dark_sinestra

Garak

Quark's Bar

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give me your tally sheet,” Garak said.

“Wh-what?” The bartender looked startled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I slipped and fell,” he said smoothly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You're afraid right now. Of me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Julian

Quark's Bar

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

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

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

“What?” he asked, starting to turn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Garak

Habitat Ring Two

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

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

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

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

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

“You were smart about it,” he said.

“Oh?” she asked, arching a brow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The End

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

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

Author: Dark Sinestra

Date Written: January 2010

Category: Slash

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

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

Word Count: 16,251

Julian

Private Quarters

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiled and said, “That's right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Garak

Julian's Quarters

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Julian

The Infirmary

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your uniform,” Garak said, panting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Garak

Private Quarters

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

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

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

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

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

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.