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The Circle in the Spiral, Part I
Jun. 14th, 2010 10:20 pmAuthor Notes: The story indirectly references episodes from Nor the Battle to the Strong through Trials and Tribble-ations, picking up with Let He Who is Without Sin. I'm still in fast-forward mode, for although Nor the Battle... had a lot of good Doctor moments, it was written so tightly there really wasn't room to fiddle around in it. Besides, there's still the issue of Garak's incarceration. I don't want this to turn into a prison story in space, not with such cushy, boring digs.
Summary: Life continues to move at break-neck speed for Julian, while it seems to have come to a screeching halt for Garak. When Julian finally has time to travel with Leeta to Risa, a mysterious medical crisis strikes Garak, leaving the rest of the infirmary staff baffled and hoping for Julian's quick return. Garak travels to the brink of madness, discovering that there is more to his world than he ever imagined. Can Julian save him, or will he need that energy for himself when a burn conference doesn't go as expected?
Author: Dark Sinestra
Date Written: June 2010
Category: Slashy angst, Het
Rating: PG-13 for mild adult language, adult situations, and implied sexual content
Disclaimer: Disclaimer is disclaimery. You've seen the credits for Deep Space Nine. I promise you my name isn't in them anywhere.
Word Count: 15,990
( Click here to begin the story. )
Author Notes: The story spans events from Apocalypse Rising through Looking for par'Mach in All the Wrong Places. I'm trying to fast forward events a little because trying to write six months worth of time for Garak in a holding cell in great detail just would not work, and Doctor Bashir's part in all three of the episodes covered was fairly minimal.
Summary: As events unfold around him, from the Klingon war to the ground breaking discovery of a downed Jem'Hadar ship, Julian feels frustrated to find himself on the sidelines. His progress with Garak stymied, he begins to question the entire relationship and what the future holds for him. Meanwhile, Garak endures his incarceration to the best of his ability and finds some of his own relationships challenged by his actions in the Gamma Quadrant.
Author: Dark Sinestra
Date Written: June 2010
Category: Slashy angst
Rating: PG for mild adult language and adult situations.
Disclaimer: No profit for me, no ownership of characters implied in the writing. I feel like such a broken record.
Word Count: 16,420
( Read part one here! )
Everything Old... Part IV, conclusion
Apr. 21st, 2010 08:34 pmJulian
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
Everything Old... Part III
Apr. 21st, 2010 08:25 pmJulian
The Infirmary
Julian rubbed at his eyes and sat back in his office chair with a deep sigh. So far it was shaping up to be a completely wretched week, the fights with Leeta and Garak, never seeing Miles, the captain's strange orb shadow experience, and now this. He re-read the notice given him by Nurse Frendel, as though the power of wishful thinking alone could change the text. “A carpenter?” he asked aloud, tossing the notice back onto his desk. He was losing his best nurse because the man's birthright was carpentry? He wasn't the only Bajoran to depart the infirmary since the new Emissary's decree, but he was by far the most valuable one. The worst part about it was he had already been instructed by the captain not to interfere with any of these departures. He wasn't even allowed to speak to the man about it except to wish him well. It was a waste of natural talent and an education. It was a travesty.
He ended his shift in a foul mood and tramped down to Quark's. What he needed was a good game of darts and a drink. What he found instead was Morn, who couldn't seem to hit the dart board to save his life. He had to give the Lurian credit for trying. However, he suspected he was doing it out of a sense of pity more than a desire to play. He could think of few worse things than being an object of pity of a bar fly. He held out hope that Miles would be able to make their usual holosuite reservation. Maybe they wouldn't be able to stay as long as normal, but it would be a nice way to unwind. He kept an eye toward the door while playing.
“Chief!” he called the moment he saw him. He turned to Morn and the two dabo girls who had been watching their woefully mismatched game. “Excuse me, please? I haven't seen Miles in a few days.”
Morn waved him off with an air of amusement and turned, putting an arm around each woman to guide them with him toward the bar. Julian hurried past him to meet the engineer further down the counter. They caught up with small talk. He felt a surge of hope when his friend ordered a drink. It meant he didn't intend to run off right away. He was going to bring up the holosuite when Quark saved him the trouble. He tried his best not to let his face fall at Miles' polite refusal. He didn't care about the waste of money. He wanted his friend back. Feeling selfish for it didn't help, nor did thoughts of Garak's accusations about how he used the man. Miles drained his drink in a hurry and left for his family.
Julian wondered if he shouldn't just get rip roaring drunk and let Morn help him stagger home at closing time. It seemed the right sort of night for it. Morose, he propped an elbow on the bar and rested his cheek on his fist. Mercifully, Quark left him alone except to take his drink orders. A couple of hours later, he caught a whiff of a familiar perfume just as Leeta discreetly claimed a seat next to his. She was dressed in one of her more conservative outfits, and he remembered she had this night off now. She rested both hands lightly on the counter, and he noticed a bandage on her left wrist. “What happened?” he blurted.
She glanced at him. “It's fine,” she said, tucking it into her lap self-consciously.
Quark took her order of spring wine and shot Julian a withering look as he said, “If he bothers you, let me know.”
“He's fine,” she said. “I can handle things myself.”
The Ferengi nodded and retreated a couple of seats down from them, making a point of showing that he was well within earshot as he washed a few glasses and restocked various garnishes from jars on lower shelves. Julian was in no mood for Quark's posturing. He turned to stand and find himself a table.
Leeta stopped him with a light hand to his arm. “Are you sober enough to talk?” she asked.
He nodded and glanced over his shoulder toward the bartender. “Not with an audience, though.”
“No, of course not.” She accepted her glass from Quark and tipped her chin toward the balcony. “There are plenty of empty tables up there.”
“Lead the way,” he said, now regretting the number of ales he had already consumed. He wasn't drunk, but he wasn't exactly sober, either. He followed her up the stairs and forced himself not to watch her as she ascended. He pulled her chair out for her and seated himself against the wall, a habit he picked up from Garak somewhere along the way.
“I had a long talk with Garak a couple of days ago,” she said after he settled.
He tightened his lips slightly. He could only imagine what the tailor had to say after their last exchange. It couldn't have been good. “Oh?” he said as neutrally as possible.
“Yes,” she said, taking a dainty sip of her spring wine. “He's a hard person to stay angry with.”
Just great, he thought sourly. He won her over again so the two of them can present a united front. “Is he?” he asked more harshly than he intended. “I wouldn't know.”
She smiled faintly, her uninjured hand starting forward over the table top but stopping short of touching his. “I don't believe that. If anything, I think you know it better than anyone else.”
“I'm deeply ashamed of what I did to you,” he said. “I should have talked to you first. I shouldn't have used your trouble at the bar as an excuse to hide things.”
“You should be ashamed,” she agreed. “What you did was despicable. I have to think I share at least some of the responsibility for it, however.”
“What?” He frowned deeply. “No. You can't blame yourself.”
“I don't blame myself,” she clarified. “I do think that my stress and some other factors contributed to your feeling that you couldn't approach me about your doubts and confusion.”
Guilt made him want to deny that, too, but it was the truth. He looked down into his pint glass and shrugged slightly. He couldn't bring himself to agree aloud.
“I don't need you to spare my feelings. I think we've moved a little beyond that, don't you?” she asked, seeking his gaze. “What I want right now is your honesty.”
“All right,” he said quietly. “It's true. I didn't know how to broach the subject with you, and I was afraid that if I did, you wouldn't understand. You'd think I was trying to go back to Garak. I was afraid of losing you, but I didn't have the right to hang onto you under false pretenses or deny you the choice of whether you wanted to be in a relationship with someone who couldn't just stay completely away from his ex.”
Now she did touch his hand, her palm warm and soft. “If I hadn't talked to Garak, I'm not sure how much of what you just said I'd be able to believe. I'm not going to pretend I understand whatever bond the two of you have, but I do believe you when you say you're not trying to go back to the way things were for you. I don't think either of you understands it any more than I do, and that makes me feel bad for you. Being confused like that is difficult.”
“Thank you,” he said. He didn't know what to think of what she was saying. He couldn't tell where she was going with it, and he was afraid to ask after everything he had already put her through. “I really am sorry,” he said, sincere and pained.
“I know. I'm sorry, too. There haven't been many people in my life that I've ever trusted. You betrayed my trust. I need you to understand that.” Her grip on his hand tightened.
He wondered if it would be possible to feel any lower than he did in that moment. He shut his eyes and nodded. “I understand,” he said. He wanted to get out of there and away from her. He stayed put because he felt he owed her that.
“I really believe you do,” she said, releasing his hand and sitting back in her seat. She lifted her wine for another swallow. “I want to give us another chance.”
“I'm sorry. I don't think I heard you correctly,” he said, his head spinning from more than ale.
“You did. I don't want to leave you. I think what we have has potential. I'm not going to lie and tell you it's going to be easy or that I'll be able to trust you unquestioningly. You're going to have to be very open with me, particularly about the time you spend with Garak. Don't hide it from me or lie to me about it, and if your feelings change, you need to tell me.”
“You don't have to worry about that,” he said, his turn to reach for her hand. “I don't think he'll ever have anything to do with me again, and I'm not even sure I'd want him to.”
“For a doctor you can be very dim,” she chided him. “Neither of you is through with the other. I'm not sure what it would take for you to be. I don't think either of you knows.”
“Why are you willing to accept this?” he asked, reeling inside. It was beyond any expectation he ever had, and it genuinely didn't make sense to him.
“I know you're not spiritual, so I don't expect you to grasp my reasoning. It's...wrong...to interfere with the pagh path of another. You run the risk of stunting their spiritual growth and derailing them from their entire purpose. You and I have an enjoyable relationship, or at least we did before this came to a head. I get a lot out of it, and I like to think that you do, too. You and Garak have something else. I believe it's deeper than either of you realizes or is capable of acknowledging. I think it has to do with your souls, as your people might put it, and I don't care one whit if you don't believe in that sort of thing. I do, and it's why I can accept this. What I can't accept is more dishonesty. Are you willing to make another effort, or do you want to part ways?”
For a moment, he didn't trust his voice. Had he ever been treated with such genuine kindness and a lack of selfishness? He truly didn't believe so. She deserved so much better, and yet she wanted him. “I want to be with you,” he said. “I never stopped wanting to be with you. You have my word that I won't hurt you like that again.”
“I'm going to hold you to that,” she said, giving his hand a final squeeze and withdrawing from him. “We can talk more tomorrow. I'd like for you to try to talk to Garak tonight so that you can tell me what to expect then.”
“What if he won't talk to me?” he asked.
“Then you can tell me that,” she said, standing and moving to lean over to kiss his cheek. “Thanks for being willing to talk to me and work through this. I know it wasn't any easier for you than it was for me. Come by my quarters around noon. I'll be awake by then.”
“I will,” he said, also standing. If he was going to try to talk to Garak, he didn't need any more ale in his system. “I'll walk you part way.” She nodded, and they left together from the upper level exit. He still could hardly believe the conversation they just had, and he couldn't help but to wonder if he was possibly being played in some way. He quickly set that thought aside. Leeta was intelligent enough to do something like that, but she wasn't spiteful or petty. She wasn't the first Bajoran he had met with a stunning generosity of spirit. It was just the first time he had been the direct beneficiary of it.
His stop on the turbolift came first. He cupped her cheek lightly, bade her good night, and stepped off onto Garak's H-ring. He had no idea what he was going to say. He hesitated outside the quarters, finally biting the bullet and triggering the hail. What's the worse that can happen? He asked himself. The thought wasn't nearly as reassuring as he meant for it to be.
“Enter,” came Garak's voice, the tone the neutral equivalent of his business face.
Julian stepped inside, certain only of the fact that he didn't want to deal with Garak's facade. He took him in at a glance, the lounging robe, the PADD in hand, the tea to the side, and the bright, inquisitive gaze that revealed nothing whatsoever. He tried to call to himself the feeling he had the night he made love to the man, but it stubbornly refused to come. There was a thick wall between the two of them, and the top of it was barbed. So I impale myself, he thought grimly. “Leeta came to me,” he said.
“Is her wrist broken?” Garak asked.
“No,” he said, not having expected that. Garak had something to do with that? He narrowed his eyes slightly. “At least I don't think it is. She didn't come to me for treatment. She came to talk. What happened to her wrist?”
“You'd have to ask her,” the tailor said off handedly.
“I did. She was less than forthcoming.”
Garak shrugged and set aside his PADD.
Don't let him pick a fight, he told himself. “She said she talked to you. You can imagine my surprise when it seemed as though it wasn't another unpleasant conversation.”
“Oh, yes,” he said. “I imagine you were quite surprised.”
Sarcasm. Joy. “She didn't come out and expressly say it, but I have the impression that in part I have you to thank for the fact that she's not leaving me,” he pressed on with determination.
“So you're here to thank me?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.
He wasn't fooled by the mild tone of voice. He saw the glint in his eyes. “No. I'm here to find out if that last fight of ours was more than just another stupid fight.”
“She sent you?” he asked drolly.
“Yes,” he said, crossing to sink into the chair catty corner to the sofa. “If I had my preference, I would've stayed away from you at least a week before finding some pathetic excuse to crawl back into your good graces.”
“It's not like you to be so bitter,” Garak said, eying him curiously.
“It's been a rough week,” he said, coming off the ale enough to feel bone tired.
“The return of Bajor to the old ways?” the tailor asked.
Julian nodded, leaning forward and resting his face in his hands to shut out the light. “I think I'm going to lose my entire Bajoran staff to it before all is said and done. I just found out I'm losing Frendel. He was a lifesaver after Decla left, easily as competent as she was without the personality problems. Thanks to the Dominion threat, there aren't many in Starfleet medical willing to put in for an assignment here, and so far, brass isn't pushing the issue. That means an overworked, cranky staff who may or may not be able to handle a large influx of casualties should the worst happen.”
Garak sighed through his nose. “As much as it pains me to have to do this, I'll remove myself from your list of worries. I still think you were stupid to tell Leeta what you did, and some of the things you said to me afterward were ridiculous, but it looks to me as though you're experiencing enough of a coal raking that I don't have to do it myself.”
He laughed into his hands and finally lifted his gaze, squinting against the light. “You're insufferable, easily one of the most infuriating people I've ever met. I'd remind you, I'm a Starfleet officer saying this. I'd remind you further this is coming from me.”
“Two things I will keep firmly in mind,” Garak said, his eyes twinkling. “I'd offer to let you spend the night, but I think that would be pushing things with dear Leeta. If you hurt that woman again, I'm going to be more than a little angry with you.”
“You and I both,” he said, shaking his head. “I can't believe she wants anything to do with me. Or you, for that matter. I don't think I'd be able to be so forgiving, or allowing.” Garak eyed him oddly. “What?” he asked.
“Considering what you've forgiven and allowed me, I believe you may be underestimating yourself, dear.”
“Help me up,” he said, holding both hands out toward him.
Obligingly, Garak stood and pulled him to his feet. Julian allowed the momentum to carry him forward so that he rested against him, wrapping his arms beneath Garak's about his broad ribcage. He smiled against the side of his head when Garak returned the gesture and held him. “Leeta was right about you. You're difficult to stay mad at.”
Garak grunted softly. “Both of you are entirely too sentimental for your own good.”
“Then I suppose you're fortunate,” he said, turning to kiss his temple lightly. “Now, be a gentleman and send me on my way so I can go collapse into bed disreputably still in my uniform and sleep off the ale I drank while feeling sorry for myself.”
The tailor tangled fingers into his hair and kissed him so tenderly it stole his breath. “Get out,” he said without a trace of heat. “I don't like uninvited guests. You've bothered me enough for one night.” He kissed him a second time and guided him toward his door with an arm snaked low at his waist.
“You're a dreadful host,” he retorted in kind, fighting the smile trying to toy with his lips. “You didn't even offer me a drink.”
“You had more than enough before imposing on me,” he said.
Julian couldn't resist a nuzzle at the hollow of a neck ridge, one of his very favorite places. “All right,” he said as the door slid open, straightening and pulling away. “You've succeeded in kicking me out. I'll try to talk to you tomorrow.”
“Make sure you're sober first. I can't abide a drunkard,” Garak said very primly just before the door shut.
Smiling to himself, he started down the corridor. How an evening could begin on such a miserable note and end on such an uplifting one was a complete mystery to him, as was how he somehow managed to circumvent both of their defensiveness enough to get through to the tailor. “It's much harder to understand than temporal mechanics,” he said aloud and chuckled. Perhaps he'd sleep well that night after all. It would make dealing with the infirmary woes a little easier.
Garak
The Promenade
Taking a slightly late lunch, Garak had just left his shop when he heard a shriek. He trotted back through his doors to grab his weapon and advanced cautiously in the direction of the sound. Several Bajorans and a few other aliens were gathered in a small knot around something he couldn't see. He noticed the head of the station temple serenely descending the stairs just as the security detail arrived to drive everyone back.
Making himself inconspicuous, he waited and listened. When the crowd parted, he saw a vedek lying on the deck of the Promenade, his head at an angle that left no doubt his neck was broken. Garak's gaze tracked back to the temple head, Vedek Porta, he believed. He narrowed his eyes. He had seen that sort of serenity before, the calm conscience of the self-righteous.
Captain Sisko and Major Kira arrived. Garak didn't stay to hear the totality of Porta's confession. He didn't need to. Tucking his weapon discreetly into the back of his belt, he made his way past the crowd and ducked into the infirmary. A weary looking Starfleet nurse he knew by face but not name said, “If you're looking for Doctor Bashir, I think he went to have lunch with Leeta.”
“Thank you,” Garak said and beelined for the turbolift. Normally, he wouldn't consider intruding upon them. What he had seen filled him with an urgency he hadn't known in some time. By the time he reached Leeta's quarters, he had begun to jog. He rang the chime twice in rapid succession.
“Enter,” Leeta's voice came through the comm, sounding a little perplexed.
Garak stepped inside to see both of them seated at her dinner table, halfway through a meal. “I'm terribly sorry to interrupt your lunch, but both of you need to know Vedek Porta just murdered another vedek.”
“What?” they both said in tandem.
Julian started from his seat, and Leeta went pale. “Why wasn't I called?” Julian asked.
“Because it's a crime scene, and a dead man doesn't need a doctor,” Garak snapped harshly. He reined himself in. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that.”
“I thought Vedek Porta was a good man,” Leeta said, completely stunned.
“I think he thinks so, too,” Garak said dryly. “He showed no remorse either to Odo or Captain Sisko. I believe we're seeing more of old Bajor coming back to life.”
He was glad that both of them seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation. Julian glanced at Leeta. “I'm worried for your safety,” he said.
She looked as though she might be sick. “I am, too,” she said, lifting a hand to her throat.
Garak took his pistol from his belt and offered it to her. “I believe you'd do well to carry this.”
She shook her head. “No. I don't think I could hit the broad side of a telgos' behind if I was dead calm and had time to aim. I'd be more danger to myself than anyone else with one of those, but thank you, Garak.”
Garak glanced at Julian, silent communication passing between the two of them. “We're going to keep you safe,” Julian said.
She looked between the two. “Won't that get both of you in trouble? You're not supposed to interfere in local matters,” she said to Julian. “And your people have a treaty with mine,” she added to Garak.
“I don't consider your safety a local matter,” Julian said tightly. “If that means I get in trouble, then fine. I get into trouble. I'll sooner resign my commission and face the consequences than stand by and allow some pompous idiot to abuse you just because you don't have a D'jarra.”
“I'm not known either for being particularly cooperative or obedient among my people,” Garak said lightly. “They've come to expect me to be an embarrassment. I'd hate to disappoint them.”
“This is all so insane,” she said, clasping both hands tightly in her lap and twisting her fingers. “I've always been proud of my people and how it seems like no matter what happens, we manage to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and keep going. This going backwards is shameful. I can't imagine that this is what the Prophets intended for us, separation from potential allies like the Federation, subjugation of large segments of our population, not by an outside threat, but from within, people turning away from life paths they find fulfilling and rewarding to follow the dictates of their names. Maybe it was different when it had always been that way. People were used to it. But this?”
“I can't see Captain Sisko standing by and allowing this to go unanswered,” Julian said.
Garak joined them at the table without having to be asked. “What can he do? He willingly stepped aside as Emissary. He no longer has any more influence than any other Starfleeter on the Bajorans. The way I see it, things are going to get much worse before they get better. Those who can't or won't abide by this return to the old ways will be pitted against those who have something to gain from it. It'll be a holy war before all is said and done.”
Leeta nodded reluctantly. “He's right. We were only just starting to unify a little bit under First Minister Shakaar. A large part of the reason my people were willing to accept progress toward Federation membership was because of Captain Sisko's status as the Emissary. Now that Akorem is back, Kai Winn's influence has expanded by leaps and bounds. She has never been supportive of outsiders interfering with Bajor's development.” She glanced at Garak. “You'd better keep that weapon of yours close for your own sake. I don't know how much longer the treaty with Cardassia will be honored at this rate or what they might decide to try to do to you if it's broken.”
“My safety has never been much of a certain thing,” he said with a shrug. “I'd advise you not to travel alone. I'll make myself available to you while Julian has to work. My schedule is more flexible than his. You should also have a talk with Quark. I know he won't allow that nonsense in his bar. It would be bad for business.”
“When I'm off, I'm at your disposal,” Julian added.
“Normally, I'd find this whole, 'protect the woman' attitude annoying,” she said, trying to smile and not quite succeeding. “Considering the situation, all I can say is a heartfelt thank you. I mean...I can't live like this indefinitely, but I can start saving up money to leave. Lissepia isn't such a bad place, I've heard.”
“Give Captain Sisko a chance to try to resolve this before making plans to move,” Julian said. Garak privately thought his faith in the captain might be overblown but was wise enough to keep his own counsel about that. “As you said, your people have weathered terrible times and come out stronger in the end. Maybe this won't go as badly as it seems it might.”
“Maybe,” she echoed as uncertainly as Garak felt.
Julian looked to each of them. “I hate to do it, but I need to get back to work. I'm sure they're going to want me for the autopsy. If I hear any news one way or the other, I'll let you two know.” He stood and hurried out of the quarters.
“Would you like some lunch?” Leeta asked.
“Strangely enough, I've lost my appetite,” he said.
She nodded. “Me, too. Would it bother you if I went to the back and rested for a while? I feel a headache coming on. I want to try to head it off before I have to get ready for work. You're welcome to help yourself to the replicator if you get hungry later, and I've got all sorts of books on PADDs. I feel...ungracious...leaving you out here like this when you're doing me such a favor.”
“Nonsense. I'm not here in the capacity of house guest, so don't feel as though you're obligated to treat me as such. I may rest, myself, on your couch. If I'm asleep when you come out to leave for work, awaken me.”
“I'll do that,” she said, standing and quickly clearing the table. Garak got out of her way and settled himself on the sofa. She paused behind him, pressing a light hand to his shoulder and giving a squeeze before heading into the bedroom and shutting the door. Despite what he told her, he knew he wouldn't sleep. His supposed safe haven was no longer safe. For all of his cleverness, his refuge had become a trap, and he had no idea what to do about it.
Everything Old... Part I
Apr. 21st, 2010 07:45 pmAuthor Notes: This story is set during the episode Accession. It was one of the creepier episodes to me, the whole idea that on the word of one person speaking with supposed divine authority an entire society could be taken back two hundred years and return to a form of oppression that rivaled the occupation in its own grim way. It seems to me that DS9, unlike some of the other Trek series, just keeps getting more relevant over time, not less.
Summary: Bajoran society is rocked to its foundations by the return of Akorem Laan from the distant past to replace Captain Sisko as Emissary to the Prophets. Not a single part of the station is left untouched. Julian battles staff shortages and his own internal demons as he attempts to set things right with Leeta. In a climate of hostility and paranoia, no one is safe, not even Garak who sought to make Deep Space Nine his haven, only to find that havens can quickly become traps.
Author: Dark Sinestra
Date Written: April 2010
Category: Slash, Het
Rating: PG-13 for adult situations and violence
Disclaimer: If I could claim them I would, but then you guys would get mad at me because they're really Paramount's. Paramount, I know the economy is tough and MGM is in huge trouble, but please don't sue. I have nothing but the voices in my head.
Word Count: 18,215
Don't throw the past away.
You might need it some rainy day.
Dreams can come true again,
when everything old is new again.
–Peter Allen, “Everything Old is New Again”
Julian
O'Brien's Quarters
After nearly an hour of packing away cable, burnt out parts, randomly appearing single socks and other articles of clothing Julian didn't really want to touch, much less look at too closely, he straightened and fixed Miles with a curious look. “Remind me again how I got roped into helping you clean up this mess,” he said.
The chief snorted. “You helped make it. Besides, how many times have I let you crash here, crash being the operative word, after so much drink you couldn't find your own quarters, much less walk yourself there?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Julian sighed and reached for a bolt small enough to choke Molly, tossing it into a box with all the other junk. He was trying his best not to have a bad attitude. It wasn't about the cleaning, after all, but about the reason for it, the return of Keiko and Molly on a permanent basis, Keiko's botanical survey on Bajor over after its extension. Miles was the only person on the station who truly shared his sense of fun and interest in the history of the British Isles and the culture surrounding it. They both knew that their nights of spending hours in the holosuite fighting the Battle of Britain or Quark's playing darts were over. “You'll be glad to see them,” he offered. He realized he wasn't going to succeed in making himself happy about the situation. It didn't mean he couldn't make Miles feel better.
“Of course I will,” Miles said. “I'm tired of bein' shocked every time I see Molly at how much bigger she is and how many more words she knows. An' Keiko an' I have a lot of catching up to do. It'll be good for all of us.”
“Exactly,” Julian said, forcing a smile. “I suppose it means I'll be spending more time with Leeta, too, particularly now that she's not being worked half to death by Quark.”
Miles paused halfway in the act of tossing a part and pinned him with a keen look. “Y' don't sound too happy about that.”
“Nonsense,” Julian said, turning away from him and looking for something else to toss in the box.
The Irishman snorted. “Don't give me that. Julian, I know you too well. Every time I bring Leeta up lately, you act strange. Things not goin' well? The times I see th' two o' you out, you seem to be havin' a good time.”
There was no way he could tell him the truth about Garak and what he had been doing. Miles hated Garak too much ever to give him objective advice. Worse, rumors could spread. He didn't want Leeta hearing about his indiscretion from a third party. However, the temptation to say something, maybe something less specific, was strong. “We should lift the sofa,” he said, “and check under it. Molly could reach a hand under there and find something unsafe. Or Keiko might try to move it while cleaning and realize you weren't as tidy as she thought.”
“Uh huh,” he said, shaking his head. “Bein' cryptic won't let me help you. I have a successful relationship, even though we've had our share of problems. It's somethin' I do happen to know a little somethin' about.” The two of them lifted the sofa and set it back. The floor beneath seemed to be breeding its own special colony of dust tarantulas interspersed with random bits of circuitry, screws, and bolts. Both men made a face. “Hold that thought. I need to clean this up.”
While Miles went to fetch the cleaning tube, Julian picked out the bits of metal from the filth and tossed them. He mulled whether he wanted to say anything, and if so, what he wanted to say. He knew he'd have to take care. Miles read him better than he gave him credit for. Underestimating him had already once come back to bite him. He wasn't in the habit of making the same mistake twice, except when it came to Garak, apparently. As far as the Cardassian was concerned, he had long ago lost count of their myriad mistakes or how many times they repeated them with creative variations.
After the mess was clean and they had the couch back in place, he said, “I suppose I'm just a little confused. On one hand, I really care about her. On the other, I don't know that I want the same level of commitment she does.”
“You're not confused,” Miles said with a shrug. “It sounds like you're clear about what you want. Have you been that clear with her?”
He shook his head, his eyes sliding guiltily to the side.
“Well, that's the problem,” Miles continued. “You can't lead somebody on in a relationship like that. If y' don't feel what she feels, you owe it t' her t' tell her and let her make her own decision about whether t' stay or move on.”
“You're right,” he said, nodding. “It's not fair to keep her focused on me with a false premise. I just...how do you tell somebody that?”
“Th' same way you told me,” Miles answered. “Straightforward an' honest. An' don't sit there an' feed her that line about bein' confused. I have yet t' meet a woman that doesn't have a bullshit meter that'd put any one o' ours t' shame. Now, I appreciate all th' help.” He turned and walked over to his sideboard, opened the cabinet beneath, and pulled out an unopened bottle of single malt. Turning, he offered it to Julian with a smile. “Been savin' this one for a while. I want you t' have it.”
“Thank you, Chief,” he said, genuinely touched and taking the bottle.
“Be off wit' you, then,” O'Brien added humorously. “I need t' start gettin' ready. These clean quarters won't mean a thing if I show up at th' airlock lookin' like a wild heathen.”
“No, I imagine not,” the doctor said with a low laugh. “I'll catch up with you soon. Congratulations about their return.”
“Thanks,” Miles said.
If both of them were slightly forcing their smiles, Julian wasn't about to be the one to bring it up. He left in a hurry, the cool neck of the Scotch bottle a comfortable feel in his hand. He let the bottle swish against his leg as he walked for the turbolift, deep in thought. He contemplated what Garak would do and immediately set aside that line of thought. He already knew what Garak would do, the same thing he had been doing, carry on as though nothing was wrong or going on, a lie of omission. If asked, no doubt he'd come up with a very facile lie of commission, too. That wasn't the way to go, and he knew it.
He was almost to the turbolift when he realized he had left behind his bomber jacket. “Damn,” he said aloud. He decided he'd go back for it some other time. Miles was probably already in the shower. He didn't need to delay him any further than he already had by staying hours longer in the holosuite than they intended. He returned to his quarters to change into more appropriate clothing and put away his gift before going to Leeta's quarters for dinner. She always teased him about his costumes to the point that if he could avoid wearing them around her, he did so.
He dressed nicely and went through several speeches in his mind while he got ready. None of them sounded right. Was hurting her the right solution? Wasn't there some way to be somewhat truthful without blurting it all out? It wasn't as though Garak was a threat. He was perfectly fine with their arrangement, not pushing him to leave Leeta or make a decision. What if she pushes? He wondered. Would he be willing to give up what he was doing with Garak to stay with her? He didn't know, and he suspected that his uncertainty was a self created smoke screen to shield him from an uncomfortable truth.
By the time he reached her quarters, his palms were sweating. He hailed her and stepped inside to find the table set and food being put out. She smiled brightly. “You have perfect timing,” she said. “I didn't want to try to hail you since I knew that the chief's family is coming back tonight, but I was really hoping we could eat together before I had to go on shift. Did you have a good time?”
“We did,” he said. “We stayed too long and almost got Miles in a bind with cleaning up, but it was worth it. Do you want any help with anything?”
“Just eating the food,” she said. “Go ahead and have a seat.”
“You're in a good mood,” he observed, unsure if that was a good or a bad thing in light of what he wanted to say. She might receive things a little better being in a good mood, but he'd feel worse for having destroyed it.
“Things have been so much better at the bar lately. You have no idea how much stress that was off my shoulders. I'm even going to be able to start setting aside a little every month now. A few of us are talking about trying to start an investment pool. Just us Bajorans. I know better than to try to do business with any of the Ferengi. They'd rob us blind and smile at us while doing it.”
“Couldn't Rom give you some pointers?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Rom is a brilliant engineer. Money isn't his strong suit. If it was, he wouldn't have been stuck working for Quark all those years. Once we have enough saved up, we intend to contract with somebody from the Ministry of Finance to help us decide what parts of the economy would be the soundest investments. I've heard that exports stand a chance of becoming a large growth sector.”
She was so animated and enthusiastic, her dark eyes shining like twin gems. He struggled with himself to start the conversation he knew they needed to have. “I hate to change the subject abruptly,” he said, “but there's something that has been on my mind for a while now that I need to talk to you about.”
“I'm listening,” she said, her expression growing more wary at his tone of voice. “I hope this isn't about my not wanting to borrow money from you or not wanting to talk much about my past.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Although...I wonder if my attitude hasn't contributed to that reluctance.”
“What attitude?” She tilted her head and took a bite of her food.
He supposed he had been too good at hiding his distance and keeping his secrets. She really hadn't noticed anything, which made it all much more difficult to discuss. He had two false starts before asking, “Do you ever get the feeling we may be taking things a little too quickly?”
“Not really,” she said with a one shouldered shrug. “We haven't even talked about moving in together or anything that drastic. Until recently, my work schedule kept us from seeing more than a couple of hours of each other at a time. Have I done or said something that makes you think I have unusual expectations of you?”
“No,” he said carefully. He took a bite, too, and chewed it slowly, stalling as much as working up his courage. “We've never discussed...being exclusive, though.”
She set her fork down and wiped her mouth with a frown. “You're right. We haven't. Julian, my job puts me in contact with a lot of men, and there's a level of flirtatiousness that's required of me to do the job well. I haven't extended that flirtatiousness beyond the parameters of the job or accepted any invitations to dates, not to say that there haven't been plenty. I was under the impression you wouldn't be happy if I did, and quite frankly, since we've gotten a little more serious, I haven't been tempted. Have you?”
“I...” He took a deep breath and held it a moment before letting it out in a whoosh. “Actually, yes, I have,” he said.
She folded her arms. “How long have you felt this way?”
He wasn't sure how to answer that question. “For a while now,” he said. “I've wanted to bring it up before, but while you were going through everything with Quark, I didn't feel like it was the right time.”
She seemed to give that some thought, the direction of her focus turning more inward. “I suppose I should thank you for that,” she said. “I was under enough stress then. That's true. What do you want? Why are we having this conversation? Are you asking me for permission to see somebody else while you're seeing me, wanting to find out where I see us heading? I'm having a hard time understanding where you're going with this.”
“I wanted to be honest with you,” he said, barely able to hold her gaze.
“I got that. To what end? Julian, this vagueness isn't like you, and given the subject matter, that makes me uncomfortable. Are you trying to break up with me? If you are, just say so.”
“No, I'm not trying to break up with you. I don't want to. I like what we have, but...I just...I'm not sure I'm ready for it to be exclusive.” He knew he was bungling this badly, knew he was being a coward.
“Who is it?” she asked the question he had desperately hoped that she wouldn't. “Dax?” Her voice sharpened with the name.
“No, not Dax.” He had a sneaking suspicion she'd find that easier to swallow than the real culprit. “It's...Garak.”
She let out a little bark of a laugh that didn't sound even slightly amused. “Wow,” she said, staring at him. “You do realize that's a bit more than just not being exclusive, don't you? Wanting to go back to your ex?”
He shook his head. “I don't want to go back to him. I...I know that doesn't work.”
“You know what else doesn't work?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “How do you humans put it? Having your bread and eating it, too?”
“Cake,” he muttered.
“Right,” she said, her eyes flashing hotly. “Thank you for that. I'd hate for you to misunderstand me. Having your cake and eating it, too. You want to string me and Garak along until you can make up your mind what you want. That doesn't work for me. Not at all, Julian. Garak doesn't strike me as the sort who'd accept that, either. He deserves better.”
“He...has accepted it,” he said, wincing inwardly.
Her mouth dropped open with an utterly incredulous look. It took her a few moments to gather herself enough to speak. “You discussed this with him first?” she asked, her usually soft voice whip crack sharp.
“It wasn't exactly a discussion,” he breathed.
She stood abruptly. “What exactly was it? No, on second thought, don't you dare answer that. I don't need details.” She marched for the door.
“Where are you going?” he asked, standing also and stepping away from the table.
“None of your business, but I can tell you one thing. I want you gone by the time I get back, and take your things with you if you don't want them incinerated.”
Garak
Private Quarters
Garak hadn't been home five minutes when the door chime drew him from changing his tunic to something more comfortable. He finished tying the lounging robe before inquiring who was at the door and admitting her. “Ah, my dear, what a pleasant surprise. I was just...”
She didn't let him get more out than that, crossing to him swiftly and striking him open handed on the cheek. The sharp crack of it seemed to ricochet in the close quarters. Her fury was palpable. “How dare you?” she said through gritted teeth. “How dare you smile at me and pretend to be my friend while doing Prophets know what with Julian behind my back?”
Garak worked his jaw and surreptitiously tongued his lower molars to make sure none of them were loose. She packed quite a belt. He was glad it hadn't been a fist instead. “Do you want a facile justification,” he asked, “or would you simply like for me to allow you to vent your rage?”
“The sad thing is,” she said, drawing herself up ramrod straight, “that I really liked you. I truly believed you were my friend. And while it hurts me that you would do something with my boyfriend behind my back, what hurts the most is that you'd keep smiling at me to my face and acting like nothing had changed. I'd at least be able to respect you if you spited me openly. The thing that makes me sick? I've defended you. You have no idea how many times the other girls have said things to me about the time I've spent with you, how many times I've said, 'He's not like the other Cardassians. He's a truly decent man.' I guess the joke's on me, and I really am as stupid and naïve as they said I was for ever trusting you.” Without another word, she turned on her heel and left him there, the hiss of his door an anticlimactic punctuation to her departure.
He sighed and rubbed absently at his still stinging cheek. He hadn't wanted to hurt her, and if Julian had been able to keep his mouth shut, it wouldn't have happened. “Humans,” he growled under his breath. “Sentimental fools, every last one of them.”
Too annoyed to focus on reading, he set up his kotra board so that he could run through several advanced strategy exercises. He needed something interactive and challenging to keep him from stewing over the situation. He was certain that Julian would be along, if not that night, then some time soon, to bemoan what had happened. If he was to get through such a conversation without a completely venomous attitude, he knew he had to distance himself from his reaction. The sad thing is, he thought as he moved the first piece, I liked her, too. He had no expectation that she would ever understand or believe that he could view someone as a friend and do underhanded things to or around them. Few ever did understand such things about his people.
As he moved the pieces across the board, he envisioned warships in three dimensional space, strikes and counter-strikes, bold captures, unconventional maneuvers. How differently might his life have gone had he been in Central Command? Despite the fact that he loathed so many of the old money military leaders, there was a certain appeal to a well executed plan, simple on the surface and layered beneath. Such thoughts led to a memory of Tain's last moments aboard the bird of prey before Odo knocked Garak out and stole him away. “He overreached,” he murmured to himself, knocking one of the last pieces gently off the board with the one he held in hand. “Forgot what he was. Who he was. There were many reasons for the Order not to possess military equipment, not simply because it would've made us too powerful.”
That Cardassia was gone. Frustratingly, he didn't know enough of what had risen to take its place to know whether this was a reason to be glad or worried. He hadn't been impressed by what he had seen so far. They seemed too mired in internal power struggles to deal decisively with external threats. They had never been more weak or vulnerable in his lifetime, quite possibly. He realized he had lost taste for his exercise and set his piece aside. Going to the bar was out of the question. Leeta deserved her space without having him in her face. He'd have to give her some time to heal from that hurt before returning to Quark's during her work shift.
Luckily, he kept himself stocked with kanar, rising and crossing to pour himself a drink. He was on his third when Julian chimed his door. It crossed his mind to leave him out there. Such passivity, however, really wasn't his way. “Enter,” he said more sharply than was his wont.
Julian crossed his threshold and stopped just within, letting the door shut at his back. “I suppose she came to confront you,” he said after taking a quick look at his demeanor.
“Yes,” he said.
“What did she say?” he asked hesitantly.
“She thanked me for taking you off her hands, because she has secretly been wanting to date Rom for months,” he answered with cloying sarcasm. “What do you think she said, you idiot?”
Julian winced. “I deserved that,” he said.
“Oh, please,” Garak sighed, throwing up a hand. “If you came here to feel sorry for yourself or to use my anger as a way to flagellate, I'd just as soon you left. I'm not interested in coddling you or satisfying your masochistic urges to flay your conscience. You are quite possibly one of the most selfish people I have ever known.” He paused to let that sink in. “I would remind you that I am Cardassian as I say this. I would remind you further that this is coming from me.”
“I know cheating on her was selfish,” Julian snapped.
“Cheating on her? Yes, that was selfish, but I'm talking about telling her. Why would you do such a thing? You hurt her for no good reason except to assuage your own guilt.”
“That's not true. I...I wanted to give her the choice,” he said.
“What choice?”
“I didn't want her being with me on false pretenses. If she wanted to be exclusive, and I didn't, it wasn't fair of me to trick her into staying in an arrangement that wasn't what she thought it was.”
“I see,” Garak said, shaking his head in disgust. “Much preferable for her to be miserable and know this truth of yours than happy. So, what brought this on? Did she ask you to move in with her? To marry you? No, wait, I know. She wanted you to move to Bajor with her.”
“I don't appreciate your sarcasm. She didn't do anything. This was my decision. Miles said...”
“Ah, Miles. It all makes such perfect sense now. Did you tell him about us, too? Should I put a call to Dax so that the entire station can get in on this?” So much for kotra taming his fires. He just had to get contemplative about Cardassia before the doctor arrived.
“No, I didn't tell him about us. I just told him I didn't think I wanted to be exclusive to Leeta. Look, I don't understand why you're acting like this. If anything, I thought you'd probably be relieved,” he said, his brows low over narrowed eyes.
“Relieved that you hurt an innocent woman who never did anything to either of us? If that's your view of my habitual emotional state, I'm shocked you want to be in the same room with me alone,” he said, setting his empty kanar glass down on his table. “I realize this may be difficult for you to understand, but try. You and I have both said on numerous occasions that when we step into the confines of a relationship, it doesn't work. Did it ever occur to you part of the reason I allowed what I allowed in the dressing room was because you were in another relationship, not in spite of it?
“I can tell by your expression that it did not,” he continued. “I have no intention of flaunting a connection to you in front of Leeta, or anybody else on this station. The only thing this changes is that I'm now concerned that I made a mistake in allowing what I did, both because of its consequences for Leeta and your appalling lapse in discretion. I trusted that you'd be able to handle yourself. I couldn't have been more wrong.”
“I can't believe you! How dare you stand there and get self-righteous with me? You're as guilty as I am.”
“No, Doctor, I'm not. I would never have told her just so that I could make myself feel better about deceiving her, and that's where you and I differ tremendously.”
“Don't 'Doctor' me, not right now,” Julian snapped, his eyes flashing.
“Fine, Julian,” he said, already tired of this and wanting him to leave. “I can only surmise that you came here either hoping that I'd be glad to hear the news and therefore amenable to offering you...comfort,” he laced the word with a subtle hint of contempt and innuendo both, “or to attempt damage control. Either way, I have no interest in being cooperative tonight.”
“You're not the only one thinking I made a mistake,” Julian said spitefully.
Garak's smile was more of a sneer. “Now it's my turn to get some honesty?” he asked. “You're wanting to take a little kilo of flesh on your way out the door?” He spread his arms. “Do your best. Take a parting shot.”
“You'd have to have a heart for me to hurt it,” he said. “I'm done with this. Sorry I bothered to try to give you the courtesy of being informed.”
The tailor laughed harshly. “That's rich. The day I need to get my intelligence from you is the day I'll make sure somebody puts me out of my misery for being useless, ineffectual, and blind. If I wanted to spy on your people, do you honestly think I'd have ever approached a mere doctor? You didn't even have the foresight to understand your own girlfriend well enough to know she'd come straight to me after your pathetic confession. Why don't you run along while you still have a few tatters of dignity to trail behind you, or is it already too late for that?”
Julian stalked from the quarters without another word, his face stiff and pale. Garak snorted another soft, derisive laugh at his back just as the door was closing. Not six hours after Julian's breach with Leeta, and already the two of them were back in familiar territory. He hoped the little idiot had it in him to patch things up with her. It was the only way he saw himself being able to abide his company at all after this.
Julian
The Infirmary
Julian watched Major Kira and Captain Sisko escort his most recent patient out of the infirmary, the three still deep in conversation. “Akorem Laan,” he murmured. He had read the man's poetry when he was working to familiarize himself more with Bajoran culture. He was quite good, but more remarkably, he was a tremendously important literary figure in their history. Having seen Kira's reaction to meeting the man, he likened it to getting to meet Sir Francis Bacon, or perhaps Lord Byron.
“Do you think it's true?” one of the Bajoran day nurse's questions cut into his thoughts.
“What?” he asked, glancing away from the door and over to her.
“That he's the Emissary,” she said a bit breathlessly, her hazel eyes wide.
“I don't know,” he answered honestly. To the best of his ability, he had avoided talk of the captain's role in Bajor's spiritual life. As an officer and a member of Starfleet, the entire thing made him somewhat uncomfortable. He couldn't imagine how much worse it had been for the captain for these past few years. If Akorem's story was true, perhaps the wormhole aliens had decided that a Bajoran would make a better Emissary after all. “What I do know,” he said, offering her a slight smile, “is that whether he's the Emissary or not, we still have work to do today.” Taking the hint, she smiled and nodded, getting back to her duties.
The rest of his work day was relatively uneventful, although he believed he'd be hard pressed to encounter anything else quite as remarkable as having a patient beamed into his infirmary not just from a solar ship like the captain and Jake had piloted to Cardassian space but from over two hundred years in the past. It was events such as this which reminded him of one of the main reasons he chose Deep Space Nine as his post. For a little while that day, he felt as he did the first time he set foot on the station, excited about all of the possibilities.
As the end of his shift drew to a close, Nurse Frendel arrived. Julian told him of their unusual patient and stressed the need for discretion. Frendel seemed quite excited by the news, but there was something else in his dark eyes, a sort of mirth Julian had rarely seen. “What is it?” he asked the man. “You look like someone with exciting news of your own.”
“Well,” the Bajoran said with an easy smile, “you didn't hear it from me, but I have it on very good authority that Mrs. O'Brien is pregnant.”
“Really?” Julian's eyes widened. “That's wonderful news! Thanks for telling me, and mum's the word. I don't know where the rumor came from.” Grinning, he signed out and left for the evening, heading down to Quark's. He knew that Miles would be getting off soon, too, and likely passing by there. He wanted to have the opportunity to congratulate him. As soon as he saw him, he snagged him and dragged him into the bar for a drink.
As was so often the case when pregnancies were announced, it seemed practically everyone had an experience or opinion, from Quark reminiscing about Nog's childhood to Worf's incredible discomfort with memories of delivering Molly, something that surprised Julian to no end. Yet, it was Miles' attitude that surprised him the most. Instead of the excitement he expected, the man seemed more apprehensive, possibly even disappointed. He understood his reasoning, having wanted more time with Keiko for going out and doing adult things. At the same time, he recalled his own lonely childhood and how often he wished for a sibling. Molly would be happier in the long run. He suspected the chief would, too, once he became used to the idea.
He watched him leave and turned back toward the bar. Quark made his way back down and leaned closer. “For a man about to become a father for a second time, you'd think he'd show a little more enthusiasm,” he said, “instead of crying and moaning about not having enough time to spend with his fe-male. Don't get me wrong. Mrs. O'Brien is...delectable...”
“Quark!” Julian said, scowling.
“Oh, don't start,” Quark snorted and waved a hand dismissively. “Just because I hit on her that one time. I wasn't myself, mind you. Would you like for me to start reminding you of what they said about you and Major Kira after that little incident?”
“No, I wouldn't,” he said firmly. “Besides, I wasn't talking about that. You don't go talking about another man's wife that way. It's disrespectful.”
“Almost as disrespectful as cheating on your girlfriend with your ex,” Quark whispered, widening his eyes for emphasis. “Oh, yes, word gets around quickly on this station, Doctor. I don't think I need a lecture on morals from you, thank you very much. Hurting one of my best workers. If her productivity drops, I should find a way to charge you for it. I've been looking into the possibility.”
Julian dropped his voice low, too. “Don't stand there and pretend you give a damn about Leeta, or anyone else in this bar,” he hissed. “You were more than happy to let her get evicted before your entire work force rebelled. I wonder what the FCA would think about your real solution?” He glared daggers.
Quark put a hand up to his chest. “No need to get riled,” he said. “Nobody else will hear about what you did to Leeta from me. I was just making a point.”
Julian glared a moment longer. “So was I,” he said tightly, slapping payment to the bar top and walking away. He needed to get out of there before Leeta came on shift anyway. He didn't want to upset her worse than he already had.
Just as he exited, Nurse Frendel hailed him over his comm. “I'm sorry to disturb you, Doctor, but I need to speak with you in the infirmary.”
“On my way,” he said, actually glad of the distraction. He found the man waiting for him in his office. “What seems to be the problem?” he asked, having the door shut behind him so that they could have some privacy.
“It's not a problem, Sir, but we've just been informed that the new Emissary is scheduled to make his first public speech tomorrow morning on the Promenade in front of the temple. I know that usually at least twenty-six hours are expected for non-emergency rescheduling of personnel, but I thought, well...I hoped that we could make an exception for the Bajoran nurses and medics scheduled for tomorrow.”
Julian nodded. “Yes, in this case, I don't see why not. Call Nurses Walzcek and Dubois and Medic Tarsen, and see if they can come in and cover for Jondell, Rankar, and Pol for the morning. If not, we can probably get away with being understaffed for an hour or two, unless there's an emergency.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Frendel beamed.
He turned for the door and paused. “This really means a lot to you, doesn't it? I don't think I've ever seen you so enthusiastic about anything.”
“Permission to speak freely?” the man asked.
“Of course,” Julian nodded. “You know I prefer my staff to speak their minds.”
“Yes,” he said, “but I also know you're not entirely comfortable with our belief system, particularly as it pertains to your captain. I've always tried to respect that.”
“I appreciate the consideration,” he said, “but it's not necessary. If I've given the impression that I don't want to hear your opinions regarding the captain, then I apologize. You're a damned good nurse. I wouldn't be able to keep this place running the way it does without you, which means I respect your opinions, even those that don't pertain directly to the infirmary.”
The Bajoran relaxed somewhat and smiled again, this time with more warmth. “Thank you, Sir. That really means a lot to me. I respect you, too. Like most of my people, I've been pleased with the fulfillment of some of our prophecies of late. Your captain is important to us, but not without some controversy. I'm...relieved...that it seems perhaps the Prophets have sensed our confusion and division and sent us someone that all of Bajor can rally behind. No offense, Sir.”
“None taken,” Julian said. “I confess the concept has caused me some personal discomfort and is also controversial with Starfleet. If Akorem is the new Emissary, there's a good possibility that many of these problems and conflicts will be solved.”
“That's what I'm hoping,” the nurse said fervently.
Julian smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “On that we're in full agreement. Make the schedule shifts, and contact me if there's any major hitch or an emergency. Otherwise, good night for real this time.”
“Yes, Sir,” the man said, following him out of the office much more relaxed than when he entered.
Under the Skin--Part I
Apr. 8th, 2010 01:05 amAuthor Notes: The story begins during Starship Down and ends shortly after Crossfire. While time-wise, I know that's a huge span, much of what happens is between or behind the scenes. I made the decision not to directly include anything from the episode Our Man Bashir largely because that episode was so tautly paced that there wasn't much room for writing in the margins. It does, however, have a large impact on the story itself.
Summary: A brush with death has Julian considering his life and the stresses of the job, but a trip into escapism doesn't go quite as planned, threatening the very foundations of his friendship with Garak. As the two try to find a way to negotiate the new pitfalls, Odo faces some challenges of his own, and nothing goes as planned.
Author: Dark Sinestra
Date Written: March/April 2010
Category: Slash, Het
Rating: R for strong sexual content, adult situations, and mild adult language.
Disclaimer: If there's still anybody out there who thinks that fanfic authors profit from fanfic or that DS9 characters could ever belong to a fanfic author, point me to them. I'll give them a little smack with a wet fish.
Word Count: 17,542
Julian
USS Defiant
Cold. He couldn't remember the last time he had been so cold. It wasn't quite the cold of the vacuum of space, but that was only by a matter of a few degrees. The upper level of a gas giant's atmosphere was nowhere to stay for any length of time without things like environmental controls and recycling breathable atmosphere. Both he and Dax were shivering constantly now, not the small, intermittent shivers that helped regulate body temperature on a nippy day but the deep body shivers that heralded the beginning of the second stage of hypothermia.
They had stopped talking to one another some time ago. The chattering of their teeth and muscle spasms of their jaws made it difficult. Besides, both of them knew that talking used more oxygen. Freeze or suffocate, he thought, idly wondering which would be worse. He knew the cold was beginning to affect his brain function. Otherwise, he didn't think he'd be nearly as detached about their impending deaths. He thought perhaps he gripped her more tightly to himself, but he could no longer be sure. He had little control of his limbs.
How ironic it was that it came to this. It took being locked in a room together without life support for them finally to finish clearing the air between them after years of association in a dysfunctional pattern of pursuer and pursued, to behave as the rational adults they were and come clean. Why? Why did it take something like this? He tried to slow his breathing, but it was no use. His diaphragm was beginning to spasm. It wouldn't be much longer before heart arrhythmia set in. If he still had the control for it, he would've laughed. He had something he had dreamed of nearly steadily for two years straight, and now all he wanted was to see Leeta. Liar, a deeper part of his psyche whispered. You want to want to see her. You know who you want to see.
“J-J-Julian,” Dax stuttered, “y-you're muh-moaning. A-are you a-all right?” She shifted her head and looked up at him.
She was so pale, even her delicate markings starting to fade. He nodded convulsively and tried to lift her so that they could rest cheek to cheek and provide one another just a little more warmth. He gave up after a few moments of futility. It seemed as though she was stuck to him like a limpet to a rock, her arms so cramped in their hold that he couldn't budge her. “S-s-sorry,” he managed.
She didn't answer, her head lowering again so that all he could see was the dark curve of her hair. Who did she long to see? In whose arms would she rather be dying? Lenara's? The captain's? Someone else's? Was there even anyone else alive or capable of reaching them, or were they all off in various parts of the ship dead and dying in different ways? Blunt force trauma, fire, electrical shock, suffocation. Each thought brought with it a clinical list of symptoms, internal bleeding and organ damage, burns, cellular death from oxygen deprivation. Stop it, he told himself. You actually want to die cataloging ways to go?
I'd just as soon not die, if it's all the same, he retorted to himself feeling inappropriately amused. I'd rather have tea, Tarkalean. Double sweet.
“Ju-Jul-Jul...” Dax gasped. He felt her fingers digging into his back as a distant sensation. She struggled to lift herself again.
Save your strength, he thought, or perhaps he said it. He couldn't be sure. Confusion was starting to set in. Why couldn't she just leave him alone? If anyone had told him how bloody painful hypothermia was, he might have gone ahead and let the both of them suck down the fluorine gas in the flooded corridor.
How morbid of you, a thought came in a voice that wasn't his.
He knew that voice. He tried to smile. Garak, he thought. I should've known you wouldn't miss the party.
If this is a party, I'd rather be at work, the voice came again, something strangely comforting and reassuring about its familiar sarcasm. You need to pay attention and look at the light.
He felt a vague stirring of irritation. When had Garak become a mystic, and why was he trying to encourage him to die? He then realized that the light he saw was quite real. He blinked and squinted against it right along with Dax and felt someone pulling them up. His mind gladly released the reins then, and for quite some time, he knew no more.
When he came to, he found himself on one of the sickbay beds of the Defiant. “Dax,” he croaked, trying to look around.
“Is fine, Doctor,” one of his hand picked medics assured him. “You need to rest.”
He thought he saw the captain lying in the next bed over. “Is he...” he started to ask.
“Also fine,” the man said. He felt the cool nozzle of a hypospray against his neck and a rush of warm comfort. He knew he had just been given a sedative and was powerless to resist the pull back into welcoming blackness.
The next time he awoke, he realized that he was in the infirmary back on the station. Unused to being an occupant of one of the biobeds, he tried to look around, only to realize that he was in one of the private rooms. Two blurry shapes at the side of his bed resolved into the figures of Leeta and Garak. The dabo girl had her head resting on the Cardassian's shoulder, her eyes closed and her mouth slightly open in sleep. He met Garak's gaze, only to have the tailor put a finger to his own lips and then smile at him warmly. He returned the smile and settled back. He was so tired, sore, and drained he felt that he could sleep another week.
Garak carefully awoke Leeta, his gentleness touching Julian in a way he couldn't begin to explain. The Cardassian was such a conundrum. He thought he could study him a hundred years and still not understand who he really was. “Someone would like to see you, dear,” Garak murmured as she sat up, blinking at him sleepily. He gestured at Julian.
Her attention snapped over to him, her smile like sunshine emerging from cloud cover. “Sweetie,” she said, immediately leaning forward and taking his hand between both of hers, lifting it, and lightly kissing the backs of his fingers. “You had us so worried.”
Smiling benevolently at both of them, Garak stood. “I'll come see you later,” he said, inclining his head to Julian and stepping out of the room.
Julian followed him with his eyes, wanting to call him back. Reluctantly, he looked back to Leeta and offered her the best smile he could muster. “I'm OK,” he said. “How long have I been here? Did we...who didn't make it?”
“I'm not allowed to talk to you about any of that,” she said, patting him lightly and standing. “Let me go get Nurse Frendel.”
He nodded and watched her go, too, anxious and wanting more than anything to get up and out of that bed. There were bound to be other people who were hurt, people who should have been his patients. His head nurse came back into the room with Leeta in tow and offered him a reassuring smile. “Welcome back,” he said. “You've been here a few hours now. I'm keeping you overnight for observation. I don't need to tell you that's standard procedure for hypothermia patients, Doctor.”
He shook his head, resigned to the overnight stay. He knew arguing would just be obnoxious and get him nowhere. “The crew?” he asked anxiously.
“There were some losses,” the nurse said. “No one from the command staff. Once you've been released, you'll have full access to the list. For now, I would suggest you rest. Once you're up and about tomorrow, you're going to be busy dealing with a full facility.”
He nodded again, saddened to hear of the losses. The Gamma Quadrant seemed more dangerous by the day. It was very rare they managed any incursions that didn't involve an encounter with Jem'Hadar attack ships. I need a break, he thought. We all do. “Thank you, Nurse Frendel. I know the infirmary is in good hands,” he said. It didn't stop him from wanting to be the one already treating the wounded.
The Bajoran nodded and left him with Leeta and the final instructions to call him if he needed anything. “I'm so glad you're OK,” she said. “Do you need anything?”
He didn't dare ask for what he most wanted right at that moment. “Water would be nice,” he said instead. “How long have you been here?”
She poured him a glass from a nearby pitcher and helped him adjust the bed so that he could sit up and drink. “Ever since they brought you in. Quark was just so happy to be alive, he didn't even question me when I demanded the time. I would've quit had he said no.”
She was such a good woman. He felt a pang of guilt. “I'm glad it didn't come to that,” he said quietly, sipping his water. “Are you tired? You look tired.”
“I'm fine,” she brushed the question off. “I don't think I would've been calm enough to catch a few winks if Garak hadn't been here. I think Nurse Frendel let him stay for my sake more than yours,” she said sheepishly. “I was a little emotional.”
Now that he looked at her more closely, he could see the puffiness of her lids and the reddish tint to the whites of her eyes. “I'm harder to kill than that,” he said, attempting humor. He didn't know if he had ever been closer to death, a fact he thrust away as soon as he thought it.
“Every time you go away on that ship, I know something like this can happen,” she said softly. “I'm just glad it usually doesn't. Rom was beside himself worrying about Quark.” She lapsed silent with a guilty expression.
“What?” he asked, curious.
She looked over her shoulder, even though there was no chance of their being overheard and leaned in closer. “It wouldn't be so bad if Quark died,” she said with a low ferocity he hadn't expected from her. She sighed. “That sounded so horrible, but he's horrible. Horrible to Rom. Horrible to all of us.”
“You know,” he said, “if you're so stressed out you wish your boss was dead...”
She cut him off. “I don't really. I just hate how he treats Rom. He makes me so mad!” She made a fuss of smoothing his blanket and getting him more comfortable, taking the empty water glass and lowering the bed, despite his protests that he'd rather sit up. “You've been ordered to rest, Doctor,” she said pertly.
“You're so cute when you get stern,” he said, smiling in spite of himself.
“You haven't seen stern,” she said, “but if you keep talking, you're going to.” She ran her fingers gently through his tangled hair, teasing out the snarls. “Would it be easier for you if I let you sleep?” she asked.
He nodded. “I hate to say it, but yes. If you're here, I'll want to talk. If I want to talk...”
“You won't sleep,” she finished for him. Leaning down, she kissed his forehead. “Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave?”
He hesitated. “No,” he said at last. There was no way for him to ask her to send Garak in without upsetting or insulting her, not after her just told her he wanted to sleep.
“I'll be by in the morning,” she said, giving him a final kiss and leaving.
He closed his eyes and sighed softly. Why did things have to be so confusing? He couldn't argue with his psyche's desires when they came from a moment of finality, could he? He had been convinced that they were going to die, and his supposed last thoughts were of Garak. What did that say about him?
He felt a cool touch on his hand and almost jumped out of the hospital bed, his eyes flying open. “I'm sorry,” Garak said. “I thought for certain you heard me come in.”
“No,” he said, twisting his hand so he could clasp Garak's. “I didn't think you'd come back tonight.”
“After the look you gave me when I was leaving? Julian, please, give me a little credit,” he said, reaching behind himself and pulling a chair close enough to sit next to the bed. After he resettled, he gave him his hand again.
Julian, not “doctor”, he thought. It was rare that Garak called him Julian these days. He wanted to tell him of his last thoughts before they were found, all of it. The words wouldn't come. “Thank you,” he said instead.
“I recall a time when a frightened, bitter man believed that he was dying, and a dashing, yet strangely irritating, young man came to his rescue,” Garak said with an undercurrent of warm amusement in his rich voice. “All the man really needed was someone to hold his hand.”
“Strangely irritating, eh?” Julian asked, his face creasing a smile.
Garak made a soft tsking noise. “In all that blatant flattery, you seize upon the one criticism? Am I the only one who sees a problem with this?”
He suddenly felt hot tears slide from the corners of his eyes into the hair at his temples, relief to be alive, release of all the previous pent tension and fear, gratitude that for once in his life, the one thing he wanted most in the world was at hand at the time he needed it most. He would have tried to speak had Garak not laid the index finger of his free hand against his lips and shaken his head subtly. Taking a convulsive breath, he let it out audibly and turned his cheek into the cool hand now against it, both eyes squeezed shut.
“You're all right now,” Garak told him quietly. “As I've told you before, you're strong. Whatever happened on that ship is behind you, and you're in control of much of what lies before you.”
He followed the cadence of his voice and felt himself slip past the momentary loss of control. He exhaled most of the tension from his body and lay passive while Garak lightly stroked his cheek with his thumb. When he opened his eyes again, he felt calmer. “You are such a damnable contradiction,” he said softly. “And you know it, don't you?”
The tailor smiled faintly. “I've been under the impression for quite some time that you wouldn't have me any other way.”
“I haven't had you in quite some time,” he said. Perhaps his brush with death had made him bold, or perhaps it was the residual effect of the sedatives. He didn't care. He had said his piece earlier with Dax. Now it was Garak's turn.
“Are you prepared to break Leeta's heart?” Garak asked, a world of complexity in the look with which he favored Julian.
Why? Why did he always do that, say the one thing that would keep him from throwing caution to the wind and just acting on his own desires? He dropped his gaze, chagrined and shamed both.
“I didn't think so,” he continued in the same gentle tone of voice.
“What about your heart?” Julian asked.
“Have I ever given you the impression that it's fragile?” the tailor asked, amusement in the depth of blue eyes. Thankfully, it wasn't his usual cruel or caustic humor. That had yet to rear its head that night. He smoothed Julian's hair back from his forehead.
“I don't know why you put up with me,” the doctor said, largely feeling he deserved none of this care. He was no closer to divesting himself of the biggest wedge between them, and he knew that no amount of tenderness on Garak's part would change that.
“I often ask myself the same thing,” Garak said. “I decided it's because of all of the officers on the station, you're the only one with any hope of saving me should an assassin come along and succeed where others have failed. Personal motivation can be quite strong for taking decisive, life saving action.”
Julian stared at him for about two seconds before finding himself shaking with suppressed laugher. He didn't want the nurse hearing him and coming to find if anything was wrong. “You're dreadful. You are a horrible, horrible man. Half of me thinks I should take that at face value.”
“Half of you is right,” he said, beaming.
“The tragedy of it is that I'll probably never know which half,” he said, still amused. He grew more serious as he allowed himself to look into the lovely alien eyes, inscrutable as ever. “You were there,” he blurted.
“I beg pardon?” Garak asked, arching an eye ridge.
“Not literally, of course,” he said, reaching up and taking the hand in his hair between both of his and settling it against his chest. “But toward the end, when I was starting to lose consciousness, you're the one my oxygen deprived mind conjured.”
“I have never felt sorrier for you,” Garak said, wide eyed.
He chuffed a soft laugh and shook his head. “Oh, I give up. You're not going to take the compliment, are you?”
“Was it a compliment?” he asked innocently. “After all, you didn't say what I was doing. For all I know, I was the one sucking the air and heat out of the room in your elaborate delusion.”
“Every time I think I might just once like a peek into your mind, you go and say something like that,” he said, both exasperated and amused in equal parts. “You were telling me to pay attention to the light.”
“Oh, lovely,” Garak said, rolling his eyes. “Isn't going into the light some insipid euphemism you humans have for dying?”
“As a matter of fact, it is. I was quite irritated with you, until I realized the light was real, and you were basically telling me to get my head out of my arse and hang on just a little longer.”
“What a relief to know that at least one part of your mind has a sound grasp of my mannerisms,” he said. “Now, wrap that wonderfully sensible part of that mind of yours around this. You need to sleep, and, therefore, I need to go.”
He wanted to clutch his hand like a child in the dark, but he knew better. Garak had made up his mind. He pressed his palm against his sternum with both his hands and then released him. “Thank you,” he said again, “for coming back.”
“I could say the same thing to you, Doctor,” he said, pressing a moment more than Julian held and standing. “This place simply wouldn't be the same without you.”
He felt that pressure long after the man was gone, a weight on his heart in more ways than one. He wasn't ready to break Leeta's heart. It was true. He couldn't walk away from her and back to Garak with open arms and a clean slate. He couldn't force him to endure his self-imposed barriers of “this close and no closer”. He couldn't bear it if love finally turned irrevocably to hatred. Leeta wasn't as quick to pick up on his distance since he had gotten more careful. Garak still felt it just then when his barriers were down lower than they had been in years. For the first time, he believed he understood exactly what the Cardassian had done in letting him go and the depth of love it took to have such grace. He understood, because now he was having to do the same. Were it not for the steady sound of his heart monitor, he might have believed he was in trouble. The pain in his chest was nearly unbearable.
Garak
The Infirmary
Garak stepped into the corridor outside Julian's room and rubbed at his eye ridges. It had been a long night of worry, and it was very late. On his way out, he noticed Major Kira still seated in the waiting area, looking a little lost and out of place. “Major?” he asked, pausing near the front entrance.
She frowned slightly, stood, and headed over to him. “I probably should leave for a while,” she admitted. “They said I'm not in the way, but I'm not doing much good here, am I?”
“I'm not sure,” he said. “Who are you here for?”
“You wouldn't understand,” she said, gesturing for him to start walking again. She fell into step beside him. “How's Julian?”
“He seems OK,” he said. “Tired.”
“He saved Jadzia, and she saved the rest of us,” she said. “He has really...come a long way, hasn't he?”
“That he has,” he said fondly. He wondered where she intended to go. Surely she didn't intend to follow him all the way back to his quarters?
She answered his unasked question by stopping in front of the temple. “I think I'm going to pray for a while,” she said. “Good night, Garak.”
“Good night, Major,” he replied, inclining his head. He had no patience for mysticism. It seemed like a waste of time, petitioning something or someone to fix one's life or offer guidance, time better spent doing the hard work oneself. He climbed the stairs to the second level of the Promenade and looked out one of the star ports into the deep black of space.
Death could come for any one of them at any time. It was a reality he accepted. It had been part of his life for as long as he was of school age and beyond. He thought back to a long ago school team member, partially blinded by a honge during one of the exercise raids. One minute, he was near the top of the class, a heavyset bully that few dared to cross. The moment the predatory bird took his eye, all of that was over. He was a cripple, pitied by a few, simply forgotten and discarded by the rest. Without his full vision, he could never hope to be useful in the Order or Central Command. Better off dead, many said, and there had been a time Garak was in full agreement.
He never let himself care, not for the longest time. Even when Tolan had died, it was more of an inconvenience having to go home and see him, weak in the bed, a skeletal parody of his former strength, and listen to him go on and on about the Oralian Way. He still had the recitation mask. Why had he kept it? Then to find out the truth that Tain was his father, not Tolan after all, Tolan his mother's brother. So much of a family puzzle fell into place then and left him feeling empty and hollowed out, part of him ashamed for the relief he felt that he wasn't the son of a mere gardener, part of him appalled at the depth of the deception, part of him angry at the things they had allowed Tain to do. All of those parts were there and yet distant, almost as though he had watched someone else feel them. That detachment had been so carefully cultivated in him by every influence around him and served him so very well for decades. It wasn't until later in his adulthood that it started to erode.
Where was it now? He hugged himself against the perpetual chill of the station and the deeper chill that came from the knowledge that Julian had escaped death by a narrow margin. He had come so close to giving up on pride and simply accepting what the doctor was willing to give, letting him have his distance and his inconsistency and saying it was enough for him. How much of himself could he give away before there was nothing left? With detachment gone, he needed his pride more than ever. Otherwise, what did it mean to be Cardassian? He refused to reduce that to a label or a title. No, it had to mean something. Flesh, blood, and DNA was not enough. If it were, that war “orphan” Rugal that Dukat tried to use would be Cardassian. Even the boy had sense enough to know that it was not so.
He ached for home. Often it was background pain, a constant presence that could be ignored and put off for its very consistency. At the moment, it was nearly crippling. He knew that if he could go home, he could put every hellish day on this station behind him. Oh, it would be with him in the way that all experiences he had ever had always were, but the emphasis would make all the difference. He believed—he had to believe—that he could reclaim himself, that he could become who and what he had been raised to be. Perhaps there would be some small differences, yes, but he could be a Cardassian again, not this strange creature that looked and talked like one but was hollow inside. It was that hollowness that was the problem, he realized. Nature abhorred a vacuum and had conspired to fill his with pain.
Go back to your quarters, he told himself and instantly moved to obey. The only thing worse than feeling like an empty shell was putting himself on display. No one needed to see that.
Julian
Private Quarters
Julian could hardly wait. He tore into the small package that had arrived for him on a freighter earlier that day and all but crowed his delight. His long awaited holoprogram had arrived. He grinned wide and set it aside on his table, hurrying to change out of his uniform and into a tuxedo he had ordered from Garak some time ago with no explanation as to the style beyond a vague, “It's a type of Earth formal wear.”
Yes, he could have had the program clothe him, but there was something magical about a good fitting tux, something that transformed the mundane to the extraordinary. At first he hadn't intended to keep it all a secret, but Leeta's disdain for most of his favorite programs had him feeling a little self-conscious. There was more to it than that, as he well knew. It had been a very long time since he kept anything just for himself. In his job and in his personal life, he was expected to give and be far more selfless than most of his peers. Although he didn't begrudge his co-workers or his loved ones time and energy spent on them, more and more these days he was feeling he had less of a reserve from which to give. He viewed this as a way to recharge his energy cells with some harmless fun that most of his friends simply wouldn't appreciate or understand.
The program was everything it promised to be and then some. He was entranced with the sleek, gleaming world of the mid-1960's, replete with wonderfully impractical spy devices disguised as everything from shoe heels to boutonnières, campy names, lovely ladies, and no one expecting him to be anything other than charming, debonair, and clever. There was just enough challenge within the built in plots and scenarios that he didn't feel bored, but everything retained a lighthearted humor that was the perfect antidote to the deadly serious conflicts they continued to face in the Gamma Quadrant and closer to home. His most recent brush with death brought home to him his need for some immersive escapism.
He didn't give much thought to how much time he was spending in the holosuite over the next few weeks. Leeta seemed grateful that he was pressuring her less for together time with her punishing work schedule. Miles had some of his own programs that weren't of as much interest to Julian, and Dax was either working extra hours or spending quite a bit of off time with Kira in their historical fantasies. He knew better than to try to spend more time with Garak. The temptation to act on his personal revelations would be too strong and ultimately selfish. He might not be able to do much for the Cardassian, but he could do that. In the latter, he made a mistake. No one enjoyed ferreting out a juicy secret quite as much as the tailor, and no one excelled at it more.
Garak
Quark's Bar
His mother told him years ago that his curiosity would lead him to ruin. At some point in early life, he stopped listening to Mila. After all, what was she but a housekeeper and occasional secretary to Tain, when he had larger goals and nearly bottomless ambition? The older he got, the smarter Mila seemed to be. Garak emerged into uncharacteristic quiet in Quark's bar. Due to the power requirements of storing the crew's personal patterns in Deep Space Nine's computer system, Quark had been forced to close down and evacuate the patrons for safety reasons. Cables that resembled shadowy, tentacled leviathans coiled and stretched away from the holosuite as far as Garak could see. He slightly arched a brow ridge.
Quark approached him and the doctor, looking decidedly put out. “This is bad for business,” he said flatly. “Not only that, I figured it out. I realized where they were, but did I get any thanks? No, of course not.” He squinted at both of them. “You're welcome.” He squinted harder, this time focusing on Garak. “And you're bleeding,” he said. “I hope you didn't bleed everywhere in there. It's unsanitary.”
“I'm fine,” Garak said rather pointedly. “Thank you for asking.”
Julian glanced back at Garak, his large, dark eyes unreadable for a change. “Do you need me to treat that?” he asked a little awkwardly.
Garak lifted a hand and shrugged off the concern. “No,” he said, “it's little more than a nick.”
“Nick or not, you're bleeding in my bar,” Quark said, ushering both of them ahead of him. “As you can see, I'm closed. I just hope this doesn't damage my holosuite rentals. People have expectations that those things are safe. They'll take one look at you two and change their minds.”
“We're leaving, Quark,” Julian said irritably. “You don't have to be a nag about it.” He shot a look at Garak, shook his head, and the two of them headed quickly out of the bar. More cable sprawled across the Promenade, leading down a side corridor. “I suppose I should go report to Captain Sisko,” Julian offered, hesitant in a way that lent hidden weight to the seemingly innocuous words.
This is a form of good-bye, Garak thought as he watched the younger man. Everything now paid lie to what they said to one another in the holosuite a few minutes before. Would they still lunch tomorrow? Garak didn't believe it. Would he be the one to cancel to spare his friend the discomfort? No, he rather thought that he would not. In all their dealings, he had never truly attempted to hide his nature from Julian. In fact, he had warned him on more than one occasion that he was ruthless and not to be trusted. For a time, he believed that the doctor truly understood that. Now he knew that he had not. He inclined his head and put on his most pleasant, professional smile, waiting for Julian to turn to go before resuming his own progress toward his quarters.
He wondered if he should have pushed the man the rest of the way, forced him to make a decision. Would he have killed Garak on the spot in order to save his friends and co-workers? Well, that was the real question, wasn't it? The truth was that Garak didn't know, but the possibility had been strong enough that he hadn't wanted to risk it. The stakes had been high enough as they were. You know what I am! He wasn't surprised at the vehemence of the thought, just the bitterness. He knew for certain that any glamor he held, any residual charm, had dropped away in Julian's regard that night. The doctor had his first glimpse of Garak's core unmasked and had, not at all surprisingly, found him lacking. Again, he felt a small frisson of anger.
Once back in his own quarters, he thoroughly cleaned the small scratch on his face and the deeper wound at his neck ridge. It throbbed and burned, but he could see that it was neat and clean. There would be a scar if he chose not to get it tended. Let there be a scar, he thought. It would be a good reminder of the cost of too much trust.
Julian
Private Quarters
It took three stiff drinks to take the edge off of his adrenaline rush. Even so as he sat on his sofa, the entire scene seemed to be limned by an aura of unreality, jagged at the seams. How had things gotten so horribly out of hand, and how could he ever look at Garak the same way again? He wished he had never even heard of that stupid holosuite program. How fitting that for once it was his secrecy with Garak that led to disaster, rather than the other way around. Hadn't the two of them been switching places in their painful dance back and forth all along?
He had pretended that everything was the same when they parted ways, that they would continue to meet for lunch, that they would further indulge in the silly escapism of the campy spy holoprogram. It was a lie. At the time he said it, he knew it to be a lie. He simply couldn't articulate the truth beneath it, that before this day, he had never seen Garak's true face, and he wasn't certain he could accept him for who he was. It wasn't that Garak had ever lied to him about that, perhaps most ironically of all. The Cardassian always insisted he was exactly what he proved himself to be when he nearly ended the program, risking the deaths of most of the command crew in the process, Julian's closest friends in that roster. It was Julian who glossed that over, who decided that all of that was in the past for Garak and didn't apply to him now.
Recent memories flashed across his mind's eye in a dreadful sort of collage, Garak looking better in a tuxedo than anyone had a right to look, the jolt of Kira on the bed in place of Ana, the photo of Dax as Honey, the cut on Garak's face when they both realized that the safety protocol was no longer functioning, the flash of his gun barrel, Garak's blood, his wound, his expression. Julian ran a slow hand down his face. I shot him, he thought. He wasn't sure what gave him more dismay, the fact itself or the fact that given the same choice, he'd do it again. He would always choose the life of his friends and co-workers over Garak's instinct for self-preservation. He would have shot him dead had he forced the issue. He tried to ignore the light tremor in his hands. Why did you make me choose? The thought contained anger and sorrow both. He knew without articulating it that something inside him died the moment he pulled that trigger, but what?
Reflective Shards--Part III, Conclusion
Mar. 11th, 2010 04:46 amGarak
Replimat Café
Garak could tell that Rom was becoming unnerved by his steady gaze. Inside, he felt positively gleeful. Outwardly, he gave no sign of this, just quietly studied his table companion.
Rom put down a half eaten chew grub and frowned at him. “You're making me nervous,” he accused. “What is it? Why do you keep looking at me like that?”
“Oh,” the tailor said off handedly, “it just occurred to me a few days ago that I've never really seen you before. Of course, I've looked at you, and you and I have had our share of lunches, dinners, and conversations over tea. However, the level...the depth, should I say...of your deviousness never revealed itself. It's fascinating. You hide it so very well.”
The Ferengi waiter looked more unsettled. “I...I have no idea what you're talking about, Garak.”
Garak laughed, delighted. “I'm sure you don't! How many schemes have I missed? What could I be speaking of in this moment? It's exciting, isn't it, when a game moves to a new level?”
“Are you feeling all right?” Rom asked uncertainly. “I've told you before some of those pills you take make you act strange.”
“Never felt better,” Garak replied, beaming. Eventually, he intended to let Rom off the hook and explain what he was talking about, but he was having entirely too much fun watching him squirm. It was the least he deserved for being so manipulative, and because he genuinely liked him, he had no intention of taking it too far or being hurtful. He was about to say more when a commotion from the direction of the docking ring caught both of their attention. Infirmary personnel hurried to help some of the wounded who could walk. A few others were carried.
“Looks bad,” Rom said in a low voice. “Leeta said they had the Defiant out for some wormhole experiment.”
“Yes, I heard,” Garak said, watching keenly. He saw Dax rush by, seemingly uninjured and supporting Doctor Khan. I'd say Julian's attempts to chaperon have been for naught, he thought, judging from Dax's expression. He turned away from the unfolding drama and back to his food. “At least they had the decency to attempt it away from the station. Can you imagine what such a thing could do here?”
Rom shuddered. “I don't want to imagine it.” He picked up his abandoned chew grub and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Still,” he said a little wistfully, “it would be interesting to be involved in something like that. I wonder if they succeeded.”
“I suppose that would depend upon how one measures success,” Garak said. “There's no reason you couldn't be involved in such things if you really wanted to be.”
“Now you sound like Leeta,” Rom said, glancing at him.
“I could be accused of worse things,” the tailor said, narrowing his eyes slightly. “You're quite close, aren't you?”
“We're just friends,” he replied, looking glum.
“Close friends,” Garak pressed.
“I don't know if I'd say that,” Rom said, but he refused to meet Garak's gaze, seeming to have found something very fascinating on his plate.
“What do you think Leeta would say?” the Cardassian asked.
“You haven't talked to her about me, have you?” he asked, his voice raising in pitch with anxiety. Garak gave him his best mysterious smile. Rom looked horrified. “You...you stay out of that, Garak,” he said. “I mean it!”
Garak took a serene bite of his food. “If you want something, you'll never get it by sitting passively to the side and hoping that it falls like a gift from the sky into your lap,” he said. “You have to work for it.”
Rom studied him silently before asking, “Are you offering to help me, or are you just...toying with me? If you're toying, it's a terrible thing to do to a friend.”
“You know, it's funny you should say that,” Garak said. “It brings to mind a time when you told me that someone was flirting with Leeta. Help me out, Rom. It has completely slipped my mind who.”
Rom's face crumpled with guilt. “I'm sorry about that,” he blurted. “I...really was mad at him, and he really was flirting with her. I hoped that if I told you, you'd put a stop to it and get him away from her. It's not like I could ever compete with him, and I was right anyway. Now they're together, and it doesn't look like that's going to change any time soon. Unless you think you could do something about it.” He glanced up at him hopefully.
Garak shook his head, no longer amused. Rom's utter passivity frustrated him. It made him want to grab him by the shoulders, shake him, and shout some sense into him. “No, you're on your own there.”
“I know you still want to be with him,” Rom said sullenly.
Garak sighed. “You're wrong. He's incapable of it, which coming from me has to be one of the most hilariously ironic statements in the known universe, and yet there it is. I've been accused at times of being overly stubborn; however, the fact is that I know when I've been defeated. No, Rom, trust me. You don't need me to help you win Leeta. All you need is to be patient, and be her friend. You'll know when the time is right to tell her how you feel.”
“You're not mad at me?” Rom asked, seemingly unable to wrap his mind around the fact.
“It is so rare that anyone truly takes me by surprise that when it happens, it's quite the novel experience. I won't underestimate you again,” he cautioned with a wave of his finger, a playful light in his eyes.
Rom relaxed slightly. “I'd never be stupid enough to try something when you're on guard. Anyway, I hoped it was something both of us would benefit from, not just me.”
“Another reason I'm not angry,” Garak conceded. Speaking of that time period depressed him. He didn't enjoy reminders of the break up. He watched some of the crew from the Defiant leave the infirmary and walk to Quark's. Nodding in their direction to indicate them, he said, “If you're curious about the wormhole experiment, there's your chance to find out. I'm sure they'll be eagerly discussing it and forget all about the size of Ferengi lobes.”
Rom glanced in the direction he indicated, instantly becoming more animated. “You don't mind?” he asked. “I know we haven't finished lunch.”
“I'm curious, myself,” he said, the lie coming easily. “But I'm certain they wouldn't say a word around me. You can tell me about it later.”
“I will,” he said excitedly, jumping to his feet and taking his tray to dump. “Thanks, Garak, and...for what it's worth, I really am sorry for tricking you.”
“No you're not,” he said, beaming at him fondly. “You're sorry I figured it out. Now go.” He watched him retreat, the smile fading. There had been a time in his life, not even so long ago, that he wouldn't have thought twice about scheming with Rom to break Julian and Leeta apart. So much had changed since then. He had changed, and no matter how lonely he was at times, he was no longer content to settle, not for anything or anyone who couldn't meet him where he was.
He watched Dax leave the infirmary with a troubled look. She saw him watching, paused, and headed in his direction. This should be interesting, he thought, waiting until she was close to stand and incline his head to her pleasantly. “You weren't injured, I hope?” he said.
She shook her head, hesitant in a way he had never seen her before. “I'm fine. Physically. I...have no idea why I came over here,” she said with a sheepish smile. “I guess I'm just... It was a close call back there. Lenara could have died. They...her brother didn't want me staying while Julian treated her. He worried it might be too taxing for her.”
“Perhaps you'd like to sit?” he offered.
She remained standing. “How do you let go of someone you love?” she asked, looking oddly young and vulnerable.
He made a fist and held it out to her. “This isn't love, my dear,” he said. He then opened his hand, cupping it. “If it's the right time and a good fit, they stay. If it's not...” He gave a small wave of his hand and dropped it back to his side. “You once told me that when it came to Julian and me, I had to be the adult. Who's the adult in this?”
She shook her head, her gaze pained. “I honestly don't know. I just know I don't want her to leave.”
“Does she know that?” he asked.
“I haven't come out and said it.”
“Well, perhaps you should, if you're sure it's what you want. You have to know you can't make her stay, though,” he said.
“There's something I've wanted to tell you for a while now,” she said, abruptly changing the subject. He tilted his head curiously, inviting her to speak her mind without interrupting her. “I...appreciate...the way you handled Julian's leaving. I know it had to be very hard on you. There was a time I really worried what you'd do to him. I don't worry about you that way anymore. I'm glad you worked through whatever it was that had you...not yourself.”
“I am, too, Lieutenant Commander,” he said, uncomfortable with the intimate topic now that it had turned to him.
She seemed to sense it, or perhaps she picked up on his formal use of her rank to address her. “I'm sure you hardly needed my approval,” she said with an uncomfortable laugh.
“I know your concern in that situation was the doctor. I can't fault you for that,” he said. “If you'll indulge me, I'd like to say something of a more personal nature to you, too.”
“Of course,” she said, nodding and settling a hand to the back of the chair in front of her.
“I think you take his devotion for granted, if not occasionally outright use it to your own ends. I haven't decided whether this is conscious on your part or not. If it is, then shame on you. If it isn't, you need to consider it.”
“I do no such thing!” she said hotly, her brows dipping downward.
“Don't you?” he asked, meeting her gaze squarely and holding it. “Did you ever find out the other night what plans he had that you usurped? Did he tell you the outcome?”
She frowned, some of her anger draining away. “No,” she admitted. “I didn't even think to. I was so absorbed...” She trailed off. “Did I ruin plans the two of you had?”
Garak considered a moment how to answer. “I believe you should ask the doctor,” he said. “I've said all I intend to say on the matter. I don't make it a habit to interfere in my friends' affairs, but since you've gone out of your way on more than one occasion to help me with Julian, I felt I should return the favor.”
She drew her lower lip between her teeth lightly, thoughtful and troubled. “I'm sorry I snapped at you,” she said. “I'll think about what you said, and I'll talk to him. Thank you, Garak. I should probably go.”
“As you wish,” he said. “I'm done with my lunch, and I have to get back to work, myself. For what it's worth, I wish you luck with your...situation.” She shot him a fleeting, genuine smile, dipped her head, and hurried away. He shook his head slightly and gathered his tray. He wasn't sure what to think of his expanding social horizons. It was nothing like Cardassia. He felt very out of his element and disconcerted that people seemed to value his opinion on personal matters. His life, as far as he could see, was hardly an example of how to cultivate and maintain a healthy romance. All he needed now was for some Bajoran to become genuinely interested in him to convince him he was losing all grasp on reality or how the world worked. He laughed to himself at that thought and did as he told Dax he intended to do, got back to work.
Julian
Dax's Private Quarters
Julian wasn't quite sure what to expect from being summoned to Dax's. He knew that Doctor Khan had departed the day before with the rest of the Trill scientists, and he knew without having to be told that Dax was crushed. It wasn't like her to open up when it came to such things. She usually withdrew until she had a handle on her emotions and refused to speak of her hurts until much later, if at all. He did his best not to have any preconceptions when she answered the door quietly in civilian clothing and let him in.
“I've been a horrible friend to you,” she said in a shaky voice and turned away from him.
“What?” he asked, taken aback. “Don't be ridiculous, Jadzia. You're one of the best friends I've ever had.” He closed the distance between them and put a hand to her shoulder.
She gently but firmly shrugged him off, turning with tears in her eyes. “No,” she said. “I take advantage. I know I do. This whole time Lenara was here, I was so absorbed in what I wanted and how to get it that I...I used you.”
He started to deny and stopped himself, thinking of Leeta. Hadn't that been exactly how he felt the night of the dinner? While he might never have told her this on his own, if she was bringing it up, he owed it to her to be honest. “I have to admit, it did feel that way a little the night we all had dinner together.”
She nodded and dabbed at her eyes. “I completely ran roughshod over your plans. I didn't even give you a chance to tell me what you were going to do. What did I ruin for you that night?”
He frowned slightly. Where was this coming from all of a sudden? “Did...Leeta talk to you?”
“Leeta? No, wh...Oh, no. Did I mess up a date?”
“We had dinner arrangements,” he said, feeling uncomfortable. He decided not to mention Garak, knowing that ever since he came to her about the trouble they had, she didn't much like the tailor. “She was upset. I think she might have been a little jealous.”
“I'm so sorry,” she said. “I suppose I should talk to her.”
“I'd rather you didn't. She'll think I talked to you about this, and I don't think that would go over well. You're a good friend, regardless of what you think. I...” He couldn't believe he was saying this, but he knew it was long overdue if he wanted any chance of things working out with Leeta. Thanks both to Garak and Leeta, he realized that he actually did. “I don't think we should see quite so much of each other outside of work. I mean, when you really need me, of course I want to be there, but... I need to focus more on what I'm doing with Leeta.”
She smiled a little sadly, but her look was understanding. “You're right,” she said. “You do. So, you've decided you love her after all?”
“I think I'm starting to,” he said, nodding.
“What about Garak?” she asked.
“There will always be a part of me that wants him,” he said, doubting he'd be able to tell that to anyone else. “I can't explain it, and even though I've tried, I can't make it go away. We're not good together, though. We...just hurt each other, even when we don't want to, and sometimes we actually want to. I can't do that. I can't live like that.” I can't lie to him well enough, and as dishonest as he is, he'll never accept anything from me that's less than the truth, he added silently to himself. “I thought you were glad Garak and I were through.”
“I don't know what to think about it. On one hand, I've never seen you more miserable than when you were with him, but I've also never seen you as happy. You're the only one who can decide if the balance is worth it, and since you're committed to making things work with Leeta, I have to believe you've decided this is better. As selfish as I can be, and as wrapped up in my own life as I get, it has never stopped me from wanting to see you happy. Who you're happy with has always been secondary.”
“See?” he said, forcing a smile. “You are a good friend. Are you all right, Jadzia? I know how much you wanted Lenara to stay.”
“I feel like a part of me has been ripped out,” she confessed. “But...” She held a fist out to him and quirked a crooked, painful smile. “This isn't love.” She relaxed her hand and made a fluttering gesture. “No matter what you do, you can't make them stay if they don't want to.”
He sighed and pulled her into a tight embrace. As much as he wished that he didn't, he knew that all too well. He wondered how soon it would be before it was his turn to let go again.
The End
Reflective Shards--Part II
Mar. 11th, 2010 04:44 amGarak
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.
Reflective Shards--Part I
Mar. 11th, 2010 04:41 amAuthor Notes: This story takes place before and during Rejoined. Very little dialogue from the episode made it into the story, just one exchange between Julian and a nurse regarding a patient with a broken leg. When watching the show, I always found myself wondering what plans Julian had that Dax strong armed him away from to chaperon her and Lenara for dinner. In some ways, this is my answer to that question.
Summary: In the wake of a tumultuous reunion between two symbionts with new hosts, Dax and Khan, Julian is forced to confront some harsh truths about relationships and what it takes to make them successful. Garak delves deeper into the mystery of what makes the doctor tick and discovers some surprising things about himself and his friendships along the way.
Author: Dark Sinestra
Date Written: March 2010
Category: Slash, Het, angst. Dear gods, lots of angst.
Rating: PG for adult situations and mild adult language.
Disclaimer: Paramount owns. Paramount profits. I write, pilfer, and poke, and all I get is an imaginary t-shirt that I think makes me look a little Cardassian.
Word Count: 18,008
Garak
Private Quarters
Running his comb through his hair one final time, Garak checked his reflection in his full length mirror. He had rejected the tunic that he knew was Julian's favorite. Being obvious had never been his style. Besides, he wasn't going to dinner in order to throw himself at his former lover in front of the man's current love interest. To say that would be poor form would be more than understatement. No, he agreed to this dinner date out of curiosity more than anything else. What did the dabo girl really want, and what did she expect to come of this? He didn't know her well enough to be able to take such a gesture at face value.
He sighed at his reflection, supposing it was unrealistic to expect entire satisfaction with face or figure at his age. The reality was that he was past his prime by at least a decade, more if he was being honest. He looked well put together and respectable in the rich brown tunic with gold accents, a newer piece that he had worn only twice before. He checked the chronometer, picked up the small gift basket sitting on his dining table by its handle, and headed out the door. Barring any distraction along the way, he knew he would arrive at Leeta's quarters about five minutes early, not early enough to be an imposition.
He inclined his head pleasantly to those he passed in the H-ring corridors, some returning the gesture, most not. After years on the station, he was so used to this treatment he hardly noticed it any more. It seemed natural. When he reached the Bajoran woman's door, he gave his tunic a final tug at the hem, shrugged his shoulders so that his sleeve cuffs fell just so, and rang the chime.
“Enter,” came a somewhat tremulous voice.
The door opened, and Garak stepped into a colorful room. Before he could stop himself, he curled his lip. The sharp, acrid stench of burnt food lay thick in the air in a haze of smoke. Leeta, dressed very modestly and looking quite nice, took one look at him and burst into tears. Julian was nowhere to be seen.
For a moment, he felt rooted to the spot. Tears were something he never handled well. It was different in an interrogation, when he knew the reason for them, fear or pain, and had been the one to induce them. However, coming across strong emotional displays unexpectedly threw him off balance, particularly with women. He hoped that she would pull herself together. Instead, she covered her face, sobbing for all the world as though she had just lost everything.
Oh, dear, Garak thought in dismay. Where was Julian? He looked for a place to set the gift basket and settled for a chair against the wall near the door, then closed the distance between them, reluctant to touch her. “Leeta?” he said tentatively.
“I'm sorry,” she choked out between sobs. “I...everything is just...Julian is late, and...oh, Prophets, what a...what a mess!”
Carefully, he reached out a hand and touched her shoulder. “Come now,” he said. “Let's...let's sit down for a moment, shall we?”
She allowed him to guide her to the sofa, sitting turned away from him and starting to wipe her face. “I...really am sorry,” she said in a shaky voice, trying to bring herself under control. “You probably think...I'm an idiot.”
“Of course not,” he said, although he wasn't sure how true that was. “Why don't you tell me what has happened? Perhaps I can be of help?”
“Just great,” she said miserably. “My house guest has to help me.”
“Or not,” he added quickly, terrified she was about to launch into a fresh batch of sobbing. “I...” He struggled for something to say that wouldn't sound inane, staying quiet for too long in the process.
She looked at him finally and swallowed hard. “This is really awkward,” she said, her lips trembling. However, she seemed to be pulling herself back together, no longer outright crying. She sniffed a few times and dabbed at her eyes with her fingers.
“Yes,” he agreed. “I'll find you a napkin.”
She stopped him with a hand to his sleeve. “No,” she said. “I'll do it. You just...sit.”
He did as she said, locking his hands around his knees in a tighter grip than it appeared. Of all of the things that had run through his mind in the past three days, this scenario wasn't one of them. At least she hadn't grabbed him or expected him to hold her. He wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't have outright fled had she done such a thing. He watched her warily as she blew her nose and wiped at her face with her back to him. “I should have just had Julian invite you out to eat with us,” she said, still not facing him. “I'm not a good cook. I never have been.” She blew her nose again.
“I...would have been fine with replicated food,” he ventured.
She turned to face him, tucking her napkin into a balled fist, and shaking her head. “No,” she said. “I mean, maybe you would've, but that's not the point.” She sighed heavily. “Two of the most important people in my life think so highly of you,” she said.
Two? He dipped his brow ridges downward in confusion. “Who?” he asked.
“Julian and Rom,” she said in a tone of voice that made it sound as though she thought he was silly for even having to ask. “They speak of you often, how intelligent you are, how much you know, how much you can do. I...I wanted to do something special.” She looked dangerously close to tears again, reaching up to dab at her eyes. “Nothing went right. I...I didn't even get off shift until almost seven this morning because the latinum tallies didn't work out right, so Quark wouldn't let anyone leave.
“The...the stall was out of katterpods altogether. Well, I couldn't make hasperat without katterpods as a side, so I...I stupidly tried for a soufflé instead. You can smell how well that went. Collapsed and burned, both. Julian called me about ten minutes ago to tell me he'd be tied up at least another hour because somebody came in with plasma burns, and he warned me you wouldn't be late. I thought about calling you, but I didn't want to be rude and cancel at the last minute. I should have.”
He realized that she was actually crying again, just much more quietly and in a more controlled way. He stood and approached her. “Do you know,” he said conversationally, “I've never been able to keep a soufflé from collapsing?”
“Have you ever even tried to make one?” she asked, her warm brown eyes narrowed in a shrewd squint.
He smiled. “Not even once,” he said.
Her smile began tremulously but quickly blossomed into full blown amusement. “You're...awful,” she said, her amusement then shifting to concern. “If you want to leave, I wouldn't blame you.”
“And if I want to stay?” he asked, once more carefully touching her shoulder.
“It would be beyond gracious of you,” she said. “The whole place reeks of burned food. I'm a mess, and who knows when Julian will get here? It's not like we can open a window.”
“We can open the door,” he said. “I can try to fan the worst of it out of here while you freshen up. We can either replicate something or pick up some take out from wherever you like. Besides, I brought wine, and, selfishly, I'd like to have at least one glass of it.”
She took his hand between both of hers and pressed it warmly, offering him another smile, this one more relaxed. “OK,” she said, some strength returning to her voice. “The corkscrew is on the table over there,” she gestured. “Why don't you go ahead and open the wine so it can breathe. I'll open the door so we can breathe, and I'll take your suggestion.”
He saw no guile in her open expression, just simple gratitude and underlying exhaustion that had to be more long term than just one night of lost sleep. He nodded and returned the squeeze, then disentangled himself so that he could do as she said. With the door open, the worst of the smoke dissipated, and his nose adjusted to the smell enough that it didn't phase him much. He took one of the large, colorful napkins and fanned around vigorously, airing out the place to the best of his ability.
So she's close to Rom, he thought. Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks, letting out a startled laugh, a realization hitting him hard. He played me, he thought. He actually played me! It made sense, Rom's inexplicable animosity toward Julian, how quickly he had come to Garak to tell him about his flirtation with Leeta, his subsequent siding with him and resentment of Julian. He felt no resentment at the fact, himself. It was his own fault for not looking harder at the Ferengi or truly questioning his motives. His respect for Rom notched higher. He was still chuckling quietly to himself when Leeta came out again, looking much more in control of herself and cleaned up.
“What's so funny?” she asked.
“I just imagined someone walking past your door and spotting me waving this napkin about,” he lied smoothly.
“You've done a wonderful job of clearing the air,” she said, instructing the computer to close the door once more. She hesitated and added, “In more ways than one. Thank you, Garak.”
“What kind of guest would I be if I left you in such straights?” he asked, uncomfortable with her gratitude. He didn't want to like her. She was making that difficult.
She curved a half smile and approached the table, pouring both of them a glass of wine. “Julian mentioned that about you,” she said, turning to hand him his.
“What?” he asked, feeling a little wary and at a disadvantage as he accepted the glass. She was bound to have heard much more about him than he her, at least some of it true.
“That you have a hard time taking credit for the good things that you do,” she said. Before he could think of a response to that, she changed the subject. “So, what will it be, replicator, or take out?”
Julian
The Infirmary
Julian double checked the readings on his patient before finally deciding to turn his care over to the night duty nurse. He had managed to patch the worst of the external damage, but it would be some time before the engineer's lung tissue and sinus cavities fully healed from the terrible burns they had sustained. He had the man heavily sedated and on the best pain medication he could obtain. There truly was nothing else he could do for him at the moment. “If there's any significant change in his condition, call me,” he instructed the nurse.
Of all the nights for something major to go wrong, it just had to be the night that Garak was due for dinner with him and Leeta. He winced to himself as he thought of what she must be going through at the moment. She had sounded on the edge of hysterics when he called her to let her know he'd be late, but he hadn't had time to find out what had happened, if anything. He knew that she was a ball of nerves about the dinner. He couldn't exactly blame her. Garak could be intimidating even to those who knew him well.
He hurried away from the infirmary on his way to the turbolift. He was already an hour and a half late. He hoped that they had decided to eat without him. Otherwise, the soufflé would have already collapsed, and everything would be cold. He had intended to stop by his quarters first so that he could change into something nice. He felt that if he did so now, Leeta might be angry with him for the further delay, and Garak would probably think it was rude. He wondered if Garak was utterly miserable. Leeta wasn't exactly the sort he usually chose to associate with, and if he had any lingering feelings of resentment or jealousy toward her, he would not be enjoying himself. He could also be incredibly snarky.
That thought made him hurry all the more once he stepped off on the correct level. He was jogging by the time he reached her door and keyed in the entry code. He walked in on the sound of mutual laughter and a faint, lingering scent of burnt food. “There you are,” Leeta said, unfurling from her seat at the table to greet him properly.
Garak stood and inclined his head pleasantly. “Good evening, Doctor,” he said.
Leeta gave him a quick hug and kissed his cheek then guided him over to the table with an arm around his waist. “Garak was just telling me about some of his adventures when he was a gardener,” she said. “Did you know he even spent some time on Romulus?”
“Did he now?” he asked, eying Garak a little warily. There was no telling what wild yarns he had been spinning for Leeta's benefit. As he took a seat at the table, he noticed that the food was all in take out boxes. “What happened to the soufflé?” he asked.
Garak shot him a warning look, but it was too late. A little bit of Leeta's good mood deflated. “I ruined it,” she said. “Just like I always ruin anything I try to cook that's harder than mashed katterpods.”
“Soufflés are very overrated,” Garak said. “Think about it. All that effort for what amounts mostly to air. I think it's the effort that makes people assume they're worth eating.”
She smiled warmly at him. “I'm almost one hundred percent sure you're just saying that for my benefit,” she said. “But I'm going to go ahead and believe you, because it's entirely too sweet of you.”
He watched the Cardassian, searching for tell-tale signs of dislike or sarcasm underneath the facade. So far, he could see none, but he didn't entirely trust his observation skills when it came to Garak. He could be extremely convincing when he wished to be. The two seemed comfortable together. Julian helped himself to what remained of the food and the wine. “Did you bring this?” he asked Garak as he poured.
“Indeed,” Garak replied. “I also brought some chocolates, but I'm afraid I ate so much dinner I couldn't possibly have any.”
“This is Leeta's favorite brand of spring wine,” Julian said.
“He asked Quark,” she said, smiling at Garak. “I'm not sure which surprised me more, the fact that he did that, or the fact that Quark knew.”
“He can be very thoughtful,” he said, also smiling at Garak and wondering somewhere in the back of his mind what the catch was.
“He really can,” she said. “It makes me sorry I waited this long to do this.”
“Well,” Garak said, “there's nothing to stop us from doing it again. We almost have to, given the fact that the doctor was held over at work so late.”
“Oh, yes,” she agreed, turning her attention back to Julian. “How is your patient? Did everything go OK?”
“He's stabilized,” he said, the entire moment strangely surreal. He expected tension and discomfort, perhaps false joviality from both of them, not this. How much of that wine had they drunk? Had Garak brought just one bottle? “I think he'll pull through. I have to say, the two of you are making me feel sorry I had to be late. It seems as though you've been having a good time.”
“The evening has been delightful,” Garak said pleasantly, “marred only by your absence. Wouldn't you say, my dear?” he asked Leeta.
“Yes,” she said. “I've been pleasantly surprised.” She turned her attention to Julian. “You know, I really understand now why you have lunch with him as often as you do. He's a marvelous conversationalist.”
“You're entirely too kind,” Garak said.
Julian laughed a little uncomfortably. “Forgive me for saying this, but the two of you are going to make me sick if you keep up this...”
“This what?” Garak asked, blinking at him innocently.
“Yes, what?” Leeta echoed, looking slightly cross.
“Nothing,” he said quickly, shoving in a bite of food so he wouldn't be expected to say more. He gestured for them to continue talking while he ate, actually quite hungry and realizing that if he said anything more along that line, he was going to find himself outnumbered. He also realized that he had been so worried that they wouldn't get along that he hadn't let himself consider how it would be if they did.
After all this time, he still couldn't tell when Garak was spinning tales and when he was telling the truth. While Julian ate, Garak continued telling Leeta of some of his exploits before he ever came to the station. Julian tried to read between the lines, suspecting that many of the mundane and amusing scenarios he described had buried within them clues of what really happened and what he had really been about. He noticed that Garak played to Leeta's interest in sociology. He could hardly be upset with him for being such a good guest, but he couldn't help but to wonder if the amiability hid an ulterior motive.
“Excuse me for just a moment,” she said at a natural lull in the conversation. She stood and wagged a playful finger at both of them. “No talking about me while I'm gone.” She then headed into the washroom.
Julian watched her go and then turned his attention back to Garak. “So,” he said, “enjoying yourself?”
“I am,” he said. “I was sorry you weren't able to have dinner with us, but I've...actually had a good time tonight.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the washroom and back to him. “She's a genuinely nice person,” he said.
“You thought I'd date someone who wasn't?” the doctor asked, amused.
“You did date me,” the tailor retorted with a gratified “gotcha” smile.
Julian shook his head and chuckled. “In the name of diplomacy, no comment.”
“Well, that's no fun at all,” Garak said, still smiling.
He thought of a couple of things he could say to that in return and said neither, surprised that after all this time, there were still moments that Garak could look at him in a certain way and make his breath catch. He was almost positive the Cardassian was aware of it and did it on purpose. By the time he realized they had held eye contact in silence far longer than was appropriate to the circumstances, Leeta returned and broke the moment. “Who wants chocolate?” she asked brightly.
Garak
Leeta's Quarters
He stayed later than he had originally intended. Leeta's second yawn in less than two minutes cued him that it was time to go. “Where has the time gone?” he asked, moving to stand from his seat on the sofa.
“I have no idea,” Leeta said sleepily. She stood at the same time Julian did. “I hate to be the one to ruin the party, but I'm so tired I can hardly see straight. Julian, would you be a dear and walk Garak home?”
“Of course,” the doctor said, hiding his disappointment at being kicked out fairly well. Garak doubted that she saw it.
She leaned up and kissed him good night then closed the distance to Garak and hugged him warmly, whispering in his ear, “Thank you so much for earlier.” He returned the embrace awkwardly and stepped back as soon as she allowed him, unused to such effusiveness. She walked both of them to her door. “Good night, you two. Thanks for a wonderful evening.”
“Thank you,” Garak said graciously. When the door closed, he looked at Julian. “You hardly have to walk me home,” he said. “It's not even on your way.”
“I don't mind,” the doctor said, falling into step beside him. “Besides, it gives me the chance to hear what you really think.”
“As disappointing as this must be for you to learn, in this case, I told you the truth,” he said, amused. “I like her. She's a good woman. You could certainly do much worse.”
“I worried that things wouldn't go well,” Julian confessed. “I know how you can be.” He glanced at Garak.
“Are you trying to pick a fight with me or flirt?” the tailor asked casually without looking at him. “Sometimes, it's difficult for me to tell.” Julian opened his mouth and shut it again, coloring faintly. Garak smirked inwardly. Some things never changed, it seemed. He could still flummox the younger human without much effort. “Either way it doesn't matter,” he continued. “I have no intention of poaching you from that lovely young woman.”
Julian cleared his throat. “You know, I'd actually have a say in the matter,” he said.
They stepped into the turbolift and Garak directed it to his level. “Of course you would,” he said reasonably, still not looking at the doctor. He changed the subject. “I have to admit that I was expecting that you'd stay the night.”
“Sometimes when she's really tired, she has a hard time sharing the bed,” he said.
“Why not seek quarters with a larger bed?” Garak asked.
Julian snorted a laugh. “You and I were together for years and never made such a move. Why do you think I'd be so quick to do it with someone else?”
Why not? Garak thought, finally looking over at him searchingly. Why such distance, even when you're close? It was something he had thought about before, of course, when they were still together. Seeing it from the outside, it seemed stranger than it had in the context of their own relationship, perhaps because he wasn't distracted by his own intimacy issues.
“What's with you and Dax trying to rush me into something?” he asked, looking irritated.
Why are you so desperate to put me off of this? Garak wondered. “Dax is Leeta's friend, is she not?” he asked instead.
“Yes,” Julian said warily.
“Then perhaps it's natural that she'd like to see two of her friends happy together,” he said.
“That doesn't explain you,” the doctor retorted.
“Is it so odd to you that I'd like to see you happy, as well?” he asked, cocking his head slightly.
The turbolift came to a gliding stop, and they stepped off of it, walking side by side at a leisurely pace. Julian looked chastened. “No, I suppose not,” he muttered. “I just don't want to rush things.”
Garak grunted a non comment. He didn't buy that for an instant, not coming from a man he knew usually made romantic decisions with the speed of a sand fly.
Julian stopped walking. “What was that supposed to mean?” he demanded.
“I don't know why you ask me about things you don't want to hear,” Garak said a bit crossly. “I tell you, and then you become angry with me. I've had a pleasant evening. I'd just as soon not end it on that sort of note.” He knew very well from hard experience that if he expressed his observation, Julian would simply find a way to provoke him to genuine anger or find another equally effective way to shut him out. He was tired of that dance, had tired of it well before they broke things off. It was no more attractive from a greater distance. He turned and kept walking.
“I know you mean well,” Julian said, trying to be conciliatory and hurrying to catch up.
“At least there's that,” Garak replied. “As you see, we're now at my door. This is where I should take my leave. Good night, Doctor.”
“Garak, wait,” he said, stopping him with a hand to his forearm. “I don't want you going to bed upset with me.”
Garak looked at his hand until he removed it. He raised his gaze, meeting the concerned umber eyes squarely. “What do you want?” he asked.
“That's...not fair,” Julian said hesitantly.
Garak snorted. “Neither is indecisiveness. When...if...you ever think you're ready to answer that question, I'd like to know. I'm sure Leeta would, too. Why do you think she was so keen to get to know me better? It's not the size of the bed that's the problem, and you know it. Good night, Doctor,” he said more firmly and this time stepped into his quarters and shut the door behind him before Julian could stop him.
He may not know what he wants, Garak thought, but I know what I don't want. I don't want any part of that same old pattern. He had wondered before the dinner if the time had possibly come for them to re-evaluate their friendship and take some steps toward the attraction that had never fully given way. Now he was quite certain that they should not, not while Julian still insisted on holding the entire world at arms' length. If he couldn't let someone as open and guileless as Leeta in, there was no hope of Julian's letting himself be close to him. He was positive of that.
He couldn't deny that he was disappointed, but he wasn't particularly angry. More than anything, he was curious. Perhaps he had never looked at the issue properly, he reflected. He had been so busy trying to find a way around it and feeling hurt and rejected when he couldn't, mostly on a subconscious level, that he never directly questioned why it was, or even what it was. Emotion never solved a problem, he thought. It only serves to cloud the mind. He decided that he'd be spending more time with Leeta in the future. Perhaps she could either directly offer some insight or indirectly give him something to observe. Now that he realized he was onto something, he wasn't going to be quick to let it go. As strange as it was, he recognized that in Leeta he had an ally in this situation. It was going to be interesting to see where it led.
Julian
Habitat Ring
Julian stood outside the closed door, so taken aback by what Garak had just said that at first he could hardly think of what to do. Since when had everyone decided that they knew more about his relationship with Leeta than he did? First Dax, now Garak, what right did they have to lecture him or take him to task, particularly Garak of all people? Indecisive? How was he being indecisive? So what if they had exchanged a few weighted looks over the past few months? They had always done that, even before he was consciously aware there was a mutual attraction. If Garak was under the impression he was trying to lead him on or get something started, well, he was going to have to set him straight about that.
He started walking before consciously deciding where he would wind up. It was a colossally bad idea, a stupid idea of epic proportions, yet he couldn't stop himself. The one person who always managed to make him feel better in situations like this was Miles. Besides, he still owed him a real apology and clearing of the air. This was as good of a time as any to do that. Miles was almost always still awake this time of night.
He hailed him and waited for him to answer. The answer was a little slow in coming. When the door opened, it revealed a somewhat disheveled engineer rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “Julian?” he asked. “What're you doin' here? 'S after midnight. Is everythin' OK? Is it Tommy?”
“Tommy?” he asked, frowning. “Oh, you mean Ensign Powers. No, no, it's nothing like that. His condition is stable.” He felt selfish now, peering into the bleary hazel eyes and realizing he had managed to drive all thoughts of sleep away from the man who took any accidents under his watch very seriously and personally.
Miles stepped back from the door and gestured him in absently, heading over to the replicator to order himself a cup of coffee. “Y' want somethin'?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.
Julian shook his head, smiling slightly as he stepped inside and took a seat in one of the deep leather chairs in the living room. “I suppose I thought you'd still be awake,” he said by way of apology. “You often are at this time.”
“I know,” he said, turning and bringing his coffee with him to the sofa. “Just crashed and burned tonight after cleaning up that plasma leak. I still don't know how it happened,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand through his tangled curls. “What can I do for you?”
“I haven't enjoyed...being at odds,” he said hesitantly, glancing at him uncertainly.
“You 'n me, both,” Miles said, looking understandably wary.
“I know why you did what you did,” he pressed on past his discomfort. He felt that he owed it to the friendship.
“You do?” the engineer asked, looking even warier.
Oh, God, he thought, suddenly alarmed. Stop right there, Jules. You're heading into dangerous territory. He was glad he had only had two glasses of spring wine before arriving. “Yes,” he said a little too quickly. “You saw it for the dangerous situation it was and saved me from my tendency to think like a doctor, even in tactical situations.”
O'Brien grunted softly. “Well,” he said, “it's not like I enjoyed doin' that to you.”
“I know,” he said, closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them, he smiled. “So, we're OK again? On for darts and all that?”
“If you like,” Miles said, returning the smile and seeming to relax. “It's been a little borin' tryin' t' play on my own. Hasn't caught on like I hoped it would at Quark's.”
“I know. I wonder why that is,” he speculated. “I suppose it doesn't matter.” He found himself lapsing quiet. Perhaps this truly hadn't been the best of ideas in his current mood. He felt restless, irritated, and more than a little put out, not just by Garak but by how often Leeta sent him packing instead of letting him stay. Garak was wrong; he was sure of it. Leeta wasn't worried about him as competition. If she felt any strange distance between herself and Julian, it was something else, something worse. He sighed.
Miles sipped his coffee and tilted his head. “What's got a bee in your bonnet tonight?”
“Leeta wanted to have Garak to dinner. I wound up being late,” he said glumly.
Miles winced. “How bad was it? He had her in tears by the time you got there, didn't he?”
“No,” he said. “They got along famously. It was...disturbing,” he added, widening his eyes.
“You'd better watch that,” the engineer advised, shaking a thick finger at him. “Nothin' worse than an ex an' a current gettin' all cozy. That's trouble. When that ex is Garak, I shouldn't have to tell you how much worse that can be.”
“Dax seems to think I'm still carrying a torch for him,” he said, testing the waters.
“Bollocks,” Miles snorted.
He knew that was meant to make him feel better, yet it didn't. He believed that the only reason Miles said or believed such was because of how much he disliked Garak and simply didn't want Julian to be with him. He scowled without realizing it.
“What?” Miles asked, sitting forward and setting his coffee mug on the coffee table. “Y' mean she's right?”
“What? No, of course not!” he protested.
“Then why the sour face?” he demanded.
“I know you don't like him. I wish...I just wish things weren't always so complicated,” he said, exasperated. “Dax and Garak should just mind their own business.”
“What'd Garak do?” he asked.
“Forget I said anything. I'm just making things worse. I came here to patch things up with you, not to dump my relationship woes in your lap.”
“Are you kiddin'? As much as you listen t' me belly achin' about Keiko, I feel like I owe you,” Miles said, chuffing a laugh.
“You love her,” he said a bit wistfully.
“Of course I do. She's my wife,” he said, sounding almost defensive for a moment, as though he was invested in convincing either Julian or himself of the fact.
“I wish...I wish I loved someone like that,” Julian said with a sigh. I wish that I could. It was a perpetual conundrum, his craving for intimacy at war with his inability to maintain it. Secrets such as his didn't allow room for the sort of commitment Miles exhibited toward Keiko, even with his divided loyalties.
“When you're ready for it, it'll come to you,” Miles reassured him. “You're a good man. You just have other priorities right now. There's nothin' wrong with that.”
“I suppose,” he said. He decided that he had imposed enough on his friend for one night. Spreading misery wasn't something he ever wanted to develop as a habit. “I think I'm heading to bed. It has been a long day in more ways than one.”
Miles nodded and stood with him, draping a casual arm across his shoulders, or was it so casual? Julian couldn't be sure. He walked with him toward the door. “I think you'll feel better in th' mornin' with some sleep under your belt,” he said. “Don't let Dax get t' you. She's too nosy for her own good. Ultimately, you're th' one who decides what's goin' on in your life, not people on th' outside lookin' in. If you knew how many people constantly predicted that me 'n Keiko were on the verge of divorce, you'd see how ridiculous that sort of gossip really is.”
Julian decided not to tell him that sometimes he was one of those people who felt that way. The only difference was that he respected Miles enough to keep his mouth shut about it. He gave him a closed lipped smile and clapped him on the back. “You're right,” he said. “Sorry for awakening you.”
The Irishman smiled and clapped him back. “Door's always open t' you. You know that. Night, Julian.”
“Good night,” he said, stepping out and not feeling any better whatsoever. He was being selfish using Miles like that, taking advantage of how he felt so that he could dump his problems on him any time he was out of sorts and no one else was available. It didn't matter that the engineer was sincere when he said it wasn't an imposition. He knew in his heart of hearts that someone who was just a friend and nothing more wouldn't put up with that behavior from him, not to the frequency and extent that Miles did. “You're a lousy friend,” he muttered to himself, heading back to his empty quarters at last. He had nowhere else to go.
Over the next several days, he tried to put some of the concerns raised by the dinner behind him without too much success. It didn't help matters at all that suddenly Garak and Leeta were seeing quite a bit of each other. True, it usually involved Rom, too, the three of them taking lunch or simply spending a little time in the Replimat before Leeta and Rom had to go to work. Rom's presence made him feel as though he couldn't join them, even when he had time to spare. It was no secret that the Ferengi didn't like him. He tolerated Rom's thinly veiled hostility only because he was Leeta's friend, and he knew that the two of them openly at odds would stress her more than she already was from her work environment. What was Garak about? He couldn't accept the situation at face value. There was no way that Garak had just suddenly decided that someone he always claimed to find a little vapid was stimulating company after all. Leeta's attitude toward him hadn't changed, though. She wasn't behaving strangely or secretively. No, whatever Garak was doing, it wasn't direct sabotage. Probably.
At least Dax had let up on nagging him about his relationship. Perhaps she truly did feel bad about making him angry, or perhaps she was simply gathering more ammunition before trying to come at him from a different angle. With her it was always so difficult to tell. Sometimes she could be doggedly focused to the point it bordered on obsession. She would then be just as quick to drop something never to mention it again. He had come to chalk these tendencies up to the mystery that was Jadzia Dax.
Her magic tricks in Quark's bar one night took him by delighted surprise. He never knew when he'd get to see yet another facet of past hosts surfacing in her mercurial nature. He rightly guessed the influence to be that of Tobin, the quiet, socially awkward host Miles had briefly hosted during the ritual. Unfortunately, Sisko called her away before he could see more sleights of hand, the results of which left Quark confused and irritated, always a plus.
He watched the Ferengi bartender pick at his ear for nearly a half hour, likely in the hopes of finding another strip of latinum. He would never tell Jadzia that he could follow what she had done with her hands or how he had seen it all. That would reveal his own brand of prestidigitation. No good magician ever reveals his tricks, he thought, some of his good mood slipping.
Dax returned to the bar, looking much more subdued than when she left. She seemed to debate with herself before coming over to join him again. All thoughts of his own issues fled at the sight of the expression on her face. He leaned his head close to hers when she arrived, murmuring, “What is it?” She shot a quick glance at Quark. He seemed distracted. That was no guarantee that he actually was. Julian understood instantly. She didn't want him overhearing. Settling a hand lightly to the small of her back, he led her away from the bar and walked her over to an empty table. They sat so close together, their knees touched.
She glanced around again before speaking. “There's a science mission coming here from Trill,” she said softly, a distant look in her pale blue eyes and her fingers laced loosely on the table top, twisting and fidgeting. She glanced at Julian. “One of the team members used to be my wife. Torias' wife,” she corrected herself quickly. “Khan was the symbiont of Torias' wife.”
He thought of what he knew of Trill society and the strict laws guiding associations formed in the past. “Oh,” he said, concerned. He covered both of her hands with one of his own. “Are you going to be all right? Do you think you should...I don't know, take some time off while they're here?”
She smiled slightly, twisting one of her hands beneath his so that it was palm up and she could give him a light squeeze. “Benjamin gave the same offer,” she said. “I'll be OK. The news just took me by surprise.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. He didn't know how much attachments carried from life to life, but he had to imagine it could be problematic if they had developed an entire codex of laws to govern the situation. “What...happens if the two of you...you know. Get close again?”
“We'd be exiled from Trill,” she said simply, meeting his gaze.
He jerked slightly, taken aback. “But if that happened...”
“Yes,” she said. “Both symbionts would die when we died.” She paused and gave him a softer smile. “Which is why you don't have to worry. I'm not stupid. I have no intention of throwing my life, Dax's life, away over this. It may be awkward and a little painful, but I'll handle it.”
He gave her a searching look. “Well,” he said finally, “if you need someone to talk to, you know I'll be here for you.”
“Yes, I do,” she said, standing suddenly and leaning in to kiss his cheek. “I have a little research to do before calling it a night. Thank you, Julian. I'll see you in the morning.”
He watched her walk away, his stomach slightly tight with vague anxiety. He hoped that she was right about her ability to handle the situation. After seeing how quickly she could fall in love when the conditions were right, he was far from certain, himself. Fall in love with anyone but you, he thought a little glumly. He wondered if he would ever fully get over his attraction to her any more than he would his attraction to Garak. Always drawn to the people most likely to see right through you, he thought. Where's the logic in that? He shook his head and stood, tired of the bar noise and ready for bed. It would be much better to sleep than to stew. Stewing just got him into trouble.
Impact, Part II
Mar. 4th, 2010 07:29 amJulian
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.
