dark_sinestra

Author Notes: The story is an in-between story, taking place after Let He Who is Without Sin... and before Things Past. It's the beginning of some of the canon departures I've mentioned, minor so far, that will build over time throughout the rest of the series. Some of the Jem'Hadar dialogue comes from In Purgatory's Shadow. Chronology between Julian's part of the story and Garak's isn't exact. I wrote it for flow, not precision of the lining up of events while they're apart.

Summary: Julian does his best to adjust to the harsh conditions of Internment camp 371 and convince his bunk mates that he's more useful alive than dead while Garak tries to adjust to a return to life outside of confinement and fulfill the obligation he made to attend the Bajoran conference on the occupation.

Author: Dark Sinestra

Date Written: July 2010

Category: Slight slash.

Rating: PG-13 for violence and adult themes.

Disclaimer: Paramount has always done a decent job of protecting their creative property, to the point I'm not tempted to try to pretend what's theirs is mine.

Word Count: 16,703

 

 

( Part One is here. )

 

Author 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. )

 

 

( The story continues! )

 

( Read part III here! )

Author Notes: This story takes place shortly after For the Cause ends and ends shortly before Body Parts begins. This time around, I pretty much just wrote around episodes, not including any of them directly. It worked better that way.

Summary: Garak finally learns of the mysterious daughter of Dukat's intentions and discovers that sometimes more knowledge simply means more complications. Swamped with work and facing some of the largest challenges of his career to date, Julian struggles to salvage what he can of his personal life while performing his duties and keeping his oaths. Can he manage, or has at least one of his partners had enough?

Author: Dark Sinestra

Date Written: May 2010

Category: Slash, Het

Rating: R for strong adult situations and sexual content.

Disclaimer: It's fanfic, which means not for profit, not about the author's original characters, yadda yadda. I think we all know the drill.

Word Count: 21,326

 

 

( Part I lies under the cut. )

 

Author 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.

Garak

Garak's Clothiers

 

He had no idea how late it was, and he didn't really care. The shipment of Deltan fabrics had arrived earlier that day. The colors and textures were so impressive that he had started to experiment with them right away and stayed through supper and beyond, peacefully ensconced in his stock room at his work table. His outer doors chimed, and he paused, scissors in hand. Who would approach him after hours? Glancing to the wall chronometer, he did a double take. Quark's would already be closed by now. Had he truly been so focused that he lost all track of time? It had been over two years since that had happened for a good reason. The door chimed again.

 

Frowning slightly to himself, he palmed the phaser he always kept close, tucked it against the back of his thigh, and approached the entrance. He relaxed when he saw Rom on the other side of the doors. “Computer, open shop doors,” he said. Rom hurried in, glancing over his shoulder as he did so. Not liking the look of that, Garak added, “Close and lock shop doors. Engage opaque mode.” The wide doors slid shut with a loud hiss, the lock clicked, and then the Promenade beyond was shut out completely behind a milky white sheen. “What is it?” he asked. “Is someone after you?”

 

“No,” Rom said, looking apologetic. “I didn't mean to make you nervous. I just wanted to be sure Brother wasn't watching.”

 

“It's very late,” he said, not in the mood for foolishness. “This couldn't wait until morning?”

 

“Uh, not really,” Rom said.

 

Sighing inwardly and reminding himself to be patient, he gestured Rom toward the back. “All right,” he said. “You may as well have some tea with me while you're here. How are you feeling, by the way? I heard about what happened to you.”

 

“I'm better,” he said. “Doctor Bashir fixed me up. Instead of tea, could you make it snail juice? Tea will make me jumpy.”

 

Garak privately thought Rom already looked jumpy. He wasn't sure what difference tea would make. “Of course,” he said and set aside his weapon. He replicated the vile smelling drink and his own preferred tea and passed Rom his mug. Once they were both seated on stools, he looked expectantly at his friend and waited to hear what all of this was about.

 

Rom took a couple of gulps of his snail juice first. “Have you ever done something you've always been told is wrong, but you know is right?” he asked anxiously.

 

A moral question? he thought with some surprise. He's asking me a moral question? He couldn't quite wrap his mind around that at first. “Are you quite certain you feel all right?” he asked.

 

“No. I feel terrible. My stomach is all in knots. I don't feel like I can get enough air, and it seems like the room might be spinning a little,” the waiter confessed.

 

Garak set his tea aside. “It sounds as though we ought to get you to the infirmary,” he said, concerned.

 

Rom shook his head. “No. I'm nervous. More nervous than I've been in my life. More nervous than I was when Nog was taking his pre-entrance exams for Starfleet.”

 

“That's pretty nervous,” the tailor said, eyes widening.

 

“You're telling me!” Rom exclaimed and took another gulp from his mug.

 

Actually, you're telling me, Garak thought, painfully slowly. He reached for his tea again and took a small sip.

 

“Brother has gone too far,” he said.

 

He should have known this had something to do with Quark. Garak held up a hand. “If you're about to let slip some dreadful arms deal or something that will get me questioned by Odo or Worf, please stop right there,” he said.

 

“No, much worse than that,” Rom continued in a rush. “He cut all our pay because of the Time of Cleansing, and he probably won't raise it again even when it's over.”

 

“I see,” Garak said neutrally. He had long thought that Quark deserved more than a little comeuppance for his treatment of his family and employees, but he had never felt it was his place to say much of anything, to Rom or anyone else about it.

 

“According to Ferengi law, I'm not supposed to do anything about it,” Rom added dejectedly.

 

“No,” Garak said agreeably, “I can see how workers' rights have the potential to eat into profits.”

 

“That's just it,” Rom said. “He's already making a ridiculous profit margin over the rest of us. He's...he's just being greedy.”

 

It took every ounce of self-control Garak had not to laugh aloud. The complete absurdity of the situation combined with the late hour and Rom's genuine outrage over Ferengi greed was almost too much for him. “What do you have in mind?” he asked, hoping he didn't sound too breathless. He knew Rom would pick up on it much easier than he would.

 

“Doctor Bashir mentioned...” the Ferengi paused and swallowed audibly. “He mentioned a union.”

 

Suddenly, it didn't seem so funny anymore. Frowning slightly, Garak leaned toward his friend. “Rom,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “far be it from me to...discourage anyone...from standing up for himself. We Cardassians are known for drawing lines in the sand and making those who cross them pay dearly. In the process, we understand that there's a good chance that we might be the ones to pay.”

 

Rom nodded slowly. “Go on,” he said.

 

Garak exhaled softly through his nostrils. “Once a line is drawn, you don't always have the option to erase it. If you're going to do something this drastic, think long and hard about what you have to gain versus what you have to lose. It's my understanding, limited though it may be, that you could lose everything doing something like this, not just now, but forever. Your people's...enforcers...could literally hound you to the far corners of the galaxy and make your life a living hell.” He knew more about what that was like than he cared to reveal.

 

“True,” Rom said with a thoughtful nod. “But...my life is a living hell now. I almost died because Brother wouldn't give me time to go see the doctor. This time, it's not just me who's suffering. Leeta could lose her quarters, and Frool's back hurts so much sometimes he can barely stand, much less walk. All my life, Brother has found ways to make me miserable. He almost ruined Nog's chance to get into Starfleet Academy. If I hadn't figured out what he did, he would've.”

 

“I remember that,” Garak said. “I'm not telling you not to do it. I'm telling you to be sure before you make the move. Drawing a line and holding it takes resolve. If you plan on bringing others into it with you, they'll be counting on you the same way your son has for most of his life.”

 

Rom's blue eyes glinted with a forcefulness Garak had only seen in them twice before, once on Nog's behalf and once on his when he was being kept from Julian by Lisane. “I failed my son too often,” Rom said quietly. “I made him ashamed of me. I don't want to be someone my own son is ashamed of anymore.”

 

“It sounds to me as though you've made up your mind,” Garak observed.

 

“I suppose I have,” he said, setting his mug aside and standing. “Thank you, Garak.”

 

“Don't thank me yet,” the Cardassian cautioned him and walked with him to the doors. He watched him leave with a purpose to his odd, shuffling gait. Smiling very slightly to himself, he decided that at that particular moment he wouldn't want to be in Quark's shoes.

 

Julian

Private Quarters

 

Pressing his lips together, Julian eyed the table setting. Was it too elaborate? Maybe the central pillar candle was a bit much. He plucked it out of the mixed greenery and flowers. Now the centerpiece looked a little flat and lopsided. “Damn,” he muttered, setting it back in place. Why couldn't it have been a little shorter? He decided to trim it down himself and was on his way to the back for his spare medkit when his door chimed. Garak was uncharacteristically a half hour early. “Damn,” he said again. He brushed his fingers quickly through his hair, tugged his navy tunic hem and called out, “Enter!”

 

Garak stepped into the quarters, an eye ridge rising at the sight of the decorated table. “Is this a special occasion?” he asked, offering Julian a small tin of Bolian krellfish, the delicacy wrapped neatly in decorative paper. “Am I under dressed?”

 

“No,” he said, taking the tin with a nod and smile of thanks. “And no, you look impeccable as always. I just...well, I realized that I've gotten a little lazy when I've invited you over. It doesn't have to be a special occasion for things to look nice.”

 

“I've often thought the same,” Garak said approvingly.

 

“You're early,” he said as he sat the gift aside and stepped toward the replicator.

 

“Am I?” the tailor asked innocently.

 

Julian glanced over his shoulder and snorted softly. “I can only assume that you wanted to catch me off guard.”

 

“That is one interpretation, isn't it?” he replied mildly as he moved to take a seat. “Don't mind me. I won't get in your way.”

 

Snorting another half laugh, he began replicating the meal and taking the dishes over to the table. “You'll never guess what happened today.”

 

“Rom started a union,” Garak said.

 

“You know, I am bound and determined one day to get my hands on a piece of news or gossip before you do,” he said with mock exasperation. “How did you hear about it?”

 

“I have my ways,” the tailor said smoothly. “I'm assuming Leeta told you?”

 

“Yes, well...and Rom. He came to ask me and the Chief for advice.”

 

“He came to the Chief as well?” Garak asked, glancing at him in surprise.

 

Ha! He thought triumphantly. At least one piece of the puzzle he doesn't have. “Not specifically, no. Miles was in the infirmary today, and apparently he knows a lot about the issue. One of his ancestors was in a famous labor dispute in the States.”

 

“I trust he's not ill?” Garak asked with just a little too much enthusiasm.

 

“You really don't like him, do you?” he asked, setting a final platter on the table and moving to light the candle.

 

“I'd be willing to say it's entirely mutual, wouldn't you?” Garak asked reasonably. “If you must know, I think he's a bigot.”

 

“Coming from a Cardassian, who thinks all other races are inferior,” Julian retorted. He was hard pressed to believe that Garak saw no irony in that.

 

“I never thought you were a bigot, too,” Garak said, standing and turning to face him. “What else are we Cardassians? Cruel, sly, underhanded, brutish, power mad. Am I missing anything?”

 

“I didn't mean it that way,” he said, frowning.

 

“Didn't you? There are very few races that I know of to be true hive minds, the Borg most readily coming to mind. Do you truly assume that after all the years I've spent living among others, not just here but across the galaxy, I have learned nothing? That my way of thinking has gone completely unchanged?”

 

“It's just the way you talk about my literature and culture in comparison to yours...”

 

“Please!” Garak scoffed. “You act as though you're handing me something rare on a gold pressed latinum platter and become offended the moment I don't value it the way you think I ought to. Have you ever once, even once, made serious effort to appreciate my people or my culture in their own context without painting it in broad strokes of judgment from your values?”

 

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I didn't know you saw it that way. If I have done that, it hasn't been intentional.”

 

“Lack of intent is a flimsy excuse. The effects are the same.”

 

Julian nodded slowly. “Will you please come sit? If we're going to fight, we may as well do it properly, over food.” He saw some of the tension drain from the Cardassian's posture and inwardly smiled. He had learned a few things about Cardassians over the years, too, at least his Cardassian. Once they were both seated, he continued the conversation. “Are you saying you truly don't see Cardassians as a superior race?”

 

“I'm saying I'm capable of judging individuals based upon their own merits,” Garak retorted, tucking his napkin carefully into place to protect his rust and silver tunic. “Whenever your Chief O'Brien looks at me, it's painfully obvious that he is seeing an archetypal Cardassian, and not just any archetypal Cardassian, but a Cardassian during war time. He has never made the slightest effort to get to know me as anything else. Would you please pass the salt?”

 

Julian complied. “To be fair, Garak, you've never made any effort to get to know him, either.”

 

“What incentive do I have for that?” he asked, liberally salting his food. “He glares at me with those beady little eyes and gets red blotches on his cheeks.”

 

Trying not to laugh, the doctor said, “His cheeks are always red.”

 

“Never redder than when glaring at me,” Garak asserted and fixed Julian with a mockery of the expression he was referencing.

 

He couldn't help himself. That tipped him over the edge. Tossing his head back, he gave a hearty laugh. “That was actually quite good, which is disturbing given how little the two of you resemble one another.”

 

“It's all in the eyes,” Garak said primly.

 

Happily, he seemed content to move on to other subjects. Both were in agreement that while forming the union was the right thing to do, it seemed a risky venture. Julian was surprised to discover how much Garak actually liked Rom. Although he knew the two of them were on friendly terms, he had always assumed that Garak was simply being charitable, or perhaps accepting company he wouldn't otherwise if he wasn't so lonely. More than ever, he realized that he had allowed his sense of rejection to color the way he saw the waiter and wondered if it was too late to try to mend that fence.

 

“I've been meaning to ask you something, and I keep forgetting,” Julian said during a natural lull. Both of them were almost fully done with their meal, just picking lightly at the plates.

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yes. Dukat's daughter, Ziyal, has been asking me questions about you. What do you want me to say?”

 

“The same thing I always say, Doctor,” Garak said lightly. “Tell her I'm a simple tailor and really not all that interesting.”

 

“That's what I've been saying,” he said. “I don't think she believes me.”

 

“Then be more convincing,” the Cardassian said with a pointed smile.

 

“I'll try. So, did you save room for dessert?”

 

“I'm afraid not,” he said and pushed back from the table. “Shall we clear it off?”

 

“Yes, let's,” he agreed. The two of them made quick work of the dishes, and Julian blew out the candle, the scent of soot briefly filling the air. He glanced at Garak who was now heading over to take a seat on his sofa and felt a small twinge of misgiving. Short of trying to pick another fight or actually making a move again, he could think of no other way to pique his interest. Was it possible that Garak didn't want him much but was being accommodating just because it was better than always being alone? Did he think he was doing Julian a favor? It was a disturbing thought. He gave the table a quick wipe down and set the rag aside, moving to take up the other end of the sofa. “We haven't read together in a while,” he said.

 

“Did you have something specific in mind?” the tailor asked, perking with interest.

 

“Not really, but it's something we've both enjoyed in the past. I know you like poetry,” he offered.

 

“Some poetry,” Garak clarified dryly.

 

“We can stay away from Shakespeare,” Julian said. “There are plenty of poets to choose from. How about...I'll search the archive first, read one to you, then you can pick one you like and read it to me? You can read Cardassian poetry to me if you prefer.”

 

“You never seem to understand it,” Garak said. “We'll stick to Terran poets. Go ahead.”

 

“All right,” he said. He reached to his side table and picked up a PADD, hoping that Garak wouldn't be able to tell he already had something specific in mind. He couldn't comfortably express his unease with the one sidedness of their arrangement, but perhaps he could send him a message this way. “Here's one by Edna St. Vincent Millay called 'Ebb'.

 

'I know what my heart is like

Since your love died;

It is like a hollow ledge

Holding a little pool

Left there by the tide,

A little tepid pool,

Drying inward from the edge.'”

 

“How very dreary,” Garak said with a shake of his head, leaning over to take the PADD. “Why are so many Terran poems so pitiful and full of woe?”

 

“I don't know,” he said a little shortly.

 

“Oh, right. You liked that one,” the Cardassian said with a shake of his head. “What I meant to say, of course, is what a lovely expression of the destitution of broken love.”

 

“You don't have to be sarcastic. If you don't like it, you don't like it,” he said impatiently. “Will you please choose one now?”

 

It took Garak much longer, not surprisingly, for he was unfamiliar with most of the poets and poetry from which he was asked to select. To Julian's surprise, he chose Robert Frost. “Lodged,” he said.

 

“The rain to the wind said,

'You push and I'll pelt.'

They so smote the garden bed

That the flowers actually knelt,

And lay lodged—though not dead.

I know how the flowers felt.”

 

He offered the PADD back without further comment. Julian took it but couldn't help but to glance at him. Was he sending him a message the same way he had chosen to do? Without looking back to the PADD, he said, “Emily Dickinson. 'My River'.

 

'My river runs to thee.

Blue sea, wilt thou welcome me?

My river awaits reply.

Oh! Sea, look graciously.

I'll fetch thee brooks

from spotted nooks.

Say, sea,

Take me!'”

 

“What are you doing?” Garak asked.

 

He frowned and set the PADD aside. “I was looking for a way not to be completely humiliated, but it looks as though that plan is a wash. Do you not want this? Would you rather I not...come to you?”

 

“Have I given any indication of that?” he asked.

 

“Aside from the fact that you haven't once made a move since our arrangement, despite numerous opportunities? No, you've given no indication of that. You were perfectly agreeable and cooperative several nights ago,” he said, disliking the sarcastic edge in his own voice.

 

Garak stood and crossed to the star port. “Your problem is you don't know what you want. Whatever you get isn't enough, until suddenly it's too much. The line is never in the same place. In fact I never see it until I've already crossed it. Don't speak to me about humiliation.”

 

I do know what I want. I simply can't have it, Julian thought. He knew Garak had a valid point. He stood, too, and moved to stand beside him, their reflections ghostly images against the dark star field, as though neither of them was truly there at all. “Did I humiliate you in the dressing room?” he asked softly. “Do you wish you had told me no?” When Garak didn't answer, he stepped behind him and slid his hands over his shoulders, clasping them loosely and drawing the Cardassian back against him. He breathed lightly over his right neck ridge and caressed his cheek to the side of his head. “You can tell me no now,” he murmured close to his ear.

 

He met Garak's gaze in the faded reflection, lowered his lids, and lightly lipped the shell of his ear. This was how he wanted it? The only way it would happen? So be it. If Garak could swallow his pride, Julian could, too. He caressed down his arms and tucked his hands beneath them to embrace him across his chest, hands spread flat and warm. He smiled to himself when Garak lifted his hands and caressed his palms over the backs of them, lightly twining fingers and holding him there. He continued to rub his cheek against the side of his head, feeling the ridges of lower ear and jaw and then the very outer edge of an eye ridge against his temple. His light growth of whiskers rasped scale so softly he wondered if he imagined the sound.

 

Garak turned his face into his slightly, and when he glanced back at the port, he could see the man had his eyes closed. He kissed the long dimple of his cheek, reached up to turn Garak's head more so that he could kiss the corner of his mouth. He tightened his embrace when Garak tried to turn. Not yet, he thought. His fingertips traced lightly down the long line of throat, from beneath his chin to the hollow. It struck him how much trust that took to allow without so much as a flinch or cracking an eye. He realized that Garak told him these sorts of things all the time, only he was too busy focusing on his many rejections to see where he was accepted.

 

All right, he thought, turning him. Talk to me... He pressed parted lips to parted lips, fit himself against his lover like a puzzle piece, and gave a languid twine of tongue. As their breath mingled and they fell in closer upon one another, he felt the slower rhythm of Garak's heart thrumming powerfully enough for the beat to penetrate both layers of tunics. Nothing about that rhythm spoke of apathy or humoring him. Nothing in the fingers digging deeply into the muscle of his back said that Garak didn't want. Didn't need.

 

This was the only way he could ever set aside the inconveniences of his genesis. Was Garak listening as closely? He carefully opened the throat of Garak's tunic, just enough to slide his tongue into the teardrop indentation of scale over sternum, his lips finding a perfect fit to their curves at its apex. Garak's breath stirred his hair, harsher now, and a broad hand cupped the back of his head, encouragement and affection both. He felt it as surely as he felt the fingers sifting the curls at his nape.

 

Taking the tunic open further, he slipped his hands into the warm air between cloth and flesh before it had the chance to dissipate, offered his greater warmth in its place. He knew every ridge and scale as well as he knew himself, but he relished these reintroductions and treated this one as though it were the first. Lightly scraping his thumb nails beneath the lower edges of each pectoral ridge, he gave Garak his mouth again. He could feel the wall of passive acceptance starting to crumble in the way the Cardassian devoured his offering. It wasn't his goal, but he had no intention of rejecting whatever was given, regardless of what he might be asked to pay for it afterward.

 

Garak unfastened his tunic, and he allowed it, helping him shrug it free, but when it seemed as though the tailor might pause to fold it neatly, he stilled his hands with a firm grip and smiled his approval against his lips when he tossed it aside instead. Those hands knew him, too, so intimately, exactly where and how to touch. He pressed into the palms shamelessly, arching and shifting. The slightly rough skinned touch was electric enough that at times he wondered if it was more than imagination, if there wasn't a physical difference that accounted for it.

 

He unfastened Garak's belt and held both loose ends, playfully pulling the tailor against him at the waist, went for a third dizzying round of deep kissing. Garak moaned and suddenly wrapped him so tightly in both arms that he could hardly breathe. He knew he had breached another barrier, but he felt no triumph. He dropped the belt and returned the embrace. Was Garak listening? Did he know he strove to meet him there, wherever he was?

 

“What are you doing to me?” the tailor whispered harshly against his lips.

 

Julian saw the same fierce eyes he had seen in the mirror that day and stilled in his arms. “Do you want to stop?” he whispered back.

 

“I ought to,” he murmured more loudly.

 

“That's not what I asked,” Julian said gently.

 

“No, I don't want to stop, damn you.”

 

Julian accepted the harsh kiss that followed, but instead of rising to it and meeting heat with heat, he did as Garak had several nights before, received until he felt the anger ebb. He unfastened the thick tunic the rest of the way and pulled the edges around his sides, once more trapping heat. He loved the slightly convex curve of broad belly scales against his skin and sidled in as closely as he could, tucking his face into the natural indentation formed by a neck ridge and nuzzling until he felt Garak shiver. “You smell good,” he murmured. “You always smell good.”

 

“Regular baths do wonders,” Garak said a bit breathlessly.

 

He smiled against his throat and nipped him lightly. It was good to see his humor returning. Whatever crisis point the tailor had just reached seemed to be on the retreat, or he was coming to terms with it. “I'm about to give you an excuse to take another one,” he said, taking the man by the hands and leading him into his bedroom. Somehow they always made do with the narrow bed and made it a big enough world to contain them.

 

Julian continued to listen, more attentively than ever before. He found care in Garak's control, ardor in the exploration of his pleasure, and as he kissed the closed eyes and allowed him to take him in the most intimate way, chest to chest and with his legs wrapped about the tailor's waist, he believed he understood why this was up to him. The secret lay in the closed eyes. Garak was vulnerable. He held him tighter in the realization. I'll take care, he thought silently. I will, even if you never know.

 

He gave himself over to the intimacy of the moment, and when it crested, he allowed it to fill and then empty him. He held to Garak when he tried to roll to the side, only relaxing after he was sure his lover would remain atop him. In long strokes, he trailed his fingers to either side of the dorsal ridge, each caress downward with the pattern of scale growth.

 

“I'm crushing you,” Garak protested quietly.

 

“Luxuriously,” he affirmed with a lazy smile.

 

“I should go soon.”

 

“Soon, yes,” he said agreeably, “but soon isn't now. Just relax.” Perhaps that was easier said than done. This time he allowed his partner to roll to the side, but he kept his hands on him, dropping one down for a languid caress of outer thigh, the strong leg draped over him as much by necessity as convenience. “You make me wish I was a poet. Then I wouldn't have to borrow others' words to bridge the gap that opens between us the times we forget ourselves.” He glanced over, relieved to see that Garak's eyes were open, not shut, and he was singularly focused upon him with almost unnerving intensity. It was better than the alternative.

 

“Being a poet doesn't help,” Garak said wryly. “Trust me. You'd just find other ways for inadequate appeal.”

 

He stopped himself on the cusp of taking the statement personally. “Believe me, my dear tailor,” he said, squeezing his thigh lightly, “there is nothing inadequate in your appeal.”

 

“And still you manage to surprise me at times,” he said, reaching to brush a damp curl from Julian's forehead. A moment later, he rolled to his other side and sat up.

 

Julian did nothing to prevent him. He watched him walk to the wash room and waited patiently for him to take his shower. Shifting to his back, he propped his head in a hand and considered what he had discovered just by letting go of his agenda for once. Garak was right. He never did consider his cultural concerns divorced from his own judgment. He spent so much time and energy being on guard against the constant barrage of barbs that he never realized that they could only pierce him if he gave them something to hit. This new approach of his had yielded some surprising results. He hoped that he could remember this in more heated moments of rancor.

 

When Garak returned to the bedroom, he sat up and reached out to him. “Come kiss me good-bye,” he said.

 

Agreeably, Garak did as he was asked, leaning over to do just that. “Not good-bye,” he corrected him, “but good night.”

 

He found the correction very encouraging and wisely chose to keep the fact to himself. He was sleepy enough that he was gone to the world by the time his door hissed for Garak to exit. He slept undisturbed until morning.

Garak

Replimat Café

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Julian

Leeta's Quarters

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Garak

Replimat Café

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Just...tell me. Please,” Odo asked.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“You let me go.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Julian looked away. “Garak...”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“All right,” Julian replied.

 

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

 

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

 

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

Garak

Quark's Bar

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“Give me your tally sheet,” Garak said.

 

“Wh-what?” The bartender looked startled.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“I slipped and fell,” he said smoothly.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“You're afraid right now. Of me.”

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Julian

Quark's Bar

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“What?” he asked, starting to turn.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Garak

Habitat Ring Two

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

“You were smart about it,” he said.

 

“Oh?” she asked, arching a brow.

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

The End

Garak

Quark's Bar

 

Garak waited for Quark to leave the small back room to make preparations for his end of the bargain. He turned his attention to Rom. “You don't have to do this,” he said. “I hold Quark largely responsible for what happened, but that doesn't extend to you. If we get caught, there could be some serious repercussions for all of us.”

 

“If I don't do this, you will get caught,” Rom asserted. “You're going to need me, Garak. The security protocols for the infirmary sensors are a lot more convoluted than for most of the station.”

 

“I do know my way around a system,” Garak snapped.

 

“I do, too,” the Ferengi said, “and the person I love most in the world isn't lying in a hospital bed right now. How's your head?”

 

He hissed softly, wondering what had ever possessed him to tell the waiter about his migraines. “Hurting,” he conceded reluctantly.

 

Rom nodded. “I could tell. You get all pinchy around the eyes. You really want the added stress of deactivating all those sensors, rerouting the computer so that it's not aware they've been deactivated, and creating a false loop on top of having to see the doctor like that?”

 

“No,” he said. It made his head throb worse even hearing it spoken that way. “I just...Rom, you have a son to think about.”

 

Rom's mouth tightened into a stubborn expression that Garak had come to understand meant he'd make no headway with him. He had made up his mind. “I do,” he agreed. “I'd much rather my son see me in jail for helping a friend get around something that's not right than for one of Quark's schemes.” He straightened himself to his full height. “I'd be proud to go to jail for this,” he declared.

 

These friends of his were going to break his heart, he thought in wonder. What had he ever done to earn such loyalty other than be kind to this man? When he thought about the kind of life Rom had led, it made sense, but it also made him angry that someone so good would risk so much for so little. For him. Like Julian? He thought, only to immediately wince away from that sore spot. Now wasn't the time to think of such things. “Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” he said breezily. “If we do this right, I'm afraid you'll just have to find something else to be proud of.”

 

Rom smiled and nodded. “I have to get some things together,” he said. “You can go sit at the bar, if you like. We won't be ready for this for at least another hour or so.”

 

“I think I've made enough of a scene at the bar for one night,” Garak said. “I need to get something from my quarters. I'll be back by 2100 hours.”

 

“Don't take any of those pills,” the Ferengi warned him.

 

“Believe me,” Garak said firmly, “I'm not.”

 

Quark

The Promenade

Heading, Infirmary

 

Quark fought himself not to scratch at the grainy dark paste he had smeared on his cheeks and forehead. As it dried, it itched fiercely. He had made a point of complaining bitterly several times during the night about being forced to such actions by the furious Cardassian, but deep in his heart, he was secretly thrilled with the scheme. Admittedly, there was no profit to it directly, unless he counted being allowed to continue breathing no matter what happened to the doctor. No, this was the next best thing, a desperate action taken by a desperate man all in the name of love. No matter how much Garak had protested over the course of the past year or so that his feelings ran shallow where his lover's ran deep, Quark had never been fooled. Now, there was no way the tailor could ever deny it to him again and expect to retain a smidgen of credibility. This was true romance at its best, and he had an important part to play.

 

He saw the two Bajoran nurses Rom had described to him at the entrance and hastened his steps. He had almost managed to barrel right between both of them when one seized him by the crook of one elbow and the other his other. “What do you think you're doing?” the dark haired one asked, eyes narrowed.

 

“I'm going to see Doctor Bashir,” he said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world for him to want to do.

 

“Visiting hours are over,” the other said. “You'll have to come back tomorrow.”

 

Quark shook his head. “What if tomorrow is too late?” he asked. “What if the poor doctor is dead by then?”

 

“Then you'll get to visit the body,” the first said matter-of-factly.

 

“You can't do this to me!” the bar owner protested. “I have rights! You Bajorans, always crying and moaning about how the Starfleeters don't respect your traditions and beliefs. What about my traditions and beliefs? What about my...well, the Universal Translator won't manage this one, so let's just say for the sake of argument, pagh?”

 

“What about it?” the second asked, releasing Quark's elbow and folding his arms skeptically.

 

“You'd doom me to wander the world an empty shade after death?” the Ferengi asked, looking appalled. “Don't you see? It's my fault this happened. If I hadn't been so naïve about what that horrible Lethean wanted with my friend, I never would have introduced them over lunch. I never would have exposed the good doctor to his evil designs.”

 

“I appreciate that you feel bad about this,” the first said, trying to be reasonable, “but there's nothing we can do about that. It's up to Nurse Decla, and she says nobody gets in tonight.”

 

“Well, where is she?” he asked, craning his neck trying to see around them. “Let me speak to her directly. I'm sure she'll understand!”

 

The two glanced at each other. “She's on a cot in the doctor's room,” the first said. “She went to sleep about an hour ago and said she wasn't to be disturbed.”

 

Quark eyed each in turn regretfully. “I really didn't want to have to do this in public. It's very...unusual... allowing others to see the atonement ceremony, but I'm not going to be doomed to haunt this station for eternity just because some nurse wants her beauty rest.” He raised his voice and began to sing in the screechiest, most piercing tones he could manage. He hurt his own ears in the process, but it had its desired effect. Within moments, a very angry, very scary looking Nurse Decla was bearing down on him with the full force of her gaze and her wrath.

 

Garak

Engineering Access Tunnel

Infirmary

 

Rom winced and immediately adjusted the volume of the feed they got from Quark. Even with his weak hearing, Garak found the sounds coming through the tiny device painful. They had been in the tube long enough for his old phobia to start playing havoc with his nerves. Rom had worked like a fiend to make the proper adjustment to the sensor feeds, but neither he nor Garak could make the move into the actual infirmary as long as they could see Decla lying on her side on the cot she had brought into the room. “Now or never,” Rom said, glancing quickly at him. “Remember, you don't have long.”

 

“I know,” Garak said. He didn't wait to be told twice, kicking out the access ventilation grill and hoping that it wasn't heard over Quark's caterwauling. As he scrambled out of the tube, he felt a wave of intense relief. He could breathe again without the terrible sensation of walls closing in around him. He straightened and wasted no time in approaching the bed where Julian lay.

 

He looks so small, he thought. The doctor was a slender man, but somehow, when he was awake and aware, he had so much energy that it wasn't something Garak ever noticed all that much. His life force held any sign of frailty at bay. Even sleeping, he was simply peaceful, not diminished. He searched the smooth, lax features for any sign of the trouble he knew would be playing out in the man's mind thanks to the Lethean's malice. No, his dear doctor was being held down so deeply in his own psyche that there was nothing to be seen.

 

Carefully, he reached his hand to smooth back the wiry waves of hair above his forehead. Julian felt cool to the touch, as though the energy that fueled him was already in retreat. Regret. He held so much of it that hours of time to express it might not be enough, for all that he had withheld, all that he had obfuscated, all of the pain and uncertainty he had given to this young man for the simple act of loving him. The part that hurt the worst was that he knew that even now, knowing what it might come to, he would not have done anything differently. It just wasn't his way.

 

Reaching into his trousers pocket, he withdrew something cold and heavy. It was far too large to stay on any of the doctor's slim fingers. Even over his thumb, it twisted too easily. It could fall off, roll under the bed or one of the counters, and no one would know it was there until it was too late. “Garak,” Rom hissed from the tube, “you need to hurry. Quark can't keep her much longer.”

 

He heard him, but there was something he still had to do. Quickly scanning the transparent cabinet doors, his eyes lit upon a roll of medical tape. He fetched it and tore off a large piece using his teeth, then wrapped the length around the lower curve of the sigil ring again and again until it formed a tight, white cocoon. This time, when he slipped the ring over Julian's thumb, it stayed put snugly.

 

He traced a fingertip over the black, platinum inlaid cabochon, the design the ancient sigil of the house of Tain, and then bent to place a soft, chaste kiss on Julian's lips. I love you, he thought. He felt ashamed that he couldn't even allow himself to think such a thing unless the one for whom he felt so much was beyond reason or reach to know it. Are you afraid you'd say it if you could, or that you wouldn't? He didn't have an answer for that, but now at least, if Julian did manage to awaken, he would know that his lover had been there for him, that he hadn't allowed anything to keep him away, even if he couldn't stay. In one last move before leaving, he turned the ring inward. Nothing but the small lump of medical tape showed against the tawny skin. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do.

 

Sheer willpower drove him back into the hateful tube, and he and Rom pulled the grate back into place with mere seconds to spare. They crab crawled backward until they were well out of danger of being overheard before Rom said, “You didn't say anything to him.”

 

Garak sighed softly and shook his head. “He wouldn't have heard me anyway. Let's get out of here, and Rom?” He squeezed his friend's upper arm. “Thank you.”

 

He left Quark's Bar by one of the side doors, not wanting to draw attention to himself or run into anyone he knew. All he wanted to do was to return to his quarters where maybe he'd manage some emotional release, or maybe he wouldn't. At least he'd be alone and free to express himself without need of reserve. Maybe he'd even manage a poem. He hadn't written in years.

 

When he let himself in, he saw that he had a pre-recorded message waiting for him on the comm. Rubbing hard at his temples, he closed the distance and triggered it, surprised to see Kira's face. Her expression was odd, but he was too wrung out to be able to give it the proper attention. Let her keep her secrets, at least for that night. “Garak, I thought you'd like to know that I've managed to make some headway on your problem with Decla. We should be able to get you visitation by tomorrow afternoon if everything goes as planned. I'm sorry I couldn't make it sooner. This is the best I could do.” She hesitated, then added quickly, “Hang in there,” and abruptly ended the recording.

 

It was more than he expected. He didn't have the heart to tell her or anyone else that at this point, the issue was moot. If he never saw Julian again before he died, he had done all that he could. Being there, not being there, it didn't matter. Julian was beyond his reach. Seeing him so flat and small in that bed drove that point home in a way prior intellectual knowledge of Letheans never could. There was only one thing left to him now. It would have to wait until he knew for a fact the doctor was gone. He wouldn't risk indirectly being the hand that sent him to his grave. There was still a chance, a very small chance, that his lover would fight his way out of this situation. If he did, the Lethean would meet his fate some time down the line, after he had a chance to grow complacent. If he didn't, then Garak would soon be heading to that prison colony Quark mentioned, and it wouldn't matter to him. Tain wouldn't let him survive a week off the station, but would he at least understand? He tried to imagine his father hearing the news, and imagination failed him. After over fifty years, the elder Cardassian was still a mystery to him in most ways.

 

He stayed wakeful through the night, staring out his star port and seeing little beyond the shades that occupied his mind, past and present intertwined. Julian was there; he wasn't. There was no part of his quarters that didn't contain memory, no part of his body that couldn't vividly conjure a touch or caress. He felt haunted by the living, or more accurately by a man in limbo. He ached to touch him, hold him. For once, he would be the one to warm a cold body and a colder bed. For once, he wouldn't hold back. It was easy to think such things when he knew they were impossible.

 

At some point the next morning, a doze caught him unaware on his couch. He awoke a few hours later to the sound of his door chime, and his chest constricted with worry. Was this it? Were they coming to tell him that Julian was gone? He answered the door to Odo. The changeling had the decency to take him out of his suspense immediately. “I'm here to escort you to your visitation. They won't allow you there alone. I'm sorry.”

 

So it was time for the farce, the Bajoran government's gesture of throwing him a bone and making a token move to show the watching Starfleeters that they were willing to pay more than lip service to the treaty. “One moment, Constable. I'm rumpled and I wasn't expecting you so soon. Do you mind?” he asked.

 

The man shook his head, folding his arms and stepping to the side in the corridor. Since he made no move to come into Garak's quarters, Garak made no move to invite him. Instead, he hurried to the back, changed into one of his most flattering tunics, and combed his hair to perfection. He emerged into the corridor and nodded formally. “I'm ready now.”

 

“You wouldn't happen to know about a disturbance at the infirmary last night, would you?” Odo asked, looking straight ahead while they walked together.

 

“I'm afraid not,” he replied. “What sort of disturbance?”

 

“I thought for certain you would know, since it happened after you frightened half of Quark's customers out of their wits. Does that ring any bells?” He glanced sideways at Garak.

 

“Scared them?” the Cardassian blinked innocently.

 

“They seemed convinced you were going to kill Quark. Of course, when I asked him about it, he denied it. However, something prompted him to become remorseful last night, to the point that he insisted on serenading Doctor Bashir from the doorway of the infirmary, since they wouldn't allow him inside. He claimed it was a Ferengi ritual of atonement and death. Ever heard of such a thing?”

 

“I can't say that I have,” he said lightly. “It sounds very strange. I didn't think they were that sort.”

 

“They're not,” Odo grated, seemingly content to drop the subject as they neared the turbo lift. They rode in silence the rest of the way. Garak strolled down the Promenade with Odo at his side as though it were any normal day. When he entered the infirmary, he allowed the security chief to take the lead and ignored the glares of the few staff members in his view. Decla was nowhere to be seen. He thought that she might be waiting in Julian's room and was relieved to find that she was not. His anger had yet to grow cold. While hot, he was capable of anything at all.

 

“I'll do the best that I can to give you your privacy,” Odo said, stepping to the far side of the room and turning his back.

 

“Thank you,” he said. He pulled up a chair and sat by the bedside, taking one of the limp, cool hands between his own and beginning to talk of inanities and inconsequentials. Just because Decla wasn't there to be seen, it didn't mean that she wasn't watching somehow. He determined to give her nothing to feed from, neither word nor gesture that he was concerned or hurt by her keeping them apart. He acted as though he felt certain that Julian would awaken at any time, certainly in time for his birthday party the next day.

 

As he spoke, he privately poured over the man's gentle features, the dark curve of lashes against finely sculpted cheeks, the high arch of the bridge of his nose, the well shaped lips that could purse in mischief and humor in the blink of an eye. Yes, he was beautiful, inside and out, and there was no longer a part of his body that the tailor didn't know intimately. He wished that he had more time to explore the mind. When his time was up, he tucked the ring clad hand he had held beneath the blanket, glad that at least so far no one had discovered the jewelry or removed it.

 

When it was time for him to leave, Odo led him from the room. Dax and Commander Sisko waited in the front, each of them greeting him pleasantly. Commander Sisko assured him that they would be keeping a close eye on Julian's situation and that he would be informed by one of them if anything significantly changed. He thanked them and returned to his quarters. He had no intention of putting himself on display. It was a small station. Gossip traveled quickly. He knew it was likely that the situation was already a subject of wagging tongues. With nothing else to do but wait, he sat at his terminal and began to write. It had eased his ache years before, when he was forced to be apart from the woman he loved. Perhaps now it would do the same.

 

Julian

The Infirmary

 

When he opened his eyes, he could hardly believe it. He found himself staring up into the faces of Dax, Commander Sisko, and one of his Bajoran nurses. He could tell by how he felt that he wasn't aged as he had been in the...hallucination? Nightmare? Whatever it was that the Lethean had done to him, it hadn't affected his body. As he cupped his fingers beneath his blanket, he felt something rounded and hard against his thumb. No one seemed to know where it had come from or what significance it had. He wondered if it had something to do with Altovar. Dax removed it for him and sealed it in a clear bag to be turned over to Odo for evidence. He tolerated their fussing over him and scans and found himself wondering why Garak wasn't there. Of course, he had no idea how long he had been out of it. It wasn't until the Commander left him with Dax that he felt comfortable asking.

 

“Two days,” she said. “How do you feel?”

 

“Compared to how I felt in that nightmare, amazing,” he said. Glancing around the room, he added, “I'm surprised Garak isn't here.”

 

Dax's lips compressed, her eyes flashing with a level of anger he wasn't accustomed to seeing in the usually cool and collected woman. “He was here earlier,” she said, seeming to consider how much else to reveal.

 

“And?” he prompted.

 

“I don't want to upset you so soon after awakening. You seem fine, but we don't really know,” she said, sounding frustrated.

 

“Dax, believe me, it's upsetting me far more not knowing what's going on. Tell me. What did Garak do?”

 

She shook her head abruptly. “Not Garak,” she said. “Decla. Ever since you lost consciousness, she has insisted that almost no one be able to see you, especially Garak. She called him a security risk. Benjamin, Nerys, and Odo have been working almost nonstop to try to gain him access. All they managed was an hour for him a few hours ago. He says it's a personal grudge she has against him. Is that true?”

 

He nodded slowly. “I believe it is,” he said. “I don't know the full details of everything that transpired between them, but trust me when I say there's no love lost on either side.” He was furious, all the more so because he knew that without direct evidence, he couldn't fire her or demote her for her actions. According to the strictest interpretation of protocol, she had been well within her rights to do what she had done. Of course, she had to know that, too. “Help me stand, Dax. I want to contact him, let him know I'm all right and that I'll see him soon,” he said.

 

He did so, got himself checked out over Decla's objections, and walked the short distance to the security office to speak with Odo about his ordeal. He sat across from him and handed him the bag with the odd ring, telling him everything he could recall about his very strange experiences. When he finished his account, he asked, “Do you think he established the connection with me through that ring?”

 

Odo opened the bag and tipped it out into his palm, an odd expression flickering in his blue eyes. “No, Doctor,” he said. “I suggest you put it back on.” He offered it across the desk.

 

“I don't understand,” he said, accepting it and turning it to have a closer look.

 

“I've seen rings like that before,” the security chief said patiently, “during the occupation.”

 

“It's...Cardassian?” he asked, wanting to be sure. Odo nodded. Smiling to himself, he slipped it back into place, amused at the ring of medical tape. “I suppose Garak gave it to me a few hours ago.”

 

“Perhaps,” Odo said, his look pensive. He offered the doctor a PADD. “You might like to see what we know about these Letheans. You're very lucky to be alive.”

 

Julian read over the information silently. No one else might know it, but he knew why he survived the ordeal when so few others ever had. It made everything Altovar had said to him about fearing his own potential hit a little closer to home. At last he lifted his gaze from the PADD and handed it back. “Are we done here, then?” he asked. “Garak said he'd meet me at the Replimat. Considering everything Decla put him through, I don't want to keep him waiting.”

 

“We're done,” the changeling said, nodding. “You've been helpful in my investigation, Doctor.”

 

“Glad to be of help, and I appreciate everything you did to get Garak in to see me. Dax filled me in. It means a lot to me.”

 

“You're welcome,” Odo said with a slight incline of his head.

 

He couldn't help but to smile at the sight of the Cardassian at their usual table, looking handsome and comported. Garak stood when he approached and pressed his palm. As he looked into blue eyes, he saw that there was more emotion than this outward show indicated. It was all he could do not to lean in and kiss him right then and there. Instead, he took his arm lightly as the two stepped over to one of the replicators. “Are you certain you're fit to be checked out?” Garak asked.

 

“I am,” he said. “Don't you start that, too. Besides, I have far too much to tell you about what happened to want to wait another moment. It was utterly fascinating.”

 

The two of them sat with their food, and he described the whole course of events with the same level of detail that he used for Odo. He felt genuine embarrassment when Garak pointed out with his usual eye for the important facts that his mind had cast his lover in the role of the villain and then amazement when the man seemed to find it encouraging rather than insulting. As always there was so much more to the Cardassian than met the eye. They shared a smile and continued eating.

 

“By the way,” he said casually, “I noticed I was wearing a little something extra besides a hospital gown when I awoke. I actually thought it had something to do with Altovar until Odo set me straight.” He held his hand out over the table. “What can you tell me about this?”

 

“Most Cardassian iconography represents the predatory animals of our planet,” the tailor replied. “That particular species hasn't been seen on our world in over a thousand years. It was quite the fierce hunter in its day, so I hear, known for its strength and endurance.”

 

“I never took you for the superstitious sort,” he said, touched yet also relishing this rare opportunity to turn his teasing around on the man. “Adorning me with a talisman to help pull me out of the clutches of my enemy.”

 

“Doctor,” Garak said drolly, “you're reading quite a bit more into that than you ought. You humans are the ones with vivid imaginations and the tendency to anthropomorphize everything around you. I merely wanted you to know that I had been to see you. Of course,” he added a bit touchily, “had I known you wouldn't recognize an obviously Cardassian design when you saw it, I would have simply left a business card.”

 

Julian threw his head back and laughed. “I can't believe you,” he said. “You're the one who is so secretive about your people that I barely know a thing. I suspect even most of that is more or less creativity on your part. I appreciate the gesture, nonetheless. I suppose you'll be wanting it back now?”

 

He regarded him silently, his fleeting expression making Julian wish now more than ever that he could at least sometimes sneak a peek inside that inscrutable head. “No, my dear,” he said lightly. “You keep it. Consider it another early birthday present. If you like, we can even get it resized for you.”

 

“No,” he said, rubbing a finger over the tape. “It's entirely too endearing that you wrapped it like this just so that it would stay on. I wouldn't change a thing. Will you at least tell me the name of the animal it represents?”

 

“It's not important,” he said, his smile mysterious. “Why look back when so much of interest still lies ahead?”

 

In that he was correct. The birthday party the next day, no surprise thanks to Miles' inability to keep a secret, was Dax's grandest affair yet. The Mount Olympus holosuite program was lush and fanciful, and it seemed that everyone there, including Garak, was genuinely enjoying themselves. They feasted on ancient Earth delicacies, drank rather more wine than was prudent, and chased wood nymphs and dryads through the sparkling forest, laughter ringing from all around.

 

A few hours into it, something went wrong. The holosuite shut itself down, leaving all of them standing in a blank room with a plain grid on the walls. “Ugh,” Dax said, “I'll go tell Quark.” She trudged out with her toga balled in one hand to keep from tripping. Everyone else waited, looking around at one another and feeling a little silly without the scenery to support the costumes. When she returned, the news wasn't good. Apparently, a power coupling had blown and wouldn't be fixable in time for the party to continue.

 

Disappointed, Julian put the best face on it that he could, smiling and thanking everyone for coming and making the effort to make the party such a success. In twos and threes, they all filed away, leaving him and Garak to deal with the small mountain of real presents left behind. As they were gathering them up, Quark entered the holosuite. “Gentlemen,” the Ferengi said, “just allow me to say how sorry I am for this. You're welcome to have a free drink at the bar on me.”

 

“A free drink?” Garak snorted. “Your holosuite blows during someone's thirtieth birthday party, and that's the best you can do?”

 

“It's all right, Garak,” Julian said, not wanting to make a scene. “It's not his fault.”

 

“Thank you, Doctor,” Quark said. “That's very reasonable of you. In light of that, I have just one more thing to say.”

 

“What's that?” he asked, feeling suddenly suspicious.

 

The holosuite came to life around them once more, but it was no Earth scene. An arid landscape showed through elliptical windows, and at the center of the circular chamber was a platform of sorts of flat rocks surrounding a central heat source. He heard Garak hiss a sharp intake of breath at the same time that Quark said, “Surprise,” offered them both a knowing, toothy smile, and left them to their own devices.

 

“Garak?” he asked.

 

“It's a Cardassian style spa,” he said, too taken off guard to disguise his reaction.

 

Smiling, Julian stepped closer and took the stack of presents out of his lover's hands. “I'm sure you're going to show me how everything in here works,” he said.

 

Garak smiled a rare, uncomplicated smile and said, “Nothing would please me more.”

 

Odo

The Infirmary

 

Few things satisfied the changeling more than catching someone who deserved it flat footed. With Julian occupied with his birthday party, it was the perfect opportunity to have an overdue conversation with the Bajoran nurse who had caused all of them such grief. Garak might not have been his favorite person by any stretch of imagination, but the Cardassian tailor hadn't deserved that treatment. It would've been even worse for him had the doctor not pulled through. Nobody abused other people on the station on his watch, not if he had anything to say about it. He took the woman's following of the letter of the law rather than the spirit as a particularly personal insult.

 

When he stepped through the doors, one of the nurses on duty directed him toward the back, seeming to know who he was there to see, even if he didn't know why. Nodding, Odo walked down to one of the labs, finding the woman finishing up with a sample analysis. “Constable,” she said without turning her full attention from her work, “shouldn't you be at the party?”

 

“I've already paid my respects,” he said. “Computer, close and lock door to infirmary lab one.”

 

That got her attention. She pulled away from the screen and turned to face him. “Was that necessary?” she asked, arching a brow.

 

“If you'd like for your entire staff on duty to have the chance to overhear our conversation, I'd be more than happy to open the door again,” he said pleasantly.

 

“Is there a reason I wouldn't want them to hear it?” she asked, tilting her head.

 

“I'll let you tell me in a moment,” he replied. “Legate Pa'Ren,” he continued. “Sound familiar?”

 

She feigned giving it some thought, apparently unaware of how well he could read the most minute of facial twitches. “I'm afraid not,” she said regretfully. “Should it?”

 

“Perhaps not,” he said, his turn to feign emotion, understanding. “After all, it was over twenty years ago, and I believe that you knew him as Gul Pa'Ren, or maybe even just as Feylan.”

 

“Ah, yes,” she said breezily. “As you say, it was long ago. I'm very busy, Constable. If you have a point to this trot down memory lane, I'd appreciate if you'd make it.”

 

“Would you like for me to open the door first?” he asked, gesturing back to it.

 

Irritation flickered in her green eyes. “No,” she said tightly.

 

“Then I believe you already grasp my point, Nurse Decla,” he said. “It didn't take much for me to uncover that episode from your past. Imagine my surprise when I discovered the prisoner you supposedly accidentally dispatched alive and well on Cardassia Prime. He remembered you, too, quite fondly. I wonder if those who respect you in the Provisional Government would be equally kindly inclined to discover that you put your entire resistance cell at risk by giving in to sentiment?”

 

Her voice rose to a shrill pitch. “Blackmail? You? The vaunted, high and mighty, eminently fair security chief who is supposedly beyond reproach?”

 

“You mistake me, Madame,” he said gravely. “I would never stoop to such a level, no, but if I can find that information, there are others on this station who can as well. I can think of one in particular who is probably quite dangerous when given a reason to be. In fact, you gave him just such a reason. I can only protect you so far when you go around making unsavory enemies.”

 

“So this is concern for my safety,” she spat, folding her arms.

 

“People make mistakes,” he said. “I'm willing to consider the possibility that your recent actions can be taken in that light. Of course, if there's another incident with similar results, I may have to rethink my entire position. I don't want to see anyone on this station hurt, including Garak. Do you understand?”

 

“Perfectly,” she said, glaring venom.

 

“Good, then I can set all of this unpleasantness behind me and close my case. Thank you for your cooperation. Computer, unlock and open infirmary lab one door.” As the door hissed open, he strode out, not at all certain that the woman would be wise enough to heed his warning. He had seen too many looks like that to believe she'd let things go, and he had known enough Cardassians in his time to be sure that Garak would not. The one positive thing he could say about working on Deep Space Nine was that it was always interesting. Then again, perhaps boredom was underrated.

 

The End