dark_sinestra

Julian

The Infirmary

The entire situation seemed unreal. Murder aboard the station was extremely rare, usually the result of some underhanded or illegal dealing gone bad or the occasional result of domestic violence. He performed the autopsy with his usual sense of detachment because it was his job. However, it didn't stop him from thinking about the circumstances of the death and the ugly climate that had permeated the station in just a matter of days from Akorem's announcement. He didn't buy the will of the Prophets rubbish. In his private opinion, non-linear aliens simply had no concept of time or the consequences of jumbling the time line. Who knew why they brought Akorem to the present, or if they had any reason at all other than to see what might happen?

It didn't take him very long to be able to determine the cause of death for certain, broken neck from the fall leading to rapid asphyxiation from total body paralysis. Fortunately, it seemed as though he lost consciousness upon impact. He entered his official findings for the record, stripped out of the red scrubs, and put the body in cold storage for evidence in the murder case. He was down to one nurse and one medic for the shift, both of them grim and silent. He wondered if they'd try to put in for a transfer soon. He wondered if Starfleet would pull all of them out of the sector within the year. The only positive he had to focus on in the moment was knowing Garak was with Leeta. He couldn't think of anyone better suited to keeping her safe.

“Sir,” his nurse approached him hesitantly.

He glanced up from the report he was writing. “Yes?”

“Aside from the murder, we had an incident at lunch,” she said.

“What sort of incident?” he asked, thinking silently, What now?

“You remember a family had an appointment to bring their two children in for routine vaccinations?”

“Yes,” he said, nodding.

“Someone from a higher caste walked in complaining of a rash and became irate when we refused to see him first. He said he's going to file a complaint with the Bajoran government. I was wondering what our official policy is going to be on this?”

He wanted to hit something. He genuinely wanted to hit something, his fists balling tightly. “Our official policy, Nurse, is that Starfleet doesn't operate under a caste system. Since the majority of our Bajoran staff has quit, this is a Starfleet medical facility, and it will be run as such. Tell them next time if they have a complaint to tender it to Starfleet, because we don't look to the Bajoran government for guidance on how we conduct our business.”

She smiled slightly and nodded in satisfaction. “Yes, Sir!” she said. “Before I forget, we also received three more Bajoran resumes.”

“This should be good for a laugh,” he said. “Are they in my office?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He retreated to the back and sat at his desk. As he expected, all of them were Belans, Belan Dar, Belan Rasheek, and Belan Pema. Healer caste. “Oh, this is promising,” he said wryly. “Thirty years on a farm in Lonar Province. Experience with wild herb craft, harvesting and preparation. Or how about this one? No formal education, but eager to learn. Oh, quite possibly my favorite yet. 'I've always known I had a special calling. It's the Prophet's blessing that I now know what it is. Please give me the chance to fulfill my pagh path. You won't regret it'. Perhaps not, but I imagine my patients soon would.”

The male medic ducked his head into the office. “Sorry, Sir, did you say something?”

“I was just talking to myself,” he sighed, “apparently loudly. I'll try my best to keep it down.”

An hour later he was summoned to the wardroom. He felt guilty about it, but he was relieved to get out of the oppressive environment of the infirmary, if only for a little while. He met up with Dax on the way. She wasn't her usual mischievous self, rather quiet and looking tired. “You've looked better,” she told him.

“I was just thinking the same thing about you,” he said. “Short staffing?”

She nodded. “In the worst way. We've now got a backlog of at least half a dozen necessary experiments. That's not counting things that are lower priority. For some of the work, we don't have enough people to man all the stations, so we're having to double up and hope we don't miss anything important. I can't imagine what it's like for you in the infirmary.”

“You don't want to,” he said. “I'm down to a skeleton crew. I had three nightmares last night, all about the same thing. We're overrun with Jem'Hadar and Klingons, and there's a constant stream of people with horrific injuries being brought into the infirmary. The only instrument I have is an old fashioned scalpel which I keep waving around like a concert director, trying to get three zombies to do my bidding.”

Dax tried not to laugh but couldn't quite stop herself. “Oh, Julian, that's awful,” she said, wrapping an arm at his waist and lightly bumping the side of her head against his.

“If I weren't really that anxious, I'd find it funny, too,” he said. “I'm glad at least one of us can get something of entertainment value out of it.”

She released him before they entered the wardroom. He had been glad of the comfort. They both took their seats and realized they were only waiting for Chief O'Brien, Major Kira, and Captain Sisko. Commander Worf, Lieutenant Commander Eddington, and Odo nodded to them. None seemed inclined to speak, so Julian took his cue from them.

Captain Sisko arrived with the major and quickly took a seat. “Chief O'Brien can't get away for this, unfortunately. He's a bit understaffed.” He nodded his understanding at the various grunts and displeased looks from around the table. “I'm aware we're all suffering the same problem.” Kira looked strangely guilty and refused to meet anyone's gaze. “In light of this recent murder and the Bajoran government's inadequate response, I feel as though I have no choice but to fly with Akorem Laan into the wormhole and find out what the Prophets really want.”

A chorus of protests immediately rose from everyone else at the table with the exception of Kira. Julian couldn't believe what he was hearing. “Captain, as Chief Medical Officer I really must object. What you're proposing...”

Sisko cut them all off with a sharp chop of his hand. “I know,” he said sternly. “Every single one of you has a valid point, and I'm well aware of the risk I'm taking. I can't just sit by and watch three years of hard work and progress flushed down the toilet in a matter of days based on the words of some ancient poet from two hundred years ago. Now, the way I see it, the only ones who can tell us what they're really thinking are the wormhole aliens themselves. If I don't do this now, Bajor and this station are going to descend into chaos and possible civil war. I will be leaving within the hour. Commander Worf, you'll have the station.”

Although he looked reluctant, Worf nodded. “Aye, Sir.”

“As for the rest of you, I expect you to continue doing your very best with your short staffing and aid Mister Worf in any way you can. For good or ill, I'm hoping I can bring us an answer within the next twenty-six hours. Dismissed.”

No one lingered after the meeting, as none of them had the luxury of the spare time. Julian was in no mood to talk on his way back to the infirmary. He had no reason to trust the wormhole aliens not to do away with the captain altogether if they had decided to back Akorem. While he knew Worf was capable of short term command, he worried about the long term effects on morale of everyone being under such a stern, unapproachable task master, particularly with the staffing issues. He really wished that Miles could have made it to the meeting. The bluff engineer had a way of putting things into perspective that made even the worst case scenarios not look quite so bad.

They saw two more patients before his day was done. Fortunately neither arrived at the same time, so caste wasn't an issue. One had a broken finger that seemed to have gone untreated for a few days. He was less than talkative about the circumstances. Julian gave him an antibiotic for a mild bone infection that had set in, broke and set the bone properly, and gave him pain medication. He noticed a suspicious cut across his throat, long since scabbed over and healing. Of that the man refused to speak at all. The other patient was another rash case. He wondered if stress might be getting to some of the people, because he could find no easy cause of the skin irritation. He prescribed a cream and sent the itchy woman on her way.

As soon as his relief arrived, he hurried back to Leeta's quarters. She was dressed for work, and she and Garak had their heads bent over a game board. He drew closer and discovered they were playing kotra. “I had no idea you knew how to play kotra,” he said to Leeta.

“I don't,” she answered. “Garak is trying to teach me. Operative word, trying.”

“You're too hard on yourself, my dear. It's a complex game that takes years to master. You grasped the rules more quickly than many I've instructed in the past. Improvement comes with time and practice,” Garak said. He straightened his back and twisted a stretch, looking at Julian. “You seem to have news,” he said.

“I do.” He pulled up a chair and straddled it backward, resting his forearms on the back in a loose fold. “I can't say I think it's good news, I'm afraid. Captain Sisko is going to enter the wormhole with Akorem so that they can ask the wormhole aliens directly what they really want for Bajor.”

“Well, that's good,” Leeta said, glancing sharply at him. “If there's confusion, go straight to the source. Why do you think this is a bad thing?”

“What if their answer is that this is what they actually do intend for Bajor?” he asked. “What if they decide the captain is a dangerous distraction? They could do anything to him. We could never see him again.”

Garak broke in before things could get heated. “Let's...not excite ourselves with what ifs,” he suggested. “Captain Sisko has returned from all of his encounters with the aliens so far. They've never seemed particularly malicious or spiteful, just...mysterious, correct?”

Julian grudgingly agreed.

“Regardless of the outcome, one thing we will be able to say is that there will be no more confusion or potential for varying interpretations, assuming they return with an answer at all. In its own way, that is progress, Doctor.”

Leeta gave a satisfied nod. “I'm glad he's doing it,” she said. “I'm glad somebody has the guts to challenge the status quo. Considering you look like somebody dragged you down the Promenade behind a rampaging rakazo, I'm going to ask Garak to escort me to work and ask you to get some sleep,” she said, leaning over and kissing Julian's cheek.

He was too tired to argue. The three of them left the quarters together and parted ways in the H-ring. Julian promised he would talk to both of them later. At home he was too tired to remove his uniform, simply flopping into his bed and going dead to the world within minutes. The last waking thought he had was, Two straight days in this uniform without a change. Somebody's about to get a little ripe.

Garak

The Promenade

Garak had an odd sense of symmetry of events as he watched Captain Sisko ascend the podium before the Bajoran temple. His arrival back on the station the evening before without Akorem sent shock waves through the Bajoran populace that still hadn't settled. He imagined this speech was designed to do just that, settle the people and get them back on track, whatever that might entail.

As he listened to the mellifluous voice, he also watched the captain's expression and body language. He was relaxed, serene. He was a man no longer divided within himself. For good or ill, it seemed that Sisko had finally accepted his role as Bajor's Emissary. Although he wasn't sure what that meant for Bajor or indirectly Cardassia, Garak couldn't help but to believe that this was better than the alternative that had been presented. Seeing a caste system from the outside had opened his eyes to some ugly truths about his own people. For one of the first times ever, he felt grateful to be at a distance from his home world so that he would have the luxury of processing his newfound insight without being accused of sedition. At the end of the speech, he applauded right along with the Bajoran throng no less enthusiastically than the least among them. The caste system was no more.

Julian

Quark's Bar

Julian accepted his ale from Quark with a grin and turned to survey the crowd from his vantage. He still felt a small thrum of adrenaline from the fracas in the holosuite, he and Chief O'Brien against the entire court of the King of Leinster in a brawl to end all brawls. Others could say they looked ridiculous if they liked. He thought that he and Miles cut fine figures in their Irish warrior regalia. He couldn't believe how quickly everything had turned around. If anyone had asked him two days ago if he thought he'd be spending a fun evening with his friend, have a full staff at the infirmary, and no longer have to worry about some hothead murdering his girlfriend for looking at him wrong, he would have scoffed.

Keiko's intervention on behalf of her depressed husband just couldn't have had better timing. Of course, he would never let Miles know that he had been told how he felt. That would just embarrass him. The stress release of being able to cut loose and just have fun was pure balm to his spirit. He slouched shoulder to shoulder against the engineer and toasted Leeta with his tankard. She smiled brightly at him from her place at the dabo wheel and rolled her eyes playfully. You look silly, she mouthed.

“Looks like things are better for you,” Miles observed. “Bein' honest paid off, didn't it?”

Julian beamed at him. “More than you can possibly imagine.”

The End

Garak

The Promenade

He didn't often have reason to use the skills he developed at the Bamarren Institute, the rare ability to hide in plain sight, but it was exactly what he did as more and more Bajorans gathered outside the temple to hear their new Emissary for the first time. Someone needed to keep an eye and ear out for Cardassian interests. Who knew which way the wind might blow with a different hand guiding the hearts and minds of the volatile and sometimes fickle people? He didn't see Captain Sisko in the crowd, wise of him, he thought, yet Odo and Major Kira stood above the throng on the second floor. Of the Starfleeters, all he saw were a few in security gold. He didn't buy this feigned indifference. He imagined there were several nervous officers scattered throughout the station, probably watching the activity through the security feeds.

The crowd broke into applause. Garak saw the man of the hour emerge from the temple doorway and ascend the podium set up for him. After the applause, a hush fell over the gathered, and Akorem began to speak. The more Garak heard, the more disquieted he felt. Here we go again, he thought, his reptilian eyes going flat at the talk of the great wound of the occupation and the return to the old ways.

The old ways, he thought contemptuously, the last refuge of the unimaginative and those lacking vision. You can't erase the past. If you try, you'll never even learn from it. As uneasy as the old man's words made him, the crowd's reaction was worse. They were divided, some shouting and clapping their enthusiasm, others whispering and glancing at one another with furtive body language.

He had heard and seen enough. For all the good it would do him, he determined he would report this back to the civilian government. They needed to understand that the climate on Bajor was shifting abruptly, not for the better. If they were wise and truly serious about the treaty, they should have sent a permanent liaison or made use of him for the job. He knew the people. Some of them even trusted him.

When he reached his shop he closed and locked the doors. He didn't want interruptions. He quickly compiled his report and sent a scrambled, encrypted transmission. After he was done, he decided to leave the shop closed for the day. He didn't like what his instincts were telling him. He hadn't survived as long as he had by ignoring them. He made good use of the time in his stock room, working on orders until quitting time.

On his way past the Replimat, he heard raised voices. His first instinct was not to get involved, but he recognized one of those voices as Leeta's. Stepping around the tables and chairs that were scattered at the entrance, he made his way further in just in time to see a man shove her out of her chair. “Hey!” she cried out more in surprise than pain, glaring at the man from the floor.

“It's not my fault you don't know your place,” the Bajoran sneered.

Garak approached so swiftly and silently that neither noticed him until he was practically on top of the now seated man. “Do you know the place for those who physically assault others on this station?” he asked pleasantly.

“If you know what's good for you, you'll stay out of it, Cardassian,” the man sneered.

“Or what?” Garak asked. “You'll shove me, too?” Although his tone of voice didn't change, he bored a hole in the man with his gaze. He noticed Leeta climbing to her feet in peripheral vision, not breaking his eye contact with the antagonist.

“I don't need this,” the man said, standing abruptly and flinging the chair aside. “Who wants to eat here with the stench of spoonhead in the air?”

Garak caught himself committing the features and clothing, even the earring, to memory and watching his path on his way out. Shaking himself from a bad habit and a worse impulse, he turned to eye Leeta. Although she attempted not to look shaken, he could tell that she was. She was also rubbing her wrist. “Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded tightly, her expression conflicted. “Thank you,” she said stiffly.

“Leeta,” he began, but she cut him off.

“Garak, please don't,” she said. “I'm not ready not to be angry with you.”

He nodded. “I understand. At least let me have a look at that wrist.” She bit her lip, indecision flickering in her eyes, glanced toward the infirmary, and suddenly thrust it toward him without a word.

He probed carefully with his fingers and manipulated it in its full range of motion. She winced painfully as he bent it back. “I think you have a sprain,” he said.

“Can you wrap it?” she asked.

It was on the tip of his tongue to send her to the infirmary. He knew she wouldn't go before it ever got out. He nodded assent. “You'll have to come with me to the shop.”

She gestured for him to lead the way. He could feel her at his back as they walked, an angry presence, a burr of rough edged energy in his bio-electric periphery. Had he not known her as well as he did, he believed he couldn't have tolerated allowing her to stay behind him. He led her into his stock room and pulled out his emergency med kit.

“Have you talked to him?” she asked the question to his back.

“Yes,” he said, turning with the self-adhesive wrap.

She held her arm out to him. “I'm sure the two of you will be very happy together,” she said, her voice brittle and glass edged.

He carefully began to wrap the already swelling joint. “You'll have to tell me if it's too tight,” he said gently. He sighed, the conversation unwelcome but owed to her. “We're not together. We haven't been together since he left me.”

“Don't lie to me, Garak,” she gritted. “It's insulting.”

“I'm not lying,” he said, lifting his gaze to meet hers and holding it as surely as he held her wrist in one hand while wrapping with the other. “You're more angry at the deception than you are at anything else. I can tell that much.” He finished with the bandage and tested the hold then settled his free hand atop hers, sandwiching it between his. “I wasn't pretending to be your friend. I don't expect you to understand or to forgive me, but I do want you to know that.”

“You lie to all your friends?” she asked, pulling her hand back gingerly.

“Yes,” he said, “particularly the ones of which I'm fond.”

“I don't understand that,” she said, sounding more confused than angry.

“I know you don't,” he said, having no intention of explaining or justifying himself to her.

“I wish I could tell when you're lying and when you're telling the truth. If you're actually some huge jerk pretending not to be, I know this isn't going to matter to you, but I don't want things to be this way. I don't want to feel knotted up inside or like I was used and made a fool of.”

“I don't believe that Julian was using you. If he has been using anyone, it's me,” he said without any self-pity or rancor.

“Why would you allow that?” Her anger returned, but he wondered if it was directed at him at all.

“I prefer it to the alternatives,” he said simply.

“I really want to stay mad at you,” she said. “It's harder than it should be, particularly when you save me from self-righteous fanatics.”

“Was that incident because of Akorem's speech this morning?” he asked.

“Yes,” she nodded. “I'm caste-less, the lowest of the low. It didn't matter that he had almost the entire place to choose from. He decided he wanted my specific chair and table. According to the old ways, that means I'm supposed to turn it over to him without a word of complaint. I shouldn't even make him sully himself by having to address me or look directly at me.”

He frowned, no stranger to social stratification or what being at the bottom of the heap was like. He recalled all too well his work with Tolan in the Tarlak sector and the way they were so often ignored as though invisible by those paying their respects at the grand statues of the legates. “I think you need to be careful,” he said. “It may be different on Bajor, but on Cardassia, it's very difficult for those of low to no status to get justice for wrongs done by those who outrank them in importance. Today it's shoving out of a chair. Tomorrow it could be shoving out of an airlock.”

“I've worked hard for everything I have. All my life I've worked hard. Now, some poet from the past comes along and declares none of that matters. I don't matter, just because I don't know my family name. The very occupation he says we need to heal from produced that situation for me, and hundreds if not thousands more just like me. Pretending it never happened may work fine for those of a D'Jarra they find desirable. It does nothing for the rest of us except piling upon yet another indignity and unfairness.” She stopped talking abruptly and focused on him again. “I have no business bringing all of this up to you. I'm sorry.”

“No, I'm sorry,” he surprised himself in saying. It emerged from a part of him that rarely voiced itself, a part that Tain had never touched but Tolan had carefully cultivated, so carefully that not even Mila was aware of his efforts.

She seemed to sense that he spoke of something larger than either of them or their recent division. “I didn't think I'd ever hear that from a Cardassian in a way I could believe.” She touched his cheek lightly with her undamaged hand and let it drop back to her side again. “If I ask you to promise me something and you do, can I trust you to keep your word?”

“You do realize that I could very easily lie about that,” he warned her.

“Yes, I do,” she said.

“Ask,” he said abruptly, intensely uncomfortable with what had just happened and wanting to distance himself from it as quickly as he could. Tolan's path led to rocky ground and uncertain footing.

“Promise me that if you think Julian is getting serious about trying to come back to you, or you think you really want him back, you'll tell me,” she said.

“You're going back to him?” he asked.

“I haven't decided. I'm still furious with him and hurt, way more hurt than I was by you. I won't pretend to understand what it is that pulls you two toward each other, and I really don't want details.” She paced the confines of the stock room and turned back to face him from a greater distance. “But even angry, I know he wouldn't do something like this lightly or on a whim, and neither would you. What do you know of our beliefs?”

“A bit,” he said. He knew more than he wanted.

“Then you know that a pagh's path can sometimes be convoluted and confusing and that sometimes paghs can be bound in ways that are impossible to ignore. It doesn't matter if you and Julian believe in it or not. That doesn't mean you aren't bound in some way.”

He found the talk frustrating. It made him want to shake her. “Please, don't make excuses for us,” he said earnestly. “If you want to go back to Julian and give him another chance, do it because it's what you want. The same applies for if you wish to have me as your friend. See us for who and what we are. Don't use your beliefs to mitigate what either he or I did to you with the deception.”

“I'm not,” she said. “I know it sounds that way to you. As you said earlier, I don't expect you to understand. Will you just promise to do as I've asked? Can you respect me enough to be honest with me if things change or deepen between you two?”

“Yes,” he said. “I promise I'll do that if the two of you are together at the time it happens, not that I expect it.”

“Thank you,” she said. “May I ask one more favor for now?”

“Of course,” he said.

“Would you please walk me to Quark's? I know it isn't far, but I...I suppose I'm still a little shaky from being assaulted like that.”

“I will. I think you should press charges, though.”

She shook her head. “I don't even know who it was.”

“I got a very good look at him. I could easily identify him, and I saw what he did to you. That may be the new law of the land for Bajor, but there are still rules of conduct on this station that don't allow for that sort of violence. If you don't press charges, what's to stop the next one from coming along and doing the same thing or worse?” They walked out of his shop together, and he paused to have the computer lock up.

“I could do that, yes, and then he or his friends could find ways to retaliate. I know how these things go, and I suspect that you do, too. While I appreciate your indignation on my behalf, I think I'll be better off letting it drop.”

She had a point. More frustrated than he was that morning, he walked her in silence the rest of the short distance to Quark's. She visibly relaxed when they passed through the wide doorway. Garak knew that for all of his flaws, Quark wouldn't tolerate foolishness like what happened in the Replimat in his bar. She was safer there. “If you change your mind, just let me know,” he said.

“I will. I'll let you know if I decide to talk to Julian, too. Do you think he actually cares about me?” she asked, somehow looking younger in her sudden vulnerability.

“Yes, I do,” he said, not needing to lie.

She nodded and withdrew from him, heading toward the back to prepare to start her shift. He watched until he could no longer see her and turned to go, much warier on his way home than he had been in a very long time. The entire way he mulled the assailant and the situation, a plan forming that he was positive would earn Odo's ire should he ever learn of it. He supposed he'd have to make certain Odo never found out.

After ordering a mug of hot rokassa juice from his replicator, he sat at his terminal and got to business. The security files were harder to hack than the last time he poured through them. He had to credit Odo for staying on his toes and idly wondered if it was he or Quark who had tripped some alarm last time prompting the change, or if perhaps the changeling simply did it out of paranoia. He searched criminal files going all the way back to the end of the occupation and didn't see a mugshot of his man. It didn't mean he wasn't a criminal, of course. It simply meant he hadn't been caught for anything aboard the station and wasn't notorious enough on Bajor to be flagged.

“Going to make me do this the hard way,” he murmured, sipping from his mug. “I believe I'm going to take offense at that.” The next set of files was easier to access, but the database was tremendous, and he had no simple way to narrow it down other than to key in some very broad parameters, adult male, brown hair, brown eyes, Bajoran. Pictures flipped by on his screen at a speed that would suit a Vulcan. Garak never blinked, watching them all. Almost two minutes later, he said, “Computer stop. Go back ten files.” A slightly younger version of his culprit appeared on his screen. After all of that, it was nothing to discover where he lived. A search of information on his quarters told him that at least officially, he lived alone. It was no guarantee.

“Now,” he said, feeling very satisfied, “let's see where you work and who you work with. Family, either on the station or on Bajor...” Between speaking, he hummed lightly, thoroughly enjoying himself.

Much later in the evening, he left his quarters with a small satchel slung over his shoulder. All was quiet in the H-ring, the lights low, the deep rumble of the station a soothing background noise he barely noticed. It was convenient that they shared the same ring. It made his job of getting there less likely to draw attention. He felt alive all over, every sense keyed and heightened. This was always a dangerous game to play, regardless of the target.

Once outside the quarters, he fished a small tricorder from his bag and ran it. One life sign behind the wall where the bedroom should be, no movement to speak of, slightly lower respiration, temperature, and heart rate than one would expect of a Bajoran who was awake. Asleep. So obliging. It almost puts me in a more forgiving mood, he thought. Almost. He turned it off again and tucked it neatly back into its separate pouch, the entire bag compartmentalized to prevent anything from clacking together inside.

Cracking the door code and disabling the internal computer interface was nothing. He slipped silently into the dark quarters and waited. Did the hiss of the door awaken his quarry? He knew that some Bajoran's hearing was so keen as to seem unnatural to his people. He heard no stirring from the room beyond. The wait allowed his eyes to adjust to the starlight illuminating the quarters from the port and gave him time to take what he needed from his satchel by feel alone. Messy, he saw. He had to pick his way carefully around clutter on the floor. Oh, how he loathed disorder! His opinion of the man fell further.

The bedroom door was open. He stepped through it very quickly and to the side, hugging the wall. Doorways were a danger zone, the place where one was most likely to be spotted. He saw a pale face above a rumpled blanket, the man asleep on his back. He smiled closed lipped and stepped forward. The first magnetic clamp in his thinly gloved hand clicked very softly as he set it into place at the underside of the bed platform. He froze and watched the slack face. Not even a twitch, he thought, still waiting a bit longer to be certain. Extending a fine wire from its tight spool, he snapped it into place in the small slots on the clamp designed just for that purpose and circled the foot of the bed, allowing the wire to extend and retract again to accommodate his movements.

At the other side, he supported the wire gently beneath the fingers of one hand while setting a twin clamp with the other, still no reaction from his quarry. His next move was fast and precise, allowing the wire to pop down onto the bare neck while securing another end beneath the other clamp and using the snip on the spool to cut it to length. As expected, the man snapped awake from the sudden sting, only Garak's firm hand at his shoulder preventing him from slitting his own throat.

“I see I have your attention,” he hissed softly.

“Computer, lights!” the Bajoran croaked in a panic. Nothing happened.

“No,” Garak said, tutting him. “We can't have that. You see, there's a place and time for everything, wouldn't you agree? Darkness suits this sort of activity.”

“I don't know who you are, but I swear you'll pay for this,” the man growled. Although he attempted to sound menacing, Garak could hear the underlying waver in the bravado.

“Oh, how rude of me not to introduce myself,” he said. “I'm the spoonhead. I'm surprised you couldn't tell by the smell, but I suppose your sensory lapse is understandable due to the circumstances.” He saw the chest rise sharply with the man's semi-panicked inhale. Good. He did fear Cardassians. Garak honestly didn't care why. “I'm going to take my hand off your shoulder. You'd be very wise not to try to move much. There's a wire across your throat taut enough to slit it if you try to sit up and thin enough to slice your fingers off if you're foolish enough to pry at it. You are, of course, welcome to test this for yourself.”

He released his pressure and squatted back on his heels so that his face would be at the bed level, watching intently. “I'm glad to see you're not as stupid as your actions earlier this evening led me to believe.”

“So this is revenge for that tun'jarra?” He sounded incredulous and a little outraged on top of his obvious fear.

Garak chuckled low, an ugly sound. “Oh, no. You completely misunderstand. You see, I found the Emissary's speech quite inspiring. All that talk of a return to the old ways. Do you know that my people have something of a caste system, too? Hearing that talk made me homesick. It made me realize that I've been untrue to my calling, settling for the dull life of a simple tailor. Would you care to guess what my 'D'jarra' is?” he asked liltingly. Nothing but shallow breathing followed his query. “No?” He pressed gently on the wire with a gloved finger.

“Y-you're an assassin,” the man yelped.

Garak let up. “Rather crude, not entirely accurate, but close enough for my purposes, I suppose,” he said in a way that voiced disappointment. “You could, of course, report me to security. Once I leave this room, I have no real control over what you do. Knowing Odo, he's going to want more than your word to have me arrested, particularly after Leeta tells him how I prevented you from doing her further harm. As efficient as he is, a thorough investigation will still take him at least twenty-six hours, possibly more because I'm very good at covering my tracks. Do you have any idea what I could do in twenty-six hours? Think of the collateral damage of our little disagreement, your work detail in maintenance, cute little Jerra Revan in Dahkur Province.”

The man swallowed heavily and a thin line of black appeared on his throat, all color leached from the room in the pale starlight. It trickled downward toward the mattress, and Garak watched him twitch. “Please,” he said, all bravado gone, only naked appeal left. “What do you want from me?”

Garak leaned closer so that his breath would tickle the large curve of ear. “I've known people like you,” he whispered. “Frustrated little people who covet the power of others but don't have the...initiative...to seize any of their own. This return to the old ways must seem like a windfall from the prophets for you, an excuse to tread on those lower on the rung by accident of birth or misfortune of the occupation. The way I understand it, and please, correct me if I'm wrong. I'm hardly a scholar of Bajoran history.

“Yes, those of lower caste and the tun'jarra, those with no status at all, are expected to defer to their so-called betters, but you have a duty to them not to abuse them. I suggest you study your own texts, or I may find myself completely overwhelmed with nostalgia and have to pay your friends a visit before I come back to see you again. Do we understand each other?” he asked.

“Yes,” the man said, his voice now starting to shake. Garak could see a sheen of sweat on the pale face. The stress of the situation was beginning to wear his victim down.

“Another thing,” he said. “I find the term 'spoonhead' to be quite hurtful, and I can't seem to keep myself from lashing out when I'm hurt. Do you think I should see someone about that? Is it...normal?”

“N...no. I mean yes! I mean, you don't need to see anyone. I...I apologize for offending you,” he said in a rush.

“Apology accepted,” Garak said, sliding one hand down the man's arm until he reached his hand and bracing him at the shoulder with the other. He loosely clasped his fingers around his index finger and gave a sharp jerk. The Bajoran howled in pain, Garak's hand at his shoulder preventing further, graver injury to the pinned throat. “You sprained my friend's wrist,” he said coldly. “Shall I convey an apology to her as well?”

“Ye-es,” came the ragged reply.

“I'm happy to see you're more reasonable than I expected,” he said. He released the clamp closest to him and circled the bed to release the other, tucking everything neatly back into his pack. He wasn't at all surprised that the man didn't move. His eyes glittered as they tried to follow Garak's movements, but it was obvious to the Cardassian that it was too dark for the man to see him as anything more than a disconcerting shadow. “I'm leaving now. I do hope that you'll set a good example for all of your friends in how to behave toward those of lesser status than your own. The very best way to teach is by example. Good night.”

He exited as quietly as he entered and took as much care returning to his quarters as he did upon leaving them. He knew there was a possibility his victim might do something stupid and actually file a report. It would be a shame if it came to that, as he didn't make idle threats. All in all, he believed the excursion was successful, even if it truly had left him feeling a bit nostalgic.

The Promenade

The picket line outside Quark's that morning caused quite a stir. The entire area was abuzz with rumors and gossip. Julian saw Leeta prominently to the fore with Rom and gave her his most encouraging smile. He had to admire the workers for taking a stand, particularly the Ferengi for whom this could be an utter disaster. It quickly became apparent that getting any work done was going to be difficult, especially when Miles showed up, fired up and enthusiastic about the stir.

“C'n you believe it?” the Irishman asked. “A real, honest to goodness strike right here on Deep Space Nine, and it's all because of you.”

“Me?” Julian widened his eyes. “Hardly. You were there when he came in to talk about it. I didn't even remember saying anything to him about unions. I was probably just trying to make him feel better or get him to stop complaining. I was tired that night.”

“Whatever your intentions, it was the right fuel to throw on the right fire at the right time. Look at 'em. I bet we'd get a better look from the second level.”

Nodding, he followed the engineer up the stairs, the two of them positioning themselves with a good view of the striking workers below and the second level entrance. “I wonder why they didn't block this one off, too?” Miles said.

“I would imagine Captain Sisko had something to do with that,” Julian replied. “I don't think it would be legal to allow them to close the bar off entirely.”

“Probably not,” the engineer agreed. “I'm surprised he's allowing as much as he is.”

“It's a fine line to tread, not infringing on their rights or Quark's and not interfering with an alien society. Makes me glad I'm not a captain,” he said. “As upset as I've seen Leeta at Quark at times, I'd be tempted to run him off the station, the bar be damned.”

Miles snorted a chuckle. “So, you'd say you've started feelin' more protective of Leeta lately?”

Julian eyed him warily. “I said no such thing.” To get him off the subject, he pointed at a Tellarite walking past. “What do you think? In, our out?”

“Huh?” Miles asked.

The Tellarite walked into the bar from the upper level. “Oh, too late!” he said, grinning. Miles returned the grin, catching on. They made quite the entertaining game of it until Worf unexpectedly walked inside. Before he could even think to stop him, the engineer started off after him. “Where are you going?” he asked, hurrying to catch up and not liking where this was heading.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the lower light in the bar. The scene was almost surreal, as what few customers there were all seemed to be served by identical clones of Quark. It distracted him to the point that he tuned out Miles' conversation with Worf to try to see what was actually going on. One of the Quarks rippled with static, a tray he was bearing crashing to the floor in a messy spill of drinks. Another Quark cried out, “Not again!” and hurried over to the site with a large rag.

Holograms, he realized. He's using holograms. He had to give it to the bar owner for ingenuity, however flawed. Worf's roar snapped him back to his true reason for entering the bar. He looked over just in time to see the Klingon lunge at Miles. “Hey!” he snapped, quickly trying to interpose himself between the two before things got ugly. He couldn't tell who did it in the confusion that followed, but the next he knew, he was flying over a table and falling to the floor head first. He managed to get his hands under him at the last minute, taking a grazing blow instead of a full on face plant.

“No fighting in the bar!” Quark bellowed from the first floor. “Security! Security!”

He didn't resist the Bajoran officer who hauled him to his feet, gruffly checked his forehead, and snapped him in holding cuffs. To his relief, neither did Worf or Miles. Odo marched the three of them out of the bar with such a look of disgust that he felt like a misbehaving teenager. It was completely humiliating. The security chief held his tongue until he had them in his office, only then whirling on them. “If I lock the three of you in one holding cell, will you beat one another senseless?” he asked.

“No,” came three muttered replies, not a one of them able to look Odo in the eyes.

“Pity,” Odo said. He shoved them into a cell and removed their cuffs, leaving them without another word.

He knew that if he looked at either one of them, he'd say something he'd regret. Setting his jaw, he stood at parade rest in front of the energy barrier. The other two joined him, and that was how the Captain found them not much later. “I don't believe what I'm seeing,” Sisko said.

Julian could hardly believe it himself, particularly when Miles tried to blame him for his injury. It wasn't serious. His pride was hurt far worse than his head, but it was the principle of the matter. He didn't allow the accusation that he got in the way to stand unchallenged. In the end he wasn't surprised to hear that all three of them would be cooling their heels in the cell together overnight. “I hope you're proud of yourselves,” he said coldly after the captain had left, and he staked his claim to the bunk. Those two idiots could sleep on the floor for all he cared. Miles looked at him and seemed to think better of trying to talk. That suited him just fine. It was going to be a long sixteen hours.

Garak

Garak's Clothiers

Garak had to admit that what was bad for Quark's business had turned quite profitable for him. Deprived of the bar, people were more inclined to shop and gossip. He had only to look outside his door to see the picket line. What he had missed but was told about by several different customers with great glee was the arrest of several Starfleeters by security earlier in the day. The figure varied from two to seven, for reasons that ranged from brawling to vandalism of the bar. He found the latter claim difficult to believe. In nearly every story Worf was implicated, with the other officers and personnel changing with each wild tale.

The only name that truly interested him was Julian's. He left his shop for a late lunch, only to see Leeta beckon quickly to him. He veered her way, greeted Rom cordially, and leaned in close to listen to her whisper. “I heard Julian got hurt,” she said. “Could you find out for me, please? I'm worried, but I can't leave the picket line.”

“I was trying to find that out, myself,” he assured her and squeezed her shoulder. “I'll return when I have news.”

“Thank you, Garak,” she said, smiling and offering him a slip of latinum, “and thanks for not patronizing Quark's Bar.”

He held up a hand palm out, refusing the money. “You don't have to pay me for that.” Several strides down the Promenade had him at the infirmary. Not surprisingly, the nurses were completely mum about the rumored incident. They wouldn't confirm that Julian was injured or that he had been involved in anything, only saying that he wasn't there. Undaunted, he continued on to security. Odo stopped him at the office. “If I were you, I'd stay out of it,” he grated the moment he saw him.

“I have no wish to be involved in anything, I assure you, Constable,” Garak said smoothly. “Leeta is worried about Doctor Bashir. Someone told her that he had been injured. Can you at least tell me if he is all right?”

Odo nodded grudgingly. “He's fine. Anything else, you'll have to ask him in the morning.”

Both of Garak's brow ridges lifted in surprise. He was to be incarcerated for the entire night? That was something he never thought he'd see. He inclined his head respectfully and stepped back out onto the Promenade. Who would have suspected that this strike of Rom's would have such far reaching effects? He was dying to know who started it and how Julian got involved. That would have to wait. He returned to Leeta and told her what little he knew. She didn't seem to take the news that Julian would be held overnight well, her eyes flashing, but she thanked him nonetheless. He took his late lunch and cut it short so that he could be sure to be present for the heavier traffic of customers. He left for his quarters long before the picket line was due to dissipate, his curiosity not enough to override his hunger and fatigue.

Private Quarters

He was already in his pajamas when his door chime rang. Throwing on a robe, he asked the computer who was at his door and reluctantly answered when he discovered it was Rom. The waiter seemed more agitated than usual. Garak couldn't be quite sure if the agitation was for a good or bad reason. Ferengi grimaces could sometimes be difficult to read. He didn't let him in far. “I hope you don't intend to make a habit of this,” he said irritably.

“No, but Doctor Bashir and Chief O'Brien are locked up, and Odo won't let me talk to them,” Rom said.

So the rumor about O'Brien was true. It couldn't have happened to a better man, Garak decided, although he still wondered how Julian got tangled up in that mess. “What do you need?”

“Brother tried to bribe me,” he blurted excitedly. “That's good, right?”

“It could be,” Garak conceded. “However, consider your brother. If he's down to offering you money, it also means he's getting desperate. Desperate people sometimes do dangerous things.”

“I'm not afraid,” Rom said staunchly. “I think we're really making progress. I need to call a meeting. Sorry for barging in like this. I just wanted a little advice from someone I trusted. You may not know a lot about strikes like the chief and the doctor, but you've never led me wrong.”

Some of Garak's irritation receded. “Well,” he said a little less crossly, “allow me to offer you cautious congratulations on your progress, then. Remember what I said. Don't get over-confident.”

“Garak,” Rom said, “I don't think I'll ever have that problem. Good night!”

He couldn't argue with him there. “Good night,” he said, smiling faintly at the door for a couple of seconds after the man retreated. Interesting times, he thought. Interesting times indeed.

Julian

Private Quarters

The door chimed just as Julian finished zipping his new turtleneck. He took a deep breath and let it out. He had done a lot of thinking during his night of incarceration, and he knew he had a lot of things to explain to Leeta. “Enter,” he said, emerging from his bedroom and facing the door with resolve.

Leeta skip walked over to him and hugged him tightly then stepped back to look at him, both hands to his shoulders. “I'm glad you're all right,” she said. “I was worried about you. I wanted to come see you today in the infirmary, but Rom says it's really important we keep our united front.”

“I'm fine,” he said. “You didn't need to worry. I...there's something I need to talk to you about.”

To his surprise, she kissed him fully on the lips. “You don't have to explain, silly. I know why you were in the bar. I think it's really sweet that you and Miles were trying to keep Worf from crossing the strike line. I'm proud of you for standing up for what you believe in, even though it cost you. You're not in too much trouble, are you?”

He gave a weak smile. “No. No, I'm not.” There was no way he could approach her about Garak when she was looking at him that way. It would just have to wait. “So, are you hungry? And do you want to eat in, or go out?”

She smiled slowly and guided him back toward his sofa with her hands sliding down to his chest. “I'd say...” she said, pushing him down and straddling his lap with a grin, “let's eat...in.”

It wasn't until hours later that they got around to replicating food. By that time, he was ravenous but feeling no urge to complain. Her energy and enthusiasm had been very infectious. Smiling to himself, he loaded up a tray of finger foods and started toward the bedroom with it, still naked and feeling deliciously sated.

“Infirmary to Doctor Bashir,” Nurse Frendel's voice came over the comm.

“Bashir here,” he said. “Go ahead.” Leeta appeared in the bedroom door with a look of concern.

“We need you right away, Doctor. It's Quark. He's dying.”

Leeta hurried forward and took the tray out of his hands, staying out of his way while he rushed into the bedroom to dress in his uniform. “I'm on my way,” he said, hopping on one foot while thrusting a leg through the trousers. He was still zipping up as he said, “Bashir to Ops. I need a direct beam to the infirmary, now.”

The moment he arrived, he got straight to work. “Status report,” he said, moving to run his hands under the disinfecting beam. “What happened?”

“Constable Odo found him being beaten by two Nausicaans. One of his lungs is filling with fluid, and we haven't been able to stop it from collapsing.”

He nodded, barking orders left and right and taking a quick look at the biobed feed. “We're going to need to vent it. I want him fitted with a neural caliper right now. Let's induce a coma before shock finishes him off.”

As he donned his surgeon's uniform, he considered how fortunate it was that Odo found the bar owner when he did. Ferengi weren't the most hearty of species to begin with, and a beating from a Nausicaan was nothing to sneer at. It took close to three hours of careful, painstaking work to extract the rib and bone fragments that had been driven deeply into the lower lobe of his left lung. Only then did he feel comfortable trying to address the damage to his eye socket. Just a little more force, and Quark would've been blinded in one eye and possibly suffered brain damage.

He finished up and straightened his aching back. “All right,” he said, looking at his surgical team. “I feel it's safe to say he's going to make it, but let's not get cocky. Good work, all of you.”

They nodded and dispersed to their various stations, and he retreated to the back to strip back down to his uniform and clean up. Nurse Frendel joined him. “I've had word sent to his brother,” he said. “Is there anyone else we should notify?”

“No,” Julian said. “Let Rom handle that, and needless to say, no visitors right now. If Quark remains stable when we remove the caliper, I'll consider letting Rom see him. Make sure you let me talk to him first if he comes when I'm not in the front. I won't have him upsetting our patient.”

The nurse nodded and left him to finish cleaning up. He felt a twinge of guilt, considering he was the one who put the whole union idea into Rom's head in the first place, but he didn't actually blame himself. Quark had brought this on his own head with his behavior.

Julian checked back in on Quark before retreating to his office to work up his report. A couple of hours later, he believed his patient was stable enough to be awakened. They removed the caliper and monitored him closely. After another twenty minutes or so, Quark's eyelids fluttered, and he opened his eyes. “How are you feeling?” Julian asked.

“Like I've been trampled by Morn on his way to a two for one drink special,” Quark rasped.

Julian smiled wryly. “Well, it's good to see your humor is intact.”

“I'm not joking, Doctor,” Quark said.

“No, I imagine not.” He explained to him all of the damage he had suffered and told him of what he knew of the situation from Odo's end of things. “All in all, you're very lucky to be alive.”

“When can I get out of here?” the Ferengi asked.

Julian stared at him and shook his head. “When I say so, and not a moment before. No visitors, either. What you need to do right now is to rest. I'll check back in on you later to see how you're doing.”

He left the recovery room and heard Rom's raised voice from the entrance lobby. Hurrying down the short hallway, he shooed his people back to their stations. Rom drew himself up to his full height and met Julian's gaze squarely. “Brother and I have unfinished business,” he said.

Julian sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, beckoning Rom back with him to his office. He turned to face him once they had some privacy. “I'll let you see him,” he said, “on one condition. Don't get him agitated. Those Nausicaans nearly killed him. I won't stand by and let you finish the job with stress after operating on him for over three hours. Understood?”

Rom nodded. “I never wanted any of this to happen,” he said flatly, “but I'm not sorry for it.”

Julian nodded slowly. “I understand. Rom, I...admire...what you've done with this. I know it has been difficult, particularly with the Liquidator aboard the station making threats. As a Starfleet officer, I can't officially take sides or weigh in, but off the record...well, I think you should be proud of taking a stand, regardless of how it all turns out.”

The Ferengi eyed him a bit strangely before nodding. “Thank you, Doctor. I never expected to hear that coming from you.”

“I suppose we're all allowed to surprise each other now and then,” he said with a crooked half smile.

“I suppose so,” Rom said. “I'd like to see Brother now.”

“Of course,” Julian said, showing him the way.

Garak

Garak's Clothiers

Garak hummed to himself as he hung some of the newest wares in his window displays. The new fabrics were not only a joy to work with but were proving very popular. He hadn't been so busy with orders since the trouble started with the Dominion. It was past closing time. He should have left over an hour before, but it didn't hurt to put in extra hours now and then. He felt eyes on him from behind and turned to find Rom standing in his doorway, dressed in Bajoran maintenance worker's overalls. He finished arranging the dress he had in hand and stepped away from the display. “I wish you had told me you intended to do this,” he said smiling. “I could've given you a much better fit with that uniform.”

Rom grinned. “I'll get an alteration with my first paycheck,” he said.

“So tell me,” Garak said, beckoning him toward the back for some tea and privacy, “are the rumors true? The strike is settled, the Liquidator sent off with some...creative bookkeeping, and the workers' demands met under the table?”

“One of these days, I'm going to figure out your sources,” Rom said. “Yes, it's true. The union is dissolved, but they don't need it anymore.”

“They. So you've cut all ties to the bar?” Garak asked. “Two red leaf teas,” he ordered from the replicator and turned to hand Rom one.

“Yes,” Rom nodded. “I should've done it a long time ago.” He sipped his tea thoughtfully and took the stool Garak pulled out for him. “I guess somewhere in the back of my mind, I just always held onto the idea that one day I'd be what's expected of a good Ferengi.”

“And now?” Garak asked, also taking a sip of tea.

“Now I just want to be paid for what I'm good at,” he said. “I'm a very good engineer. My methods may be unorthodox compared to what the Starfleeters or Bajorans are used to, but I can make do with a lot less than what they provide and do a lot more than what they expect.”

“I always did have faith in you,” he said, genuinely happy for the man and privately proud of his progress. It was a long time in coming.

“I know,” Rom said with a nod. “You're one of the first who ever did, and I won't forget that, Garak. I want to tell you something else. Leeta kissed me.”

He was thankful not to have been taking a sip of tea in just that moment. Rom might have wound up wearing it. “She did?”

“Not on the lips. Just on the forehead, but it's a start. She respects me now. You gave me good advice on that, too. If there's ever anything I can do in return, I want you to let me know. I mean it. You've been a good friend. I want to return the favor.”

“My dear man,” Garak said, “you already have, many times over. Now, please don't embarrass me any further with this...startling honesty. It's almost more than I can stomach.”

Rom snickered and stood, offering him the mug back. “All right,” he said. “It's time for me to go gloat a little to Brother, anyway, and let him serve me for a change.”

“That sounds like a marvelous idea,” the tailor said. “When I finish up here, I may even come watch the fireworks.” There were worse ways to spend an evening, he decided as he put the mugs in the recycler. If someone as tradition bound as a Ferengi could become a radical and throw off the shackles of his societal expectations to follow his dreams, who was to say that Garak couldn't practice being radical in his own way and seize contentment when it presented itself, even if only for an evening? A marvelous idea, indeed, he thought and hurried to finish his displays so that he could do just that.

The end.

Garak

Replimat Café

The tailor listened with dutiful attentiveness to Rom's account of his part in the dramatic rescue. He knew that Rom had genuine reason to be proud. Even Quark could claim some small part in saving the crew. Garak was just surrounded by heroes. It made a not so insignificant part of him want to vomit. The Ferengi were acting more and more like Starfleeters. Rom's son was away at academy. There were rumors that Bajor was making moves toward joining the Federation. He had no escape anymore, his social walls becoming as claustrophobia inducing as his shop could be at times.

He was glad that Rom was too absorbed to tell how many pills he had taken that morning. His migraines, after a brief reprieve, had returned in full force, and that said nothing of his nightmares. So what if his pupils were a little wider than usual? So what if his words weren't quite so precise? He realized some time ago that with everyone he knew with the exception of Odo, he could feign a level of normalcy and interaction that satisfied their expectations. Such a thing would be almost impossible among Cardassians without much greater effort.

“Garak?” Rom said, coming to a sudden halt in his narrative.

Perhaps he wasn't quite as subtle as he thought. “Yes?” he asked, lifting his tea for a neat sip.

The Ferengi gave him a searching look. “If you'd rather talk about something else, that's OK.”

“No, please,” he said graciously, “continue. I rather liked your description of Eddington's face when the Chief saw the Defiant.”

Rom beamed. It was all the encouragement he needed. As Garak listened to the rest of it, he almost envied the waiter his simplicity. Almost.

Never had he been more aware of the passage of time. It thrust him and Julian away from their moment of divergence in an inexorable rush, each day of little to no contact adding its momentum behind the days before. At first he swallowed his pride and made attempts to bridge the gap, after giving Julian a few days to process things on his own. Every overture was met with polite denial. He either had too much work to do, a date with Leeta, or arrangements with O'Brien and their new war program. The reasons were always perfectly reasonable, nothing to which Garak could object. Did the doctor truly believe the tailor didn't know a freeze out when he experienced it?

He backed off. What choice did he really have? He could make a fool of himself to no effect, or he could accept the simple fact. Their friendship had changed. Given enough time, it would no longer exist at all except frozen in the past like one of those earth insects in amber. It was the natural way of things. Why did it have to happen so soon? Twice he composed messages to send to Mila to tell her the one thing he imagined that all mothers across the galaxy loved hearing from their children. You were right. You were so very right. They remained on his computer, unsent.

Partially to keep in practice, partially out of boredom, he monitored supposedly secure transmissions and stuck his fingers more deeply into intelligence files than he had since the end of the occupation. He avoided Odo before he left for earth with Captain Sisko, just in case he wasn't quite good enough at feigning surprise over their leaving. It was alarming, the thought of changeling infiltrators on earth. It made him wonder about and worry for Cardassia. With all of their troubles with the Klingons and lost colonies, would anyone there be as focused as he or she ought to be on domestic security? He knew that he could poke around forever in illicit government files and never find an adequate answer to that question.

Odo returned and resumed his breakfasts with Garak. Neither of them spoke of the growing changeling threat. Unlike Rom and Leeta, he watched Garak closely. The tailor could tell that the security chief cataloged his enlarged pupils, the nearly undetectable slur of his voice, and the clumsiness of his hands. For reasons unknown to him, Odo chose to keep his observations to himself. Perhaps he realized that Garak was not drinking to excess, not behaving as an addict, but trying to survive his excruciating migraines without losing his sanity in the process. Perhaps he wished to give Garak the only thing he had to offer him actively besides his friendship, his privacy. For whatever the reason, the tailor was grateful.

His breakfast companion was more voluble about Bajor's progression toward joining the Federation. As he often did with Rom, he listened attentively while not caring for the topic at hand. He had seen this coming from the moment he realized that Starfleet had come to fill the power vacuum left by his own people. They claimed not to be conquerors. By the strictest definition, they were not. Their conquests were more insidious, their weapons of choice words and ideas, peppered by a generous offering of resources when words alone weren't enough. They sought to spread their bland, insipid optimism to the farthest reaches of the galaxy. Could they truly be surprised that the Dominion viewed them as such a threat?

“Of course, I'm tightening security,” Odo said.

Garak tuned back in from his unpleasant wandering. “A wise move,” he said. “There are still many on Bajor who would prefer to remain isolated from alien influences.”

“Yes,” Odo agreed, nodding. “I trust you'll keep an ear out for anything suspicious?”

“You'd be better served by my eyes,” Garak said a bit flippantly.

Odo snorted softly, the way he always did when he found something amusing and didn't want to show it. “I'm most worried about First Minister Shakaar,” the changeling continued. “He'll be the most visible target.”

“That's the only worry you have about him, I'm sure,” Garak said in a way that meant just the opposite. He smiled inwardly at Odo's suddenly much more attentive look laced with apprehension. This was an old topic that never ceased to provide the tailor with much needed entertainment.

“What are you getting at, Garak?” the changeling growled, apprehension giving way to annoyance.

Garak favored him with his blandest smile. “He's a capable man with quite the history in the resistance,” he said mildly, as careful with the lacing of his innuendo as he was threading his wares. “I am sure he is used to taking threats in stride. What did you think I meant, Constable?”

The silence dragged as Odo silently probed him for the smallest crack in his facade. He could tell the exact moment when the shape shifter gave up for the time being, Odo's posture shifting slightly back and away from him. “He'll be here in two days,” he said. “If I were you, during that time I'd make myself scarce, just in case someone wants to try to pin something on you.”

Am I so de-fanged that it doesn't even occur to you that I could decide to be a danger? Garak wondered. It was a disheartening thought. The remainder of his appetite fled. “Of course,” he said pleasantly. “Besides, I doubt that a Cardassian is what the First Minister wants to see while touring the station. I'd be as welcome as a vole infestation.” Somehow, his voice no longer sounded so pleasant in his own ears.

Odo's strangely plastic brow managed to furrow. “I was merely concerned about you, Garak. I wasn't trying to imply anything.”

I wish that you had been, he thought with an inward sigh. “I know that,” he said instead. He watched Odo's concern struggle with his respect for privacy and saw the respect win the fight. It was time to move on. “I need to open the shop,” he said, standing and seizing his tray. “It was a pleasure.” He felt Odo's eyes on his back all the way out of the Replimat, like an itch he couldn't quite reach to scratch.

Julian

Leeta's Quarters

Julian smiled as he watched Leeta bustle about setting the table. He knew better than to try to help her. She had her own way of doing things and insisted that his eye for color was completely hopeless. It had been a long time since he had seen her so energetic and excited. Staying out of her way, he said, “I'm almost afraid to ask what the occasion is.” He hadn't forgotten some obscure anniversary, had he? He hoped not.

“First Minister Shakaar is coming to the station tomorrow,” she said, beaming. “It's wonderful news, not just for Bajor but for the Federation, too. It means that the provisional government is getting serious about their intentions. It's nice to see something not moving at a snail's pace for once, don't you think?”

“It is nice,” he said sincerely. It was also somewhat unexpected. Bajor's reactions had been initially suspicious, sometimes even hostile. They had all come such a long way in a relatively short amount of time. He liked to think that in some part he had something to do with that. Perhaps in some ways, Garak did, too. First there was the treaty with Cardassia, and now this, serious talks about how Bajor could fit into the Federation and what the Federation could in turn do for them.

Leeta beckoned him to the table, and he took his seat. “Smells good,” he said automatically. He was glad that she relied on the replicator most of the time. It was difficult to pretend to enjoy her cooking, no matter how hard he tried. “So you're wanting to see Bajor become part of the Federation?” he asked. He wondered why they hadn't had this conversation before.

“I am,” she said with a nod. “There are those who talk of old Bajor, from before the occupation, but that Bajor doesn't exist any more. There aren't a large number of people alive who even remember what our world was like prior to the Cardassians' arrival. It doesn't sound as though it was the sort of place I'd want to live, a strict caste system, steep stratification in the economic classes. Your family name dictated your entire life and fate. Where would that leave people like me? I don't even know my family name.”

Just to play devil's advocate, he said, “Well, there are other options for Bajor that don't involve Federation membership or a return to the old ways.” He helped himself to a serving of veklava and some of the field peas.

“True,” she said, doing the same, “but most of those options involve a lot of uncertainty. We can't just ignore the Gamma Quadrant. So far the Prophets haven't seen fit to prevent passage of enemies from there to here. They might never. We can't stand alone, and if you think there are factions on Bajor who are reluctant to ally with the Federation, just try proposing a Dominion option. Not to mention the Cardassians, despite the treaty, could still be a threat, as could the Klingons. The days of Bajor's sitting off in its own little corner of the Alpha Quadrant, mostly unnoticed and free to ignore the rest of the universe, are gone.”

“You don't find some of our ideas and ideals threatening?” he asked.

“I lived through the occupation,” she said simply, her dark eyes glittering. “I'll leave the arguments of ideology and demagoguery to the vedek assembly. From my somewhat simple concerns, it looks like our best hope for lasting peace and progress.”

“You're anything but simple,” he said, smiling slightly. “Do you know First Minister Shakaar personally?”

She shook her head. “No, I've never met him. I like what I've heard about him, and I know Kira knows him fairly well. She seems to respect him. That says a lot to me.”

“To me as well,” he agreed. “I don't know if I'll have the opportunity to speak to him much while he's here. I know he's on a tight schedule. Even if we do a meet and greet, it will be fairly standard. I'd expect the major and the captain to have most of his time. Say, would you like to come to the wardroom get together? I'm not prohibited from bringing a date.”

“I had better not,” she said, flashing him a brief, brilliant smile. “It's sweet of you to offer. However, there are enough Bajorans who still cling to some ideas of caste that it could be seen as an insult for you to show up at a function for someone that important with a dabo girl.”

“You're not just a dabo girl,” he said.

She took his free hand and gave it a warm squeeze. “That's one of the things I love about you,” she said. “You never view the world with a prejudiced eye, and you don't expect anybody else to do it, either. I wish we lived in that world of yours, sweetie. I truly do.”

He squeezed her hand in return and smiled. Inwardly he sighed. Hadn't Garak often accused him of the same thing? Of course he said it much less admiringly, but it boiled down to the same observation. He was naïve. For all of his vast intelligence, he still saw the world through a filter of optimism and privilege. Why couldn't he be right about it for once? “Then I'll tell you all about it,” he said instead, grateful that when he put his mind to it, he could hide just about anything from her, including his ongoing depression about and alienation from one who saw his flaws probably clearer than anyone else he had ever known.

Garak

Replimat Café

Odo hadn't stopped fidgeting since he took his seat with Garak at their breakfast table. From long years of experience, the tailor knew that the best approach would be to let the changeling work himself up to saying whatever was on his mind. It was exhausting watching him, though. He half expected him to lose cohesion and begin oozing across the floor at any moment. “I have a question,” Odo said bluntly, his fidgeting concentrating to a pinky finger tapping a light staccato on the table top.

Garak set his mug down and leaned forward slightly, favoring Odo with an open, attentive expression. “I'm listening,” he said.

The changeling pressed his lips together and made a soft, frustrated sound. “Never mind,” he said.

Leaning back, the tailor inclined his head and took another sip from his mug. “How do you think the negotiations will go today?” he asked casually.

“How do you do it?” Odo asked suddenly. “How do you...how can you stand to spend time with Leeta and Doctor Bashir?”

Aha, Garak thought. So it has finally come to a head. Took him long enough. “I'm not involved with the doctor,” he said. “I hardly have the right to dictate with whom he spends his time. Leeta is a decent woman. I'm pleased that he has someone worthy of his attention.”

“It doesn't bother you at all?” Odo sounded incredulous.

“It doesn't any more,” he said, pausing before adding, “although it did at first. Why are you asking me this?” He met the security chief's gaze, something of a challenge in his own. I shared with you. Your turn.

“Why did you ever tell him how you felt?” he asked instead of answering. “A Starfleet officer, a human one at that, and a Cardassian? At the time, you had to know that it would be...impossible?”

And yet the impossibility had nothing to do with Starfleet, his humanity, or my race. In fact it's still a mystery, he thought. “I'm hardly one to give advice on love,” he said.

“Just...tell me. Please,” Odo asked.

Garak frowned, heart to hearts not exactly his forte, even with those with whom he was intimate, much less more distant friends such as Odo. “There are never guarantees,” he said, trying his best not to sound as though he were spouting platitudes and feeling as though he were failing miserably. “You could have every point of commonality and seem like a perfect match, and it still might not work.”

“But why did you tell him? You of all people?”

Under normal circumstances, he would feign offense at that and the way it was phrased. Somewhere along the way, he had passed a threshold with Odo, one that would no longer allow such flippant treatment. It was more depressing evidence that he was becoming someone his former self wouldn't even recognize. “If you must know, he came to me first, and you of all people should know why I didn't turn him away,” he said, turning the challenge around.

“Now that it's over, isn't it worse than it was before you started?” the changeling asked, something plaintive in his gravely rasp.

“No, it isn't,” he said, surprised to discover in the answer that this was true. “It didn't work out for reasons I have no intention of discussing with you. That doesn't mean I regret being with him. Love isn't meant to be permanent, any more than any other emotion. It evolves. It ends. Sometimes messily, sometimes not. You're asking me something I can't tell you.” He leaned in much closer so that there would be no danger of their being overheard. “If you should tell her how you feel.” He made certain not to name names, as one could never be too careful. “Don't look so surprised. I've seen this coming for two years at least. You're not the only perceptive observer on this station.

“I can't answer that for you. No one can, except you. I can tell you that if you don't make a decision one way or another, you'll have no one to blame for your ensuing misery but yourself. Love isn't for the faint of heart, Constable. Get in or stay out. There's no such thing as in between.”

Odo nodded thoughtfully. “You've given me a lot to think about,” he said, standing suddenly. “I trust you'll keep this discreet?”

“Do you know anyone who keeps secrets better than I?” Garak asked with a smile.

“Just one person,” Odo replied, the corners of his mouth curving upward subtly.

Don't be so sure of that, Garak thought in amusement. He watched the security chief walk away, his eyes drawn further down the Promenade toward the infirmary. He decided that he should encourage people to come to him for advice more often, because he told them things that he needed to hear. He finished his breakfast, disposed of his tray, and walked the short distance to the infirmary. One of the nurses directed him back to Julian's office, and he inclined his head politely for the help. It took Julian nearly a minute to become aware of him as he stood silently in the doorway.

“Garak, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” he said, beckoning him in and having the computer shut the door behind him. “What can I do for you?”

Direct, honest confrontation went against practically everything in his nature, and yet he had learned that he simply couldn't deal with humans as though they were Cardassians. The nuances always got lost in the shuffle. “You can stop avoiding me, or you can look me in the eyes and tell me why you intend to continue to do so,” he said. The doctor reddened slightly and lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck. “Stop right there,” Garak instructed. “You do that right before you lie.”

“Coming from you, that's a bit much,” Julian said heatedly.

“I'm not interested in your righteous indignation. I'm well aware of my flaws. I'm giving you a very simple choice here. It shouldn't be that difficult.”

Julian stood to pace in the small confines. “It's not simple. Nothing with you ever is. Yes, I've been avoiding you. You forced me to choose between harming you and allowing people I care about to be harmed. Has it occurred to you that might be difficult for me? Hard enough as your friend, harder yet as a doctor?”

“I regret that my decision caused you pain,” Garak said.

“But you don't regret the decision, and we both know that,” Julian retorted. “That's a problem for me. I don't want to wind up in that situation again with you. Ever. You can't give me a guarantee that it won't happen, and I...”

“Can't promise that your reaction won't be exactly the same should it happen again, or worse,” Garak finished for him.

“Yes,” he said, pain evident in his always expressive eyes. “I don't...blame you, and I'm not angry with you. It's my own fault for refusing to see what you always told me was there. I wanted to believe...differently.”

“You see?” Garak said, offering him a bland smile. “That wasn't so hard.”

“Like hell it wasn't,” Julian said more quietly. “Look, I don't want to avoid you. It's not fair to punish you for being who you are. We should just...be careful about the circumstances.”

“Supervised visitations? Perhaps we should log in with the Constable so that he knows our whereabouts and can stage a quick intervention should I become unruly?” Garak arched an eye ridge.

“Unruly? You do realize that you could have killed Captain Sisko, Kira, Dax, Miles, and Worf all in one fell swoop? That's more than unruly. It's utterly reckless and...and selfish, just to save your own skin.”

“And yours,” Garak said, unmoved by his anger. “Or has that fact escaped you?”

“No,” Julian snapped. “Don't you dare. Don't even try to pretend that it was concern for me.”

“Is it so inconceivable that it was concern for both of us? Am I to believe you're willing to go from viewing me as some softened, Starfleet molded Cardassian ex-spy who would sacrifice his own life for the so-called greater good to someone who thinks only ever of himself? I expect that sort of black and white thinking from the major, not from you.”

“Even if part of that was for me, I didn't want that. I didn't need your protection. You know, I am sick to death of people trying to make those kinds of decisions for me, first Miles, then you. I don't care about your reasons. I don't care if it was solely for me. It was despicable. Are you happy now? Am I being honest enough for you?” he demanded.

“So you are angry with me,” Garak said.

“I suppose I am,” he replied, slumping slightly. “Because...I know you're better than that, even if you don't.”

“Oh, please,” Garak snorted, his turn for irritation. “Not this again. The evidence was right in your face. Had you not shot me, I would have opened that door. I wasn't pretending or bluffing. I would have done it. Had it killed your colleagues, I would have regretted it as an unfortunate accident, nothing more.”

“You let me go.”

“What? What are you talking about?” he asked, his irritation thrown off track by the unexpected shift of direction.

“When I needed for our relationship to end, you allowed me to do it. You gave me a clean break, but you haven't abandoned me. Even now with what happened between us in that holosuite, you're here, stopping me from being an ass. You aren't cruel to Leeta. Those aren't the actions and attitude of a cold blooded killer or the perfect operative. The days where you could completely smoke screen me are long over. You know how to be selfless, and I've seen you do it. Am I to ignore that evidence, try to pretend that isn't also the real you?”

He was taking them into murky territory, throwing him off balance. To what end? Garak felt another flash of irritation. It was time to put an end to it or...or what? He supposed he was about to find out. “What are you so afraid I'll see if you finally stop playing games with me?” he asked. “You say you tire of my obfuscation. Well, let's set it aside, then.” He spread his arms and met Julian's gaze with brutal intensity. “It's not my preference, but I've learned that the finer points of Cardassian socializing are lost on humans altogether. Let's do this the Starfleet way, everything on the table including our hands.”

Julian looked away. “Garak...”

“Yes, I know how to be selfless. There aren't many Cardassians who don't, even if our definition doesn't fit in your narrow little box of how such things work. I'm starting to believe that you're the one who doesn't. You make a good show of it, though. I doubt any of your colleagues or your lover see what I see. All the more reason to keep me at arms' length, hmm?” He would have just about given another molar to know what he said precisely that caused such an intense flash of pain in the doctor's eyes, but it was all too brief, and he was all too aware that he wasn't going to get any answers this way. “Just do me a favor. If you're going to continue putting me off, don't insult me with justifications when we both know what's really going on here.”

“I'll stop putting you off,” Julian said.

Garak noticed he still didn't make eye contact. Liar, he thought and wondered how long he'd tolerate it before he stopped wanting the man's company at all. “Lunch today?” he asked, a challenging tone in his voice.

“All right,” Julian replied.

“I'm holding you to that,” he warned him.

“I know. I'll be there. I'm sorry for how I've been.” He finally lifted his gaze.

Well, there's a small spark of truth, Garak thought, not that he placed much value on it. “I'll see you then.” As he turned, he felt a strange tension in the air, almost as though Julian were going to reach out to stop him. He didn't, yet Garak was almost certain that had he turned and looked just then, he would have read an expression to give him pause. Am I playing with fire? Should I just let this go? He recalled his own words to Odo. Get in or stay out. There's no such thing as in between. Then where does that leave us? he wondered as he left Julian's office.

Garak

Replimat Café

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As you say,” Garak conceded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Julian

Quark's Bar

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Garak

Private Quarters

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can imagine,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Julian

The Infirmary

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” Julian said. “I...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That has nothing to do with...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give me another chance, please?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Julian

Quark's Bar

Julian had been surprised when Captain Sisko approached him and Dax at their table, asking to join them. It wasn't as though the three of them never socialized, but the captain usually liked for such things to be planned and not spontaneous. It quickly became obvious that he was after more than just company when he spoke of his recent, somewhat disastrous exchange with Kasidy Yates, a woman he had been seeing with more frequency of late.

Although he tried to be diplomatic, Julian privately felt the captain truly had bungled the conversation. When a woman announced that she would be moving somewhere her romantic partner lived, “It's a big step,” wasn't exactly an encouraging response. In his experience with such situations, complete and abject apology was usually the best route to take, unless of course, one wanted the woman in question to go away.

He and Dax both did their best to help. In the end, they were left wondering what Sisko intended to do. Dax looked at him after the captain was out of earshot. “So, just between you and me,” he asked her, “what do you really think about Kasidy moving onto the station?”

She mulled it over for a bit. “It's a big step,” she said finally.

“A very big step,” he agreed. He wondered if Sisko truly was ready to take it. He knew that he still had lingering issues over his wife's death, something natural in such circumstances, and there was the added complication of Jake.

“Speaking of big steps,” she said, giving him a nudge, “how are things going with you and Leeta? You seem to be spending an awful lot of time together.”

He took a swig of his drink. “Not when you consider how much she works,” he said.

Dax sat back in her seat, folding her arms and favoring him with a raised eyebrow. “And you don't?” she asked, smirking. “Please, don't say 'that's different', because you know it isn't.”

“It is when you consider I actually receive fair compensation for the work I do and adequate recognition,” he said somewhat defensively.

“So if she was doing something that paid better and people appreciated more, you'd be fine with how much she's working?” she asked, clearly skeptical.

“I'd feel better about it,” he said. “Look, it's about more than just how many hours she works or how much time we have for one another. She's constantly stressed out. Over half the time she has to badger Quark just to give her what he actually owes her. I care about her. I don't like to see her treated that way.”

“Hmm,” she said, eying him curiously.

“Hmm?” he asked. He never liked her “hmm's”. They usually came with a laser judgment that while more often than not accurate was something he rarely wanted to hear.

“I just find it telling that you say you care about her, but you don't say you love her.”

“When you think about it, it's not as though we've been dating for a long time, just a few months now,” he said, feeling defensive. What did it matter if he didn't love Leeta yet? He had stayed with her longer than he had with most people. After what he went through with Garak, he thought it nothing short of miraculous that he was willing to try a relationship with anyone at all. Who was Dax to lecture him when she was single? He decided it was high time to go on the offensive. “What about you? When are you going to act on your obvious attraction to a certain Lieutenant Commander?”

“We aren't talking about me. We're talking about you,” she deflected. “Do you really want to talk about obvious attractions?”

“You lost me,” he said, blinking at her in confusion.

“Did I?” she asked with such a significant look that it hit him suddenly. She was talking about Garak.

“Jadzia,” he cautioned.

“Julian,” she retorted, an impish light in her blue eyes.

He sighed in defeat. He should have known better than even to try to play this game with her. She was far too good at it. “I'm not going to sit here and try to pretend that there's no longer an attraction. As far as I'm concerned, that's natural. We were together a long time. We have a lot of history. Something like that doesn't just go away overnight. It doesn't mean I intend to revisit old territory. We've both moved past that.”

She looked utterly unconvinced. “Uh huh,” she said.

He made an impatient noise. “Be as skeptical as you like. It doesn't mean you're right,” he said crossly. “I'm with Leeta now, and that's the end of the discussion as far as I'm concerned.”

“Fine,” she said, holding up a conciliatory hand. “I didn't mean to make you angry. Speaking of that, have you patched things up with Miles yet?”

“How did you know about that?” he asked, startled.

She smiled serenely. “You ought to know by now that precious little happens on this station without my awareness.”

“You're as bad as a Betazoid,” he said sourly.

“I'm going to take that as a compliment,” she said, her smile inching wider.

“Well,” he said sweetly, “if you know so much, you should already know about me and Miles.” He smiled as her expression soured. It was so rare that he actually got one over on her, he was determined to savor the moment to the fullest, which included ordering a fresh drink.

Kira

Dozaria

It quickly became clear to both Kira and Dukat that the Ravinok didn't just crash but quite possibly was shot down, judging from phaser fire scarring of the hull. After just a little bit of arguing, they determined that Kira would handle trying to wrangle information from the sand choked computer systems and consoles of the Ravinok while Dukat handled the twelve graves they discovered in the sand and grit. Although she didn't understand Cardassian obsession with privacy for their dead, she did understand the importance of ritual. She decided that the least that she could do was to be respectful of Dukat's beliefs. It wasn't as though she was particularly eager to dig into graves, at any rate.

The ship was a total mess. She doubted that she'd be able to get much of anything out of it, or even if she'd be able to reactivate most of the systems, but she had to try. More than ever, she wanted to know the fate of her friend Lorit and all the other Bajoran prisoners carried on this ship. She got down to the dirty, gritty work of prying open access panels and trying to clean away enough debris to get decent connections.

The wind continued its incessant howl, scouring the half buried hull with hissing grit. Kira continuously blinked stinging sand from her watering eyes, sweat soaking through her thick uniform and making it cling to her uncomfortably. Ignoring her own discomfort as much as she could, she worked doggedly at the various control systems, hoping for a little luck more than anything else. She spared little thought for Dukat at the grave site. She would be able to examine any earrings he found and compare them to a list. To the possible dead Cardassians, she gave no thought at all.

After some time, she managed to clean a coupling well enough to attach one of the main cables. To her satisfaction, lights came up and the system hummed to life. “Hello, Ravinok,” she muttered to herself, standing and dusting her pants off, then approaching the console to see what she could access. As information streamed across the console, she hooked a PADD to one of the ports she had cleaned and downloaded what she needed.

She took it in hand and left the ship. “Dukat, I was able to reactivate the—” She cut off mid-sentence as she saw him, slumped on the ground with something in his hand, his shoulders shaking. Was he? He couldn't be crying. “Dukat...” She stepped closer, her brow furrowing.

“It's nothing,” he said quickly, “nothing at all,” but he couldn't hide the tears in his eyes, and he couldn't wipe them away fast enough.

Kira took what he held in his hand and recognized it for what it was, a Bajoran pledge bracelet. She was too taken aback to give him anything other than her natural reaction, sympathy at his plight. Garak had been right after all. Dukat had an ulterior motive for coming all this way, although it was probably far more benign than Garak would have expected. “Who was she?” she asked gently.

He tried to put her off, but she'd have none of it. She finally got the story out of him, that he was in love with this woman, Tora Naprem. She might have had a harder time accepting that at face value were it not for the fact that she found him initially overcome with his grief. Even now, he was very reluctant to discuss the issue, deflecting her attention from it by handing her seven Bajoran earrings. Much to her relief, none of them belonged to her friend. Wherever he was, alive or dead, he had not met his fate in this spot.

She shared her findings with him from the ship, that it had been attacked by two unknown warships, and they tried to decide what to do next. Scanning from orbit was no good. The same ionic field that made it impossible for them to beam down would interfere with any scans and render the data meaningless. She didn't like having to reveal any secrets to him from the occupation, but she had no choice. She told him of the implants resistance fighters had and activated when captured, and she then scanned to see if she could pick up any readings on her tricorder. Much to her satisfaction, she did. “I think I've got something,” she said. “That way.” She pointed.

Dukat carefully tucked the bracelet into his pack and stood, shouldering it. “Let's go,” he said, immediately beginning to walk.

He set a rapid pace. Kira found his doggedness strange in the face of their discoveries. If anything, she would expect someone so grief stricken to be less determined, possibly even difficult to motivate. Maybe he's different, she thought as she followed, noting that he no longer seemed to care if she was at his back or not. She was still having a hard time adjusting to the thought of him actually loving a Bajoran at all, much less grieving her loss.

When night fell, darkness descended rapidly. The temperature dropped several degrees, and the night sky was pitch black. Just because they hadn't yet discovered major terrain issues didn't mean that they wouldn't or couldn't. Despite being eager to see who might have survived, Kira decided that it was a good time to stop and set up camp. “Hey, Dukat,” she said, “come back and help me. It's time to set up camp for the night.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” his voice came from the darkness. “I'm fine, and so are you. It's cooler now. I'd think that would make it easier on you.”

He sounded strangely testy. “Be that as it may,” she said, trying to be patient in light of what had happened earlier, “I think it's time to stop. This is my mission, remember?”

She heard him hiss and the crunch of his boots over the sand as he approached her. At least he wasn't directly disobeying her and forcing her to play catch up in the darkness. She took out a portable light and set it up. Instead of helping her, he just paced restlessly back and forth. “I don't understand why we have to stop,” he said, sounding almost petulant.

He was worse than dealing with a child, she thought. Still trying to be patient, she explained her reasoning and managed to convince him to sit down near the heater, only to have him cry out in pain and writhe around on the ground with both hands clutching his buttocks. She didn't want to laugh. She truly didn't. Clamping down hard with her lips, she managed to get him to let her see what was wrong. An enormous spine protruded, buried well in his posterior. Wincing in sympathy, she warned him that removing it was going to hurt then gave a good twist and a yank. “Ow,” she said ruefully.

She found her dermal regenerator and handed it to him then watched him try to treat himself. Her pinched look gave way to a smile, her smile to laughter. She just couldn't help it. He looked so ridiculous!

“It's not funny!” he said crossly.

“It is from this angle,” she said, laughing harder.

To her surprise, he started to laugh as well. “You know what's even funnier?” he asked. “It's not working!”

Almost in tears, she realized he hadn't turned it on. “You have to activate it first,” she managed to choke out.

When he began to heal himself, she finally got hold of herself. The whole trip had been so odd so far, but now that things had taken such an unexpected turn at the grave site, she was finding it harder to heed Garak's advice. She could no longer see Dukat as the symbol of the occupation and everything that had been so wrong with it, at least no longer just as that. She was starting to see him as more, as a person, and it was disconcerting. His attitude toward her had changed, too. When had that happened? She couldn't even say. She dug in her pack for field rations and tossed him one. As the two began to eat, she brought up something that had been bothering her ever since she found him weeping over the bracelet, and he told her who the woman it belonged to had been. “Tell me something. Who's Tora Ziyal?”

He stopped chewing mid-bite and simply looked at her. She pressed on, explaining that she found the name in the manifest, along with the crew and prisoners two civilians, Tora Naprem and Tora Ziyal, a thirteen year old girl.

“I suppose you wouldn't believe me if I told you she was Naprem's sister?” he said reluctantly.

“Ziyal is a Cardassian name,” she pressed. “The way I see it, there's only one explanation. Ziyal was Naprem's daughter, and...”

“And I was her father,” he said.

“Now I know why you're in such a hurry to find the survivors,” she said, feeling relieved at finally having discovered the motivation behind his strange behavior ever since they located the Ravinok. “You're hoping she's still alive so you can rescue her.”

“Not quite,” he said, his blue-gray eyes catching the camp light and glittering. “You see, if my daughter is still alive, I'll have no choice but to kill her.” Without another word, he set the remainder of his rations aside and rolled over with his back to her, effectively ending the conversation for the night.

Kira felt gut punched. That was the last thing she expected him to say. Stupid, she said to herself. You were stupid for letting your guard down. Garak warned you. Not that in the bigger scheme of things that meant all that much to her, but the fact remained. Dukat was the former Prefect of Bajor. He was responsible for countless deaths and atrocities. In light of that, why should she be surprised to discover he had murderous intent toward a family member, particularly one who was half Bajoran?

She was reluctant to sleep around him, yet she knew she needed the rest. Always a very light sleeper, she decided to trust to her instincts and abilities to see her through this, lying down and settling in. It was difficult to find sleep, though. She kept thinking of the unknown girl, Ziyal. One thing was certain. She'd kill Dukat before she'd let him touch a hair on that girl's head. If he thought otherwise, he was sadly mistaken.

Garak

Private Quarters

It had been a long time since Garak had poked so deeply into the station computer system. He was almost certain he had tripped one or two of Odo's security protocols. It didn't matter much. Odo could hardly fault him or be too irritated with him for trying to dig into Dukat's background and activities there. The system purge when the Cardassians left had been fairly thorough, but not complete. The Fleeters had done more to dump and eradicate the rest of the files, particularly after the self-destruct scare. There wasn't much to go on.

Undeterred, Garak had next contacted one of the few people he had left on Cardassia with possible relevant information and almost as much reason to dislike Dukat as he had. He had been told that the man would look into it and had been waiting for a little over a day to hear back. He had almost given up hope of having his request actually taken seriously when he received an encrypted and cryptic message. “Possible family ties,” was all it said. Well, that could mean almost anything, couldn't it?

After giving it more thought, he decided that perhaps he wasn't completely out of resources. He got dressed to go out, despite the late hour, and made his way to the Security office. Odo glanced up at him from his desk. “I should thank you for saving me the trouble of bringing you in to question,” Odo said, gesturing for Garak to sit down. “Give me one reason I shouldn't lock you up for your recent excavations into our system.”

“I was doing it for Major Kira,” Garak said simply. He smiled in satisfaction at Odo's expression. He knew he had him.

The shape shifter wasn't going to let up quite so easily, however. “You expect me to believe that the major came to you and asked you to poke around in the computer?” he demanded.

“Constable, I said no such thing,” he said, adopting a wounded manner. Odo folded his arms and narrowed his eyes. He knew that his patience was already wearing thin. Garak tried a slightly different tack. “She came to me before she left on her mission with Dukat. She was...concerned...about his attitude toward her.”

Odo unfolded his arms and leaned toward Garak. “I'm concerned about that, as well,” he admitted, looking wary.

“As you should be,” Garak said, nodding and widening his eyes slightly.

“All right, Garak,” Odo relented. “I'm assuming you didn't come here to confess to me something you had to be aware I already knew, so why are you here?”

“Dukat was fairly thorough in erasing records involving him and his activities here,” Garak said. “However, I find his interest in the Ravinok strange. I'm not the only one. You knew Dukat during the occupation. Is there something in particular about that ship that would spark his interest above and beyond the fact that he was the commanding officer when it went missing?” Odo's expression grew more guarded. Garak watched him sharply. He knew something. He was almost certain of it. “I don't need to tell you how dangerous he can be,” he said reasonably.

“I...can't help you, Garak,” Odo said reluctantly.

“As I said, this isn't for me,” Garak retorted. So what if it was a lie, or at least not the entire truth? He actually was somewhat concerned about the major's safety in regard to this.

“There's nothing you can do to help Major Kira,” Odo said in such a way that Garak knew he'd get nowhere with him.

Garak stood abruptly, irritated. “I hope for her sake and yours that you're right about that,” he said. “If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were actually protecting Dukat.”

Odo shot him an icy glare. “Then I'd say it's a good thing you do know better. I have work to do, Garak. Don't make me change my mind about my decision to let your computer indiscretion slide.”

Garak inclined his head slightly and left. That went nowhere. Still, he wasn't completely without any recourse. Smiling grimly to himself, he headed further down the Promenade and dove into the madness of the night crowd at Quark's, something that he would usually avoid like the Rigellian flu if he could help it. If anyone knew about personal details he shouldn't know, it was Quark. The only question was how to motivate him to tell what he knew without winding up in his debt. Devious gears turned in his mind as he approached the bar, allowing his irritation to show.

“Garak,” Quark said when he saw him, moving closer, “what brings you to my humble establishment tonight? I don't usually see you at this time.”

“I don't usually need a drink so close to bedtime,” Garak said, making sure he sounded put out. “Kanar, please, and keep them coming until I say otherwise.”

Quark looked a little concerned. “You feeling OK? You're not going to get...agitated on me, are you?”

“No,” he said. “Honestly, it hurts me that you'd even bring that time up. As often as Morn gets raucous and fights, I'd think you'd be far more concerned over his drinking than mine.”

Quark shook his head and handed Garak his kanar. “When Morn gets out of sorts, people get black eyes or smashed fingers. When you get out of sorts, it's just as likely somebody will die, and it's just as likely that someone will be me,” he said.

“I'd never kill you unless I had to,” Garak assured him, downing his kanar and gesturing for another.

“How...comforting,” Quark said dryly. “So what is it that has you so out of sorts, anyway? Pining over the handsome doctor?”

“I don't pine,” Garak said primly. “No, I'm afraid this is much more serious,” he said gravely. He paused, glanced to either side, and lowered his voice. “Possibly a matter of life and death. Really, I shouldn't be talking to you about it. If Odo wouldn't take it seriously, why would you?”

Quark snorted. “Odo isn't nearly as good as he thinks he is. Who's in danger?”

Garak shook his head and took a long swallow of his kanar. “Forget I said anything,” he said. “I insist. It's bad enough I almost got myself arrested over this. You don't need to be in trouble, too. You have thirsty customers. Be a good man, and just leave me that bottle of kanar. I'll tend to myself well enough.”

He could tell that Quark was about to burst with curiosity, as well as a desire to one up Odo, the Ferengi's blue eyes darting between him and the customers with torn intent. Grumbling to himself, Quark walked away from Garak to tend to a Bajoran couple who had started to look impatient. Garak drank steadily and deliberately. His alcohol tolerance was still abnormally high, likely a lingering side effect of his permanently changed brain chemistry thanks to the wire. Quark didn't know that, nor did he ever intend for him to find out. He adopted a troubled, brooding look as he watched the rest of the bar activity.

Over time, the crowd began to thin. Garak swayed very slightly in his seat and gave a bleary blink into his almost empty kanar glass. Quark reached across the bar and plucked it deftly from his hand. “Let me get that for you,” he said, pouring the last of the kanar from the bottle into it and handing it back to Garak. “Now, Garak,” he said reasonably, “it's clear whatever is going on is really troubling you. You said Odo wouldn't take it seriously. Why not?”

Garak blinked owlishly at him and said overly loudly, “I don't know. It doesn't make sense given how he feels.”

“How he feels about what?” the Ferengi asked, leaning closer.

“Don't we have breakfast together almost every day?” Garak asked plaintively.

“You do,” Quark nodded. “I don't understand it, but you do. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything,” Garak said. “I'm...trying to be a friend. That's what friends do, right? Look out for each other and each other's...friends?”

Quark sighed. “I'm really not following you. I think you've had too much kanar. You should probably go sleep it off.”

Garak grasped his forearm. “I bet you know,” he said gravely. “You were here during the occupation. You heard things about Dukat.”

“Who didn't?” Quark asked offhandedly. He suddenly seemed to get it. “This is about Major Kira, isn't it? Isn't she on some sort of joint mission with him?”

“She is,” Garak said, nodding too vigorously. “Now you see. Think about it.” He let Quark's arm go, only to tap his index finger on the bar top emphatically and narrow his eyes. “Why would a Legate come all the way from Cardassia to investigate the disappearance of a Bajoran prison transport, unless someone important to him was on that transport? Someone he didn't want anyone else to know about? Someone he wouldn't want Kira to know about?”

“You know,” Quark said thoughtfully, “there were rumors of a comfort woman he got...a little too close to. Some of the guards would talk about it sometimes when they didn't think I could hear them. No offense, Garak, but you Cardassians can't really whisper to save your lives. There were even rumors of a child. I didn't give it much credence at the time. Dukat hardly seemed the type, but...”

Garak was no longer listening. He had already stood and strode halfway across the bar before Quark called out to him, “Hey! You didn't pay!”

“Make me a tab,” Garak retorted, not slowing for one moment. He needed to make another contact on Cardassia. If what Quark said had even a remote possibility of being true, he needed to get some balls rolling before Dukat had a chance to get back and cover anything up. Of course, this also meant that Major Kira was in much more danger than he initially realized. However, as Odo had said, there was nothing he could do about that now except to hope that she took his sincere warnings to heart.

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.