TITLE:    One Man's Dying
AUTHOR:   Terrie H. Drummonds (TDrummonds@aol.com)
RATING:   PG-13 for mild profanity and m/m angst. Implied sex but
          no naughty scenes, just lots and lots of angst.
SERIES/CODES: DS9; G/B
SUMMARY:  Garak's reaction to his father's death and his severe
          bout of claustrophobia worries Bashir, but the doctor
          is unsure how to offer comfort.
TIMELINE: This the sequel to "Converse Symmetry" and
          "Asymmetrical." It could stand on its own, although
          there are references to the prior two stories. This story
          occurs *directly* after the events in "In Purgatory's
          Shadow/By Inferno's Light" when the boys, Worf, Martok, and
          the Romulan all beam on board the runabout to escape from
          the Dominion prison.
COMPLETED: January 4, 1998

STAR TREK: DEEP SPACE NINE and characters are the property
of Paramount Pictures, Inc. Salute! But this story is mine. It does
not intend to infringe on Paramount's copyright in any way. Do not
change or alter in any way. 

Copyright 1997-8 by Terrie H. Drummonds (tdrummonds@aol.com).
Feedback is always welcomed.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: Kit Ramage for proof-reading this. Any
mistakes you find are all mine. To Mary Knasinski, Liz Williams,
Joanne Francis, Andrea Evans, Sophie Masse and Karen Colohan...
Thanks for the encouragement, ladies!

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

I found him in the back of the runabout, sitting on the single bench
against the far wall. Worf, Martok and the Romulan woman were in the
front part of the ship, discussing the best route back to the
wormhole. I had been left out of the conversation; my opinions had
been deemed unsuitable because I did not possess the tactical
expertise they thought necessary to make the decisions. It didn't
matter. Perhaps they understood that I had to had to be with him and
had to offer some sort of comfort to him.

But I could not think of one thing to say to Elim Garak. Nothing at
all. And it hurt more than anything.

To look at him, it was almost impossible to tell something was amiss.
His posture was eased, his hands folded loosely in his lap, and the
back of his head was resting against the bulkhead exposing his throat.
But to me, who had been treated to the vast array of Garak's emotions,
it was the most vulnerable position I had ever seen from him; even
during those months in the holding cell on the station, he always
seemed guarded, ready for anything to strike.

Now... he looked tired. Defeated. Weary.

And it scared the hell out of me.

I would never truthfully reveal why I had chosen to remain friends
with him, why it had been so important to me to regain our friendship.
Oh, there were a variety of justifications for my decision especially
the fact that no one else, even Miles O'Brien, had harbored sincere
resentment against Garak for what he had attempted to do to the
Founders those many months ago. While I had rehearsed my litany of
excuses daily, I knew the truth, the untainted pure truth, would be my
secret.

I knew why I was continually drawn to him; we were, in the oddest of
ways, kindred spirits. I saw in him my future if certain details of my
childhood were ever to be revealed. I would be dishonorably discharged
from Starfleet, spend a few years in jail, forbidden to ever practice
medicine, and then ostracized. And in those darkest of evenings when I
imagined my life if my deepest secret were revealed, I prayed to
deities I didn't quite believe in I could find someone who would
accept me for what I was.

It was that reason I had gone back to the brig those months ago and
offered the truce. It was that reason I could not look into his eyes
as I said the words, shamed by my own selfish fears and needs. And
when he accepted my offering, complete with a teasing challenge to
test my resolve, the relief I felt had been immeasurable.

Now, as I watched him simply sit there, I realized something else. He
was my possible future and because of that, I couldn't let him give
up. For him to quit the game meant that somewhere, sometime, I would
quit the game as well. I wasn't about to let that happen.

I went to the replicator and tapped in my selections, not wanting to
disturb him just yet although I knew he was very aware of my presence.
If nothing else, he could probably smell the rokassa juice I had
ordered for him; it was the only beverage I could think of besides
kanar and the only Cardassian one in the replicator's database.

I sat next to him, careful to keep a proper distance between us, and
watched as he roused himself. Leaning forward, he silently accepted
the beverage I offered to him and seemed content to stare at it rather
than drink it. The whole time, he did not look at me.

He was still in shock; I was sure of it. I also knew that if Martok or
Worf or the Romulan had been in this section of the ship, he would be
acting very differently. He would play the brilliantly savvy
Cardassian spy instead of the... instead of the tired old man sitting
next to me.

During that first half-hour when we had beamed out of the Dominion
prison and onto the runabout, when he had punched in the course and
warped us away from the danger, he had been the consummate
professional. Rational. Logical. Decisive. Animated. But after he had
relinquished the pilot's seat to Worf and banished himself to the aft
compartment, he allowed whatever emotional turmoil to begin burning in
his soul.

For the second time in his life, he mourned the death of his father.

I never claimed to have an understanding of Cardassian family
dynamics. The steady diet of Cardassian literature I had taken in over
the years did help shed some light, but not enough for me to fully
understand or accept it. I remember when I first met Tain on that
colony, when I had rushed there in a brash effort to save Garak's
life. Only now did Tain's words fully sink in, that he had allowed me
to enter Cardassian space, that he had allowed me to beam directly
into his home, that he had allowed that entire sequence of events...
that he allowed me to save his son's life.

Cardassian family values are about as straightforward as their
politics: a mass of endless mazes with dozens of dead-ends and
treachery all in the name of the State. Garak and I often had this
debate: Cardassia versus the Federation and that was one topic we
could never agree upon. Still, I supposed I could ascribe human
motivations to what had transpired between the two. I knew it was the
only way I could hope to grasp even the slightest bit of Tain and
Garak's father/son relationship despite the fact I knew my conclusions
would be utterly wrong.

It wasn't as if this subject was open for discussion.

Whatever crime Garak committed, whatever mind-bending game he
had been unable to talk his way out of, whatever had happened in
which Garak had never betrayed Tain in his heart, he had been exiled
not executed. Given just who Tain had been, if he had chosen to spare
Garak's life, if he had been unable to bear the thought of allowing
the State to murder his son, it would have been done. Again, that was
a very human interpretation and I knew it was probably wrong.
Cardassians were the expert at torture just as the Klingons were
experts at barbarity and the Federation, as Garak was so fond of
saying, was an expert at spreading our pristine ways throughout the
quadrant. Whatever wild dynamic Tain and Garak had, the death of Tain
tore deeply into Garak no matter what had passed between them.

It was something I could never experience. I never had such love for
my father, such loyalty, such anything but contempt, as Garak had for
Tain. He was more human than I in that way.

With everything we had been through together... the Wire,
Ambassador Bashir, the book of poetry, the rift, the attempted
murder of the Founders, our uneasy truce... I wondered just how big of
a factor I still played in Garak's life.

He'd allowed me to witness the bedside confession about his
parentage.

I'd say a pretty damned big role.

And like Ambassador Bashir and the book of poetry, the fact that
Enabran Tain was Elim Garak's father would be another secret for me to
keep. I've got quite a collection now, perhaps even one Garak could
admire.

I only wished we could have given Tain a Cardassian burial. Not to
honor Tain's accomplishments; I didn't even want to contemplate how
many innocents he had tortured and killed or any other vile acts he
committed in the name of the State, but I wanted it for Garak to give
him a sense of closure. I knew from my readings that Cardassians had
their own rites of death and Tain's had come nothing close to it.
There had been something about not allowing non-Cardassians to view
the dead; that probably explained the shadow of anguish which had
passed briefly over Garak's features when the Jem'Hadar had taken
Tain's body away. But Garak had not protested, had not drawn attention
to himself, just watched with solemn eyes.

It was that look alone which had made me realize just how much he was
going through, had made me realize the awesome, chilling truth: Garak
fully believed his hopes to return to Cardassia had died with Tain.
And knowing Garak as I did, how he thought and analyzed things, I knew
it was probably true.

I had thought that by him concentrating on securing a way for us to
escape would help him by giving him something focus on. It was a
mission, something which could make him feel important, wanted and
needed. Little did I know how detrimental it could be to him.

When I had gone after him, found him pounding on the wall and
telling me the light had gone out... I had never seen him in such a
state. With the wire, he had been angry, volatile, vicious... here, he
had been terrified, absolutely terrified. I had been wary to touch
him, remembering his reaction during his ordeal with the wire, but
this was an entirely different situation. And when I had put my hands
upon his shoulders and reassured him everything was fine, I had felt
him lean slightly in to me, a silent plea to give him strength. At
that particular moment, I had become his savior again, and if I wanted
to be particularly smug, I had perhaps even become his reason to live.
Then, he had retreated within himself, and I had been left to watch
helplessly as my friend, my mentor, my future fought the demons in his
mind.

There is something to be said about determination; I think Terrans and
Cardassians are equally matched in that respect. It was that sheer
will of his which had become the sole reason Garak was still alive,
the sole reason we were still alive. Of course, we had been willing to
come up with a different plan to escape and we had voiced as much. But
Garak had sat up, thrown off the covers, and quipped something about
not wanting to ruin the general's song....

He had become my Garak again. 

I had felt a surge of pride. Whatever anyone else said about him,
whatever he had done in the past or will do in the future, I will
always remember that moment. 

I don't know how long we sat together in the back of that runabout, me
watching him stare at his glass of rokassa juice while I sipped my
Tarkalean tea and thought about what had happened. It seemed whenever
an emotional crisis happened to one of us, we were inexplicably
brought together. The Wire. The Lethian. When no one else would pay us
any attention, when they would ignore us because of whatever moral or
social sins they believed we had committed, we had each other's
company. It was an odd partnership, one with many unspoken, unrevealed
understandings.

There had only been one exception. He had kept me distanced during
those first few weeks after he and Odo were rescued from the Gamma
Quadrant last year, when the Defiant had whisked in and beamed them
out before the runabout had been destroyed in the first failed attack
on the Founder homeworld. He seemed content to have breakfast with
Odo; I remembered being jealous. Perhaps something similar had passed
between them that had happened between us... each had let a bit of
their guard down and had revealed a detrimental truth they could only
entrust to each other.

There were some who said Odo and Garak shared that bond, the
bond of true exiles, and that shared experience had led to....

I almost laughed aloud. Certainly Garak would not appreciate my
current train of thought. I could hear myself explaining it to him:
Oh, I was just sitting here, imagining you and Odo having it off in
your shop, and how insanely jealous I would be about it because it
wasn't me.

Where in the hell did that come from?

Stop being such a prude, Jules Bashir! I knew damned well where it had
come from. Ever since I realized Garak had, at least at one time,
loved me, I had been tinkering with the notion. In that frighteningly
pragmatic way, I had decided that if my past ever caught up with me, a
life with Elim Garak wouldn't be so bad. In fact, it would probably be
quite enjoyable.

Perhaps all his preaching about Cardassian sensibilities had had an
effect on me.

But, using that same methodical way of thinking, I knew I could not
realistically enter a more intimate relationship with him. It was
impossible. It would draw intense scrutiny from the very people I had
been carefully avoiding all these years. It came down to a decision:
my career or Garak. With everything I had sacrificed so far, my career
still came first.

Even if I did say, "To hell with it!" right here and now, it would not
be the time. Garak would interpret such intentions as pity and if
there was one thing he totally despised, one sure fire way to drive
him permanently away, it was to show pity. He would never forgive me
and he'd have a damned good reason not to.

No... No.... I knew better. And I supposed he did as well.

We continued to sit there; he remained unmoving as I finished my tea.

My thoughts wandered back to that deathbed confession. Had I been
there merely as emotional support for Garak? Was it something he did
not want to face alone? There was a message there... buried beneath
all that grief. No matter what, there was always a hidden motivation
to what Garak did, what he allowed me to see. Perhaps this was his way
of telling me he trusted me again....

He allowed me to witness what transpired between him and Tain,
telling the dying man that they were alone when in fact I sat only
meters away....

He gave me the one thing I valued most: honesty.

I almost dropped my mug.

The lessons. The literature. The adventures. The speeches. I knew
enough about Cardassian values to understand just what being
illegitimate in his culture meant so when the revelation came... maybe
he had planned on eventually springing that fact upon me. Probably
not, but given an opportunity, Garak was as wily as Quark when it came
to taking advantage of it. But I understood more about him than I had
ever dreamed of understanding.

It was then he suddenly moved, downing the juice in one swift gulp and
then rolling his shoulders forward, stretching his muscles.

Needless to say I was stunned. The timing was uncanny, as if he had
waited until I had solved the puzzle and his actions were a
confirmation of my answer.

He glanced over, held my gaze with those thrilling eyes of his, and
confusion wrinkled his brow. Perhaps it had been because I was gaping
at him. Still, he gave a slow nod; I knew instantly what it meant:
thank you.

But for what?

Another thought crossed my mind: something about Cardassians
holding silent vigil for those whose body could not be returned to the
State. Klingons had something similar except they actually guarded the
body; Miles had mentioned it when he told me about how he and Worf had
observed it following Muniz's death. Perhaps that was why no one else
ventured to the back of the runabout; they knew something about that
aspect of Cardassian culture and whatever Worf and the Romulan didn't
know, Martok probably had told them.

"Honestly, doctor," Garak finally said, eyes sparkling with mischief
as his voice took on that distinct "mentor" tone, "to believe
Starfleet runabout technology is not common knowledge..." he reached
over, placed a crooked finger beneath my jaw and gently closed my
mouth..."is quite naive. Why... I'm sure Chief O'Brien knows his way
around more than one type of Romulan starship. For that matter,
Klingon and Cardassian ships as well! You see, it is a common
misconception that ship technology is classified. It is a myth told to
the public to generate feelings of superiority, but in truth, the only
technology Romulans, Cardassians, Klingons and the Federation do not
share are the bold ideas still contained here." He affectionately
tapped my temple.

Sitting back, a half smile playing across his features, Garak seemed
content with himself. It was then I saw Worf had approached and heard
the conversation; the scowl said as much. Garak had conveniently
launched into his response to a naive concern about security issues
and such and made it sound like we were in the middle of a discussion.

It was a strange move, unnecessary at least in my opinion, but Garak
probably felt obligated to play a role for his unwelcome audience. Was
he reassuring me he was quite capable of handling himself... that he
had simply needed time to organize his thoughts, to come to terms with
what had happened, to make decisions on how he was going to play out
the situation... or was he providing an odd sort of protection, that
he would not allow me to be judged too wrongly for my compassion?

If Garak would have winked at me, I think I would have gone
through the deckplate.

"So, commander," Garak brightly asked, his tone betraying none of the
anguish I was sure he was feeling, "what is our ETA?"

"Two hours, fourteen minutes," grumbled Worf and wandered back
to the front, leaving us again alone.

Garak turned to me, giving another appreciative nod, before settling
back into his near-meditative pose. This time, however, he sat in a
more guarded position.

He held the empty glass in his lap, almost unwilling to let it go.

Whatever brief respite I had given him, it was worth it. Whatever the
consequences, we'd deal with that when we got back to the station. For
now, I was content to sit next to him, knowing that I had eased some
of the pain, perhaps helped some of the healing process to start. 

It was my duty as an officer, as a physician, as a friend... most of
all, it was my duty to him.

***((( Finis )))***