for any of the unanswered questions that now hung over his thoughts like a gallows. He went through his day more miserable than he had been in well over a decade, and nothing was sufficient to lift him out of the mood.

He holed up in the infirmary, retreating to his office and burying himself in medical research. He didn't realize how late it had grown when Chief O'Brien ducked his head into his office. “Did you forget?” he asked.

“What?” he blinked and turned bleary eyes on the man, puzzled.

“You forgot,” O'Brien snorted. “We were going to try out that new hang gliding holoprogram of Quark's. We've had it reserved for over a week now, and you know Quark. No refunds.”

“I'm sorry, Chief,” he said. “You go on without me and tell me how it is. I'm just not in the mood.”

“This is about Garak,” the man said darkly. “Look, Julian, you did what you had to do. If the Cardies are holding Major Kira, it can't be for a good reason. She's Bajoran. Who knows what they're doing to her?”

“The Cardies,” he said, feeling a ripple of anger pass through him. “That's really all you see, isn't it? Why don't you go ahead and use the word you're really thinking? Don't hold back on my account.”

O'Brien looked uncomfortable. “I'm not trying to upset you,” he said.

“Of course not,” he retorted, fixing him with a hard stare. “You just think I'm stupid and naïve for involving myself with a stinking spoonhead who would just as soon stab me in the back as look at me, right?”

O'Brien flinched slightly, his pale face, reddening. “Now, look here,” he said sharply.

“No, you look here,” Julian said. “Garak didn't have to come to me with that information about Major Kira at all. He could have sat on it indefinitely and lived his life relatively unmolested on this station with none of us any wiser. Instead, he risked his neck, knowing fully well what the results would be, and now he very well may die because of it, so forgive me if I'm not in the mood to traipse off and pretend nothing is wrong with someone who hates him for no better reason than what race he is. I trust you can see yourself out.”

With his lips pursed tight and his fists balled, the engineer nodded tightly and left without a word. Julian didn't feel himself relax until he was sure he was gone, reaching up a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose. At this rate, he was going to find himself as isolated as the tailor. In that moment, he couldn't bring himself to care. He was tired of being tolerant of others' biases against Garak. Maybe if he had spoken up sooner, Garak wouldn't have as much reason to feel the way he did. Footsteps outside the office had his back up again. “I thought I told you to...leave,” he said, whirling in his seat and trailing off when he saw not the Chief, but Dax.

Dax glanced around and stayed at the threshold. “Do you want me to leave?” she asked gently.

To his horror, he found his tears of the night before trying to come back again. He bit his tongue nearly to blood before he could answer her with a calm voice. “No, it's all right, Dax. Come on in. Miles and I just exchanged some words.”

“That would explain his beet red face and flashing eyes,” she said musingly, stepping into the office and having the computer close the door behind her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. Yes. I don't know. I...” he trailed off and swallowed. “Dax,” he said, “do you think...do you think I've taken advantage of Garak?”

She seemed as though she would laugh until she saw the look in his eyes. Her brow furrowed. “Oh, Julian,” she said, moving closer and squatting in front of his chair to place a hand on his knee. “Why would you think such a thing? Did Garak say that?”

“Not precisely, but...he said a lot of terrible things that are true, and it got me thinking. He's so horribly alone here. What if I...well, I'm not saying that I did it on a conscious level, but what if I tapped into that...desperation? What if he's only with me because the weight of being alone got to be too much to bear? What if he's afraid that if he doesn't have an ally with the power he sees as being in control that he...” His breath hitched. “That something would happen to him exactly like what has happened anyway?”

He was grateful that she didn't instantly discount the idea out of hand, instead giving it serious thought. “I won't sit here and tell you it isn't possible,” she said softly. “I will say I don't consider it likely.”

“Why not?” he asked, dark eyes locked onto hers.

“Because,” she said, “he could have the same thing without ever becoming your lover. He could have kept you as a friend and gotten everything he needed, companionship and protection, without the added complication of a genuine relationship, or he could have bedded you without ever letting you close to him. He came to you and told you about Kira. He made that decision knowing the consequences. If he thought you were taking advantage of him, would he ever have made such a gesture?”

He wanted to believe that she was right, as what she said did make sense. He knew Garak well enough to know how he held grudges and the large and small ways he had of making someone pay for crossing him or hurting him. “I forced my way into his quarters last night,” he whispered, his cheeks aflame. “I was in the process of using my medical override code when he opened the door.”

“So he let you in,” she said, moving her hand from his knee to his hand and squeezing.

“It's not like I gave him a choice,” he said bitterly. “I was going to barge in there anyway, and he knew that.”

“Then why didn't he just force your hand?” she asked. “Why open the door on his own?”

“I...” he blinked and realized he had no idea. He had been so upset by what followed that he didn't give it any thought at all. “I don't know,” he said, raising his free hand to swipe at his eyes before tears could fall.

“Well, why don't you find out before you beat yourself up completely over this?” she suggested. “The answer may surprise you.”

“Assuming he makes it back in one piece, and assuming he ever wants to talk to me again,” he said shakily.

“Yes, assuming,” she said, giving his hand a final squeeze and standing. “Don't exhaust yourself while he's gone. You'll need your wits about you for that conversation, I'd wager.”

“I'm sure I will,” he said bleakly.

Two days later, they returned, and because of the cosmetic alterations that had been done to Major Kira to make her look Cardassian, the doctor had his hands full, first with genetic tests to confirm that she was indeed Bajoran and then with the painstaking process of returning her to normal. He was polite to the Cardassian who insisted on staying close by her side, Ghemor, but he yearned to go to his Cardassian and find out if he had destroyed things between them irrevocably or if they could salvage anything out of this complete mess.

Three days in a row, he went to the tailor's quarters and rang the hail without getting a response. The shop remained closed. It was as though the man had dropped off the face of the station. Were it not for the computer's assurances that he was in his quarters, Julian would have feared that Garak had fled with Ghemor. Desperate but determined not to violate him ever again, at last he settled on writing him a letter. His Kardassi wasn't the best, but he chose to use the archaic dialect of Preloc that Garak loved so well.

He poured his heart into the words, holding nothing back, because he believed that if he did, Garak would sense it and take the action as just another manipulation. This was the moment of all or nothing, a frightening leap into the void of the unknown. He made it as clear as he could that he expected no response, that he expected nothing at all, and that if Garak wanted to be free of him, he would respect his wishes and do everything in his power to make sure that he wasn't manipulated by anyone in Starfleet again, although he could make no guarantees. He closed the letter with a Cardassian term of endearment that had no direct translation but loosely meant “the servant of your heart,” or “will” as some had interpreted it. With his heart pounding so hard against his sternum that he could feel and hear it, he sent the message.

The hours crawled by. Disconsolately, he finally stripped from his uniform and dressed for bed in the green pajamas Garak had made for him. As much as he had hoped for an answer, he knew that silence was an answer, too, in its own way. He lay in his bed and hugged his pillow to his chest, staring wakefully into the darkness and wondering how he'd ever get accustomed to sleeping alone again. He believed that eventually he must have dozed fitfully, but by morning, he felt exhausted, wrung out, and completely low. He dressed himself with no enthusiasm, checked his communication terminal three times just to be sure he hadn't missed a transmission, and headed for his door without eating breakfast.

When it slid open, Garak nearly bowled him over barging into his room. “What is this?” the tailor demanded, clutching a data rod in his hand. “Your idea of a bad joke?”

“N—no,” he stammered. “I...”

“You couldn't leave well enough alone. Even now, after everything that happened, you couldn't just give me my space!” He looked furious, blue eyes flashing. “You stooped low breaking into my room that night, but now you want to add insult to my injury by badly aping Preloc?”

As he stared into the icy eyes, he remembered what Dax had said. “I didn't break into your room,” he said softly.

“What? Are you going to try to tell me you weren't using your Medical Override code? I had the comm activated, Julian. I heard you. If you're going to lie to me, at least make it plausible.”

“Yes,” he said, “and you opened the door before I could do it. Technically, you let me in.”

“Maybe I didn't want to be forced into something for the second time in one night,” Garak said tightly.

“Or maybe you wanted me there, and you just couldn't admit it, even to yourself.”

“Don't flatter yourself, Doctor,” he snorted. “Is that how you see me? Some pitiable creature so desperate for crumbs that it will lie under the table and tolerate being repeatedly kicked?”

He shook his head. “I'm yours, Elim, to do with as you see fit. If you need to walk away, then walk away. I'll let you go, freely and willingly, and wish you nothing but happiness. But if you want to stay, then you're going to have to accept all of the messiness that goes along with that, including the fact that I care so much about you that sometimes I do entirely the wrong thing with entirely the right intention, including butchering Preloc's Kardassi.”

“You're insufferable,” he said, closing his eyes with a pained expression. “What makes you think I want that kind of love?” When he opened them again, the anger was gone, replaced with something the doctor almost never saw there, confusion. “How am I supposed to react to that? I don't even have a frame of reference for it. Cardassians don't love that way.”

“You expect me to believe that of a people with a phrase like ca desst zsu dasda? A concept so deep and complex the universal translator can't even make sense of it, and the best that linguistic scholars can do is say, 'the servant of your heart'?”

“Your accent is atrocious,” Garak said, frowning deeply. “That vaunted concept you like so well isn't Cardassian at all. It's Hebitian.”

“I don't understand,” Julian said softly.

“I know you don't. Any more than I understand you and this misplaced devotion of yours. We're too different. Our worlds are too different. All of this that happened will happen again. It'll just get worse. Your Commander has me in a bad position, and now that he has exploited it once I don't believe for an instant he won't do it again. I can't prevent that,” he said, straightening, “but I can prevent you from being caught in the crossfire.”

“Don't do this,” he pleaded. “Not for my sake.”

“My dear, that's the best reason of all. You want to know the true meaning of ca desst zsu dasda? Well, this is it. I'm walking away before this association destroys your career and your life. One day, you'll be...”

“No,” Julian cut him off. “Don't you dare say it. Don't you say 'grateful'. And don't pretend you're doing this for me.” Twin tears coursed down his cheeks unchecked. “I'll do anything for you except be your excuse to isolate yourself. If you intend to make that decision, at least own it for what it is.”

“Fine,” Garak said with a single nod. “Whatever you need to think.” He held out the data rod. “Take it,” he said.

Julian shook his head, no longer trusting his voice. Whatever else came, he refused to break down and make this even harder on both of them than it already was. It might not have been much, but at least he could do that.

Garak passed him and set it on his dining table. “You did the right thing,” he said, “telling Commander Sisko. I'm proud of you. You're a good officer and a good man.” With that he left the room. Julian was crushed. His worst fear had come to pass, and even though he had given everything he had to prevent it, it hadn't been enough. Completely adrift and lost in a world that had stopped making sense, he did the only thing left to him. He reported for duty.

The End
dark_sinestra: (Default)
Garak
Replimat Café


Although he knew that Julian was thrilled with their relationship out in the open, Garak was not. Every public display of affection, however slight, had him looking over his shoulder and scrutinizing every face he even thought might be turning in their direction. Quark made much of them, downright pushy about his holosuite programs. He had started to believe that the shrewd businessman had a genuine soft spot when it came to romance, something he would never have believed of Quark before seeing it directed their way. The reactions of Julian's fellow officers were much less favorable, with those who had been neutral toward him before seeming more hostile and those who had been hostile turning sometimes nasty. He told Julian none of this simply because the man was genuinely happy. You're getting sentimental in your old age, he thought. Where was Julian, anyway?

He decided that he must have gotten tied up in the infirmary, so he left their table to order his lunch. Bit by bit, he was managing to win his lover over to the pleasures of Cardassian food, explaining that much like some Terran cheeses, the smell and the taste were not the same. It would've been so much easier, he believed, if he had more than replicated food to work with. He returned to the table with his sem'hal stew and began to eat. The doctor joined him when he was close to halfway through, his expression promising a storm. Garak knew that it was best simply to wait him out in such moods. After standing and offering his palm to press in greeting, he said nothing and continued to eat.

Instead of fetching a food tray, Julian flung himself into his chair opposite Garak with his arms folded and glared at him. True to form, he couldn't stay quiet for long. “How long have you known?” he asked flatly.

“I beg your pardon?” Garak asked, blinking at him. His bafflement was no mere act. He didn't have a clue what the man was talking about.

“About Chief O'Brien,” the doctor pressed.

Garak set his spoon aside and carefully wiped his mouth on his napkin. “What is it that I am to have known about the Chief?” he asked mildly.

“Oh, stop it,” he said, unfolding his arms and leaning forward. “What I can't decide is if you actually set it up, or if you just let it happen.”

The older Cardassian felt his patience wearing a tad thin. He loved games as much if not more than most of his people, but he didn't enjoy vague accusations when he had no idea what they were about. “Well, which seems more likely to you?” he asked.

“I doubt you have the influence to set it up,” Julian said spitefully, “so I'll just go with you let it happen.”

He gave a mocking smile. The dear man was learning. That first remark was almost worthy of a Cardassian. “Since you already have it figured out, why are we even having this conversation?” he asked and lifted his spoon again.

Julian stood abruptly and leaned over the table, gripping it with both hands. “I can't figure out why,” he said angrily. “Why would you allow such a thing? The only reason you're not being asked this in a holding cell is because I asked them to let me try to get to the bottom of it first.”

“Don't do me any favors,” Garak said tartly. “If your Federation superiors want me in a holding cell, well then, you had best take me there, hadn't you?” He glared ice across the table, his patience with whatever Julian was playing at having come to an end.

“You really don't care, do you?” he asked, his voice rising.

“Doctor,” he retorted, “I'd find it much easier to care if I knew what you were talking about.”

After glaring at him for several long moments, he seemed to decide he'd get nothing out of him that way. Sitting back down, he folded his arms again and said, “Fine. We'll play this your way. Chief O'Brien is currently being held on Cardassia Prime pending a trial. Does that jog your memory any?”

He was surprised; long habit prevented him from showing it. “No,” he said, “I can't say that it does. On trial for what?”

“Supposedly supporting the Maquis,” he answered. “Don't think that just because I'm playing along with you that I don't believe you already know about this.”

“Your paranoia is commendable,” he said approvingly. “I assume there's evidence to support this charge?”

“You know there is, and if they find him guilty...”

“If?” Garak asked, appalled. “My dear Doctor, have you learned nothing at all from reading all of that literature I've been gifting to you for nearly three years now? Everyone who goes before a court in Cardassia is guilty. If your Chief is there on trial, that's a foregone conclusion.”

“You can't let this happen,” he said, his frustration and worry obvious.

“As you already pointed out,” Garak replied, “my influence on Cardassia is hardly what it was. Whether you believe me or not, I'm sorry about your friend. The best thing that you can do is to adapt to the idea of what is about to happen to him and move on with your life.”

“I can't believe you! You mean that, don't you? That I'm just to give up, grieve, and go about my business. Well, I have no intention of doing that. I don't believe for one instant that Miles would ever do anything like this.”

“Please,” Garak snorted.

“What's that supposed to mean?” he demanded.

“Ignorance can be remedied, but there is no cure for deliberate blindness,” he answered cryptically. “If you're not going to eat, then please leave me to finish my lunch in peace.”

“No, for once, I'm not going to just kowtow to anything you say. I want to know what you meant by that remark. Why do you believe the Chief would support a terrorist organization?” he asked.

Garak stared glacially at him in response, taking a very deliberate bite of his stew.

“Look,” the doctor said in a more conciliatory tone of voice, “I know he doesn't exactly like Cardassians...”

“That's one of the things I enjoy about you,” the tailor interrupted him. “Your delightful penchant for understatement.” He smiled broadly.

Undaunted, Julian continued. “That doesn't mean he'd throw away his entire career to support illegal activity against them. I know this man. I know how he feels about his family and his job. I know his ethics. This is not him. If you really had nothing to do with this, then please, help me help him.”

“You're asking me to work against my government to help yours, as what, a personal favor to you because of our relationship?” Garak asked incredulously. “And you claim you care about me.” He pushed to his feet, his appetite gone. “I don't want to talk to you again until the situation is resolved one way or the other.” He pressed his lips together. “Regardless of how little you share my values, I thought that you at least understood and accepted where my loyalties lie. If you don't or can't, then don't talk to me after the resolution either, because we'll have nothing left to say.”

He stalked away with as much dignity as he could muster while feeling gut punched. He had feared that eventually they might run into such a situation, where their governments were at odds. However, he had never seriously considered that the doctor would ask him to betray his own people. No matter how much trouble he had trusting others, he believed that Julian was intelligent enough and sensitive enough to understand that some lines couldn't be crossed, regardless of feelings. Unlike Julian he didn't have as much trouble believing that Chief O'Brien may have done exactly what he was being accused of, given some of the things he had said to Garak in private once he found out about the relationship. His race hatred and bias had been palpable in every word. Actually guilty or innocent, it didn't matter. The Cardassian state was a machine that ground those in its cogs to powder. No amount of sentiment would change that.

He entered his shop and closed and locked the doors. He didn't feel like pretending to be friendly to customers in his black mood. He had inventory to take, an exacting task that would easily fill the rest of his afternoon. He set about it methodically, shunting aside his hurt and outrage. It was hard not to appreciate the irony that this shop, designed by then Prefect Dukat to be his humiliation in his exile, had turned into the salvation of his sanity and dignity. Against all odds, he was finally turning a profit, not relying on the charity of the Fleeters to make his living. He had thrown himself into it at the beginning of his exile, when the station was still known as Terok Nor. He could do it again if necessary until he managed to exorcise his inexplicable weakness for the doctor. The only question that remained to him in that moment was would it be necessary?

At the end of the day, he left his stock room. Quark stood just beyond his doors, standing on tiptoe and craning his neck to peer inside. Garak made a soft sound of annoyance. He hadn't taken the Ferengi seriously when he said he might come by for a fitting some time that week. It was the vague sort of thing Quark always said to grease the social wheels. Garak strode to the front of the shop and opened the doors. “I'm...”

“Closed, yes,” Quark interrupted him, “and your doctor was in my bar earlier looking as glum as Morn at last call. Naturally, I put two and two together and decided that what you two need is an intervention.”

“That's very kind of you, but unnecessary,” Garak said smoothly. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some lint to brush this evening.”

Quark tsked. “Garak, you're forgetting that I've been in a relationship with a Cardassian. You people put up a good front, but underneath all the cold denials and stiff lips beat hearts as sensitive and tender as the rest of us.”

Stepping out of his shop and closing and locking his doors, Garak graced Quark with his most saccharine of smiles. “Mm, yes, funny that you should say that, because 'sensitive' and 'tender' are of course just the words that come to mind when the name 'Quark' is mentioned in conversation. I'm sure your brother Rom would agree.”

Quark put a hand to his chest and fell into step beside Garak as he began a brisk walk toward the turbolift. “You wound me,” he said. “I love my brother despite our differences. Can't the same be said of you and Doctor Bashir, love in spite of differences?”

“I think you've been attending too many of your own holosuite programs,” Garak said, never slowing even though the much shorter man was having to trot to keep up with him.

“I think you haven't attended enough,” Quark said brightly. “What a marvelous idea, Garak! I can set you up with one. I'll even offer you a discount in the name of smoothing over your rough spot.”

“I knew that's what this was about,” the Cardassian said, rolling his eyes. “I'm not interested, Quark; now please go away before I decide to get testy.”

Quark stopped walking and raised his voice, saying to Garak's back, “You're wrong. Love is rare enough in this universe, but something like what you and the doctor have is almost unheard of. Haven't you ever read 'Romeo and Juliet'?”

Garak stopped then, turning on the Ferengi with a cold, measured stare. “As a matter of fact, I have,” he said with deceptive mildness. “You seem to have forgotten they both die in the end.”

Given that his hearing wasn't the best, he didn't know if he actually heard or imagined the muttered response. “But it was a beautiful death.” He took the turbolift alone, his outward calm belying his inner turmoil. What was he doing, sleeping with the enemy? Make no mistake. Starfleet was the enemy, and if Julian couldn't separate his personal life from his professional one, then he had to be counted in the enemy camp. As always, Elim, you leaped before you looked. You gave in to sentiment when you knew better. How many times does that make now, three? Twice with the same person! Why did you think the third time with someone new would be the charm?

He stepped off the lift at his corridor and walked toward his quarters. He and Julian were always butting heads in one way or another, which was natural and to be expected of two strong-willed, very different individuals sharing space and relating closely. Usually, he enjoyed the fights, but this felt like cruel betrayal, a strike at the very heart of what made him who he was. It hurt to have thought he was understood at a very basic level only to find that not only was he not, but that the very thing he prized the most about himself his lover found contemptible.

He let himself into his quarters and changed his lock code. It didn't matter to him that Julian could override it with a medical emergency code. If he wanted to get to Garak uninvited, that was exactly what he'd have to do, and Garak would in turn file a complaint against him for abuse of his position. He took little satisfaction in something so petty, but that was better than no satisfaction at all.

He was skilled, adept in fact, at going about his business regardless of his internal emotional state. One of the things Quark had said about his people was entirely true. They were almost unsurpassed at making others see exactly what they wished for them to see, nothing more, nothing less. He didn't close his shop again or treat his customers any differently or any less professionally than he ever had over the next few days. He still lunched at the Replimat. The few times he saw Julian, he looked through him as though he wasn't even there, and despite the strong temptation to do so, he avoided using any of his contacts to discover the status of Chief O'Brien's trial on Cardassia. As far as he was concerned, it was never a matter of if the Chief would be executed, only a matter of when. If the trial was still ongoing, Julian's lack of contact with him was his way of doing as he had been asked. If the trial was already over and he was still avoiding him, then it meant that they would never speak again. He tried to be dispassionate about the second possibility without much success.

Mid-afternoon of the third day after the fight, someone he never expected to see in his shop walked through his door. Lieutenant Dax nodded a cool greeting his way and began to examine his wares. As he would with anyone else, he said, “Do let me know if there's anything I can help you with, Lieutenant.”

“I will,” she said. “Thank you, Mr. Garak.”

“Oh, please, just Garak,” he said reflexively.

She nodded and continued to look. He watched her without seeming to do so, wondering what her real reason for being there might be. He didn't believe for an instant that she wanted to buy something. She lifted a flowing, one shouldered dress from one of the racks and held it up to the light. “This is really beautiful,” she said, turning to him. “I have to confess, I'm not always the best judge of what looks best on me. Do you think I can pull off this color?”

Garak eyed the pale rose silk with a critical eye. “I'm afraid it would wash out your complexion,” he said. “You'd do well to stick to a bolder palette.” She put the dress back, caressing one hand down it a little regretfully. “If you really like the style,” he offered, “I can help you choose a fabric and make one for you.”

“I'd like that,” she said, surprising him. “Can you take my measurements in my uniform?”

“Of course,” he said, pulling his tape measure from beneath the counter and walking over to her. “This won't take long.”

As she allowed herself to be measured, she said casually, “You know, occasionally I wonder if I made a mistake in letting Julian get away. Please, don't tell him I said that.” She smiled disarmingly.

Garak committed each figure to memory, his hands quick and precise with the measure. “I wouldn't dream of it,” he said lightly.

“I suppose it is hard to tell someone something when you're not speaking to him,” she said just as lightly.

He bent to take her inseam and stood. “If you have a point to make, Lieutenant, I'm sure I'd love to hear it,” he said, irritated that she thought she had the right to butt into his business at all.

“Curzon had quite the eye for the young ladies,” she said with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “He appreciated their unbridled enthusiasm and zest for life, but one of the things he constantly wrestled with was their lack of life experience. No matter how much he tried to advise them or help them, they usually insisted on doing things their way and made embarrassing and sometimes costly mistakes. He found in the end that the best approach was to let them live their lives but to be open if they decided to come to their senses.”

“How interesting,” he said in a way that he knew would convey just the opposite. He rolled up his tape measure and quickly input Dax's measurements into his computer. “Let me get you some swatches.” He felt her eyes on his back as he retreated to the stock room. He didn't need some young woman with a worm in her gut telling him how to conduct his affairs. She hadn't even lived those experiences herself. He found it very presumptuous.

When he returned, he opened the swatch book on the top of his counter to the appropriate section of material. “What color range do you like?” he asked.

“I have a weakness for greens and reds,” she confessed.

“Not together, I hope,” he said, glancing at her.

She laughed easily. “No, not together. Some people say any cool and warm clash. Do you agree with that?”

“No, I don't,” he replied, warming to the subject. “It all depends on the quantity and proportion of each, the shade; there are many factors that determine whether colors will complement or clash. Cool and warm has nothing to do with it.”

“I'm glad you think so,” she said. “It probably took you years of practice really to grasp that well.”

As he met her light blue gaze, he realized she had managed to trick him into subtext, no easy feat. His respect for her inched higher. “Not as long as you might think,” he said. “It's amazing what one can accomplish if one just sets the will and mind to it.”

She covered his hand lightly with hers. He only just avoided acting on the impulse to snatch his hand back. His species' natural aversion to casual touch from those not close to them was much stronger in him due to his training and experiences. “He loves you,” she said simply. “He's young, and idealistic, and he has a lot to learn. Believe it or not, I think you're good for him, Garak. Even though I don't know you very well, I'd wager that he's also good for you. I'd hate to see either of you make an avoidable mistake.”

“I'm surprised to hear such sentiments from a Starfleet officer,” he said, directing a pointed glance down at her hand.

She squeezed lightly and released him. “I'm not speaking as a Starfleet officer. I'm speaking as somebody who has kicked around the quadrant more than a few lifetimes and who considers Julian a friend. Anyone he could love as much as he loves you has to have more than a mysterious past and a gift for the gab going for him to move him like that. I'd like to get to know you better, regardless of how things turn out for the two of you, but mostly, I'd actually like to see them work out.”

“I don't know if that will be possible,” he said. “There's more at stake than sentiment here. If he has spoken to you about this, then you're already aware of that.”

“He made a mistake,” she said bluntly. “He should never have asked of you what he asked. He knows that now, and the only reason he hasn't come to tell you that himself is because you told him to stay away. Garak, you're a tailor,” she said gently. “You know better than most that a rip will only get worse the longer it goes without mending. As the older—and wiser, I hope—of the two of you, sometimes you're going to have to swallow your pride and do the mature thing, even when you're in the right and he's not.”

He took a slow inhale, not enjoying the sensation of having to admit that she was right. “I think this lovely shade of teal would suit you very well,” he said, setting a fingertip to one of the swatches. “It will bring out your eyes.”

She graced him with an ambiguous smile and nodded. “I trust your judgment,” she said. “I can't wait to see how it turns out.”

He realized that the Chief's situation must not have yet reached resolution after his conversation with Dax. He wasn't sure that it would be such a good time to approach the doctor while he still worried over the fate of his close friend. However, if he waited until afterward, Julian's anger at his government might be too much to overcome. He closed up shop and approached the infirmary with no small degree of trepidation. When he stepped inside, he saw Julian at one of the work stations, apparently entering data. A couple of other staff members circulated on their own business. He cleared his throat.

Julian turned, unable to hide his surprise and anxiety, his brow creasing. He gestured Garak toward the back and fell into step behind him, closing the office door once both of them were inside. “Have...have you heard something I haven't?” he asked, his voice taut with concern.

“What?” Garak asked. “Oh, no,” he said quickly. “I haven't heard anything about the trial. Dax came by the shop today.” The man's instantaneous expression of irritation and chagrin convinced Garak that Julian hadn't sent her. The tension in him eased slightly. He hadn't liked the notion that Julian would use a proxy to get around the condition he set for their communication.

“Dax has a big mouth,” he said, turning away to fidget with something on his desk.

“I can see why you chased her for so long,” Garak said.

“What? You can?” he turned then, frowning at Garak. “I was under the distinct impression that you don't like any of my friends.”

“I didn't say I like her,” he said, more out of habit than anything else. He grimaced slightly. He couldn't afford to be his usual irascible self, not if he intended to follow the Trill's unsolicited yet sound advice. “Although in time, I believe that I could,” he added.

“What do you want, Garak? I'm busy,” he said gruffly.

Garak considered his answer very carefully before speaking. “I want to know,” he said, reaching to turn Julian to face him, “that we're not doomed to share the fate of those people in that wretched play you like so much. As much as I hate it, there are more than a few disturbing parallels. You may think the whole idea of star crossed lovers is romantic, but the harsh reality is that they die. I can't find anything to love about that, that two people defy their respective families out of sentiment and pay with their lives. I'm no Romeo, and I'm certainly no Juliet. I'm not willing to go that far,” he said, his gaze burning. “Is that the only definition of love that matters to you? Self-destructive insanity?”

Julian swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. “No,” he said quietly, his eyes softening as he took both of Garak's hands in his own. “I don't want Miles to die,” he said, “but I had no right to ask you to risk yourself for him. I never knew...” He trailed off then tried again. “The person who came here to plant evidence against Miles is actually a Cardassian. He was disguised as someone Miles knew in the war, and he had everyone fooled for a long time. For the first time, I feel as though I understand some of what I always thought of as your paranoia, and I feel very...small... for what I asked you to do. I wanted to tell you this yesterday, but I felt that the least I could do after...betraying you that way...was to respect your wishes. Can you forgive me?”

“I wouldn't be here right now if I couldn't,” he said. “You have to understand that where Cardassia is concerned...”

“I know,” Julian stopped him. “I can't promise that there will never come a time that either of us has to choose duty over love, but I won't be the one to put you in that position again. I do love you, Elim. I've avoided saying it before now, because I honestly don't know that you feel the same way, or even if you ever will.”

He was quite certain that he didn't, at least not in the way that the young human meant. He didn't even know if he was capable of the same degree of sentiment. All of this ran through his mind lightning quick, but he could bring himself to say none of it. He frowned uncomfortably.

“The point is,” Julian pressed on gamely, lifting his hands and kissing the backs of his knuckles, “my feelings aren't predicated on yours. I know you care. You've shown me in more ways than I deserve given how I treated you. It's enough. It's enough for me that you let me love you and that you don't push me away for it. If that's all we ever have,” his voice wavered slightly before he regained control of it, “then it will be enough. I love who you are, not who I wish you were or who I think you can be, and if what I did made you think either of those things, I can't apologize strongly enough.”

He didn't deserve this dear man. He felt so old in that moment, so irredeemably tainted. How could Julian think he loved him for who he was when he didn't know who he was? How would the compassionate healer feel knowing the hands he held and kissed so tenderly were so stained with blood they would never come clean? He wanted to rail at him and confront him with all of the ugliness of what service to the state really meant when it came to people like himself, but he found his tongue frozen and his words bottled beneath a knot in his throat. He had been humbled to helpless silence, and all he could do was to stand there and let his hands be held.

“You look so sad,” Julian said, giving his hands a squeeze and pulling him into his embrace. “If I do nothing else for you in this life, one day I hope to at least change that.”

At last, he had something to which he could respond without weeping. “You already have,” he said, returning the embrace without reserve. At least in that, he told the truth.

The End
dark_sinestra: (Default)
Author Notes: The time frame of this story encompasses the DS9 episodes Crossover and Tribunal. If you haven't seen the show and you want to know more about what is referenced regarding the episodes, good summaries can be found at the website Memory Alpha. I made the decision not to include much of the actual episodes within the story for the sake of not being redundant for those who are familiar with the show. The story begins right where my story “Slow Burn” left off but makes sense as a stand-alone.
Summary: Doctor Julian Bashir quickly comes to realize that catching a Cardassian's romantic interest is much easier than learning to live with one, particularly one as complex and secretive as Elim Garak, and that a relationship between members of political rivalries is not for the faint of heart.
Author: Dark Sinestra
Date Written: December, 2009
Category: Slash
Rating: NC-17 for some scenes of explicit sex and mild adult language and situations.
Disclaimer: I don't own these wonderful characters, story lines, or settings from Star Trek Deep Space 9. They all belong to Paramount, and the only rewards I reap in writing them are personal satisfaction and fun.
Word Count: 13,899

Garak
Garak's Quarters
2370


Garak listened to the deep, even breathing of his new lover at his side, as astounded by the heat of the man as he was by how quickly Julian managed to fall asleep. He carefully rolled from his back to his side, lifting to an elbow and propping his cheek in his palm. How innocent the doctor looked in his unguarded moment, his strangely smooth face so child-like. Garak had given up on getting any sleep that night despite being tired. Every subtle shift and vocalization of the man at his side jolted him from his few light dozes. He wondered if he would ever become accustomed to having another in his bed or even if he should.

The troubling specter of Tain returned to him now in the quiet darkness, appropriate timing given the nature of the man. He wanted Garak to suffer, and he had gone to great lengths to insure that the torture continued unabated. The possibility that he might try to take Julian away from Garak was very real and even somewhat likely. Garak gently traced the curve of Julian's brow. The man didn't even flinch or stir. He frowned. Was it fair of him to drag such an innocent into his dangerous world where the stakes were always high, and everyone played for keeps? Like it or not, if Julian became closely involved with him, he would be exposed to everything Garak risked. Indeed, he would be a target of the Cardassian's many determined enemies. Little wonder Tain had always warned him of emotional attachments and family ties. Had his father felt this conflicted about Mila? It was difficult to imagine, but given his own very existence, he knew it must be so.

It was hard enough looking out for himself and keeping his own skin intact, even with the benefit of all of his training and honed instincts. Julian was the proverbial babe in the badlands, and the badlands were full of far worse hunters than honges. He sighed softly. He had to believe that the doctor was up to the task of learning all that he needed to teach him. He would simply have to accelerate the program. He turned over and settled his back against his companion, tensing at first when Julian's arm snaked about his waist and eventually relaxing. Yes, sleeping with someone was going to take a lot of work to get used to.

Julian

Julian awoke from a deeper sleep than he had experienced in a long time. Muttering softly, he slid his hand over the empty pillow beside him. His eyes opened fully with the sudden realization that he was not in his quarters followed swiftly by the awareness that he was alone in Garak's bed. He sat up in the dimly lit bedroom, the covers slipping from his chest and settling in a rumpled heap over his lap. “Computer,” he said, “what time is it?”

“06:32,” came the response.

At least he wasn't running late. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and went to relieve himself then wandered naked into the sitting room only to find Garak fully clothed, sipping from a mug, and reading a PADD. Julian's clothes lay neatly folded on one of the dining chairs. Garak glanced up at him. “Good morning, Doctor,” he said pleasantly. “Did you sleep well?”

“Very well,” he answered. He wanted to close the distance between them and kiss Garak good morning, but for some reason the impeccable outfit reminded him of armor, the PADD a shield. “You?”

“Yes. Thank you for asking,” he said, setting the PADD aside and standing. “I was waiting on breakfast until you were awake. What would you like?” He set his mug aside on the small dining table.

“Toast and eggs would be nice,” Julian answered. He felt awkward naked with Garak clothed, so he approached to at least put on his pants. As he neared the table, a terrible stench had him pulling a face. “Good lord, Garak, what is that you're drinking?”

“Hmm?” the tailor glanced at him over his shoulder. “Oh, that's rokassa juice. I like it warm in the mornings. It's much better than fish juice, if you ask me.”

Fish juice? Julian mouthed to himself and shuddered. “What is 'rokassa', dare I ask?” he said, peering into the depths of the mug at the murky orange-ish liquid. It looked about as appetizing as it smelled in his opinion. He slid his pants upward and fastened them then went ahead and pulled his tunic over his head. It didn't seem likely Garak intended to be affectionate that morning. Maybe he's not a morning person, he thought, although he doubted that was the issue. If not, what was?

“It's a type of fruit that grows on Cardassia,” he answered. “Very calming for the nerves. How do you want your eggs?”

“Are you nervous about something?” Julian asked in a lighter tone than he felt. “Oh, over easy, please.”

Garak gave the order and turned to hand him the plate. “Should I be?” he asked, lifting an eye ridge archly.

“Of course not,” he said, rolling a shoulder and accepting the plate. “At least not that I know of.” He sat at the table and waited for Garak to replicate his breakfast. One thing he hadn't given much thought to was how strong most Cardassian food smelled, not at all in a pleasant way. It was going to take some getting used to, sitting across from that and eating his own breakfast with any degree of appetite. He picked at his toast as Garak took his seat. “Is...something wrong, Garak?” he asked, hazarding a glance upward.

“No, my dear,” he answered, meeting Julian's gaze squarely. “Why? Am I giving that impression?”

“Not exactly,” he said, unsure of what he wanted to say or even why he felt uneasy.

“Inexactly?” Garak asked, tilting his head.

“No,” he said, snorting a soft laugh. “It's probably nothing. I suppose, well...I guess I thought things would be a little more...intimate this morning after the night we had,” he said. “I didn't expect to awaken alone in the bed, and when I came out here, you were already dressed and looked as though I was holding you up from starting your day.”

“Ah, I see,” Garak said. He took a bite of his food and a thoughtful sip of his juice. “I'm a creature of habit in many ways,” he said carefully. “You may have already noticed this, but demonstrativeness does not come easily or naturally to me.”

“I've noticed,” Julian said, smiling slightly. He felt himself easing a little at Garak's explanation. It made perfect sense. It was foolish of him to expect that the tailor would change his mannerisms overnight just because their relationship had deepened past friendship. He would have to make some allowances for Garak's reservations, just as he hoped that Garak would make some allowances for his own tendency to be very affectionate with his partners. “I just wanted to be sure you weren't having regrets.” Or changing your mind, he thought worriedly. He tried to read the look in the bright blue eyes, but as was so often the case, the Cardassian was a complete cypher.

“Are you?” he asked lightly.

“Having regrets? No,” Julian said. “I'm having a hard time believing last night even happened, but I don't regret it. I'm wondering how the others will react, though.”

“Others?” Garak asked, setting his mug down and directing more of his attention directly at the doctor.

“Yes,” he answered. “You know, Dax, the Chief, Major Kira.” He paused, not at all liking that look. “What?” he asked.

To his surprise, Garak stood up and circled the table to stand behind him. He looked up and over his shoulder, only to feel the hands that had given him such pleasure the night before settling to his shoulders and kneading with an intimate, familiar touch. Try as he might, he couldn't help but to relax into it and close his eyes. “I'll give you all week to stop that,” he murmured.

“Julian,” Garak said, his tone as caressing and intimate as his hands, “it has been a very long time since I've had anything good to myself. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

“You want me to keep what we've done quiet,” he said, his brows knitting slightly.

“For now,” Garak replied, kissing his ear lightly and making him shiver. “Besides, don't you think it will be fun sharing this? Our secret? You're always saying I'm hiding things. This time, you're the only other one in the know,” he whispered, his breath warm and destroying Julian's ability to concentrate.

He wasn't unobservant enough not to know that he was being manipulated, skillfully at that. However, what Garak said had appeal to him on several levels. What harm could it do to keep things discreet? It would make the times they did come together that much more exciting, particularly trying to escape the notice of people like Odo and Quark, the first uncannily observant, the latter unabashedly nosy.

He smiled and lifted his hands to cover Garak's, pulling the man down for a languid, lingering kiss. “All right, Garak,” he said. “We'll play it your way, for now.” You're not the only one with secrets, he thought, feeling his heart skip a beat with more than desire. He hadn't even considered how difficult it would be to keep his own secret past from the tailor now that they were intimate. He kissed him again, much harder and hungrier. Two could play the distraction game. His was so involved it made both of them late for work.

Garak was right. Sharing such a delicious secret with him was indeed fun. It charged their public lunches with subtext, each subtly attempting to provoke the other without calling attention to themselves. He had to admit that Garak was light years ahead of him when it came to the art of wicked innuendo wrapped in innocent commentary. He was determined to improve and perhaps one day catch the man flat footed, however unlikely that seemed.

He did his best to give the Cardassian plenty of space and privacy, as hard as it was to stay away. He didn't believe he'd get very far if he started pushing too hard, and in truth, he wasn't sure he was ready to open further. For every sporadic act of intimacy, he came to realize he paid a price in being pushed back the next day. If Garak was having that much trouble trusting him, how could he really trust Garak? Besides, if he let him too close, he'd have the urge to tell him everything. If he couldn't resist that urge, who knew what damage his secret could do not only to their relationship but to his entire life as he knew it? Their odd holding pattern was better than nothing and not without its significant pleasures and rewards. Why rock that boat prematurely?

One pleasant side effect of trying to give Garak space involved his deepening friendship with Miles. Beneath the gruff, no-nonsense exterior, he found someone with a sense of fun and adventure similar to his own. Best of all, the man played a mean game of darts. Julian didn't have to hold back much of his skill in order to make their games challenging.

“One more,” the Chief said, losing his third game out of five to the doctor.

Julian laughed. “I'm afraid I've had my fill. Let's have another drink, instead.”

Nodding, O'Brien gestured him ahead of him to the bar. The two of them sat in the midst of the crowd and ordered a couple of pints. “You've finally given up on Dax, then?” O'Brien asked in an offhanded way.

“Pardon?” Julian asked innocently.

“Come off it,” the Chief snorted. “You can't fool me. You know exactly what I'm talking about.” He paused for a sip of his stout. “You haven't mentioned her except in passing for weeks now, and I haven't seen you hit on her in Ops in forever and a day. You have your eye on somebody else, or did you just finally come to your senses?”

He hadn't realized that he had been acting any differently, and it was troubling to think that it was obvious enough that even Miles had noticed it. He wondered who else might be wondering the same thing. “I suppose I just came to my senses,” he said with a self-deprecating chuckle.

“Hnh,” O'Brien muttered and took a deeper swig.

“What's that supposed to mean?” the doctor asked, lifting a brow.

“Oh, nothing,” the bluff man said, waving it away.

“Hardly,” Julian pressed, turning in his bar chair to face him.

“There,” the Irishman jabbed a thick finger in his direction. “You don't give up. It's not like you.”

Damn, he's more observant than I realized, Julian thought in consternation. “All right,” he muttered, his mind racing. What could he say to throw him off the trail? How would Garak handle this? A lot more smoothly than you are, he thought ruefully. “Maybe I do have my eyes on someone else,” he said, looking off into the crowd and taking a slow swallow of his synth ale.

“Thought so,” O'Brien said with satisfaction. “Who is she?”

A sudden thought struck Julian, and he almost laughed aloud. It was plausible enough. The woman was very attractive. The only problem was she was likely to take his head off if this got back to her. He leaned in very close to Miles and whispered.

The man's eyes flew wide. “What? Are you off your nut?”

“What can I say?” Julian shrugged and smirked. “She has a cute nose.”

“It's your funeral,” O'Brien said, shaking his head and punctuating his point with a swig from his pint glass.

Garak
Garak's Clothiers


It was official. Julian and Major Kira were very late in returning from their mission to the Gamma Quadrant. Although the doctor had been coy with Garak about the nature of the mission, he had been quite clear about when they were expected to return. Garak tried not to worry as he finished up his business for the day and closed shop. It was possible they had actually already returned and that Julian had his own business to attend in the infirmary. His schedule kept him far busier than Garak, and the tailor knew better than to try to demand more time with him, particularly when it came to his duties as an officer.

After locking up for the night, he strolled down to the infirmary and ducked his head inside. He recognized the nurse on duty as someone who was aware that he and the doctor often met for lunch and occasionally dinner. “Sorry to bother you,” he said, “but has Doctor Bashir returned, by any chance?”

She glanced up at him, startled from studying a chart. “I...” she said, blinking rapidly. “I'm sorry, Sir, but I don't think I'm allowed to tell you anything.”

That would be a “no”, Garak thought darkly. He smiled and inclined his head. “That's quite all right. Thank you for your time.” He stood just outside the doorway and considered his options. He could always try to hack into the computer system, but was such a drastic step really warranted yet? They were several hours late, not days, and if he did get caught, it would be very difficult if not impossible to talk his way out of it. Asking any of the Starfleet officers was out of the question. They wouldn't tell him anything, and they'd wonder why he asked to begin with. He knew they didn't approve of his association with the doctor. He didn't want to make Julian's job any more difficult than it already was.

In the end, he settled on trying Quark. The Ferengi kept his fingers in several pies around the station. If Garak played it carefully, he might learn something. If Quark didn't know, he wouldn't be out anything for the asking. He settled his features to mild annoyance and hurried down the Promenade to the bar. As he stepped through the wide entrance, he glanced about swiftly. Sighing, he wove through the early dinner crowd and took a seat at the bar, still looking around from that vantage.

“Garak, always a pleasure. What can I get you this evening?” Quark asked, approaching as he polished a glass.

Garak gave a final look before giving a small start and turning his attention to Quark. “Hm?” he asked, raising his brow ridges.

Quark leaned an elbow on the bar top and set the glass aside. “Looking for someone?”

“Oh, no,” Garak said, waving him off. “I'll have a glass of kanar, please.” He smiled pleasantly. As soon as Quark turned his back, he started craning his head once more.

He smiled inwardly as Quark's voice dropped to a more secretive tone. “If you are looking for someone, I might be able to help you, unless it's something I shouldn't know about?”

Garak turned back to him, glanced about to make sure no one was standing too close to them, and said, “Well, I really shouldn't say anything. It would just be embarrassing to the doctor.” He took the kanar glass and slid a bar of latinum across the bar top.

“Ah, you're looking for Doctor Bashir,” Quark said, taking the money. “I haven't seen him in a couple of days. It has something to do with starting a hospital on the new colony in the Gamma Quadrant. I didn't pay that much attention. You know how he goes on.”

“Yes,” Garak said, sipping his kanar. A dangerous glitter came to his eyes. “He's very tiresome at times.” He no longer had to feign irritation. Julian told Quark more about his mission than he did Garak, so obviously it wasn't some sort of Federation secret. Just as quickly, he let the irritation go. Wasn't he always chiding the man for being too trusting? He should consider the fact that he hadn't been told an improvement, not a slap in the face. He smiled faintly and took another sip. There was hope for the man after all, assuming of course that he was all right.

“You said it would be embarrassing?” Quark prodded him, curiosity plain in the curve of his toothy smile.

“My dear man, I said no such thing,” Garak said firmly with the sort of smile he found few dared to question. It worked like a charm. The Ferengi bartender quickly backed down and moved on to another customer. Garak finished his kanar and left the bar for his quarters.

When several more hours passed with still no word from the doctor and no answer to his communication hails to his quarters, he decided that now he had good reason to be worried. Being unable to ask anyone was positively maddening. In the end, he decided to take a peek in the computer system after all. He felt fairly confident that he wouldn't be caught. He wasn't happy with what he discovered, that the Rio Grande's warp signature had been found along with the trace of a plasma leak, but that there was no sign of the ship or debris in the Gamma Quadrant or the wormhole. “Where are you?” he murmured, his stomach feeling leaden.

Julian
USS Rio Grande


Doctor Bashir almost couldn't believe that he and Major Kira had made it back from that bleak parallel dimension in one piece. He yawned and rubbed tiredly at his filthy face before turning his attention back to the controls and helping the Bajoran officer pilot the runabout back to the docking ring. Neither of them had said much on the return trip, both wrapped in their thoughts of what they had experienced and the implications of it all. Although at the beginning of their return trip, before everything had gone so terribly wrong, he had decided to further the ruse that he was now interested in Kira instead of Dax, he felt no desire to continue it. What he wanted more than anything in that moment was to see Garak, his Garak, so that he could exorcise the memory of that other brutish Garak, a thug who possessed just enough of his lover's cunning to resemble him in a twisted, frightening way on more than a physical level.

“Hey,” Kira said more gently than was usually her wont, “are you OK?”

Glancing at her, he nodded tightly. He was far from it, but she wasn't the one he wanted to confide in, the one he needed. “Are you?” he asked.

She nodded, and he could tell that she was being as dishonest with him as he with her. They docked the damaged craft and stepped back into the comforting embrace of Deep Space Nine. He hadn't realized just how much he had come to view the place as home before encountering the dark, oppressive Terok Nor. He glanced at Kira as they walked together toward debriefing. What was it like for her, he wondered, to have memories of this place as an ore processing center under the brutal boot heel of the Cardassian Union and to live here now as it was? He decided he might ask her one day, but not today.

When they reached the central core, Commander Sisko took one look at the doctor and said, “Go get cleaned up and rest. This can wait until morning.” He turned his attention to Kira. “Major, do you need some time?”

She glanced at Julian and shook her head, looking odd and out of place in a purple evening gown. “No, Commander,” she said. “Let's go ahead and get this over with.”

Julian gratefully left them, hurrying into the turbo lift and heading for the habitat ring. He wondered if Garak had been worried about him. Even though he intended to go to his quarters to get cleaned up first, instead it seemed his feet had a mind of their own. Within a few minutes, he was outside Garak's quarters, filthy, aching, exhausted, and dehydrated. He triggered the hail without hesitation.

The door opened almost instantly, revealing, despite the late hour, a fully dressed and very concerned looking Cardassian. That concern deepened as soon as his eyes lit upon Julian. “Oh, my dear,” he said, seizing him by the elbow and guiding him into the low lit sitting room. “Sit down right here,” he directed, taking him to the sofa.

Julian half sat, half collapsed, wondering how he had managed to stay on his feet for as long as he had. He hardly heard Garak at the replicator. A moment later, he had a glass in his hand and was being helped to drink. The taste was unusual but not unpleasant. “What is this?” he asked.

“It's something to help hydrate you faster,” Garak replied, “an electrolyte solution we give to our soldiers in the field.” He was a solid, comforting presence seated right next to Julian, and his hand on the glass remained steady even when the doctor's faltered. “Don't gulp it down. I know you want to. If you drink it too fast, it will just come right back up and make you worse.”

He was grateful for the low lighting as he felt like one raw nerve. He nodded and allowed Garak to pace him with the drink, accepting a second once he had finished the first. He did feel a little better, finding he had the strength to sit up a little straighter and hold the glass by himself. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I'm getting your couch all filthy, and I know how you can't abide dirt in your quarters.”

“Nonsense,” Garak tsked and shook his head. “You stay right there as long as you need to.” He squeezed his knee gently and left his hand there.

“Aren't you going to ask me what happened?” he asked after a few moments.

“You'll tell me when you're ready,” Garak replied. “I'm much more interested in the fact that you're here now in one piece than in taxing you by asking you to relive something that was plainly difficult.”

Unbidden tears stung Julian's eyes but refused to fall. In all of his imagining, he hadn't expected the tailor to be nearly this kind or understanding. It went a long way toward driving the memory of that other Garak out of the fore of his thoughts. He looked deep into the shadowed blue eyes that had never left him since they sat together and set his glass on the floor beside his feet. “I'd...like to be held,” he said hesitantly, “for just a while, if you don't mind. You probably want me to bathe first, though. I know I smell awful.”

He could've sworn reproach flashed briefly in Garak's eyes just before he took him into his arms and cradled him just as he was, dirt, stink and all. He didn't intend to fall asleep, and yet he must have, for the next he was aware he was cleaner and dressed in clothing that didn't fit properly at all, too loose in the waist and neck and too long in the sleeves. He lay on the sofa with a pillow under his head and a soft blanket draped over his shoulders and tucked beneath his sock clad feet. Lifting his head, he saw Garak seated close by, alert and attentive. “What time is it?” Julian asked thickly, trying to shake the cobwebs of exhaustion from his mind.

“Don't worry,” the tailor replied. “I won't allow you to oversleep. You have some time yet to rest.”

He wanted to protest. His body would have none of it. Resting his head back on the pillow, he closed his eyes. The next time he opened them, it was to the sensation of his hair being stroked back from his forehead. Garak knelt beside him, close enough that his clean, pleasingly exotic scent lingered in and tickled his nose. “I'm sorry to have to awaken you, dear,” he said, “but if you're expected to report to duty today, you're going to need to get up now. I took the liberty of cleaning your uniform. I didn't have time to mend it, though.”

He felt the sting of those tears again, his emotions all over the place as a result of his ordeal. How had he ever doubted that this man cared for him? Just because Garak wasn't prone to sweet whispers and public displays of affection, it didn't mean he didn't feel. He vowed that he'd remember this, particularly in the times that his lover seemed distant. “You didn't have to do that,” he said, his voice a bit thick.

“I know,” Garak said, giving his hair a final stroke and standing. “Why don't you go take a shower? I couldn't clean you up as much as you need without awakening you. When you get out, I'll have you some breakfast ready.”

He nodded and did as he was asked. He stayed in the shower much longer than usual and wondered how long it would take before he felt truly clean or like himself again. As he stepped out, he noticed several bruises in the mirror along his torso, arms, and yes, his back, too. He thought of all the slaves they had been forced to leave behind and frowned deeply. Had they managed to do any good, or had they just made things worse? He wasn't eager to return to try to find out. He dressed in his shabby uniform, marveling at how clean it was. With a stab of guilt, he realized that Garak must not have gotten any sleep at all.

The smell of eggs, toast, and sausage greeted him upon his return to the sitting room. There was no trace of Cardassian food on Garak's table and only one plate. “Aren't you eating?” he asked.

Garak shook his head. “I'll eat once you've left,” he said. “I know my food doesn't exactly agree with you, and it's important that you get something in you. I do hope they won't be expecting you to put in a full day's work,” he said critically. “You need time to rest and recover.”

“I don't think they will,” he reassured him. “Commander Sisko just wants me to come in for a debriefing. Unless there's a severe medical emergency, I plan to take the rest of the day off.”

“Good,” he said, puttering about while Julian sat down to eat. “You know how to find me if you need anything.”

He tried not to wolf down the food, but it wasn't easy to control himself. His body had been deprived of nutrients and overworked for far longer in that mirror universe than he had been missing in this one. “I'll probably sleep all day,” he said between bites. “I would like company after you get off work, though. There are some things about what happened that I need to talk about. I'm not sure you're going to like them.”

“I don't like sending you away perfectly healthy and seeing you come back looking like a prisoner of war,” Garak said a bit tartly. “If those new colonists did this to you—oh, don't look so startled. Quark told me about it when I was looking for you. If they did, I might have something to say about it.”

“You were looking for me?” he asked, wanting to hide his smile and unable to prevent it.

The look Garak shot him was priceless. “Eat your breakfast, Doctor,” he said dryly. “Hunger has obviously disarrayed your mind.”

Julian finished up, gave him a quick kiss, and returned to his quarters in time to don his spare uniform. As he suspected he would, the Commander relieved him of duty for the day after the thorough debriefing. He had never been so happy to be in his pajamas and in his own bed than when he was allowed to return to his quarters. He was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow and didn't awaken again until his door chime dragged him out of troubled dreams. It took him a bit to remember that he had told Garak to come by after work. Had he truly slept all day? “Enter,” he said, rubbing his eyes and slowly sitting up. “I'm back here in the bedroom,” he called.

Garak appeared in the doorway, holding a flat box wrapped with a festive ribbon and looking at him very crossly. “Did you even know who was at your door?” he asked.

“I knew you'd be coming by after work,” Julian answered a little defensively.

“Did you also know what time it is?” Garak demanded.

The doctor sighed. “Garak, could you please give it a rest right now? I'm still very tired.”

“Exactly the moment an enemy would choose to strike you,” the tailor said pointedly. “Honestly, Doctor, I could've been anyone. Would it hurt you to be a little more careful? It could hurt you if you aren't.”

“Your concern is touching,” he said a little flatly, annoyed. “What's in the box?”

“Open it and find out,” he said, closing the distance to the bed and offering it.

He took it and eyed Garak askance. Was this another one of his tests? Obligingly, he shook the box first and tapped the lid. Garak rolled his eyes and looked away. “How melodramatic,” he said, sounding very put upon. “Hardly the way to treat a present.”

Julian's lips twitched with reluctant amusement. He pulled the ribbon off the box and opened it, only to find a lovely pair of new pajamas folded neatly inside. “You made these?” he asked as he pulled them out. The fabric was very soft and light, some sort of silk, he figured, but he didn't know such things nearly as well as the tailor. They were deep forest green with subtle threading of gold, just enough to make them shimmer when the light hit them but not enough to be gaudy.

“Do you really think I'd give you something ready made?” the tailor huffed. “Of course I did. I wasn't going to give them to you yet, but after seeing some of those bruises, I decided you'd appreciate something gentle on your skin.”

“What am I going to do with you?” Julian asked, touched more than he could say.

“Don't expect that I'll let you do much while you're in that state,” Garak replied breezily, a teasing twinkle in his eyes.

“Very funny,” he snorted and climbed out of the bed. “I want to put these on, and then we need to talk.” He felt a little self-conscious about his battered body, so he stepped into the bathroom to change. If Garak thought anything of it, he didn't give any indication of such, a fact for which the doctor was grateful. The pajamas were hands down the most comfortable clothing he had ever owned. He marveled at the perfect fit, just enough flow for comfort, not so much that they would twist on him in his sleep. They were also flattering. Leave it to his lover and his impeccable taste to be able to create flattering pajamas! “What do you think?” he asked as he stepped out and turned all the way around.

“I think I may have to rethink my notion of keeping you from getting too active,” Garak said, his smile completely wicked.

Julian laughed, startled by the sudden tease. He had to hand it to Garak. He kept him on his toes, always. He climbed back into his bed and patted the thin mattress to encourage the tailor to come sit with him. The man did so, facing him and sitting cross legged at the foot of the bed. “What happened to me and Major Kira didn't happen on New Bajor,” he began. “In fact, it didn't happen in this universe at all.”

He related the entire account from start to finish, holding nothing back, how they encountered mirror versions of many people they knew, how Kira was fortunately given more freedom, how he was worked as a slave. It was harder for him to talk about that universe's Garak, but with his Garak's gentle encouragement, he managed to get it all out. It was so strange to him how Garak could be so completely closed off and hard to read most of the time and yet so incredibly easy to talk to. He felt better when he was finished, for although he had been thorough during his debriefing, he had shared nothing about how he had felt, how frightening it had been, the threat of hopelessness, the horror of killing that universe's Odo, the overriding fear that they might never return to their own world, that they would never get home. He suddenly realized that in some ways, what he had experienced was what Garak faced every single day. He stopped talking and searched the other man's gaze, reaching across the short expanse of the bed and lightly stroking a hand down his cheek.

“What was that for?” Garak asked, tipping his head.

“For you,” he said with a soft smile and a shrug. He knew that if he said more, Garak would take it as pity and close off immediately. He didn't want that. What he did want scared him a little. He didn't think before his ordeal that he'd get to such a place emotionally so quickly. “How determined are you not to tax me?” he asked, his voice dipping into an intimate register without his even trying.

“Quite,” Garak answered firmly. “Even more so after hearing what it is you went through. What you need is plenty of rest, plenty of fluids, and time to recuperate your energy.”

Julian knew that look. He knew he had best be damned persuasive, or he'd get nowhere. “Yes,” he said quietly, “physically, that is what I need, and as a doctor, believe it or not, I do know how to take care of myself.” He made sure to smile so that Garak would know he wasn't chiding him. “There's something else I need more, though,” he said, leaning forward to take both gray hands in his and squeeze. He stroked his thumbs lightly over the backs of the hands, never anything less than fascinated with how much the texture changed depending upon the direction of the stroke. “I need you. I want you...in...in me.” His eyes shifted focus with Garak's, eye to eye, left to right, as he willed the Cardassian to understand what he meant.

“Julian,” Garak breathed his name on the barest exhale. “It can be painful, particularly the first time when you've never done such a thing before. After all you've already been through and with all those bruises on your back...”

He squeezed his hands tighter to shush him. “I know what I'm asking,” he said. “Please, Elim, don't make me beg.”

Garak made a small sound in his throat, leaning forward and drawing Julian into his arms. He kissed his face, small, light kisses all over, cheeks, lips, chin, and eyelids as he said, “Never, my dear. I'd never be so cruel. If you're sure, we'll do this, but I fully expect that if I hurt you too much, you will stop me.” He pulled back to fix him with a stern gaze.

“I promise,” he said, and he meant it.

“Wait here,” the older man told him, rising from his place and retreating into the sitting room beyond. When he returned, he held a small tub of something in his hand. He set it on the night stand beside the bed and sat on the edge of the bed next to Julian.

“What is that?” the doctor asked.

“Something we'll need later,” he said a bit cryptically. “I had to tweak the replicator a little bit. I'll make sure it's set properly again before I leave.” He lifted Julian's hand closest to him and stroked his fingers over the back and the palm, spreading the long tan fingers and massaging the webbing between each one.

Julian watched the slow, gentle motions, mesmerized as much by the sight as the sensation. He had long known that Garak had dexterous hands, even before he began experiencing the pleasure of them first hand. This took things to a whole new level. “Are you trying to put me to sleep?” he asked playfully. It was unbelievably relaxing, erotic, too, but in his current state, he could just as easily lie back and slumber as follow through with his own request.

Garak answered his question by pressing a kiss to his palm, lifting liquid blue eyes to meet his gaze as he did so. He shivered lightly and shivered again when those lips moved to his wrist and he felt a gentle graze of teeth across the thin skin there. He ran a cool hand slowly upward, pushing back the loose pajama sleeve and exposing his sensitive inner arm. His lips followed in the wake of his hand, tongue tip darting out to taste and tease.

“All right,” Julian moaned. “I'm in no danger of falling asleep now.” For all of Garak's many protestations that he was unfamiliar with human anatomy, he seemed to know exactly what he was doing, finding spots that Julian never would have believed could be erogenous and proving him wrong beyond any shadow of doubt. He was already panting, and Garak hadn't even removed his pajama top.

When he did, he took it a button at a time, using his teeth and tongue. Julian took the opportunity to delve his fingers deep into the man's thick hair, something he loved to do and didn't get to indulge nearly often enough. He tipped his head back, giving access to the hollow of his throat. Garak swept it with his tongue and pressed lush, full kisses upward toward his ear, suckling his earlobe and tracing all along the outer shell. His breath was warm and heavy, breaking Julian out in goose flesh. He had to have that mouth on his, to taste the very slightly raspy tongue, to feel himself penetrated in one way since Garak was being so damned casual about taking his time. He took the Cardassian's face in both hands and kissed him greedily, drawing his lower lip outward and raking it with his teeth.

Although Garak answered his passion in kind, it didn't make him rush. He broke the kiss, only to push the doctor back firmly onto the bed, the pajama top gaping open and exposing his chest and stomach. The bottoms were prominently tented and already showing wet from Julian's exponentially increasing state of arousal. The Cardassian leaned over him, kissing and biting a line down the center of his chest, seizing a nipple between his sharp teeth, and flicking with his tongue until the younger man was writhing and squirming. “Please,” Julian panted. “Please, Elim...soon. You said you wouldn't make me beg.”

Garak lifted his gaze, his chin resting on Julian's chest. The gleam in his eyes was wicked. “I'm doing what you asked,” he said, his voice rich in his desire. “I never said I'd hurry.”

He groaned, lowering his hands to either side and twisting them in the under sheet of his bed. “You're killing me,” he protested, half meaning it. The tailor had never taken him like this, never made him wait so long. He ground the back of his head into his pillow when Garak reached his belly button, circling it with his tongue until Julian thought he'd explode and then delving inward. He cried out shamelessly, aching for him in a way he wouldn't have believed possible before then.

He almost sobbed his relief when he felt the man's fingers in his elastic waistband, carefully lifting the bottoms over his throbbing manhood and whisking the pants off of him. He should have known better. The wicked man assiduously avoided the obvious, instead spreading his legs and giving tender ministrations to his inner thighs and then the backs of his knees. Is it possible to squirm out of one's own skin? He wondered dizzily.

When Garak worked his way back upward, he settled his hands to the back of each knee, carefully spreading Julian wider and exposing him fully. He knelt lower on the bed, and Julian looked up at him, stilling from the weight of his gaze. There was want, yes, burning desire, but in that moment, he saw more. He caught a glimpse, only a glimpse, of his dear Elim unmasked. In later years, when he thought of need, of heat, of love, he would think of the color blue, not red, and of that one searing glimpse into a magnificent heart of flame.

Garak's mouth on his most hidden, tender parts drove all cogent thought from his mind. By the time he saw him strip himself and reach for the mysterious tub on the bedside, he was little more than a quivering mass of need and appetite. He felt something cool and slightly numbing being rubbed on and into him. Once more, the tailor took his time being thorough, starting with one finger and easing up to two. Julian's eyes rolled back in his head. He hardly recognized his voice as his own. He started to protest when he felt the fingers withdraw, stopped when he felt something much hotter and slick in their place.

It was hard to focus, but he had to see his lover's face. The scales were darker, particularly along his neck, and his eyes were black rimmed with coldfire blue. “Tell me when to stop,” he said thickly, pressing his hips forward. In a matter of moments, the doctor understood the benefit of the numbing cream. Even with it, he was quickly stretched to discomfort and then pain. He gasped and tensed. Garak froze, giving him time to adjust. “Breathe with me, dear,” he said softly. “Slow inhales and exhales.”

He rode the smooth voice and found himself relaxing. The pain eased, and he nodded, his hair drenched with sweat and clinging to his pillow. “I'm all right now,” he breathed. “More, please.”

The tailor gave him what he asked for, tenderly, carefully. After another pause for him to regain his composure, he heard him say, “I'm in all the way.”

“Come to me,” he said, beckoning. “Cover me. I want to kiss you again.”

Garak shifted his weight as he leaned forward, using his powerful arms to either side of Julian to position himself so that there would be no sudden jolts. With his weight pressing downward like that, it was almost too much. Instead of kissing him, Julian sank his teeth into the flared ridge beneath his ear to avoid crying out. The effect was instantaneous and remarkable, the Cardassian's entire body wracked by a heavy spasm. “Julian,” he said, sounding choked, “if you keep doing that, I don't think I'll be able to control myself for long. I don't want to hurt you.”

He eased the pressure of his teeth and licked teasingly over the spot he had bitten. “Sorry,” he said, not feeling it in the slightest.

“You'll have to forgive me if I doubt your sincerity,” Garak said, turning his head to capture his lips in a heated kiss. When he seemed certain that he wasn't hurting his partner, he rocked his hips in slow, even strokes. His belly scales raked Julian's stone hard sex, the build of heat and friction too much for the doctor. He came in wracking spasms, adding to the slippery mix of sweat and the Cardassian's copious moisture. Much to his surprise, he never went soft, his pleasure instead immediately starting to build again. Garak had to know that would happen. It must have been why he keyed him up to such fever pitch in the first place.

He tangled both hands in the hair at the back of Garak's head, the two holding one another's gaze. He realized with a shiver that there was only one other person he had ever actually made love to. He had thought that when it happened again, if it happened again, it would be another remarkable woman, not a man, not like this. Against all better judgment and sense, against his lover's frequent advice, he found himself opening wide, yearning toward him. He felt he could drown in those eyes, lose himself and never fully return. What did secrets matter, his or Garak's, when they could touch like this? I love you, he thought fiercely, only holding his tongue because he knew the man wouldn't be able to accept it yet. It was just one more secret, one he could express in every touch if he chose, and he knew that he would, every chance he got. If Garak were even half as perceptive as he seemed, perhaps on some level, he would understand.

Garak's eyes slid shut. A moment later, Julian felt him pulsing hot and wet deep within him, the man's groan vibrating him bone deep. The doctor continued to squirm and thrust until he finished himself a second time, only then stilling and holding the tailor's lax weight atop him with a wrap of arms and legs. He nuzzled him cheek to cheek and ear to ear, murmuring softly, “I don't want to wake up alone in bed in the morning. I want you to stay.”

“I will,” Garak said, turning to press a soft kiss.

Hoping he stayed in a pliant mood, he added, “I want something else that I know you aren't going to like. I'm tired of keeping this a secret.”

He quickly gave up trying to hold Garak atop him. It was no use. He was stronger and determined. The Cardassian rolled to the side and sat up, planting his feet on the floor. “Julian,” he said, sounding exasperated.

“What?” he asked, rolling to his side to face him. “What's so wrong with wanting to be able to talk about us to my friends? Why are you so against it? Are you ashamed of us?”

Garak jerked his head back, giving him a regal profile. “Do you really think that?” he demanded reproachfully.

He sighed, wondering how they could go from such an intimate moment to being at loggerheads within the blink of an eye. “If you'd give me a reason, I wouldn't have to come up with my own,” he said, pushing up to an elbow.

“Yours are so creative,” he said spitefully. “I'd hate to deprive myself of the inner working of your insecurities. The answer is right in front of your face. It's not my fault you'd rather indulge yourself instead of see it.”

He had learned enough about Garak to know that when he started such deliberate provocation he was usually hurt or trying to distract him from something. Instead of taking the bait, he gave it hard thought. What logical reason could Garak have for not wanting him to talk about them? Cardassians were insular, some of them even xenophobic. That couldn't be true of Garak, or he wouldn't be in his bedroom right now. Other Cardassians? But there were no other Cardassians on the station. And yet Tain knew a great deal about me, down to my tea preference. Of course! Tain! He sat up, wonderfully sore but no longer focused on his body. “You're worried that Tain will find out,” he said. “That's it, isn't it?”

“You don't know him,” Garak said softly. “You don't know how spiteful, how dangerous he can be. If he decides to go for you, I won't be able to protect you, not for long.”

“I don't want you to protect me,” he said, caressing Garak's shoulder. “This is my decision to make, my risk to take if I choose. I'm...beyond flattered...that you're this concerned, but I have a say in this, too.”

“You and your Federation ideals of democracy,” Garak snorted without real heat. He did look exasperated, however.

He smiled and leaned to press a kiss to the back of his neck. “I want to be able to share this with my friends. Not...details. I'd never violate your privacy like that, but you're important to me. This is important to me, and it's marvelous, not some dirty little secret. If I want to hold your hand in public, I should be able to. No more hiding. Not this, not us. All right? You let me and Starfleet worry about my safety.”

“Starfleet,” Garak said derisively. “You have to promise me you'll start being more careful,” he added earnestly. “Find out who's at your door before you open it. Pay attention to who's around you on the Promenade and in Quark's. Occasionally look behind you when you walk. In particular, be wary of other Cardassians. Promise me!”

“I promise,” he said. “I'll take your hints and tips to heart. I know you're worried, but that level of paranoia isn't healthy.”

“That level of paranoia is the only thing that has kept me breathing all these years,” Garak countered. “I'd like it if you continued breathing, too. In fact, I'll take it very personally if you stop.”

“How personally?” he asked coyly. The tailor grunted in response and stood. “I was teasing,” Julian said quickly.

“I know. I need to relieve myself, if that's all right with you in our little democracy of two?” he asked archly.

“I'll be waiting for you,” he said, lying back again and pulling the covers aside to make room for him. Garak didn't make him wait long. With both of them exhausted, they fell asleep easily and slept straight through until morning.

Profile

dark_sinestra: (Default)
dark_sinestra

August 2010

S M T W T F S
123456 7
891011121314
15161718192021
22232425262728
293031    

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags