Author notes: This story spans the Deep Space 9 episodes The Abandoned through Life Support. I used a few lines directly from the script of Civil Defense, namely the computer notifications and one brief exchange between Bashir and Garak in Ops. Although I didn't modify the basic plots of any of the shows I included, I did give a pretty different take on Fascination. They played it for comic effect, but at its core, the situations set up in that show were pretty disturbing and would be scary for those involved. Plus, it made no sense to me only principal cast members were affected when Lwaxana was all over the Promenade. This story could still qualify as a stand-alone, but with the weight of back story building up, it makes more sense at least in the context of “The Servant of Your Heart”.
Summary: Julian Bashir and Elim Garak walk the edges of the line in the sand that Garak drew, each believing himself to be right. In a world of ever shifting alliances and increasingly complicated politics, the two discover that a balance of power is almost impossible to maintain.
Author: Dark Sinestra Date Written: December, 2009
Category: Slash
Rating: NC-17 for explicit violent sex, mild adult language, intense adult themes, and character death.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the people, places, things, or events from Star Trek Deep Space 9. All remain the property of Paramount, and I receive nothing but gratification in the knowledge that I would've enjoyed my TV show more.
Word Count: 16,519
Julian
The Infirmary
The doctor frowned and flinched away as Dax tried to hold him firmly by the chin and take a closer look at his face. “Will you stop squirming, Julian?” she said in frustration. “I'm trying to see if that Jem'Hadar boy cracked your temporal fossa or your zygomatic process when he hit you.” She took a scanner from a nearby nurse and ran it close to his cheek and the side of his eye.
“I'm fine,” he said yet again. “And he's not really a boy anymore, is he?”
“Not so much, no,” she said grimly. She turned off the scanner and handed it back to the nurse. “Thank you,” she said to her and turned her attention back to him. “You got off lucky, no fractures. You ought to let them treat you for the contusion, though.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to protest, but he knew that level look. It would be more trouble than it was worth. “Fine,” he said, beckoning the nurse over to help him. “What I really need is to be able to examine him further and see if I can synthesize that missing enzyme. I'm certain it's contributing to his erratic behavior.”
“Probably so. I'm sure Benjamin will want to see us in the wardroom soon. Do you want me to wait for you?”
“No,” he said. “You go ahead. I'll catch up.” He didn't know how to tell her that her solicitousness since Garak abruptly broke things off with him wasn't always welcome. He wasn't sure she would listen to him anyway. As things were, the only solitude he managed to carve out for himself was during work, when he could legitimately claim that he didn't need the distractions of others, and late at night, when he desperately did but couldn't bring himself to disrupt his friend's sleep. He sat still while the nurse ran the tissue regenerator over his swollen cheek, feeling the throbbing pain ease.
Under normal circumstances, he'd view the chance to observe a growing Jem'Hadar up close as an exciting, once in a lifetime opportunity. To be sure, he was taking copious notes and paying close attention. However, it didn't thrill him. Nothing did. He felt as though he was just going through the motions, and the pain never went far. All he had to do was to look down the Promenade and see Garak's shop or catch a glimpse of him going about his routine, and he was right back to that feeling that he couldn't get enough air and that too much of the light had gone out of his world.
He thanked the nurse and followed in the earlier footsteps of Dax toward the wardroom. The meeting went about as he expected it to go. Of course brass wasn't going to want to pass up the opportunity to study one of the enemy's shock troops up close. Kira's overly enthusiastic support of the idea of turning the young being into a lab experiment irked him. He was pleased to have the opportunity to throw in his support with Odo. He remembered very well how it felt to be a laboratory subject, the pain of all the changes he went through during his illegal gene therapy treatments. He wasn't certain if he had his complete memories from that time, but he had enough. As he listened to the Constable's impassioned plea on the young warrior's behalf, he wished that he could let the changeling know just how much they had in common. It would be a relief to be able to talk to someone who understood.
Commander Sisko asked to speak to Odo in private, and Julian decided to go check on the boy. It was hard to stop thinking of him in that way, even harder to believe that he had just recently held him in his arms as an infant. When he reached the security office, he found the powerful alien flinging himself against the holding cell shielding, and no amount of explaining on his part would calm him. Only the presence of Odo managed that, so it was fortunate that he joined them shortly and talked him down.
It made the doctor burn with anger to think of a race of beings so carefully bred and manipulated. They were nothing more than genetic slaves to the Founders. If he could help this one, he fully intended to. He also knew how it felt to be designed and engineered, to wonder what parts of oneself were genuine and what parts were put there at the request of others. He wondered if he would every truly and fully be able to forgive his parents for that. He didn't think of it often. In facing the Jem'Hadar, he found the issue brought front and center in a way it hadn't been in years.
Having such a challenging task set before him as synthesizing the complex enzyme missing from the boy's system kept him blessedly distracted for hours. He was disappointed that Miles and Odo managed to find a hidden cache of it before he succeeded. As it was more important that the boy be given some relief, he discovered that the best way to pass it quickly into his body was through the carotid artery. He kept samples aside for study and research and gave the rest to Odo for safe keeping. The two left the infirmary together.
A few hours after that, he heard a hail on the infirmary comm and turned to accept it personally. He had made progress on his analysis of the enzyme and hadn't noticed how much time had passed. He recognized the doctor on the screen as an expert in xenoimmunology whose papers were almost always cropping up in most of the medical journals he kept up with, someone stationed on Starbase 201. He schooled his features to politeness, but he was angry. Starfleet was obviously not willing to let this go. “I see I didn't awaken you, Doctor Bashir,” the older man said. “Good. I wanted to extend the professional courtesy of requesting all of your notes and the results of any experiments you've run on that Jem'Hadar of yours personally. You've been making quite a name for yourself lately.”
“Thank you, Doctor Ramirez,” he said, distantly polite. “I've read many of your papers. Your work on the polymerase chain reaction of the J8B5 virus for safer vaccines along the Tzenkethi Border is particularly brilliant. You've likely saved hundreds of lives.”
“That's why we do it, isn't it?” he said, obviously flattered. “Having the chance to study this specimen may save hundreds, if not thousands, more. I must say I envy your position there, right at the cusp of the passage to the Gamma Quadrant.”
“It's rarely dull,” he replied, impatient with the jocular small talk when a sentient being's life hung in the balance. “I trust you'll treat him well?” he said.
The man blinked. “Who? Oh, you mean the specimen? Well, of course, we'll treat it as well as we can, but as you know, we can't always be as non-invasive as we like.”
“Of course,” he said, his voice hardening. “Doctor, my apologies, but it's very late here. It will take me some time to collate the data for transmission, as I wasn't expecting to have the situation taken out of my hands this quickly. We told the boy he would be staying here for now.”
“Of course,” the man said, completely ignoring the not so subtle rebuke. “I eagerly await your findings, Doctor. Ramirez out.”
The transmission ended, and Julian slammed the flat of his hand down on the table beside it. “Damn!” he said.
A late shift nurse stuck his head around the corner. “Is everything all right, Doctor?”
“No, but we have work to do. Help me get this data sorted,” he said, making room for the nurse. “We'll be sending it off to Starbase 201 in short order.”
He left the infirmary very late, affording himself less than four hours of sleep before it was time to get back to work. It wasn't the first and wouldn't be the last time he stretched himself thin. It came with the territory for medical staff. His mood improved somewhat when he heard the next day that the Jem'Hadar had managed to commandeer a runabout and escape and that no one got hurt in the process. Good for you, he thought. Don't ever turn back. You're probably better off with your Founders.
He didn't like feeling this way, disgusted with his superiors and his government, first over the treatment of Garak, now this. It made him wonder if he hadn't made a mistake in joining Starfleet. He could have made a decent career for himself as a civilian doctor and never faced so many ethical challenges. He could have stayed in Paris and never had his heart crushed. In leaving, had he not done the same to his fiancée? He had justified himself by saying that they were too young to have gotten engaged and that he hadn't thought hard enough about how he had his whole life ahead of him. In hindsight, in light of his broken heart, he realized that his decision was selfish, childish, and cruel. How many women had he dallied with, nearly all of them more serious about him than he was them? How many hearts had he broken? Maybe in some way, he deserved to feel the way he did.
He grumbled at himself for entertaining such bleak thoughts. Connecting what Garak had done to anything in his past was illogical. There wasn't some giant scale in the sky, keeping track of words and deeds and bringing down a hammer to equal the balance. The only relevant part of what he had been thinking was that it was irresponsible to make commitments he didn't know if he could keep at the time he made them. If getting hurt this badly prevented him from breaking other hearts in the future, then something positive came of it. It's a pity I'm just not that good at lying to myself, he thought. I don't feel any better at all.
Garak
Garak's Clothiers
On early mornings, the Promenade was now deserted. Garak toyed with the idea of opening his shop later, not that it would matter much. Early, late, he had few customers. He counted himself lucky that even when things were going well financially, he had lived frugally and modestly. He was in no danger of losing his roof over his head or his basic necessities. He knew the Ferengi across the way were much more worried and had far more to lose than he.
With Julian out of the picture as his steady lunch companion, he had taken to lunching at times with Rom. It wasn't the same, of course. Rom wasn't much of a reader and knew very little of any alien literature. He did, however, speak at length about his son Nog, his brother, their family life, and the situation at the bar. Garak took a vicarious sort of pleasure in this talk of family. He'd never tell Rom, but there were times he envied him his freedom in having a child and raising him openly. It was a luxury he would never be able to afford, no matter how much money or resources he might accrue.
He thought as little of Julian as he could, something he knew that most of the doctor's friends would judge as typical and misconstrue as a lack of care. They were so closed minded. Any Cardassian would understand his reasoning easily. Closed doors wouldn't stay that way if one were constantly opening them and peering at the contents they were meant to shut away. He had good, sound reasons for cutting things off when he did. It was unfortunate that in the process both of them were hurt. They would have been hurt much worse if things continued to progress along the course he saw, and it could have cost the young officer his entire promising career. No matter what the doctor thought in his love blindness, Garak knew that a relationship with him wasn't worth that price. He had nothing that valuable to give to the dear man in return, not even the ability to say, I love you, and mean it without ambivalence.
He bustled about and tidied the already immaculate place as he did every morning, lifting his head and straightening when Lieutenant Dax strode through his doors looking like a woman on a mission. He had been expecting this, either from her or one of the others. “Good morning,” he said pleasantly. “Have you been enjoying your new dress?”
“I haven't had the chance to wear it yet,” she confessed. “I haven't been able to do much socializing lately. Have you?”
He arched an eye ridge. “My dear Lieutenant, if you look around you, you may notice that we have a...lack...of civilians of late. Alas, I have more than enough time on my hands but few potential companions to choose from.”
“I wanted to know if you'd like to have lunch with me today,” she offered.
It wasn't exactly what he had been expecting. Now he simply expected that conversation to occur at a later date. “I regret that I have a lunch date already.”
She looked surprised. To her credit, she hid it quickly. “Well, how about dinner, then?”
“Do we have enough to discuss for a dinner?” he asked her, favoring her with a somewhat pointed look.
“We don't have to talk about Julian at all,” she said. “I'm sorry if I gave you that impression. So, are you interested?”
“My dear, I'm positively intrigued,” he replied. Perhaps they wouldn't have that expected conversation at all, if she was to be believed.
“I'll come by after work to pick you up, then,” she said. “I'd wear the dress, but I don't want to give anyone the wrong impression.”
He smiled, delighted at how deftly she made it clear that she had no interest in him without ever really saying such a thing at all. It was unnecessary, the lack of interest mutual; however, he knew that she received more than her fair share of romantic offers. Rebuffing them before they came was probably second nature by now. “No,” he agreed. “We can't have that. I shall see you then?”
“Yes,” she said, nodding and leaving for Ops.
He worked through the morning, enjoyed his lunch with Rom, and caught up with some reading on a seat behind his counter during the afternoon. As evening approached, he began to think of the coming dinner plans and wonder what Dax might want with him, if not to discuss Julian. The computer's voice coming from his counter console had his head jerking up in surprise, keen gaze flashing to focus on the terminal. “Warning...worker revolt in progress in Ore Processing Unit Five...security countermeasures initiated.”
“No,” he said, jumping up from his seat. “What have those fools gotten into now?” Before he could key in a query, Gul Dukat's face popped up on screen to relate a pre-recorded message that he recognized all too well. He sighed deeply and pressed his lips together in irritation. The beginnings of a headache announced themselves behind his eye ridges and along the top of his skull. He had much bigger things to worry about than a migraine, such as the fact that he seemed to have now been shut out of his own computer terminal. “Oh, you pompous windbag,” he growled under his breath. “You think you're so clever!”
He immediately left the shop, locking it down and heading toward Security. He reached the office only to find Odo and Quark inside. “Excuse me, Constable,” he said, “but I seem to have been locked out of my computer. I was wondering if perhaps I could use yours?”
Odo glanced up at him impatiently. “Not now, Garak,” he grated. “I can't even use it. I don't have high enough clearance.”
“I've been telling him I can give him Level Seven,” Quark said, rolling his eyes, “but does he listen to me?”
“Be quiet, Quark,” Odo and Garak said at the same time.
They glanced sharply at one another. Before Garak could ask for access a second time, the computer's voice said, “Warning. Workers have escaped from Ore Processing Unit Five. Initiating station-wide counterinsurgency program.”
“Oh, damn,” Garak said mildly, turning and rushing down the Promenade just in time to avoid the forcefield that sprang to life, sealing Odo and Quark inside. He didn't have time to argue anymore. Perhaps they'd listen to him in Ops. He hoped they would, or things were about to get much more dead than they had been of late. He had a moment of anxiety when he hit the first forcefield in front of the turbolift, but his access code worked. He hurried as fast as he possibly could, having to stop again and again to deactivate more fields. He noticed they sprang back to life as soon as he passed. Dukat's ostentatious voice droned on and on. “He always did love the sound of his own words,” he muttered.
When he reached one of the hallway terminals, he tried to shut down the program with his access codes. Nothing happened. He then tried to quick and dirty a few subroutines to no avail. “Of course, it's not going to be that easy,” he said in frustration.
By the time he reached Ops, he had heard the threat about the habitat rings being flooded with neurocine gas. Well, Elim, he thought dryly, you always worried you'd die on this station. It may happen much sooner than you anticipated. He saw Major Kira, Dax, Julian, and some personnel he didn't know in Ops behind the forcefield. At least they had managed to pry open the door. They seemed more than a little surprised to see him. No one will ever believe I'm just a tailor now, he thought. Oh, well, better to have the chance to worry about how to get out of that later than die for the perfection of a lie.
Julian
Ops
As ridiculous as it made him feel on one level, Julian was extremely glad to see Garak just then. It didn't make their situation any less grim, and he wasn't certain they'd manage to get out of the trouble they were in alive, but at least if he did die, it would be with someone he loved. He shouldn't have been surprised that the canny Cardassian had a plan. It didn't work out the way any of them expected, instead triggering yet another level of the counterinsurgency measures. Despite the setback, Garak forged ahead with another plan, one endorsed and improved upon by Dax. When he was sure that Dax's burned hands were as all right as they could be under the circumstances, he stood off to the side and watched the tailor trying to forge Gul Dukat's codes in order to shut down the system. He couldn't help but to smile and tease him. It might be the last chance he ever got to do it. He had never been more proud of him than in that moment.
Garak inadvertently tripped a failsafe before Dax had a chance with Kira's help to disable internal sensors. The wall replicator sprang to life, and in the flash of an eye, a man was dead. Shocked, the doctor dove for cover and watched the rest of them do the same as energy beams blasted from the now deadly machine. Every move they tried to make earned them more blasts. He narrowly avoided losing an arm trying to reach Major Kira's phaser. He could just see Garak under Dax's console as they all shouted back and forth to one another, doing their best to formulate a plan under fire.
My poor Elim, he thought sadly. Every time you try to do the right thing by any of us, things just get worse for you. He knew the tailor wouldn't be in any danger at all had Commander Sisko, Miles, and Jake not been poking around in the deserted guts of the ore refinery. He wished that he could apologize to him on Starfleet's behalf, but now wasn't the time or place for that.
Gul Dukat's sudden appearance, for real this time, in Ops cut off all further thought in that direction. He watched him very closely, not nearly as intimidated in his presence as he had been three years before. He waited for an opening as the Gul spoke to them, and when the arrogant Gul disabled the blaster in the replicator to make himself some tea, he almost had it. Surging to his feet, he had no choice but to dive right back down again, the diabolical lens reappearing as soon as Dukat stepped out of the way. That was too close, he thought.
Dukat approached Garak, and he tensed again. He wouldn't let him hurt him, no matter the cost. He felt his fists ball as the man taunted the tailor. To his horror, Garak seemed to be rising to the bait, swiftly standing from his cover. He couldn't stop himself from crying out, “Garak!”
“Easy, Doctor... it would seem that the computer is only targeting non-Cardassians after all,” Garak said with his eyes locked to Dukat's.
He felt his limbs flooded with the weakness of relief. Thank God, he thought. He listened in uneasy fascination to the calmly delivered but hostile exchange between the two. Old friends indeed, he thought dryly, recalling what Dukat had said of Garak the first time he had ever spoken to him. His dislike of the Gul intensified to something more visceral as he openly threatened Garak. He was glad that the tailor refused him the satisfaction of getting a rise, for he knew his ex had a temper underneath his blasé facade.
He slowly stood after Dukat deactivated the blaster and retreated with Major Kira into Commander Sisko's office. “What do you think he wants?” he asked the others in a low voice.
“He obviously wants the station,” Dax said grimly, glancing at Garak. “Do you think this will fly with your government?”
Julian watched Garak's face as he considered his answer. “If he has enough support in the military, it might,” he said. “I wish I could tell you for certain, Lieutenant, but I'm no longer familiar enough with the political climate on Cardassia to provide an educated opinion.”
He wanted so badly to have a moment alone with the tailor. Their eyes met briefly, and it hurt him to see cool assessment instead of any warmth. It was Elim in the infirmary all over again, vulnerable and yet stubbornly refusing to yield a centimeter. He was angry with himself for expecting anything different and dropped the eye contact first.
“Garak,” Dax said, “since it's looking like we might not have that dinner date after all, I want to tell you the main thrust of what I had to say to you. I'm only sorry I'll have to be much briefer than I intended.”
Julian looked between the two of them, irrational hurt flaring and then subsiding again. Of course it wasn't a date date. Dax would never do that to him. If she had, she certainly wouldn't be bringing it up in front of him now. “I can't give you any real privacy, but if I step to the far wall and you speak quietly, I won't hear you,” he offered.
“No, Julian, it's all right,” she said. “I don't mind if you hear this.” She shot a questioning look at Garak to see if he did.
“I'm fine with that, Lieutenant,” he said.
“Good. I wanted to thank you for helping us save Nerys,” she said.
“It's not as though I had a choice,” Garak responded, a touch of steel beneath his polite tone.
“I meant before that,” she said, unphased. “When you did.”
The doctor felt a surge of gratitude for the Trill that he tried to convey with his eyes alone. He didn't want to butt in, and he wanted Garak to have a chance to respond. It meant more to him that she would make that gesture than he could express. The fact that she had intended to do it in private made it mean that much more, for he knew that it truly was for Garak and not for him that she said it.
Garak waited a few beats to respond. “My only regret is that I won't have the chance to see how you intended to stretch that out for the length of an entire meal,” he said with an incline of his head.
Both doctor and science officer chuckled, their levity fading quickly when yet another announcement came from the computer regarding Dukat's cowardly attempt to escape the station and his failure to maintain order. As the self destruct sequence was announced, only Garak laughed. It had a very dry, ironic sound to Julian's ears.
“I don't see what's so funny,” Dax murmured.
Garak simply indicated Kira and Dukat coming out of the Commander's office with a tip of his chin. Dukat's expression was thunderous. Despite the desperation of the situation, Julian felt tempted to laugh as well. There was nothing quite so gratifying as seeing a blow hard hoisted upon his own petard.
They all gathered around Dukat at the central table and watched him try to disable the security measures. Garak laughed again at the man's failure, and Julian found himself privately grateful that their breakup hadn't been acrimonious. He had no doubt that otherwise, he might have found himself on the receiving end of the tailor's extraordinarily pointed barbs. It seemed that for those who earned his true dislike, his malice knew no limits. As entertaining as it was to see Dukat repeatedly put in his place, particularly when it came to his misguided hitting on Major Kira, it wasn't helping matters. He finally spoke up and told Garak such, hoping that he'd direct his attention back to finding a way out of the deadly situation.
In the end, it was Dax and Dukat who came up with their best chance for success. Unfortunately, it relied on the Commander and Miles being able to reach a critical area of the station and disable the laser fusion initiator to prevent an overload of the main reactor core. They all waited together in tense silence with less than ten minutes left to discover their fates, life, or a quick, fiery death that would leave them nothing more than vaporized particles adrift in space.
Julian positioned himself in front of Garak and drew in a breath, determined to tell him how much he meant to him and that he didn't hold it against him for the decision he made. The tailor cut him a very sharp warning look and flicked his glance quickly to the side to indicate Dukat not so very far away. It was too late. Dukat had already noticed that he was about to speak to Garak, and his pale blue eyes were focused on Julian with intense interest. “It may be bad timing,” the doctor said, “but I was just wondering if you ever managed to hem those pants I brought to you last week.”
“I can't believe you,” Kira said. “We could be space dust any minute, and you're worried about a pair of pants?”
“They're very nice pants, Major,” Garak said mildly. “As a matter of fact, they're ready to be picked up. I intended to tell you this evening, Doctor, but I got a little distracted.”
Dukat looked away from all of them in disgust, and Julian took the opportunity to offer Garak a very small smile. Affection surged in his breast as he realized that even now, Garak was behaving and thinking as though they would survive the situation. For as much as the Cardassian liked to claim that he was a cynic and a pessimist, he kept Julian from revealing a potential weakness in front of a dangerous enemy in case they all lived to face another day. Garak didn't return the smile, but Julian noticed a slight softening of his gaze. It was enough.
“Let's get people moving,” Dax said. “We might have time to get at least some of the people off the station before it blows.”
There was no more time for good-byes. They all got to work, doing what they could. After a few minutes more, it became clear that the crisis had been averted. Dukat beamed away before any of them could stop him. They had worse problems to deal with, such as the fact that life support had been destroyed, and they had but twelve hours to get it back online and operational. Julian retreated to the infirmary, expecting and receiving several cases of people who had been overwhelmed with panic. There were even a few heart attacks during and after the crisis. He had no idea where Garak went or what he had done after they parted company in Ops, but he knew he'd see him again. Perhaps he'd be willing to talk then without Dukat in the way.
Garak
Private Quarters
He hated those pills Julian gave him for his migraines, as they affected him strangely and usually made him have nightmares. The pain was too great this time to combat with kanar alone. The strain of the past several hours combined with having to endure Dukat's company in close quarters insured a headache to rival all headaches. As soon as he had managed to reach his quarters, no easy task without the turbolifts functioning, he took a handful of the wretched things, killed the lights, and lay down on his couch with a cool, wet cloth draped over his forehead and eyes.
He was starting to drift into nightmare, the faces of many of his former victims floating into his view like dead, bloated things on the surface of dark water, when his door chime dragged him back to the waking world. He sat up, disoriented and still in pain. The almost dry cloth fluttered from his face and startled him when it landed on his hands. “Computer,” he said thickly, “lights, ten percent, and who is at the blasted door?”
“Rephrase the question,” the computer said as dim light flooded his sitting room.
They could program it to do so many things, and yet recognizing slang seemed beyond it. “Who is at my door?” he asked, exasperated.
“Major Kira Nerys.”
He quirked an eye ridge and immediately regretted it. Steeling himself for whatever was about to happen, he wished his phaser wasn't all the way in his bedroom. “Enter,” he said quietly.
The door slid open, and Kira stood beyond the threshold. She seemed reluctant to step into the dim room, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. Tucking her head down slightly, she pressed her lips thin and stepped across the threshold. Her shoulders twitched when the door shut behind her. “Why is it so dark in here?” she demanded.
“Major,” Garak said, wincing, “please, keep your voice down. I...have a headache.” He didn't like to admit even that much weakness to her. If he didn't, he knew that she would continue barking things at him, and her voice would pierce straight to the center of his brain.
“Oh,” she said, blessedly more quietly. “I'm...sorry to bother you.” She stood just before his door, looking awkward and uncertain.
He wondered if he should wait her out or just ask what she wanted. She was so volatile, it was hard to judge moment to moment the best way to handle her. Pain was very much a factor in his asking, “Is there something I can do for you, Major? You'll have to forgive me for my limited hospitality at the moment. I was asleep.”
“Maybe I should come back another time,” she said, sounding relieved.
That relief changed things. His eyes narrowed very slightly. “No, not at all,” he said more brightly, forcing himself to sit up straighter. He gestured her over to the chair opposite his sofa. “You came all this way with the turbolifts offline. It must be important.”
“I prefer to stand,” she said. She made some concession to him, however, by stepping closer so that she could speak more quietly. “I...wanted to...thank you,” she said, speaking with difficulty, “for getting Dukat to back off. I...you know, I wasn't even aware that he was...” she paused and shuddered, “that he was hitting on me until you said something and he reacted the way he did.”
Garak inclined his head, surprised that she was thanking him, but even more surprised that she hadn't been aware of what was so blatant that it was offensive to him. “You were a bit distracted,” he said.
She snorted softly. “Still...was he really? Isn't it just as likely he was trying to goad me? He's such a complete ass, it wouldn't surprise me.”
“With all due respect, Major, perhaps you don't read Cardassians as well as you think you do,” he said. “I can assure you that he was very aggressively trying to impress you to a degree that I felt was unhealthy, particularly in light of his family situation.”
She scowled. “That's so disgusting. Why? Why me of all people?”
He had several theories, none of which he was inclined to share with her. No matter how much he hated Dukat, he was not going to give a Bajoran insight into the Cardassian psyche willingly. “That's something I'm afraid I can't answer,” he said. “You'd have to ask Dukat, not that I recommend it.”
“I think I'll pass on that,” she agreed. “Why did you tell Julian about my abduction?” she asked abruptly.
He graced her with an ironic half smile. “Are you going to believe anything I say in answer to that?”
She pressed her lips together again. “Probably not,” she replied.
“Then I'll just let you draw your own conclusions,” he said tiredly. “It takes less energy, and it's what you'll do anyway.”
She regarded him in silence, her black eyes reflecting the low light in twin gleams like the surface of a mirror. “I am grateful,” she said at last, “but it doesn't change anything. I think you're a snake who'd sell all of us out the first chance you got.”
“It's always good to know where one stands,” he answered, not that he needed her to tell him any of that. He knew it all too well.
She folded her arms. “Do you know how many Bajorans died during the occupation, Garak?”
“If you want to know the truth of it, I never gave it much thought,” he said in an offhand way. He wanted her to leave now, and he knew that goading her would be the quickest way to get his way.
“Why does that not surprise me?” she asked. “Ten million. Ten million men, women, and children who never did anything to your people to deserve what you did to them, to us. I don't know what your role was in the occupation, but I promise you if I ever find out that you were responsible for even one of those ten million, I'll do everything in my power to see that you pay for it.”
He didn't want to think about it, and his mind rejected the figure outright. What did she expect him to do about it? What did she expect any Cardassian who had a hand in that to do? Did she honestly think the state had any more compassion for disobedient servants than it did for those it occupied? He knew from first hand experience, being one of the tools for discovering dissidents, that it did not, and she should have known after seeing the recording by Kell regarding Dukat's supposed cowardice in trying to abandon the station during the “revolt”. He felt a flare of anger for this woman whose life he had saved at great personal risk having the temerity to come into his quarters and harangue him about something over which he had no control. “If you ever do find such a thing,” he said lightly, “I'll be happy to indulge you then. Until then, as far as I'm concerned, the subject is closed.”
“You're as arrogant as Dukat,” she spat, clenching her fists.
“No, dear Major,” he said. “Dukat merely thinks he is the best at what he does. I know I am. That's not arrogance. It's confidence. Was there anything else you needed? Your uniform let out a bit, perhaps?” The glare she shot him was hot enough to melt latinum. Without another word, she whirled on her heel and stalked from his room. All in all, he had handled that somewhat more ham fisted than was his wont, but she did catch him at a bad time. The things that came out of his mouth during his migraines sometimes surprised even him.
After re-wetting his cloth, he resettled on his couch, the bedroom too daunting a trek in his state. “Computer,” he said, “lights out, and disable door chime. I don't want to be disturbed again tonight unless the station is in danger.” The nightmares returned in force, but he slept so deeply that by the time he awoke close to lunchtime, he remembered nothing more than vague, disturbing impressions that seemed connected to things that Major Kira had said. Why had he ever let her in his quarters to begin with? He knew it could only end badly. Live and learn, Elim, he thought dryly. Live and learn.
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