TITLE:    Asymmetrical
AUTHOR:   Terrie H. Drummonds (TDrummonds@aol.com)
SERIES/CODES: DS9; G/B -- A Sequel to "Converse Symmetry"
RATING:   PG for mild profanity and m/m angst. Implied sex but no
          naughty scenes, just lots and lots of angst.
ARCHIVING: ASC/ASCEM archives only; Everyone else, please ask.
SUMMARY:  Bashir confronts Garak about the tailor's liaison with the
          alternate Bashir.
TIMELINE: The Prologue is the final chapters of "Converse Symmetry."
          The Prologue and Part 1 specifically take place after 4th
          season's "For the Cause" and before "To the Death."
COMPLETED: December 26, 1997

Copyright 1997 by Terrie H. Drummonds (tdrummonds@aol.com).
Feedback is always welcomed.

STAR TREK: DEEP SPACE NINE is the property of Paramount Pictures, Inc.
Salute! But this story is mine since TPTB would never allow such
events to take place. It does not intend to infringe on Paramount's
copyright in any way. Do not change or alter in any way.

COMMENTS: The second installment of what has turned into the
"Converse Symmetry" series. In "Converse Symmetry," a subspace
anomaly causes the crew of the USS Defiant from an alternate universe
to cross over into DS9's universe. Led by Captain O'Brien, Ambassador
Bashir, and Dukat, these alternates possess technology which could
give Ben Sisko's Federation the edge in the fight against the
Dominion. After a tryst between Garak and Ambassador Bashir, the
ambassador invited Garak to cross to his side. Garak turned the offer
down. While you don't necessarily have to read "Converse Symmetry" to
understand what's going on, there are quite a few references to past
events.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:  Special thanks to Mary Knasinski for reading
the draft and saying, "But what about....?" To Kit Ramage for the
nudge to include a scene I had originally cut out and also for
proof-reading -- any mistakes that are left are purely my fault. To
Sophie Masse and Andrea Evans: they wrote a series of G/B stories all
from the first-person narrative which inspired me to tackle the style
for this story. To Joanne Francis and Liz Williams... thanks for the
encouragement and kind words while beta-reading this!

Contrary to popular belief, my intimate relationship with Elim Garak
did not commence the night we discussed the book of poetry.

He knew I had discovered certain evidence irrevocably linking him with
the ambassador. Evidence which, if I had presented to Starfleet as I
was legally and ethically supposed to, would have turned Garak's life
into a private kind of hell. No matter how baffled or upset or angry I
had been over the discovery, I couldn't do that to Garak. Why? Because
I wanted to hear from him why he did it. Oh, I knew he would lie to
me; that was part of the act. But I knew if I listened close enough,
took in all the details, I could sort out the half-truths.

Then again, maybe he wouldn't lie. When we had shared that drink in
Quark's the night of the attack on the ambassador, he told me the
truth. Maybe that is why I didn't say anything to the captain or
Necheyev. Perhaps that was the reason I deleted all the references to
the ambassador's conjugal activity from the computer, the
tricorders... everything.

Still, I was angry. Furious, in fact, that it seemed, at least on the
surface, that Garak had used my alternate for his own nefarious
purposes. Oh, it was consensual; I had no doubt about that particular
fact. While there was evidence of rough play, there was no sign of
rape. But what *had* motivated Garak to... to....

Had the ambassador nodded at him in a certain way?

Had Garak brokered a deal with the alternates, using himself as
collateral? That just didn't seem like Garak, or at least the Elim
Garak I had been cultivating a friendship with over these years.
Cardassians are proud people, Garak especially. If he was going to
return to Cardassia, it would be on his own terms. He's said that more
than a few times. And prostituting himself did not strike me as being
"on his own terms."

Then... then I found the book of poetry in my quarters. I couldn't
believe it. When in the blazes did the alternate Dukat have the time
to locate the book and beam it over to my quarters *before* their
Defiant had disembarked from the station and engaged the 'Hadar?
*When?*

Regardless of the logistics, it was another secret for me to keep.

The station's residents were still in shock over what had happened to
the alternates. The day after the tragedy had been declared a day of
mourning. Shops were closed, the temple was packed with worshipers
praying for those alternates who believed in the Prophets, and then
people did the strangest thing. They offered condolences not only to
Miles and myself, but to Captain Sisko and Tora Ziyal as well.
Everyone wanted closure of some type, I guess. It was strange, surreal
in more ways than one, and I understood why Miles despised crossovers
and temporal mechanics.

During all this, I hadn't seen Garak. I wanted to say I was surprised,
but perhaps he was wary about making an appearance on the Promenade.
Maybe, he didn't want to confront me just yet.

I read the poems and translated most of the accompanying handwritten
notes, the latter being irrefutable proof the ambassador had more than
just a "student-mentor" relationship with Gul Garak. There were a few
cryptic comments; obviously, they were idiomatic expressions which the
computer couldn't properly translate. Still, I realized that this book
had been the means by which the two communicated with one another.
After all, the alternate Garak had been a gul, commanding his own ship
during a war and dealing with all the responsibilities that came with
it. This book had been, perhaps, their only link to each other when
their schedules did not coordinate.

A true working relationship. Solid. Firm. Unshakable. I wondered how
long they had been together.

Still, I had to have answers. I had to confront Garak about this, find
out why. Was I motivated because of the ambassador's request upon his
deathbed, that I know Garak as he had? It made me wonder just what
capacity the ambassador was referring to.

Me? Garak's lover?

Gul Garak and Ambassador Bashir were not Elim Garak the Exile and
Julian Bashir the doctor, no more than they were Garak the first
officer and Bashir the rebel captain who existed in Smiley O'Brien's
universe. We were fundamentally different. Perhaps that is why I could
accept the fact Gul Garak and Ambassador Bashir were lovers.

Also, Gul Garak and Ambassador Bashir were from a universe where
Cardassia was part of the Federation, where there would be no
political ramifications or question of loyalties because both were
part of the same government. Here... He is an exile with dubious
connections to the Cardassian government, with a past life he
deliberately keeps shrouded in mystery, and a side of his personality
he refuses to share with anyone else. I am a Starfleet officer, CMO on
a Federation/Bajoran station, and part of the command staff... those
factors alone would make any relationship beyond platonic friendship
impossible.

My other alternative was to ignore both the request and the book.

Could I? Or would those questions nag me until I finally broke down
and asked him? Did I want to wait that long? Should I confront him
now, while the emotions are still raw, before he's had a chance create
a proper shroud of mystery for it?

No. I couldn't ignore it. I couldn't wait either.

I had to know why he seduced my alternate, why Captain O'Brien, Doctor
Troi and the alternate Dukat knew about it but didn't protest such an
action. What had Garak gained? Why had he done it? What psychological
game was he playing?

I found him in the back of his tailoring shop, a room I knew to be his
private work area. I held the book of poetry, unsure and almost
unwilling to use it as an excuse to get him alone in a place where *I*
felt comfortable. Still, if I wanted a real answer from him, I would
have to coax it out of him. Perhaps playing the subterfuge game on his
level would work.

Before I could change my mind about my "brilliant" plan of luring him
to my quarters under false pretenses, he'd pointed to the book and
questioned me on it.

I could barely form coherent sentences as I tried to explain why I was
there. All of my pre-rehearsed statements evaporated from my mind the
moment he looked at me with that patient gaze of his. He smiled at me
indulgently; he had once told me my ability to ramble was utterly
fascinating. I stumbled through an explanation, babbling about not
being able to read Kardasi, and he thankfully stopped me from making
even a bigger fool of myself.

Finally, I made the invitation. Oh, it intrigued him. I saw it in his
eyes. He seemed pleased. Why? Because I was attempting to play his
game? Using deceit as a means to find answers to questions I couldn't
possibly ask outright, in public?

I hated myself for what I was doing. 

But Garak was Cardassian. He would probably get some odd thrill over
this entire situation because it read like one of his enigma tales. He
was guilty, but it was up to me to find out just what he was guilty
of.

I left his shop, the book clutched tightly in my hand, and I went back
to my quarters to put the volume in a secure place. I then returned to
Infirmary and busied myself with mindless work.

Two hours later, Necheyev called another command staff meeting
regarding the alternates before she and her aides departed the
station. That was when the whole business with Gul Dukat started.
That's when I received my mission.

They wanted to know about Garak's relationship with the alternates.
They wanted to know what Captain O'Brien and Garak had talked about
for two hours as they had sat in my office as I labored to save the
ambassador's life. They wanted to know if Garak had been given
technical information which he then had forwarded to Gul Dukat. That
had to be the reason Dukat left so quickly after the explosion despite
the fact his ship was severely damaged and he was going through
Klingon occupied territory.

I sat in the wardroom, Miles to my left and Jadzia to my right, and
agreed to do it. I'd rather it had been me than Sisko or the others.
They weren't playing with the same deck of cards I was. I wasn't about
to deal them in either. I couldn't.

We were dismissed and I hurried back to my quarters, prying open the
panel to make sure the volume was still there. The secret cubbyhole.
Garak would definitely find it amusing that I had taken his teasing
statement so literally. It did make an excellent covert storage place
and the only thing I had seen fit to hide there had been the book of
poetry. I placed it on the table.

When Garak arrived at my quarters, I watched as he quickly took in his
surroundings and decided where to stand: behind the chair in main
area, his hands resting on the back of the furniture. His eyes were
dancing with excitement, just as they had right before he and Odo
departed to find Enabran Tain a few months ago.

I couldn't go through with it so I began pacing. He must have seen my
hesitation; did anything ever escape his notice? Garak waited for a
few minutes, as if giving me time to collect my thoughts before I
spoke. It was a silent way of pressuring me to explain just why I had
invited him.

I focused on the book. It was, after all, the original reason I had
invited him, before Necheyev had given this confrontation an ugly
reason. In truth, I was "beating around the bush" as they say, unable
to get to the real heart of the matter. 

When I stuttered that I hadn't translated any of the handwritten
Kardasi, his expression changed slightly. His eyes encouraged me to
tell more but also let me know he knew I wasn't telling the entire
truth.

I honestly think he enjoys when I tell a token lie. Pride slips into
his smile.

Garak seemed almost happy, standing there as he glanced through the
book. His eyes sparkled with a particular animation I wasn't
expecting. He used the word "catalyst" to describe what the tome had
meant to the ambassador. He knew that I knew about the tryst. Perhaps
that was why he had been so forthcoming that night in Quark's bar. But
now it was as if he were challenging me to discover his reasoning.
Fair enough. He'd done that before, pressing me to make that final
leap of logic to arrive at the same conclusion he had.

"Doctor, I would enjoy discussing this particular work with you."
Garak gave a genuine smile, one which tapped into that part of me used
to playing roles and caused me to return the expression, much to his
delight. "It would be positively fascinating."

He still held the book as he assumed the persona of "learned mentor"
and smiled at me again. "Was this all you wanted to talk about,
doctor?"

A dare. A challenge. A way of saying, You know what I did, now figure
out why I did it.

I am competitive. It is my nature. The gauntlet, however small and
insignificant, had been thrown.

I narrowed my eyes, willing myself to calm down. After all, I was
treading on dangerous ground, but he invited me to "walk with him" as
the saying went.

"Everything that has happened in these past days," I said with a
slight wave of my hand, "has been so... well. You know. Overwhelming.
Everything has been off-kilter. People have been acting out of
character. Did you know that Gul Dukat left right after the
explosion?" I asked, referring to when the alternates had blown
themselves to kingdom come. I stepped away from him, placing the chair
between us.

"Dukat was never one to say 'thank you,'" Garak quipped as he closed
the book of poetry. "Not even to those who save his life."

"I thought the same thing as well," I replied, licking my lips as I
formed the next sentence. "Did he thank you?"

"Thank me?!?" he guffawed, his eyes wide with mirth. "My dear, dear
doctor! Why in the universe would Dukat thank *me*?"

"For whatever...." I stopped. This wasn't working. Garak wasn't taking
me seriously. He was still grinning with amusement over my choice of
attack. No, he wasn't about to let me play in his sandbox just yet, so
I reverted back to a more comfortable and familiar line of
questioning. "It just seemed strange, that's all. For someone of Gul
Dukat's particular disposition just to leave the station, not even
asking for the shapeshifter tracking technology? Technology which
could strengthen Cardassia and possibly protect her from Dominion
infiltration? And he just *leaves* without it? You *know* Dukat,
Garak. Any theories?"

He tilted his head toward me, a curious expression across his
features. "Did the tracking system work?"

"No."

"Did Captain O'Brien know it didn't work?"

"Yes. Their Dukat explained that some molecular distortion that Odo
didn't have was why it didn't work."

"Then why, my dear doctor, would Dukat want worthless technology?
You're also assuming the alternates did not give the same information
to Dukat when they gave it to your Federation. Just because that
alternate of Dukat worked with Commander Dax and Chief O'Brien doesn't
mean they gave the information exclusively to you," Garak primly
replied. "I seriously doubt any member of Dukat's rogue crew has the
scientific training or the necessary equipment to properly test such a
device. No, Dukat was simply content to allow Dax and O'Brien to do
his work for him. When they solve the puzzle, he'll be back for his
share of the prize. *That* is how Dukat operates, my dear doctor."

I stared at him in disbelief. "Garak... that doesn't make any sense."

"Dukat's actions rarely make sense, doctor."

"Stop with the insults. He's not here to listen to them, Garak!" I
snapped. "Dukat's not about to walk away from this without something
to show for his efforts here! Where is that sense of Cardassian
superiority, Garak? Why would he allow the Federation and the BPG...."

"Really, doctor, this is...."

"There was something else," I interrupted. I wasn't about to allow him
to deflect the conversation. "Something was given to him which
prompted him to leave so quickly."

His eyes narrowed, as if he were considering my accusation. He then
shrugged. "Hmm. I supposed that is possible. Dukat hardly is an expert
at subterfuge."

"Not like you."

"Oh! My dear doctor! I am just a...."

"Plain and simple tailor. Yes. I know the drill." I stared at him
harder. "He left without submitting a formal protest...."

"He is operating outside of Cardassian...."

"He was Cardassia's *representative* in this matter, Garak," I
retorted sharply. "The current theory is that he received information
that was not given to the Federation. There is no other explanation
for why he would one, leave for Cardassian space even though his ship
was heavily damaged and risk a confrontation with the Klingons, and
two, not even complain about the Federation and the BPG's possible
mishandling of the shapeshifter situation. There *had* to be something
else." I played my trump card. "I *know* what happened between you and
the ambassador, Garak....."

Never had I seen him go so completely still. Never had I seen his eyes
turn as cold and hard as they did. Never had I seen his lips form a
thin gray line. We had been through a lot together, this Cardassian
and I, but never had I seen such a complete lack of emotion from him.

An enigma tale. He was guilty, and at that moment, I knew I had chosen
the wrong thing to accuse him of.

He closed his eyes briefly, as if to gather his thoughts, and then he
turned that frosty glare upon me. "Is that what you think, doctor?"

He was furious. Oh, he didn't shout, waving his arms around
fanatically, and throw furniture. No. He was furious in his own
Garak-like way of being furious: deadly calm. I idly wondered how he
was going to kill me.

"I don't know what to think, Garak," I found myself whispering.

"Neither do I, doctor," he replied.

I forged on. "According to my staff, you and Captain O'Brien were in
my office for two hours. Alone."

Perhaps he would simply be content to torture me for however long he
felt it necessary.

His expression was bland. His voice was quiet yet sharp, hissing in a
way that had caused me to shiver uncontrollably because I knew he was
humiliated, outraged and dozens of other emotions I really didn't want
to explore at that moment. Garak's skin turned the darkest of storm
grays. "I see."

"You've helped Dukat once before, Garak," I continued, wondering why
in the hell I was courting his wrath. No, I knew why I was doing this.
I was justifying my theory. "You got that message to him about the
Klingon invasion. You and Dukat may hate each other, but when it comes
to protecting Cardassia, to giving Cardassia that edge, to making your
people into whatever power you believe is your right by birth, you'll
do whatever is necessary. You'd even work with your most hated
political enemy knowing full well you will never be acknowledged for
what you have done for your homeland." I took a deep breath. "You had
motive and opportunity. You had the inside edge no one else had."

"And what edge," he asked harshly, "was that, my dear doctor?"

"The ambassador." My voice shook. "Why, Garak? Why did you...."

His glare was lethal. I couldn't finish my sentence. He straightened
and began to swiftly march toward the door.

"Garak," I called out hoarsely. 

He stopped but did not turn. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you,
doctor." 

"Try me," I urged softly but I was unwilling to take a step toward
him. "Tell me, anyway."

"I'm sure Admiral Necheyev and Captain Sisko have their own colorful
theories," he scornfully replied, "ones which are more suited to your
tastes."

The words were a verbal slap. I knew what he was implying, but that
part of it wasn't true. Didn't he see? Didn't he understand? "I didn't
tell them. Not about you and the ambassador or the book. I won't
either. I swear."

"I suppose I should to take comfort in your generosity," he quietly
mocked. "To thank you for such a kindness." The book spilled from his
hands onto the floor. "You have the answers, doctor. You're just not
willing to admit to them."

"Garak, I...."

"Good *night,* doctor."

****

Needless to say, I didn't sleep that evening. How could I?

"Know him as I have."

"You have the answers, doctor. You're just not willing to admit to
them."

I finally understood, finally realized, that Garak's liaison had not
about gaining the edge he needed to end his exile. Dukat would never
allow him such a luxury. It hadn't about strengthening Cardassia
either. Dukat had accomplished that on his own. It had been about him,
Elim Garak. It had been about the ambassador. It had about Garak's
soul. For I finally understood, finally realized, that he....

"I told you once how I felt about our... conversations.... How much I
enjoyed them. How I much looked forward to them. I am selfish when it
comes to a few things, quite possessive about others. You have treated
me with a respect, albeit misguided, that few people do. So yes,
doctor, I am concerned for your welfare."

He....

I couldn't even think the words, much less say them.

All this time... and here I thought Odo and Kira were thicker than
rocks when it came to romantic hints! The sly grins, the teasing
touches, the way his eyes glimmered when we spoke. They were all
there. They had been at the beginning, at our first meeting in the
Replimat! And I was too ignorant to see it.

Some genius I am.

No. Deep in my soul I always knew there was a chance he was flirting
with me. Sure, I recognized some of his "intentions," but I always
concluded Garak's flirtatious behavior was part of his "playfully
mysterious Cardassian" act. It was another facade. Another role to
play. And he only did it to get a reaction out of me, to laugh
silently to himself about how emotional humans were, especially me.

I stared down at the book of poetry.

He had given me the pieces to the entire puzzle. Every single one of
them. I had put the puzzle together, but had not stepped back to see
what the whole picture entailed.

Garak loved me.

My subconscious had prevented me from acknowledging those feelings.
Now, they were uncomfortably obvious.

I guess I had proven my devotion by charging off to Cardassian space
just to save his life, confronting one of the most dangerous men in
the quadrant. I guess I had proven my loyalty; when no one else would
listen to him, I did. I had been, until Ziyal arrived on the station,
the only one to share meals with him, to listen to his insights on
Cardassian literature, to engage in debates with him, to... ease the
loneliness of his exile.

"You have treated me with a respect, albeit misguided, that few people
do. So yes, doctor, I am concerned for your welfare."

That was as close to an admission of love as he would allow himself,
painfully aware he could not force his attentions upon me.

The assassination attempt on the ambassador took on a whole new
meaning.

Garak loved me.

Despite the spectrum of personas he adopted for his audience, Garak
allowed me glimpses at his true self on more than one occasion. Yet I
had not been satisfied with those token offerings because I didn't
fully appreciate what it meant to be privy to such information.

I understood his anger. I had deceived him, an action he truly was not
expecting. He had been waiting for me to confront him about the
ambassador and Gul Garak's relationship and how it affected our
friendship. It was the perfect opportunity for him to let a glimmer of
his feelings show because he had no other alternative.

And what had I done?

I knew he would never allow himself to be vulnerable around me again.
Why? Because I understood him a bit better than he expected me to. I
knew all about keeping secrets. I knew all about maintaining facades.
I knew the dangers of letting one's guard down for just a moment, just
to test the waters...

And I used it against him. I used it to hurt him, to push him away.
Intentionally or unintentionally, the damage was done. 

I never allowed myself to get close to people. Pelise... my "almost"
fiancee, my "almost" mate... She was the only person I had ever opened
my heart to, but in the end, I used Starfleet as an excuse and bolted
from Paris. Things had gotten out of hand. Her father offered me an
incredible opportunity at one of the premiere European hospitals. I
turned it down. Too much was at risk. If certain aspects of my past
were brought to light, it would not only destroy my life, but Pelise's
and her father's... there would be more than one casualty. So I chose
the furthest outpost, the "Frontier," where I could be brilliant
without too much scrutiny.

It had been for the best, I tried to convince myself both then and
now.

But I had lost a friend... a mentor... the one person who could
possibly understand....

I needed his forgiveness. Plain and simple.

***((( End Part 1 ))) ***

In the weeks that followed that disastrous confrontation, Leeta tried
to cheer me up. Cheerful and chatty as always, she went on a campaign
to make me smile despite the fact our relationship was dying a slow
death. She thought the reason I was miserable and depressed was
because of the deaths of the alternates. Yes, that was partially true,
but how could I explain to a *Bajoran* the guilt I felt over causing
emotional distress to a Cardassian, especially one of Garak's
mysterious nature?

Oh, Garak was as polite and elusive and playfully mysterious as he
ever was. He never snubbed me in public. He acted as if that
soul-torturing conversation we had never existed, but I could see the
hint of betrayal in his eyes and could hear the reservation in his
voice. To everyone else, he was the same, but I could tell the
difference. I spoke to no one about this. What was I supposed to say?

My report to Necheyev had stated Garak denied any involvement with
Dukat, and Captain Sisko surprisingly backed me up, citing some bit
about Garak still being in exile despite the fact, at one time, he had
been instrumental in saving the Cardassian civilian government. Sisko
had patted me on the shoulder and told me I did a good job, especially
considering the circumstances.

I made an effort, a sincere effort, to make it up to Garak. I
continued to read Cardassian literature, no matter how tired I was, so
I would have something, anything, to talk to him about if I had the
opportunity. He was unimpressed. I had been replaced by Ziyal in the
vie for Garak's attention. He doted upon her, engaging her in the same
type of conversations he and I once shared, and she relished every
second of it.

I was jealous and I redoubled my efforts to somehow set things right
between us to no avail. My dinner invitations were gently rebuffed and
I started to resent being turned down so politely. He was Cardassian.
He was supposed to understand why I did what I had done. Was he
punishing me for allowing himself to... what? Drop his guard? To feel?

Angry, I threw myself more into my work, attending or giving lectures
at conferences. I kept myself busy so I wouldn't have time to dwell
over losing him. Keiko had returned from Bajor and Miles was, of
course, spending more time with her. It only emphasized my loneliness
and hammered home the fact Leeta was nothing more than a convenient
relationship. I did catch Garak's watchful gaze upon Leeta and me more
than once and my reaction was one of guilt. If my arm was around her
shoulder, I would drop it to my side and step away. If she was leaning
against me, I would gingerly push her away. My actions did nothing to
change his attitude toward me.

After the O'Brien household erupted in chaos due to Keiko's pregnancy
being endangered to the point of Major Kira becoming the surrogate
mother, Kira moved in with them. I don't think Miles was particularly
thrilled with the arrangement. After all, the major was still the
station's first officer and she outranked him... oh... and there was
her legendary temper to deal with as well. No wonder Miles took his
time wandering home after his shift.

We played darts or shot down Jerries or squared off in a game of
racquetball or sometimes just sat in Quark's and had a few pints of
ale. Miles occasionally tested the waters of my depression; he made a
few comments here and there and then waited for my response. If I
didn't answer, he stopped probing. I was grateful for that, but also
wished he wouldn't give up so easily. No. I take that back. He didn't
give up that easily. He'd always toss in a quaint Irish saying just
before he'd head home for the evening, one which always conveyed the
unspoken message: I'm here if you need to talk to someone.

The problem was, I couldn't.

Hell, I didn't even know how I felt anymore. I was confused. Lonely.
Angry. Hurt. The nights I had spent staring out of my bedroom portal,
thinking about secrets and facades, and led me to one conclusion: I
had blown an opportunity.

Garak loved me... or at least he used to. And I finally convinced
myself to set aside my fears, my worries, my hesitancy, and perhaps
take that step closer to a more intimate relationship with him. That
damned book of poetry, those stupid handwritten notes... they wore
away my resolve to push him away.

I would try one last time. Enough time had passed that perhaps the
sting of my actions that fateful evening was not as painful. I worked
up the courage to confront him.

Then... Odo took ill. We charged off in the Defiant and were led
blindly by the Dominion in order to save the constable's life. Garak
had come along as well and I had thought when the entire ordeal was
over, when Odo was healed and we returned to the station, I would
approach him.

Garak, however, had other plans. He attempted to destroy the Founder's
homeworld, almost murdering not only a planet full of changelings but
us as well. 

I was furious. 

I felt betrayed. 

I couldn't believe he would do that. 

I was down on that damned planet when Worf discovered Garak rewiring
who knows what on the Defiant. He was going to kill us, kills us all,
for what? To avenge Tain's death? To cripple the Dominion long enough
for a task force to come through and liberate the Gamma Quadrant?

What in the hell was he thinking?

No, I couldn't love a ruthless killer like that. I had rationalized
that whatever Garak had been in the past was *in* the past; he had
changed in the years of his exile. I was wrong. The darkest part of me
hoped he would spend a long time in prison.

Starfleet gave him a slap on the wrist. Six months in the station's
brig. That was it. No one talked about how light the sentence had been
for we all knew what it was: Starfleet's token disapproval. Somewhere
in the bowels of Starfleet security there was a group of officers
saying, "You know, that exiled Cardassian was right."

I, of course, confronted him. I had waited almost a week before I
visited him, mainly because I had been helping Odo adjust to his new
found humanity. I dismissed the guard so we could talk in private.
Garak looked agitated, staring at me with wary and accusing eyes, as I
approached the forcefield.

"Garak," I pitched my voice low.

He smiled that smile of his which, to any one else, was his usual sly
grin. No. I saw beyond that. I saw the hostility. I saw the anger. I
saw the cruelty. "Good afternoon, doctor. So nice of you to visit me.
Tell me, how have you been?"

Oh, he sounded pleasant and all that, but I could hear the
undercurrents of his tone.

"Fine," I answered quietly.

His grin broadened as he stood and approached me, eyes sparkling with
mischief as he quietly teased, "Is there a reason we're whispering?"

"Why?" I asked without preamble.

"That, my dear doctor," Garak returned as if he didn't understand what
I had implied, "is what I'm asking you."

If I had the courage, I would have lowered the forcefield between us
so we could have a proper confrontation, but I didn't want Odo
questioning me on it. Hah. No, I wanted some measure of security so
that if things got out of hand.... 

I clarified, "Why did you do that? Try to kill us."

"Is that how you see it?" he queried, his features set with playful
intrigue. "That I was out to murder you?"

He was mocking me. My reaction was instantaneous. "No. Torture is more
your style."

His eyes widened in slight surprise and then narrowed. "Oh, now,
doctor. Surely you didn't travel all this way just to...." He
deliberately trailed off, obviously enjoying the burning flush I could
feel spreading across my features. He waved his hand as a glint lit
his eyes. "Tell me, doctor, are you asking to satisfy your own
curiosity or someone else's?"

I knew that comment was coming. I thought I had prepared myself for
it, but when he spoke, allowing the icy overtones to chill the air, I
felt as if the gravity had just been shut off and that eerie
weightlessness took over. I stared at him. I couldn't answer.

Garak turned away, taking the few steps toward the bed before facing
me and sitting down. He looked regal, a word I often associated with
him, but even more so here. It wasn't often he assumed this role, the
majestic Cardassian looking down on the feeble populace, but he knew
precisely what effect it had on me. He knew exactly how to get a
reaction out of me.

"No one sent me here," I finally said. He gave the barest of nods,
giving me "permission" to continue. My anger flared at his
imperiousness; every micron of self-righteousness surged forth. How
dare he treat me like this? I had played the game on his level! Was
that what had put him in such a mood? That I deigned to venture into
his precious territory of expertise? I remembered how he had reacted
to my spy program. The mocking. The disdain. That one evening, two
days after Captain O'Brien and his crew had sacrificed themselves,
when I had used the book of poetry as a clever excuse to talk to him
alone... when I discovered that he had completely misread the
situation...

And he punished me for his mistake. 

Damn him. 

Why was I letting him control me like this? Was his opinion that
important to me? He wasn't a colleague. He wasn't my peer. In the
grand scheme of Starfleet and the UFP, Garak's opinion meant
absolutely nothing. Yet there I was, pleading and cajoling for him to
speak to me again, trying to worm my way back into his favor even
though he had almost murdered me.

Damn him.

I was sorry. I had tried to apologize to him in a way he would
understand but he refused me.

I lost my temper. I don't know what triggered it or why I lashed out
so harshly at him. It seemed as if it were the only way I could get it
through his stubborn skull he shouldn't be blaming me for his
misjudgment.

"I remember not so long ago," I began, making sure I kept my voice
down, "you explained how you are 'selfish when it comes to a few
things, quite possessive about others'. Hmmm... trying to blow up the
Founder homeworld which would ultimately result not only in your
death, but mine and the entire crew of the Defiant, hardly constitutes
being 'concerned for my welfare,' at least in my book. Something had
to motivate you. I was just curious as to what it was."

His eyes glittered dangerously. "You wouldn't believe me if I told
you."

It was the same taunt he had used before. I was infuriated. I snarled,
"Try me."

Garak sighed and squared his shoulders. "My dear doctor, you and your
fellow officers have immortalized the actions of Captain O'Brien and
his valiant crew. You speak of them with such fond memories despite
the fact they almost murdered Odo. Make no mistake, doctor, they would
have killed the constable if they had had the chance. They are heroes
whose names shall never be tarnished." He paused and eyed me
carefully. "What if I were to tell you Captain O'Brien came to my
quarters the evening the ambassador had been attacked? What if I were
to tell you he said, quite cryptically I might add, that the only way
to survive the Dominion threat was to annihilate the Founder
homeworld? According to him, it was the only way. It was the only
reason he and his Federation had survived so long."

"Captain O'Brien would never...."

"Ah! You see? I thought as much. Those alternates have become
infallible in your eyes, doctor." He paused as if to say something
else. Instead, he smiled coldly and then stretched out on his bunk.
"Good day, doctor."

I hated being dismissed. And that was exactly what he was doing. I
could either argue with him, springing to a valiant defense of Captain
O'Brien, or leave. I was tired of chasing after him, tired of trying
to set things right between us. It was clear how he felt. He was never
going to allow himself to be vulnerable around me. Never.

Damn him... damn him to every hell.

But *why* was his opinion so important to me?

He was the only one who would understand.

I was never any good at relationships. Especially this one. Some
genius I am.

Casting one last glance at him over my shoulder, I left the brig.
Ziyal would keep him company. She was his favorite now and there was
no mistaking how she felt about him.

I was alone. Again.

*** ( End Part 2 ) ***

He wasn't supposed to leave that quickly. Ah. I've taught him well,
haven't I? Take what has been revealed to you and use it to inflict
the most harm. By the set of his jaw, I knew he was confused yet
angry. The indignant flash in his eyes when I invoked Captain
O'Brien's name had been quickly quelled by cold resentment. How dare I
say such an atrocious thing! The most honored and heroic Captain
O'Brien was incapable of committing such an evil act!

I resorted to the truth simply because I knew he wouldn't believe it.
The mere suggestion of O'Brien being "ruthless" was reprehensible.
Julian's reaction? He would cease chasing me down for my forgiveness
and leave me to console my soul in peace.

Enabran had often said I was too sentimental for my own good. He was
right. Why... why in the name of the Great Gul did I ever think
*Doctor Bashir* could understand?

Because he had all the answers to all his questions.

Ah, but I had underestimated him. I believed I understood his
character quite well. I had thought I had known how he was going to
react. I had been expecting our "discussion" to be centered on my
conjugal relations with the ambassador and his indignance over my
actions. I had not anticipated a volume of poetry. Despite my initial
reservations, I found myself eager for our dinner meeting, wondering
if that not-too-subtle push by the ambassador would be the chance for
me to confess that what I had done with the ambassador had been done
out of a mutual need to feel *connected* to someone again. To live. To
be whole. To be... loved. Despite the embarrassing plethora of
emotions and honesty, it could be in terms which the dear doctor could
understand.

Oh no. It could never be as simple as that. My dear Julian had taken
my teachings and used them to define my actions by Cardassian
standards, luring me into his quarters with the promise of a
confession of feelings only to turn it all against me.

I had been the naive human, eager for his next lesson. He had been the
calculating Cardassian, ready to dissect his prey. A reversal of
roles.

Gul... my heart ached.

Pity poor Garak... loved a human... taught a human... burnt by a
human....

Was this how Enabran felt? No... certainly not... We didn't have the
*connection.*

Do you know, dear Julian, how it felt?

I haven't felt this morbid since those first days of my exile.

I deliberately taunted him about Captain O'Brien and kept hoping he
would retaliate, springing to a passionate defense of the alternate,
but he denied me such a pleasure. Old fool. Sick, demented old fool.
Trying to trick Julian into an argument just so I could hear his
anger... some twisted part of my mind so desperate for affection would
convolute the disagreement into his way of showing fondness. Oh... how
I had underestimated my dearest Julian.

That night in the ambassador's quarters should not have happened. But
Gul! The way the ambassador looked at me, spoke my name, appealed to
me on every level... a fantasy played out.... We had used each other
for our own emotional agenda, but I had not cared. Neither had the
ambassador.

The subsequent events, that turmoil of emotion... the logical
conclusion would have been that Julian confronted me, I confessed, and
he made his decision. Not this. Not this wild dance of uncertainty.
Not this blustering of emotions. Not these types of confrontations.

How was I supposed to love a creature who did this to me? He had
proven his worth. But with the fickle human mentality... I would only
be a passing fancy until a lovely young lady caught his eye.

And now... Ziyal... Ziyal who had a child's crush on an old man. I was
in no mood to teach her... to take her under my wing as I had done for
my... yes, I still considered him *mine*...my Julian.

His efforts at reconciliation... If I hadn't been so angry with
myself, so lost in the darkness of having my soul shredded, I would
have found his actions amusing. He cautiously bounded up to me, eyes
pleading for forgiveness as his mouth formed the words of repentance.
My humiliation was a disease for him to cure, a wound to be healed,
and he applied all his energy into doing just that. Dinner
invitations. Comments on Cardassian literature. Comparisons of the
Second Cardassian Renaissance with Earth's.

I tried to hold myself aloof from his attempts of reconciliation, but
as each day passed, my resolve grew weaker and weaker. I should be
proud of him, for what he did. I just wasn't expecting my own
teachings to be used against me by a human.

Oh, Enabran! No doubt you are enjoying this.

In those days before Odo took ill... I noted the change in Julian's
behavior. It went beyond the token signals he had given me such as
moving away from Leeta whenever he found me staring at them. He seemed
a bit calmer, a bit more rational. Still eager for my attention, but
it had been as if he had come to a conclusion regarding our status,
whether or not he would attempt to regain my affection as a friend or
as a lover. I couldn't tell which he had decided upon.

Whatever decision he had made did not matter now. All he could see was
that I tried to murder him. Oh, and of course, those Founders. His
*enemy*. The beings who controlled the Dominion and infiltrated our
peoples! My Julian would never accept the reasons behind my actions.
I'm surprised a monument had not been erected in the middle of the
Promenade to honor those alternates.

Julian waited a week to visit me; Odo's situation took precedence, of
course. I knew the confrontation was going to occur, but I wasn't sure
when. I was trapped in this infernal cage, suffocated by its confines!
He dismissed the guard but refused to lower the forcefield. As if I
could harm him. No.

Oh, his tongue was sharp. I reacted, carefully choosing my words to
make them painfully obvious to him. He despises being talked down to;
it is a characteristic which had surfaced only last year. I found it
enchanting. I played the role I knew he would most likely respond
to... so pathetic in my need to hear his voice....

Please, dear Julian... can you not see?

No... he is too angry... I tried to kill them... kill them all... and
he refuses to acknowledge why. Captain O'Brien was right... killing
off the Founders was the only way to ensure we... and I mean the Alpha
Quadrant... survived. 

No... he would not accept the truth.

I was trapped in this... this... *cell* for not being able to complete
the simplest of missions! These years on the station have seriously
diminished my prowess; I admit that I am no longer the savvy agent of
the Obsidian Order I once was. Such a confession is truly sobering. An
aging, exiled former spy rotting away on a space station was hardly
how I imagined my retirement... and, yes, my grand and glorious plans
to retire as head of the Obsidian Order was to be in the same manner
of Tain's: I would be alive.

This incarceration may be the death of me yet. I am sure to those in
Starfleet that serving my sentence on DS9 as opposed to some
Federation penal colony was a "blessing." However, I believe Captain
Sisko is far more insidious than people think. Why else would he have
a Cardassian locked up for six months on a Federation-*Bajoran* run
station? I feel as if I am on constant display.

My predicament delights the local Bajorans to no end.

One would think after 60 years of occupation, Bajorans would come up
with more colorful and creative insults. No. They seemed content with
the rudimentary racial slurs: Spoonhead, Cardie, pagh-wraith.... Of
course, the section of the Bajoran population I shared the brig with
were hardly educated. No, these were the drunks and the
rabble-rousers. Some, I am convinced, deliberately provoked the
constable and his officers to arrest them so they would be jailed. I
was a captive now, a "Cardie in a Cage" as one of the more inebriated
Bajorans spat out, and they relished every childish taunt they could
shout at me.

Interestingly enough, they refrained from making derisive comments
while the constable was on-duty. Despite the fact Odo was no longer a
changeling, he still commanded enough respect and wariness that no one
wanted to court the constable's newly-humanized wrath. However, once
the constable ended his shift and a Bajoran militia officer took over,
the whistling and sneers started.

At least I had six hours of relative peace. Still, being in a
confining place did not suit me and with the constant scrutiny of my
fellow prisoners, I could not pace nor show the slightest bit of
agitation. It would only encourage them. I did not respond to their
taunts; instead I focused on the books Ziyal had so kindly brought to
me or sketched out a few designs for suits.

I had to have something to occupy my time. Otherwise I would go stark
raving mad.

Fortunately, Odo saw the wisdom of allowing me to have a cell to
myself. He was also kind enough to escort me during my daily
"exercise" period which consisted of a stroll around the habitat ring.
I truly do feel sorry for the constable... Being an outcast, exiled so
harshly from one's people... We have many things in common.

On the surface, the Federation was benevolent to their criminals. In
Cardassian prison, I would have been locked away without visitation
rights nor let out of my cell until my execution. Ziyal would not have
been allowed to visit me on a daily basis and I would not have been
allowed to have the novels she brought for me. In a Cardassian prison,
one was left to contemplate the crime one had committed and how to
deliver one's confession "properly" to the court. The Federation penal
system, however, was far more devious than I had ever given it credit
for. Humiliation was the key to reform. At least, it was in my case.

I was, as the drunk Bajoran so eloquently put it, a "Cardie in a Cage"
to be stared at and jeered. I was paraded around the habitat ring so
the residents could point and whisper. My cell was bright and cold and
I was only afforded a few minutes of privacy per day. It grated on my
nerves, and being in the particular situation I was, I could not let
any of it show. Denied meaningful conversation, denied my solitude,
denied those things which made my miserable life a bit more bearable.

Most of all, I had been denied Julian.

Perhaps it *had* been better that Julian inflicted those wounds to my
soul when he did. My refusal to make amends right away provided me
with a somewhat plausible excuse on why I didn't forgive him
immediately. It seemed as if I were planning my revenge against the
Founders all along and I knew that my Julian could never quite
understand my motivations.

There. That was a nice, slightly twisted reason for my actions.

Two months ago, Julian would have accepted it with minimal protest. It
seemed, after all, quite logical. Now, however... I could no longer
predict my Julian.

*****((( )))*****

Oh. My. God.

I don't know what possessed me to go back and review the station's
communication logs from that final encounter between Captain O'Brien
and the alternate Dominion. It had been eight weeks since my last
confrontation with Garak, when he revealed Captain O'Brien's ruthless
recommendation. During that time, Captain Sisko and the others
recovered a Jem'Hadar warship; I had to fill out the death
certificates for a half-dozen crew members. The smouldering embers of
my infatuation with Jadzia were firmly stamped out by a Klingon;
Jadzia and Worf hobbling into the Infirmary two or three times a week
was becoming tedious.

Miles and Major Kira still argued in private, but it seemed as if the
major had been fully accepted into the O'Brien household. My
relationship with Leeta continued to decline; I should have ended it a
while ago but refused to give up the comfortable affection.

Perhaps I decided to review the logs that evening because I had
nothing else better to do. I had retired to my quarters and called up
the information to my terminal.

What I found...

"Captain O'Brien, you will surrender your ship to the Dominion. Your
crew will be released into the custody of the Wadi since they will not
be held accountable for Starfleet's actions against the Founder
homeworld. However, you and Gul Dukat will stand trial for those
crimes against the Founders. In addition, Gul Dukat will be charged in
the death of the Founder named Kirsen Yavren. You will comply with our
demands..."

I sat there, staring numbly at the screen.

Garak was telling the truth.

The room was suddenly too cold for me... the lights too harsh... the
air too stale.

Had everyone understood what Garak had done except me? Oh, Federation
morality and principles prevented us from commending the Cardassian
for his "logical" actions. I was sure revenge against the Founders for
Tain's death tainted Garak's motivation. However, there was that
clear, shining truth -- the only way to cripple the Dominion was to
eliminate the Founders.

Ruthless. Cold-hearted. Effective.

Captain O'Brien was a soldier. It was a tactical decision. A
*soldier's* decision. All that nonsense about the captain visiting
Garak in his quarters was just that: nonsense. I knew when Captain
O'Brien had told Garak about destroying the Founder homeworld: during
the hours the captain sat with Garak in my office as they waited while
Doctor Troi and I operated on the ambassador. The man whom we had
venerated as a near-saint imparted a word of wisdom to the one person
on this station who would understand. The one person on this station
capable of taking such an action.

For Garak, it was a logical, tactical move made to ensure the threat
of Dominion domination stayed just that: a threat.

He had told the truth. He had known I wouldn't believe him right away,
that I had been privy to too many of his lies to take him seriously at
first. But perhaps he had hoped... hoped that I would be curious
enough to find the validity in his statements.

The boy who cried wolf.... I remember telling him that story... I
remember his sharp reply, "Never tell the same lie twice." But in the
end, the original moral of the tale was true: no one believed Garak
even when he was telling the truth. Especially me. All my original
anger had drained out of me, replaced by that ugly feeling of
loneliness. 

What had I done to him?

*****((( )))*****

The second day of the twelfth week of my imprisonment began just like
any other day. The now-sober troublemakers from the previous night
were released "on good behavior." This wasn't the first time the brig
had been devoid of miscreants and I took advantage of this respite. I
settled back on my cot and promptly fell asleep.

I must have been more exhausted than I was willing to admit because at
first, I did not hear the outer doors to the brig open. Only when
Odo's raspy voice ground out the words "Garak, you have a visitor" did
I wake.

Before I set eyes upon my company, I knew it was not Ziyal; Odo had
only announced her arrival during the first week of my imprisonment. I
sat up slowly, forcing myself to be attentive no matter how tired I
was. I carefully masked my surprise as I bade my guest welcome as if
the brig were my mansion and I, its gracious host. Odo harrumphed.

Julian refused to look at me as he shuffled forward like a guilty
child preparing for a punishment. I had forgotten how charming he
could look.

The constable switched off the forcefield, something I had not been
expecting. After all, the last time the dear doctor had not allowed me
such a luxury. However, I did not venture out of my cage just yet,
curious to see how this little drama would play out. Odo left but did
not state that he would be back at an appointed time. For the
constable not to set a limitation on this visit must have meant Bashir
had made prior arrangements. Either that, or the changeling was
confident the dear doctor would not let me "escape."

He edged closer to the table in the middle of the brig until he was
standing behind one of the chairs. He then gestured to the seat next
to him, clearly wanting me to join him.

It suddenly occurred to me I had no idea how to play the scene. I felt
a certain adolescent thrill, a feeling I thought I was too old to
have, that he came to see me, but I could not allow that to show. If I
played the imperious Cardassian, he would no doubt leave. What mask
should I...

"Please, Garak," he said softly, finally meeting my gaze. He looked
tired and haunted; Ziyal had told me about his adventure on Ajilon
Prime, how Jake Sisko almost became a victim of war. The doctor tapped
the back of the chair next to him.

I accepted his invitation, but chose to sit across from him, simply to
see if he would move closer to me. A petty game, I knew, but it served
to judge his current temperament. Julian sighed and sat down in the
chair he had been standing behind. For a few moments, he remained
silent, an action I found oddly enough almost unnerving. The last time
he "gathered strength" before he spoke, he had....

"I understand why you did what you did," the doctor began, focusing on
his hands that he had folded neatly on the table. The words hung in
the air. I refused to comment immediately, knowing he would eventually
explain himself. "I may understand and accept what happened, but I
don't approve."

Of course he wouldn't approve of what the ambassador and I had done.
What had I been expecting? During these five months, I had patiently
waited for his decision, knowing full well that in the end, he would
never accept me as anything more than a convenient dining companion.
Someone to listen to his rambling about medicine. Someone to debate
enthusiastically with. Someone to convert to Federation ideology.

I did not want to hear the truth. That is why I never actively pursued
him. I knew better. I would not subject myself to the humiliation.

He didn't approve. The words burned.

Perhaps if I had not spent the last three months in the company of the
station's less-than-stellar populace I would have been able to engage
him in a spirited conversation, twisting his words to fit my plans. I
could have hidden my emotions better.

But I was tired. I felt older than I had ever felt before.

"I never expected your approval, doctor," I replied bluntly,
refraining from hurling more insidious insults in his direction. It
would have been pointless. I had brought this situation upon myself.

"I know," he said quietly. He clasped his hands tighter, studying them
intently as if he held all the answers to the universe there. "I would
like us to be friends again."

I noted the emphasis on the word "friends." He did not have the
courage to look at me as he said this. I knew this was to be the
outcome; I had known it for quite a long time. It was the reason I had
refused to speak with him after that debacle in his quarters. I did
not want to hear him scramble for excuses about why he couldn't pursue
a relationship with me or plead how it was all a big mistake because
he was a Terran and I was Cardassian.

I was too weary to make a flippant comment, worn down by the weeks of
ridicule and oppressiveness. To be mocked by the Bajorans was one
thing; it was something I quite expected and had become accustomed to
when I was exiled here. But to be constantly subjected to it was
something else entirely.

"It has always been your choice, doctor." His eyes flew to mine; my
tone must have been more sour than I thought. Obviously, he was
shocked at my reaction. What had he been expecting?

His mouth opened and closed as if he were trying to speak as his eyes
sparkled with indignance. "You tried to commit *genocide,*" he shot
back although he kept his voice down. "That goes against every moral
principle...." he trailed off and shook his head. "I understand why
you felt you had to... to do that... but I cannot nor will I *ever*
approve."

There are thousands of idioms that could have described my realization
that he had been speaking about the Founders not the ambassador.
Suffice to say I cursed myself for being so obtuse.

The expression on my face must have been quite amusing; Julian stared
at me. Then confusion followed by understanding followed by
unadulterated embarrassment swept across his features.

I was wrong. Again. Humans are so frustratingly unpredictable,
especially this one. I had to save us from exploring this particular
topic in such a public place. Discussing my actions against the
Founders was acceptable but my intimate relationship with the
ambassador and the hope of beginning one with him was not.

Still, I could not allow him to leave here without some hint of his
feelings toward me, something more than "let's be friends."

"Forgive me, doctor," I smiled pleasantly and tried to sound like my
usually evasive self. "My incarceration has done nothing for my
temperament except make me... shall we say... a bit surly. I am truly
flattered that you wish to pursue our friendship despite all," I
emphasized the word slightly, "that has happened."

Now, dear doctor, answer that.

He nodded slowly. "Perhaps after..." he waved his hand, indicating the
brig, "we can resume our weekly lunches."

So cautious. So specific. He wanted boundaries. He wanted limitations.
He wanted control. I couldn't resist the poke. "Why not today?"

"You can't expect me to act as if nothing happened!" he protested. "I
don't *trust* you anymore." He slowly shook his head and added
quietly, "That is something which is very important to me. I do value
honesty, but I know with you such a demand is impossible. No. I'll
settle for trust. And it may take me a while to trust you again."

I considered his words and the implications, knowing full well I would
not turn down this chance at reconciliation. No, I craved his
companionship even if it was strictly platonic. It was better than
nothing.

"Of course, doctor."

It was a beginning. Again.

*** Finis ***