Once they had rode the turbolift down to the Promenade, Jake called to be transported back to the Defiant. The ambassador declined to beam over and the chief didn't object; the young man was concentrating too much on securing his own mental safety than worrying about Bashir wandering the station alone. Julian wasn't wandering per se. He knew almost exactly where everything was: the bar, the temple... the tailoring shop. He deliberately took the most visible route back to his quarters to see who would approach him. Dukat would undoubtedly berate him for his arrogance; Julian was an easy target for anyone who wanted to kidnap him and extort information from him. O'Brien would bellow through his impressive collection of profanities before concluding with, "What you did was damned stupid, Julian." Bashir's pace was unhurried but deliberate, a cross between a military strut and a casual walk. Few people nodded towards him, but they obviously thought him to be the doctor instead of the ambassador. He found the anonymity refreshing; it wasn't often he could leisurely stroll through a port without someone flagging him down for some reason or another. With a half smile, he continued, passing by the replimat and casually looking in it. It was a mistake. At that moment, Elim Garak looked over the shoulder of his dining companion and discovered the ambassador staring at him. The Cardassian had grown used to intense scrutiny during his years in exile, yet the way Ambassador Julian Bashir gazed at him had an unusual effect: Garak felt more self-conscious than he had been in quite awhile. Perhaps it was the way Bashir's hazel eyes widened in surprise before his training and discipline erased such emotions from his face. While the ambassador's features had become unreadable, at least from this distance, he remained frozen in mid-stride. It was an odd feeling to watch Ambassador Bashir gaze upon him with haunted eyes while Doctor Bashir sat across from Garak, blissfully unaware the diplomat was behind him as he argued the merits of Edgar Allen Poe. Suddenly, the doctor stopped talking as he realized the tailor's attention had wandered, and he looked over his shoulder to see what Garak was staring at. Garak found himself momentarily stunned, for the emotion which danced across the ambassador's features was one he hadn't expected: jealousy. It was positively fascinating, even more so than the encounter in the corridor a few hours ago. There, Bashir had been in complete control, probably because he had heard Ziyal's demands before Garak and she even appeared in the main hallway. Here, however, the scene was unexpected and it clearly rattled the ambassador. Only a few seconds had passed since Garak and the ambassador first made eye contact, and the patrons in the replimat hadn't realized there were two Bashirs. The doctor stood and motioned Garak to join him. "We should thank him," Julian said with a sincere grin, "after what he did for us in Ops." Garak mused. The battle had ended 10 minutes ago, the station stood down from red alert and Julian had reemerged from the Infirmary to finish his lunch with Garak. The confrontation with the Jem'Hadar had caused the most unusual reaction from DS9's residents. Instead of shop owners quickly closing their stores and people preparing for a siege, some had gathered on the upper level of the Promenade to watch the action from the portals while others activated the viewscreens throughout the lower level. They had treated it as a spectator sport, cheering wildly when each Jem'Hadar ship was destroyed. Did these people honestly believe because the captain of the alternate Defiant just happened to be a Terran named Miles O'Brien they would be safe? Pushing those thoughts aside, Garak followed the doctor and the approached the diplomat. The doctor called out, "Ambassador?" "Good afternoon, doctor," the alternate Bashir said and extended his hand. The two Terrans shook and then the ambassador formally saluted Garak, although this time he didn't tap his heels. "Mister Garak." "Ambassador," the Cardassian replied. He noted how the ambassador's eyes took on a certain sparkle, mischievous and deadly at the same time. The diplomat was searching for an excuse, one which would explain why he had stopped in the middle of the Promenade and looked into the replimat. The ambassador addressed the doctor, "Troi wanted to make sure you received the medical report on the crew members you had treated." It was a bad lie, one which implied Sisko was untrustworthy, but also quite ingenuous in its own way. For anyone who had not been privy to the scene before their verbal exchange would not realize it had been Garak, not Doctor Bashir, who had garnered the diplomat's attention. The ambassador was also playing up a bit to his alternate's ego by giving the impression his sole purpose in traversing the Promenade was to meet his doppleganger. If Garak corrected the doctor's assumption, it would seem as if the Cardassian was reveling in the ambassador's favoritism. Ambassador Bashir was exploiting everyone's assumptions that the two Bashirs were the same. It was a well played game indeed. Garak was impressed. If Doctor Bashir realized what was going on, he gave no indication. "Yes. The captain did forward it to me. I understand the necessity of keeping yourselves sequestered, but please pass along to Doctor Troi my appreciation." As the doctor made his reply, Garak watched as the ambassador suddenly became pensive. The diplomat was not obvious, but Garak's trained eye noticed the subtle furrow of the ambassador's brow, the barely perceptible twitch to the left eye and the slight tilt of the head as if Bashir was listening to or for something. To the left and behind the black clad Bashir, Garak caught the tell-tale golden glimmer of Odo beginning to shapeshift to his humanoid form. A split second later, the ambassador whirled around, pulled a weapon from the folds of his jacket, and stepped backwards, causing both the Cardassian and the doctor to move back. The ambassador's right hand whipped out as if to protect the two. A thought dawned upon Garak: Ambassador Bashir had *heard* Odo move. It was an interesting notion, listening for the *schlosch* of a Founder coalescing into a new form. Maybe the subdermal communicators of the First Federation officers had been programmed to alert the wearer if a changeling was shapeshifting near by. What was more amazing was the speed at which Bashir recognized the sound, pinpointed Odo's location and drew his weapon. Perhaps the only reason Bashir had refrained from firing was because he knew Odo was supposed to be on the station. Starfleet and Bajoran security personnel quickly informed Ops Ambassador Bashir was threatening the chief of security and the few who were armed now trained their weapons on the diplomat. Ambassador Bashir tensed as if he realized the situation was spiraling out of control, but did not move. Garak soothed quietly, "It is Odo, ambassador." "As I have already told you, ambassador," Odo's tone was almost mocking, as if he relished taunting Bashir, "I don't allow weapons on the Promenade." The doctor huffed in frustration, strode around his other self and then stood between Odo and the diplomat. "Constable," Bashir scolded, "the ambassador is our *guest*. While having a firearm on the Promenade is against station regulations, you can hardly blame him. I would think after that first incident with Dukat you would have known better than to sneak up on him." "Doctor, station security is my job...." "And public health and welfare is mine," retorted the doctor. "Now will everyone *please* put away your weapons. I'm *not* spending this evening patching any of you up." Ambassador Bashir did not move. Neither did the security personnel. Odo remained silent. Garak's view was blocked by the diplomat who seemed intent on, of all things, protecting him. Pieces began to click together. Bashir's overly formal initial greeting. Dukat's apparent genuine respect. The protectiveness which was now radiating from Bashir. In the ambassador's universe, Elim Garak must have been a high ranking or at least a well respected officer and Bashir probably had served with him. It would certainly explain Bashir's behavior and though the ambassador had seemed to adjust to everyone else's alternate, he couldn't seem to reconcile between the two Garaks. Garak decided to test a theory simply because he knew neither the diplomat or the security contingents would relinquish their weapons. "Ambassador," he whispered, guessing the subdermal communicator would amplify his words, "I understand your hesitancy, but we will be here all evening if you do not comply." Although it took a few seconds for the words to seem to register with the phaser-wielding Bashir, the diplomat slowly reholstered the weapon and dropped his hands to his sides. The security officers reluctantly followed suit. "Good," the doctor said, pleased his intervention had worked. "Now, I'm sure everyone has something better to do that stand around gaping." The crowd murmured as they dispersed, casting wistful glances back at the ambassador, doctor, changeling and Cardassian. Bashir glared at the scowling shapeshifter. "I have the situation under control, Odo." While Odo resented Bashir's coup of authority, the constable retreated to the security office. "Odo is quite territorial," the doctor sheepishly admitted as a slight blush of embarrassment colored his cheeks. "He is known for popping up at the oddest moments." "He was testing me," the ambassador stated darkly. "Either that or your chief of security has a sincere death wish." "Oh...." Clearly, the doctor wasn't expecting such a harsh statement. "Um... that weapon you have... is it like the one Dukat used? I mean, it did temporarily disrupt the constable's ability...." "Constable?" The ambassador stared at the doctor incredulously. "Um... yes..." the doctor stammered, "it's an unofficial... um... nickname." The ambassador's jaw clenched as he spat coldly, "I see." The doctor immediately straightened, reacting as if the comment had been directed at himself instead of Odo, and explained, "I realize this hasn't been easy. From your point of view we may be the most reprehensible people alive, but Odo has demonstrated on several occasions that he does not believe in the Founder's agenda. They've exiled him and he's killed one of his own people defending us." "Let me guess," the ambassador ventured, his tone still icy, "he participates in maneuvers to see if your crew can track him down." "Yes. A phaser set at 3.5 will cause a changeling to revert to a gelatinous state." "And once in such a state, it can more easily escape," the ambassador concluded. "You've been most fortunate to have a willing test subject." "Ambassador, doctor," Garak interrupted, preventing the doctor from rallying to the defense of Odo, "as much as I would enjoy listening to this debate, I must return to my shop." His voice startled the diplomat who turned to face him. Bashir's features had become impassive, cold and distant, not even his eyes held the sparkle which was most endearing. "Please, accept my apologies," the ambassador said with a conciliatory nod of his head to the doctor and the tailor, "I've kept you from your lunch and managed to cause another scandal." The latter was said with an almost apologetic grin which did not reach his hazel eyes. "I should return before Captain O'Brien starts his lecture on the arrogance of diplomats. I almost know that speech by heart." The self-deprecating comments contrasted sharply from the professional, self-assured demeanor Bashir had projected. Yet before either Garak or the doctor could respond, the diplomat nodded again and said, "Good day, gentlemen." Garak watched as Bashir departed, noting how his pace had quickened and the observers began whispering and moving out of the way as he approached. The doctor and Cardassian remained silent until the ambassador boarded the nearest turbolift. "That has to have been one of the most unusual conversations I've ever had," Julian commented quietly as he shook his head. "And perhaps one of the most foolhardy and dangerous ones, doctor," Garak replied. The human gave him a questioning look before the tailor clarified. "He would have killed you." "Surely not, Garak." "What reason would he have not to?" the Cardassian persisted. "These people have been dealing with changelings far longer than we have. Who is to say he has never had to fire upon a likeness of himself?" Julian paused and then narrowed his eyes. "So that's it." "Pardon me?" "Why my doppleganger sounded so... familiar...." "You both have the same accent, doctor, and your voices have the same pitch." "No no no... not the *sound* of my voice but what he said... how he said it." Garak widened his eyes appropriately, his signal to Bashir to elaborate on the sudden discovery the doctor seemed to have made. "He sounded like you, Garak. He sounded like you." *** Thirty minutes before the second meeting was supposed to take place, Ambassador Bashir sent messages informing Sisko, Nechayev, Kira, Shakaar, and Gul Dukat that at 0800 hours tomorrow, information on the tracking system would be given to them. He also stated his concern regarding the 'Hadar attack and the possibility of a breech in security. He was succinct, refraining from any diplomatic rhetoric which could be interpreted negatively. Julian smiled ruefully to himself. They would undoubtedly be angry he did not meet them in person, but the ambassador knew he couldn't endure another encounter with Garak. When Julian had returned to their designated area after his stroll on the Promenade, O'Brien had been waiting. The conversation had been curt, the ambassador did not want to dwell on the confrontation he had with the Founder, and Julian had retreated to his quarters. He wanted to dwell in his misery alone. What consolation could Miles offer? Would the captain barge in, demanding an explanation of why Julian had chosen Jake to accompany him to Ops when Brahms or Sutter would have been just as good? Why had he subjected Jake to such emotional torture? Julian knew the answer and cursed himself for what he had done. He wasn't a petty man by nature, but at that moment, he wanted someone else to feel the poignant suffering he was. It had been stupid and the repercussions were enormous. Julian jeopardized his friendship with Miles and no doubt had put a barrier between himself and the rest of the crew. The story of his deplorable behavior had probably already been circulated. Brahms would take great delight in reminding him of this particular shortcoming. Troi would be knocking on his door for a counseling session. Prophets only knew what Dukat thought. Bashir ordered a glass of kanar from the replicator and trudged to the portal. He took a tentative sip, surprised at the quality of the replicated liquor, and gazed out. He sipped the drink again and then sat on the portal ledge, swinging his legs up and allowing the architecture to cradle him. "Why are You doing this to me?" Julian asked aloud, peering out to the stars. "It was bad enough You chose to call Elim to You... but this?" The Prophets, of course, wouldn't answer. They never did. *** End Part 9 *** "S-s-s-s-sir?" "Ambassador Bashir invited me to a conference at 2300 hours, however he was not specific on where it would be," Garak repeated brightly. The young Terran who stood on the other side of the forcefield continued to gape, his eyes wide in amazement while his posture was amusingly formal. It was a quite interesting combination; Garak had never been treated to such a display of shock warring with respect and confusion from a human. "But he... um... canceled it... sir," the human stuttered. Garak continued to smile pleasantly, giving no indication he knew the meeting had been called off. Odo had coldly informed him of the cancellation, tacking on a chilly, "Sorry to disappoint you." Under normal circumstances, Garak would not have rummaged through his closet to find his most splendid yet understated suit, changed into it, and then walked to the opaque forcefield protecting DS9's most popular visitors. Curiosity had overridden Garak's usual cautiousness. At first, the tailor had believed Ambassador Bashir's gallant invitation had been to annoy Odo and Worf, showing that the ambassador wouldn't tolerate the mistreatment of any Cardassians or Cardassian half-breeds. The second encounter with the ambassador, however, made Garak realize Bashir's distinct respectfulness and protectiveness went far beyond proving a point. To the ambassador, those reactions were normal, almost instinctive and Garak had to find out why. He stepped closer to the forcefield which had become translucent when he announced he was here. "You are Mister Lavelle, are you not?" The question had the appropriate effect; the Terran nodded slowly in agreement. "Well, Mister Lavelle, I received no such notification. Now, if you will contact the ambassador and tell him I am here." "He's asked not to be disturbed," Lavelle nervously responded. "I'll take it from here, Mister Lavelle," the voice of Miles O'Brien echoed slightly down the hall. Garak looked over the shoulder of the young human and found the captain standing a few meters away with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Lavelle looked back and forth between the two before O'Brien lanced him with a particularly icy stare. "You're dismissed." "Yes, sir." Lavelle cast another look in Garak's direction before retreating. The Cardassian found himself under the appraising eye of O'Brien, surprised that he didn't find such obvious scrutiny annoying. Instead, he met the captain's wary look with an amused, expectant one of his own. A smile twitched at the Terran's lips as he walked closer to the forcefield and pulled out a tricorder. "I do not wish to be late," Garak said with a slight teasing edge to his voice. "Oh, I'm sure Bashir won't mind. Just tell him you were delayed by his overly cautious captain. He'll understand." The captain adjusted the instrument a few times, occasionally glancing up, and then he entered a code into a square box attached to the left bulkhead. The shielding dropped and O'Brien motioned Garak through. Cautiously, Garak crossed over the threshold. The moment he did, an electrical surge rushed from his feet to his head, the power from it instantly nauseating him. He could only guess what its purpose was: scanning for weapons, confirming the tricorder readings, comparing DNA scans, deactivating electrical devices/implants, or maybe it was set in such a way it would cause a Founder to lose his shape. He was momentarily disoriented and angry at himself for being foolish enough to believe these people would just let him cross their border without some type of physical search. "Bashir's in H728." Garak eyed the captain suspiciously but O'Brien simply smirked. The tailor bobbed his head once. "Thank you, Captain O'Brien." The human didn't respond, only jerked his head once in the direction of Bashir's quarters. Garak warily made his way down the hallway, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to check where O'Brien was. The captain remained by the threshold, watching him, and the opaque shielding was back in place. Garak rang the chime to H728. He heard a despondent, "Enter." The doors slid open and revealed the ambassador curled up on the portal sill looking out at the stars, but the human did not move nor look over. The room was darker than Garak was expecting and warmer as well. Had Bashir been hoping or waiting for Garak to appear and adjusted the environmentals accordingly? Garak stepped inside but remained silent. The doors closed. Bashir then caught the Cardassian's reflection. "Garak." The name was said with unabashed amazement and pleasure, a smile lighting the dour features of the ambassador before the professional mask slipped into place. Bashir unfolded his long limbs and stood, tilting his head and staring at the tailor curiously. He was still dressed in solid black, although he had shed the overcoat. Here, in the soft lighting of quarters, Garak could finally see the distinct physical differences between the doctor and the ambassador. The ambassador, while as sinewy and lanky as the doctor, was decisively more muscular. On the two previous occasions Garak had encountered the diplomat, a jacket had hidden his stronger build, but without it, Bashir's upper body strength was unmistakable. The only things similar between the two Julians were their hair was cut and styled the same, they both were clean-shaven, and their voices were identical. It was the voice which sounded almost apologetic. "I wasn't expecting you." "The meeting was at 2300 hours, was it not?" The ambassador's eyes widened as his face suddenly became flushed. The reaction was so much like the doctor's Garak couldn't help but smile yet another thought crossed his mind. As quickly as the red had stained his cheeks, it was gone. Bashir gestured towards the chairs and then offered, "Kanar?" "Yes, thank you, ambassador," Garak replied as he sat down. The diplomat ordered two glasses of the beverage, handed one to Garak, and settled into the chair across from him. "I dare say this is quite an unusual sight. I didn't know Terrans enjoyed kanar." Bashir smiled tightly, "It's an acquired taste, or so I was told." He paused. "How shall I address you? Mister? Gul?" "There is no need for honorifics, for I have none. I am Garak." "Will you honor one request, Garak?" "What request is that, ambassador?" "Please, speak Kardasi, for my ears tire of the sounds of this Federation's standard." "Your standard language is not Terran English?" "While Earth was a founding member of the First Federation, the official language of the Federation is Karjoran, a hybrid of Kardasi and Bajoran. Yet, I prefer the purer form of Kardasi. It is far less cumbersome than Karjoran." "If this is an attempt to lull me into complacency, ambassador, it certainly is an ingenious way." This was said in Kardasi. Julian held back a pleased smile. "My only motivation is personal preference." "And the wish to hear me speak the language. Or to be more precise, to hear my voice. My counterpart is dead and seeing me brings back fond memories." "Ah, yes. Find a weakness in your captive and exploit it. Bring forth what your adversary desires to remain hidden and reveal it. We could go on for hours, Garak, dancing with words, observing each other for signs of weakness to pounce upon and exploit, and teasing ourselves into ecstasy with half-truths. Yet we will be no closer to consummating your mission than we are now." "You are a protege of Enabran Tain." "As are you. We are evenly matched." "I merely recognized the arrogance, ambassador. I do not believe we are equals." "Will you use any means possible in hopes that your exile will be lifted?" "I could ask anything, ambassador, and you would give it to me. Not because you wish me to be reinstated into Cardassian society but because of who I remind you of." "If I gave you everything, would they nullify your sentence and allow you to return to Cardassia? Or do you have too many political enemies for that to be possible? You are expendable to them, Garak, which is a tragedy on their part." "Tain was not your mentor. I was." "You wish to return to Cardassia on your own terms, and the prospect of bringing weaponry which will make Cardassia a power in this quadrant again tempts you, doesn't it? You love your homeland, despite what your compatriots have done to you. You wish to be in a position of power, which is why you accepted Tain's offer of reinstatement on board that Romulan ship. The Cardassian civilian government and the military believe you will go to any length to regain your citizenship, even give in to whatever whim a Terran ambassador asks of you." Silence. "You are clever, ambassador. It is has been far too long since I've had this stimulating of a conversation." "You are not afraid of offending me, nor do you assume I, in any way, am like Doctor Julian Bashir." "I believe, ambassador, I have conceded to your earlier point." "I am merely an unruly child in your eyes, Garak. I am a youth who has learned the skills of verbal warfare and display them in a very Terran manner by openly admitting I have such prowess. That offends you. I will never be your equal, only your student, and that will never change." "I doubt you revealed this particular talent to your hosts, let alone Dukat or the rest of the station. You couldn't resist the temptation of bragging to me, in hopes of a compliment." "Compared to them, my arrogance is minimal. Because Captain O'Brien and I are human, are members of a military organization called Starfleet, and our alliance has Federation in the name, those humans and Bajorans are convinced that we are very similar to them. We have a Prime Directive, that vaulted non-interference policy this Starfleet and UFP holds in such high regard. We spout the rhetoric they wish and expect to hear." "And I will inform them that you, Ambassador Bashir, have played Starfleet, the Bajoran Provisional Government, and the entire Federation for fools." "If you wish." "How long have I been dead, ambassador?" "Over two years." "And you still grieve." "Yes." Silence. "If you choose, you may return with us to our universe." "Quite a tempting offer, ambassador. Why would I desire such an opportunity?" "While they are not the same Dominion who murdered Tain, you can extract your revenge upon them and be accepted back into Cardassian society. I offer you what this universe has taken from you." "And why should I believe your intentions are honorable? For all I know, I could be a wanted criminal in your universe. You could return to your First Federation with me as a willing prisoner and then I shall be executed for a crime I did not commit." "That's quite an interesting theory, although very inaccurate. I could no more turn you over, if that were the circumstances, than. . .." "My dear ambassador, I betrayed Enabran Tain. That is why I was exiled." "I know why you were exiled. Dukat apprised me of your situation." "I am most impressed with this, ambassador. It seems you are intent on proving yourself to me. However, you should have also realized I would never willingly travel to a universe where Bajorans are my equals. They are an inferior race, as are humans, who are best utilized when treated as such." Silence. "I understand your philosophy. I wish you would reconsider, although I realize you will not." "Ambassador, what was Elim Garak's title?" "It does not matter, Garak. He is dead." "I was more than your mentor, I gather, from the morose look on your face." "Yes." "You must have been an eager protege." "There was a certain amount of hero worship." Silence. "My complimentary words bring tears to your eyes. You still grieve for my loss. You are more loyal than I ever was." "Stop." "I believe you were the one who wanted to continue this game, ambassador." "You have won, Garak," Bashir abruptly stood and went over to the portal before murmuring, "as you always have." It wasn't the answer nor the reaction the Cardassian was expecting. The man who moments ago dueled so elegantly with words now leaned against the metal sill with his head bowed in dejection. Garak didn't miss the muttered comment nor the switch of the pronoun from the third person "he" to the second person "you." Pity was not something Garak often experienced. It was a terrible emotion, pathetic in many ways, but the distraught human triggered the feeling. Here was a man whose profession depended on visages and false images, word games and eloquence, and above all ruthless cunning to achieve his goal, whether it be peace or alliances. Garak realized he was witnessing the "real Julian Bashir," a side of the ambassador very few people saw. The only reason the tailor recognized this subtle change was he dined with Doctor Julian Bashir almost every week for four years. Garak could decipher each of Doctor Bashir's moods by his choice of words, his tone of voice, and his hand gestures. He had seen almost the entire spectrum of the doctor's emotions but what had piqued his curiosity about the ambassador was that *this* Bashir was an expert at masking them. Garak paused in his train of thought and then recalled the scene at the replimat. There was jealousy. There was agony. But why? The solution was stunning, so much so the words slipped out before he could stop them. "Elim Garak was your lover." Bashir tensed before placing his hands on either side of the portal as if bracing himself. "Stop. Please, for the love of the Prophets, stop." Garak couldn't. He found himself drawn to this human, the human whose shoulders were now shaking slightly, as if he were weeping. No one had ever shed tears for Elim Garak, not his friends, his lovers or his family. When he was exiled, no one cried, no one rallied to his defense, and no one wailed they were going to miss him. He had been sequestered on this dismal space station, a taunting reminder of everything he had lost, and had to wait for an opportunity to exercise his skills, even if it meant helping the Federation and Bajor. When he had declared once to Doctor Bashir that all he had to live for were weekly lunches with the physician, it was horrifying truth of a desperately lonely Cardassian whose only friend was technically the enemy. Garak recalled his statement and the ambassador's reaction. Although the Terran had paled slightly, he had forged on with another quip, parrying the blow before striking with one of his own. Their entire conversation had been exactly as Bashir had described it; they had exchanged observations and half-truths; they judged each others reactions before devising another flurry of words to attack the opponent. And if Bashir had a Cardassian lover and customs and practices of Bashir's Cardassia were similar to Garak's, the ambassador was, as the Terrans called it, "flirting." A fantasy the tailor had entertained over the past few years suddenly had the potential to become a reality. "What do you want?" Bashir asked, his breathing ragged and his head bowed. "Station schematics, phaser recalibrations, maps of the Gamma Quadrant, deciphering equipment...." The words were an insult. "You believe I came here strictly to procure your technology?" "That is why everyone else wants to see me. Why not you? It's what Elim would have done. It's what I would have done." "I don't believe I'm that shallow, ambassador." "I never said you were shallow, Garak. I'm merely stating a fact." "What was my rank in your universe, ambassador?" "Are we back to that part of the conversation? Why is it so important to you?" "I'm simply curious why your crew treats me with such respect. It is not merely because I am Cardassian." "You were the Commander of the First Order." "Ah." "The most respected and honored captain in the Federation." "I see." "And when you died... let's just say it's taken almost two years to get morale halfway back to where it was before your death." The ambassador snorted and then shook his head. "Prophets only know what you saw in me. There you were... the most decorated gul in Starfleet who was the pinnacle of what a great captain should be. And I... I was a diplomatic envoy, a few years out of the Academy and fresh from my mentorship... For whatever reason, you chose me.... Oh, this is pointless." "Why is it pointless, ambassador?" "Don't even ask what I pray for every night." "Why not?" "Do you know what the last thing you said to me was?" There was a pause and then he choked out the words, "'Seize the day.' I regret I have been unable to follow your order." A hand suddenly rested on Julian's shoulder. He whirled to face Garak who had moved to within a half meter of him. "I have to dispute your assessment, ambassador. It is not often a single man has the Federation, the Bajoran Provisional Government, and the Cardassian Empire begging for information to the point of actually working together. You have made them wait until tomorrow morning for your precious technology. When I say that is quite an accomplishment, it is." "Why?" "Why what?" "Why are you doing this?" "I've grown sentimental in my exile, ambassador. It is not often I am treated with utmost respect and dignity as your people, especially you, have shown me." His hand slid up to touch the nape of Julian's neck and the ambassador grasped his wrist. "No." "No?" "It would be a lie." "But isn't everything a lie? For a few hours, why don't we forget we're not the proper versions of ourselves?" "Then you and the doctor...." "It is an impossible situation. Surely you understand. Our governments oppose each other. I am a former operative of the Obsidian Order. Besides being a Starfleet officer, he is also part of the chain of command. A more intimate relationship would not be feasible. Now, I believe my alternate self ordered you to seize the day. Why shouldn't you?" Julian froze, his hand gripping Elim's wrist which was still resting on his shoulder. He could feel the Cardassian's steady pulse, see the passion and intensity in the cerulean eyes, and knew he could not say no. Was Elim telling the truth? The thought of this Elim prostituting himself for a measly scrap of technology was appalling, Julian wanted to be revulsed, but there was something in the Cardassian's tone of voice. For a few hours, Elim Garak could forget he was in exile, forget the misery and circumstances of his life, and relish Julian's unadulterated adoration. In return, Julian could forget his Elim Garak was dead. A devilish grin broke across Julian's features as he suddenly wrenched Elim's arm down and pulled the Cardassian hard against his body. He then whispered into Elim's ear, "If you're up to it." "My dear ambassador," Garak taunted, "I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't." He wrapped his arm tightly about Julian's waist. "Actually, I'm more worried about your stamina than mine. Cardassians are traditionally stronger and have a higher endurance level than humans." "In your universe," Julian growled, "not mine." With that, he leaned down and bit one of the exposed neck ridges on Elim's left side. The Cardassian gasped in surprise as Julian expertly nibbled the ridge, swirling his tongue. The ambassador did not let go of Elim's wrist; instead he squeezed it harder as he brought his other hand up to massage the Cardassian's right shoulder. He finally lifted his lips from Elim's neck and murmured, "This tunic does not do you justice. Too conservative, too modest. You have such delectable neck ridges, Elim." Garak would have pulled away after that outlandish compliment if Julian's teeth had not sunk into another ridge and another wave of pleasure assaulted his senses. In all Garak's years, no one had ever had been generous with an assessment of his physical attributes. Even his most ardent lovers had never praised his appearance, yet from the enthusiasm Julian displayed and the pitch of his voice, Garak knew he was being sincere. "Ooohhh, Elim," Bashir purred, "you're resisting me. The stalwart gul versus the brazen human. How... delightful. I *adore* challenges." At that moment, Bashir chose to nip at the scales just below Elim's ear, underneath the ridges of his jawline. The sensation electrified Garak, jolting his entire body. His grip around Bashir's waist tightened, the human exhaled appropriately but did not stop nibbling, and Garak pushed forward in an effort to press Bashir against the bulkhead. To his surprise, the human didn't budge. This Bashir wasn't a Federation doctor; he was a well-trained, physically fit soldier who was experienced in the art of Cardassian foreplay. Passion surged through Garak and he renewed his efforts. He tried to break Julian's hold on his wrist, but the ambassador held it in such a way that it was almost impossible for him to move. The only conceivable way the tailor could stop Julian was to break the spell. He even knew what to say and the tone of voice to say it in. Yet the same logic which had driven Garak to proposition the ambassador also sternly refused to allow him to utter the words. He'd just have to suffer. He'd just have to live out his fantasy involving a certain physician. There would be no awkward explanations of Cardassian physiology, no need to coach his lover on the best way to elicit responses. Here was the man who would say and do everything Garak allowed himself to dream about. Julian suddenly stopped, his cheek resting against Elim's and his breathing irregular. He nuzzled for a few moments, as if regaining his strength, before drawing his lips across Elim's jaw and then settling on the Cardassian's lips. Julian slowly opened his eyes, gazing into the cerulean depths before him. "Going for a record? To see how long you can hold out?" Bashir mocked softly. "You always have such great endurance, except when it comes to me." The human eased his grip ever so slightly, enough so Garak could gain leverage. The Cardassian shifted his hips and then pushed against Bashir again, this time successfully driving the human against the bulkhead. Garak could see the wealth of lust shimmering in the human's eyes just before they closed; Julian forcefully pressed his lips against the Cardassian's lips. Garak returned the kiss, exerting the same pressure if not more than Julian was. Julian's lips parted and the Cardassian did the same, noting for the first time how pleasurable the human custom of the open-mouthed kiss could be. Garak could finally feel the human's lean, muscular frame against his own as he pressed Julian against the bulkhead. Julian groaned, low and guttural, and with a sudden burst of power, the human twisted his body, causing Garak to lose his balance, and the two crashed upon the floor. They struggled, rolling around on the floor a few times and slamming into one of the chairs once, before Julian successfully pinned Garak's arms down and he straddled him. Wild, primal passion flashed in Julian's eyes. With maddeningly deliberateness, he lowered his head and kissed Garak thoroughly before resuming his leisurely nips along Garak's jawline. "I think we would be a bit more comfortable on the bed, don't you?" "You have to get me there first, Elim." The taunt was too much. Garak bucked his hips sharply, temporarily dislodging Julian from his position, and used his bodyweight to roll them over until the Cardassian was again pressing down upon his Terran prey. Now it was his turn to nip and nuzzle Julian's neck as the human continued to struggle beneath him. Although the ambassador's shoulders were pinned down, his hands were now at the collar of Garak's suit. Deftly, the human unfastened the clasp and then slid his hands underneath the material of the tunic. Garak stilled, unused to such intimate contact, and found himself mesmerized by the movements of the ambassador's hands. Julian paused as if deciding something and then quietly commanded, "Stand up." Unsure why he was following the order except that his body was screaming for more stimulation, Elim peeled himself off the prone form of the human and stood. Julian then repositioned himself onto his knees and reached to unfasten Elim's trousers. The Cardassian grabbed Bashir by the wrists and peered down. "The bedroom. I will drag you there if I have to, but I would prefer to exert my energy in a more pleasurable way." Julian beamed. "Of course, Elim. Of course." The human stood and walked to the bedroom. Elim lingered for a few moments before initiating the security lockout on the door. If Bashir were to get vocal, and he had an odd suspicion the Terran would, the last thing the Cardassian needed was Captain O'Brien's phaser-toting crew to barge in and disintegrate him. *** End Part 10 *** When he finally entered the bedroom, Julian was standing with his shoulders rolled slightly forward as if ready for an attack. The Cardassian automatically assumed a defensive stance and his breath quickened. Julian eye's raked over him and lingered at his chest. Elim's tunic gaped open, revealing the intricate pattern of darkened gray chest scales, and Julian simply licked his lips. The stalwart gul versus the wanton human indeed. Bashir knew how to play the role to the hilt. "I know why you wore that." "Oh really? Do tell, my dear ambassador." "Besides the fact the dark indigo color emphasizes your eyes and accentuates your coloring? It camouflages your physique. As a person whose livelihood depends on such deceptions, I find it *very* stimulating. I would hate to ruin it, Elim." "My dear ambassador, you're assuming far too much." Elim stepped closer to Julian and they regarded each other for a few seconds before the Terran sprung forward, grabbing the edges of the tunic in a attempt to slam his body against Elim's for the second time. The Cardassian pivoted so he could use Bashir's momentum to swing him around and to the floor, but realized too late that movement was exactly what the human wanted. Elim's back smashed against the carpeted deck plates and he let out an "Oof!" in surprise, a sound which momentarily caused the ambassador to pause and eye his captive closely. Elim scolded himself. <*I'm* the one who keeps assuming he's a frail human!> If it had been any one else who had successfully pinned him twice to the ground, the Cardassian would have been humiliated. Instead, having the likeness of his naive dining companion best him was painfully erotic. As if satisfied Elim was not seriously injured, Julian captured the Cardassian's lips with an urgent kiss before trailing them down Elim's chin and vocal chords to the hollow of his throat. Again, Elim's body thrummed with excitement, his senses reveling in the expert stimulation the Terran was providing, but he simply wanted more. He broke the tenacious hold Julian had on his wrists and used his abdominal muscles to jackknife his body, sandwiching Julian's torso between his chest and his legs. The movement startled the Terran, giving Elim enough time to roll to the side, temporarily crushing Julian's right leg with his body before he again was laying on top of his.... Garak blinked. What was this man to him? A fantasy lover? The alternate of the only person on this entire station who seemed care for him? He was being foolish. He was allowing himself to indulge a whim which would only haunt him afterwards. His Julian Bashir would never consider such a relationship for, as he had stated to the ambassador, it would not be feasible. There were too many factors going against them from Starfleet to the Order to Central Command, not to mention the Cardassian having to endure the ribald comments from Kira, Worf, O'Brien and the others who barely tolerated his presence. The political ramifications for Julian were even worse and Garak, whose culture celebrated such subterfuge, could not subject the doctor to them. Why? Simply because Julian was willing to accept Garak for what he was in the present, not for what he had been in the past. This one evening, this flight of fancy, was all because Elim Garak decided to be selfish. He realized Julian had ceased struggling. He stared into wide, hazel eyes and found himself looking into a man whose adult life had been dictated by two of the deadliest invading forces the Alpha Quadrant knew of. A man who had found comfort and solace in the arms of a celebrated gul. A man who had lost his anchor in the chaos of the universe to ruthless killers. A man who was willing to pretend, if only for a few hours, his life was not the hell it had become. A man who realized the spell was about to be broken all because of a Cardassian tailor who wasn't willing to ignore the fact this wasn't the "real" Julian Bashir. A man who waited patiently until Garak decided what he was going to do. A man who would rather be killed right now than endure rejection. He would later rationalize his years on Terek Nor surrounded by Bajorans and humans had influenced his choice, had made him aware of the thing humans called a "conscience." He would say the kanar was more potent than he realized. He would claim he was engaging in this type of activity just to gain information. But now, he admitted the truth. He knew this was the closest he could be to consummating his lust for Julian Bashir. Elim released the Terran's wrists and slowly adjusted his legs so he could straddle Julian without pressing his full weight upon him. He began tracing the contours of the ambassador's face with his fingers, lingering on the jaw line and the gentle ridge-less slope of the nose. Julian closed his eyes and remained silent and still, as if afraid any movement he made would break the enchantment. Perhaps too, the ambassador had realized how disconcerting it was for Elim to accept such a willing and eager partner so quickly. The Cardassian slid backwards, until he was perched midway between Julian's hips and kneecaps, and he grasped the human by the shoulders and pulled him into a sitting position. Julian's eyes reflected an unexpected shyness which almost fooled Elim, but it was also a testament to just how far Julian was willing to go simply to... please him. Elim hadn't felt such power in ages. Elim's hands dropped to the ambassador's waist and he tugged the edge of the tunic from the waistband of Julian's trousers. The Terran closed his eyes and obediently raised his arms, allowing Elim to pull the tunic up and over his head to bare his muscled chest. In Elim's fantasies, Julian's skin was flawless, a caramel colored canvas of flesh, yet the ambassador bore a scar, starting from just below his left shoulder and crossing diagonally across his rib cage to his stomach. Fascinated, the tailor outlined the puckers of skin; from the rough edges and width he knew the wound had been deep and made with jagged edged blade, and he felt an irrational surge of anger. "Who did this?" Julian's eyes snapped open and he stared in confusion. "The 'Hadar. The battle at Inidrii Seven. They crippled our shields and beamed on board." He paused and added with a laugh, "Needless to say you were quite livid when you found me. It was the only time I have ever heard you curse in Terran." Elim's fingers lingered over the scar as he processed Julian's words. He imagined what his reaction would be if he found his much adored doctor bleeding from such a wound. "I thought you were going to die." "No, you yelled at me for forgetting the 'Hadar always fight in pairs. I had killed seven. I was so ecstatic, I didn't remember the eighth." "Ah." Julian looked at him quizzically before tentatively touching the edges of Elim's open tunic. "This really does suit you.... Don't look at me like that either. You've always worn black. Your whole closet was full of black. In the years that I have known you, you have only owned one piece of clothing that wasn't black. It was rust colored with copper trim. It showed off your neck ridges magnificently. You wore it to the Peldor Festival and scared half the Vedek Assembly." He chuckled and shook his head at the memory. "Those you didn't scare swooned. You even had the First Minister of Bajor blushing." "I don't ever recall being so narcissistic." "Elim, you weren't being narcissistic," Julian chided. "As I said, you always wore black. I dare say no one had ever seen you in anything else besides your uniform. Except for me of course. You hated religious festivals, thought they were a waste of time, but you lost the bet with Miles so you decided to make the best of it. Jaros thought you were sacrilegious, but what could he say?" "Next you'll be telling me I'm the Emissary of the Prophets." His eyes glimmered mischievously. "There you go, spoiling the story." Only because Elim detected the supreme amusement in Julian's voice did he realize he was teasing, even though the ambassador had schooled his features into the picture of innocence. The doctor was right. The ambassador did sound like him. Each move was well calculated, each word precisely chosen, and each syllable enunciated perfectly to convey a wealth of emotions. It was a technique that had taken Doctor Bashir almost six months to recognize and even now, especially when the doctor was tired, the tailor sometimes had to repeat himself and emphasize the key phrases. But the ambassador.... "I *did* teach you well, didn't I?" "As I said, I was a very eager protege." Julian's hands slipped past the tunic and touched Elim's chest, fingers tentatively stroking his scales. The human bent forward further, his lips brushing the pectoral muscles gently before resuming the methodical kissing and caressing. Elim felt hands sliding up to his shoulders and around the collar of his tunic, pulling it down and off of his upper body. As quickly as his hesitation had surfaced, it subsided. How could he deny this? He moved to stand and Julian followed, never once breaking contact with his hands or his lips as they stood. Julian proceeded to nibble the ridges on his shoulders and worked his way to Elim's neck all the while gliding his fingers across Elim's back and then toying with the waistband of his trousers. The Cardassian nipped Julian's collar bone and the hollow of his throat, and the sounds the human made encouraged him to bite harder, to bring his arms around Julian's waist once again, and to pull him forward. Julian became more insistent, the nips becoming sharper and quicker than before. His fingers clawed Elim's shoulder blades the same moment he forcefully bit one of the more sensitive upper ridges, just below the ear. The sensations triggered the Cardassian's primal instincts, and with a barely restrained roar, he lifted Julian and together they toppled sideways, somehow landing on the bed. Elim was now behind him as they lay on their left sides. The Cardassian's left arm snaked underneath and around Julian to hold him tightly against him, gray fingers splayed against hard abdominal muscles, as his right settled on Julian's shoulder. The human's skin... so warm... so smooth... much like brushed Vulcan satin... such a contrast to Cardassian flesh. Elim trailed his fingers over Julian's shoulder, across his chest, the touch just light enough to be arousing but not tickling. He watched the way the human responded, eyes fluttering closed, soft lips parting, head lolling back onto Elim's shoulder, exposing the neck, ear and jaw. Elim nipped and kissed all the while his fingers continued their dance on the human's chest. Muscles rippled beneath Elim's left hand as Julian's breathing increased. The human even tried to shift his weight backward, as if trying to break the Cardassian's hold upon him. Such impudence would not be allowed. It was Elim who held Julian, Elim who controlled this, not Julian. The Cardassian had to more firmly establish control. His right hand dove into Julian's trousers. The human inhaled sharply at the contact, his body trembling as Elim began firm and unrelenting strokes. The Cardassian paused only long enough to unfasten the ambassador's trousers; the human assisted by pushing down the waistband of his pants and underwear, then curling his legs up to remove both pieces of clothing. It was only then Elim realized the ambassador had been barefoot. Elim readjusted his hold, his fingertips raking along the underside of Julian's shaft; the human arched his back and pushed his buttocks firmly against Elim's own erection, the pressure more tantalizing than Elim was prepared for. Human males did not have natural lubrication like Cardassian males nor did their sexual organs possess ridges or scales or any adornment aside from sparse pubic hair surrounding them. It was a curious feeling, pleasant, unique, erotic in its own particular way. He brought his left hand down to cup and knead the human's testicles, remembering reading somewhere, in some obscure text he had obtained as part of his research of human sexuality, how this was an important part of manual stimulation. Such clinical words for such an intimate act. No, Elim simply wanted to feel Julian, to possess him, to stroke and manipulate since this may never... Elim brushed the reality from his mind. Here. This place. They were lovers. He continued to run his hand up and down Julian's penis, changing pressures and rhythms, and gently thumbed the head every third or fourth stroke. Julian had been amazingly quiet; the few sounds he made aside from his ragged breathing were soft cries of pleasure and an occasional gasp of pain, the latter when Elim forgot how sensitive human genitalia was. Elim knew he was going too fast... far too fast... as if the universe were going to end in the next few seconds yet this Julian was so responsive... so eager.... The way Julian had angled his hips, spread his legs, bent his arms, tilted his upper body, and pressed his backside into Elim all indicated he was quite familiar with this position. How often had Gul Garak held Julian in this manner, delighting in the feel of smooth skin the color of Dravaian sand pressed tightly against gray, revelling in the alien scent, and savoring the passion displayed? It was overwhelming... not at all as Elim had imagined those many nights alone in his quarters. He wanted to devour this Julian, hear the words spoken fervently in Terran-accented Kardasi, and relish every micron of control Julian relinquished to him. The first time. Julian remembered the first time. Elim had been so patient, sitting on the bed with his back against the headboard, pulling Julian into his arms, turning Julian so Julian's back would rest against his chest, reaching down and stroking. Elim had teased him for so long, later whispering he had simply been savoring Julian, committing each movement and sound to memory. It had been one of the few times they had hours to spend together; their trysts afterwards, while intense, intimate and passionate, had been almost always brief. Yet here... now... it had been so long since Julian had been held like this.... There was a slight uncertainty in the way Elim touched him, and Julian recalled how their first encounters were always full of discovery as each strove to find the right movement, the correct motion, the precise squeeze or pinch or rub. Maybe this Elim did not know enough about human sexuality to realize what effect the Cardassian was having upon Julian. Julian couldn't ask; he acted. The human began to thrust his hips, no longer seeming to be content to allow Elim to direct the pace. The defiance was unexpected, as if Julian was challenging him again, and the Cardassian could not accept it. To reprimand the human, Elim sharply tightened his hold only to have Julian's hand whip out to gather up a handful of bed covers; Julian's knuckles were white from gripping and his jaw set in grim determination. Even now, so close to release, Julian refused to completely give in. It was absolutely glorious. Better than his imaginations. Better than he could have ever expected. Elim continued his agonizingly slow pace, using his physical strength and position to hold the human still. His teeth scraped Julian's sweat slicked shoulder before placing tender bites along the side of Julian's neck, where the more sensitive ridges on a Cardassian male would have been. Julian's reaction was instantaneous; he surged forward as if trying to break free from the Cardassian's embrace. Elim shifted to press his body more firmly against Julian's and therefore more into the bed. It was a difficult maneuver and did limit the movement of the Cardassian's hand on Julian's sex. Julian was close to release; Elim knew by the shuddering breaths the human took and the tensing of Julian's muscles. Elim could not explain why he drew this out, why he continued this type of frustrating teasing. Was it because Elim wanted the human to totally surrender? Was it because it had been far too long since he had this power? Was it because the torment the Cardassian was administering was an incredibly powerful mental aphrodisiac? "Elim," the Terran hissed. Just his name, nothing else. Not please, not a beg to allow him to orgasm, not even a demand to be thoroughly fucked. Just his name, growled in frustration. To ask for anything more would be distasteful in a way, humiliating to be at the mercy of the mirror image of the object of desire, and Elim, oddly enough, found himself unable to insist this proud human surrender completely. The admission heightened Elim's passion, driving him to allow Julian to go over the edge he had held the human at for so long. Elim knew whatever followed, however his own lust was satiated, it would be done with a certainly level of equality, something rarely found in Cardassian sexuality. His alternate and this Julian had struck upon a balance, a way for both partners to maintain their pride and self-respect while ensuring each genuine satisfaction. "By the...!" Julian gasped, his body shaking as the orgasm surged through him. Words caught in his throat; tears burned his eyes. The last time. Five days before Elim had died. The estate of the First Minister of Bajor. The final day of the Time of Cleansing. Julian had been meditating in the private gazebo chapel which had been built away from the main house, nestled in the woods. It was one of the few places he could pray in solitude. Elim had joined him, kneeling by the prayer dias and reciting the Creed of Contrition. "I didn't think you believed." "Oh, my dear Julian, there are times when one must make peace with the Prophets." "For something you have done?" "No, my Chosen. For what I'm about to do." Their last time had been almost a whirlwind of movement, frantic and desperate, as if they knew they would never have the opportunity again and that Elim would be called away within the next few minutes. Now. Here. Wrapped in Elim's arms. Elim's lips still pressed to his neck. Instinct warred with Julian's need to remember, to indulge himself in pleasuring his Chosen. Part of him wanted to tear away the rest of Elim's clothing, to deliver erotically strategic bites which would tap into the depths of passion the Cardassian was valiantly holding at bay. The other... the other wished to cherish, to love, to revel. Fabric chafed against Julian's backside and thighs; he could feel the dampness and heat radiating from Elim's groin. His decision was made. Julian would simply relish in the delight of Elim until Elim could stand no more. Julian rolled out of Elim's arms, just enough for him to reposition himself so he would be facing the Cardassian, his body arched around the damp spot on the blankets. Julian's hands fumbled at the waistline of Elim's trousers; he fought to control the trembling of his hands and the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. Elim's hand stretched down to assist, but Julian gently swatted him away. Slowly, Julian peeled back the fabric, then hooked his fingers along the waistband of Elim's underwear and pulled them down. Elim rolled onto his back, lifting his legs slightly to facilitate the removal of clothing. Julian placed a gentle bite on Elim's exposed right hip before nibbling the outline of the Cardassian's right thigh muscle, dragging the clothing downward as he moved and stopping only to slide his hands up and then rake his nails along the tender inside of Elim's thighs. The Cardassian gasped, the sound somewhere between a growl disguised as a moan but trumped by a shuddering sigh. Here. Now. Julian could explore again. Gone was the scimitar-shaped scar above Elim's knee and curving around his leg; it had been a futile attempt by a 'Hadar to disable the Cardassian by slicing those tendons. Still, Julian closed his eyes and traced where the outline should have been. Perhaps it was not fair to this Elim, to continue to insist that this exile was Gul Garak while Julian did not offer to assume the role of Doctor Bashir, but Julian refused to do so until Elim requested it. Tugging at Elim's right boot, Julian successfully removed the item without too much movement. The same was done with the left. With both shoes gone, Julian slid Elim's clothing off, admiring the delicious expanse of gray skin before him. It had been far too long. He grabbed a handful of the soiled bedcovers and yanked them down and off the bed, again making Elim move so the bed would be comfortable again, noting how the Cardassian took the opportunity to prop himself up on the pillows. Oh yes. His Elim always enjoyed Julian's worshipful nature. Starting on Elim's left ankle, Julian alternated between nips and kisses on the smooth scales and using his fingers to brush and tease scales as he slowly traveled up Elim's calf. Deliberately, he closed his eyes and committed every texture, every taste to memory. Elim was frighteningly quiet; his breathing, although ragged and punctuated with occasional short gasps, was more shallow than Julian could ever recall. Of course, this Elim may never have had a human "investigate" his person like this before. Their foreplay had started off more "traditional," as if they were in the early stages of courtship, but now as Julian tongued the set of ridges highlighting Elim's left knee, it was an indication of just how intimate they were. He moved, left hand grazing Elm's well muscled abdomen, left thumb settling on the ridge on Elim's hip. Garak watched as... Julian. No titles. No honorifics. He was plain and simple Julian. A smile tugged at the tailor's lips. Here. Now. Shut off from the rest of the universe, they were simply Garak and Bashir. Elim and Julian. Nothing else mattered. The reverent caress of Julian's lips, the precise pressure of Julian's teeth, and the elegant circular strokes of Julian's thumb. So different. So unique. So alien to him. The nature of Elim's life had never allowed for a lover at this level of intimacy. Yet his lover knew precisely which ridge to massage, which one to nibble, establishing such an achingly sensual pattern Elim chose not to assert himself, to see how long he could withstand such... contact. Ministrations. Manipulations. As if his body was an instrument for Julian to play. Elim's body was now pulsing, demanding, aching. Julian's tongue bathed a particular sensitive scale on the left inner thigh while the human's thumb and forefinger gently pinched the ridge along Elim's hipline. The growl rumbled somewhere in his chest, increasing in pitch as it traveled up his throat. The moment Julian's lips engulfed the head of Elim's sex, the Cardassian cried out. An unusual sound. It wasn't him. He was never one to throw his head back, digging his hands into the mattress so he would not tangle them in Julian's soft hair, holding himself back for fear of hurting his lover. Teeth grazed along the sensitized shaft ridges as Julian took more of Elim into his mouth. Fingers now toyed with the testular ridges, flicking and massaging. Elim had never felt this before, this exquisite sensation. If he died right here, right now, he would have no regrets. Julian felt a hand settle on his shoulder, gray fingers boring into his muscles. Elim tenaciously held onto his control; perhaps Julian's earlier teasing comment about the Cardassian not being able to withstand the acts of a brazen Terran spurring Elim on. Julian began teasing and taunting as Elim had done to him, and was rewarded with gasps intermixed with low growls and fingers digging into his flesh. It was an art Elim immensely enjoyed, once even saying, "I believe I would confess the darkest secrets of the Federation and sign my own death warrant while you performed this on me." Shifting his body slightly, not too much to really disturb or attract Elim's attention, Julian stroked the set of scales just below the testular ridges, flatting his tongue against the underside of Elim's sex, and then he pressed his thumb against the base of Elim's shaft. It was a technique Julian had found in the erotic Cardassian novel Riker had given him as a joke, the precise pressures somehow combining together to electrify the senses. The first time Julian had performed it on Elim, the howl had been deafening. Now... Elim bolted upright, a strangulated cry trapped somewhere in his vocal chords as his other hand latched onto Julian's shoulder. His hands automatically tightened, exerting an excruciating pressure upon Julian's collar bone and shoulder. Despite the pain searing through his upper body, Julian repeated the technique a second and third time until the Cardassian hauled him upwards until they were face to face. The glitter in Elim's eyes was primal. Julian reached down, his arm not quite numb from the hold, and teasingly stroked Elim's sex. "You could never resist that one, could you?" Oh, it wasn't fair. Julian knew his huskily spoken words would strike a prideful chord in Elim. "I will have you." Not a question. Not a demand. A simple statement of intent. "As always, Elim." *** "That was foolish." "Hmm?" "Inviting him in? Sending him to his quarters? Why not just hand over the Federation database and be done with it?" Miles gulped the last bit of coffee before glancing over to Dukat. Rarely did the Cardassian pace; the bridges of Starfleet vessels didn't have the room to do so. The sarcasm and ire lacing each word was unusual as well; Dukat prided himself on his ability to maintain emotional control. Now, he stormed around O'Brien's quarters and seethed with genuine outrage. The captain peered into the mug, making sure there were no droplets of coffee left, before casually replying, "So what was I supposed to do? Turn him down? Send him away?" "Federation policy...." "Dukat!" Miles snapped. "Listen to yourself! Since when have you been a rules-monger? You and I *both* know what would have happened. Julian would have heard Garak was turned away. Poor Lavelle... he would have been crucified for following orders! All Julian would think about is 'what if this?' and 'what if that?' How many alts has he been to?" "Three or four...." Dukat replied absently, "whenever the phase drive gets overloaded and we shift. For all its wonders, it really is more of a bane than a savior." "Precisely! You and I... we've had to deal with more alts than anyone else! I think I've made a baker's dozen with this one." He snorted and then thunked the mug on the table. "Julian's never had to deal with an alt-Garak. Can you blame him?" "And if Neela Darren were here?" "I would damn the regulations and ask her to be my fair colleen for one evening. You know you would be sorely tempted if it were Naprem." "Yet you did this despite Jake being dragged to Operations and forced to work with his dead father." "This wasn't a favor. It was a means to an end. Julian gets it out of his system. He can say goodbye, something he wasn't able to do before." "And if this Garak decides to harm the ambassador?" "What? Make an attempt on his life? No. He won't." "Captain..." "You didn't see what he was wearing. No man dresses like that with the intent to kill someone. Trust me." "I still think it is foolish." "Apparently not enough to interrupt." "I refuse to be the villain, captain." "As do I, gul." *** End Part 11 *** By the Great Gul, he couldn't move. Not that Elim wanted to; after all, his upper back rested against the headboard and his lower back cushioned by a pillow. Julian had nestled contentedly between Elim's spread legs, his head resting on Elim's breastbone and his arms draping over Elim's sides. The only illumination came from the large portal. The air was delightfully warm, heavily scented with Cardassian and human musk. The bedroom was a disaster: covers and pillows strewn throughout and the only three things besides the mattress which had remained on the bed had been one pillow and the two of them. Even in the shower they had continued to touch, kiss, and feel. Now as they rested, Elim wondering where in the Great Gul he had gotten that much energy, the Cardassian traced the thin lines along Julian's shoulders and back, curious as to how such perfection had been marred. Experience told Elim which markings were methodical, the type of wounds made by a whip or some other torture device, and which were from.... Accidents perhaps? Battles where his Julian had been thrown against a panel which had been shattered or perhaps fragments from an exploding something? Still... there were far more scars which earmarked physical abuse. Elim's hands stilled, resting lightly on Julian's shoulder blades. Such a violent past. Such a violent future. If this Julian lived to be forty years old, he would be lucky. Elim resumed gently trailing his fingers across the lines on Julian's back. The silence was comfortable, something unexpected, something enjoyable. What could they possibly talk about? They both knew thisbe.... Then Julian's arms tightened around him; the human trembled ever so slightly. Elim could feel the tears spilling from Julian's eyes and trickling onto his chest scales. There was no incoherent sobbing, no wailing, no bawling. Julian grieved silently for his beloved gul. Reality was making an ugly intrusion. Would Doctor Julian Bashir mourn Elim's death like this? Doubtful. Oh, the young doctor would shed some tears, for Julian was a sensitive soul. He would probably be the only one on the entire station save Ziyal to do so, but not like this. This was the weeping of one who had lost his lover, his mentor, his beloved, his Chosen, his *TeHua,* his *narai.* "We never married." Julian's whispered words jolted Elim. He hadn't realized he had spoken aloud the long-forgotten Kardasi affections, the ones used to designate those who had Bonded. The human did not lift his head nor wipe the moisture from his face or even sniffle. "Then you are my Chosen," Elim said quietly. "As always, Elim." The position wasn't uncomfortable; in fact, it was one of the many Elim had often entertained, wondering how it would feel to have his adored doctor nestled against him. It was unnatural for Elim to let his guard down, too many years in the Order prevented it, so he remained awake as Julian slowly dozed off. Aside from the physical release, the emotional one must have been tremendous for the human. Why else would the ambassador allow himself to be cradled in the arms of the one person on the station who could be the most detrimental to his mental health? Julian had achieved a sense of closure, perhaps, and now whatever Elim did to him didn't matter. Elim, on the other hand, still danced along that precarious line between the station, which was his home now, and Cardassia, his homeland. Many of Gul Dukat's private codes were still active on the station, the tailor had used them often enough in combination with his own to gain vital information, and Elim's long time nemesis was probably keeping tabs on him. He let out a sigh. His impromptu liaison with the ambassador would be kept secret; Bashir did not seem the type to show this type of weakness to anyone. However, the additional station security guards which had been posted near the secured area would certainly notice a Cardassian exiting said secured area and report it to Captain Sisko. He had to leave. "Who let you in?" The question startled Elim, who had believed the ambassador had fallen asleep. He replied simply, "O'Brien." "Who was standing guard?" "A Mister Lavelle, I believe." Elim then felt, rather than saw, the ambassador smile. Then Julian pushed himself up by his forearms and regarded the Cardassian with a frank look. "Do you still believe you're a wanted criminal in my universe?" "I never said I believed or disbelieved, ambassador. I merely stated it was a possibility." The human rolled his eyes and dropped his head before finally clambering off the bed. He walked to the dresser, plucked a shiny silver object from the top, and tossed it to Elim. The tailor caught and then inspected it, noting it was in the shape of the Cardassian Empire crest. "It wasn't that difficult to manufacture," Bashir admitted. "If you desire to join us, this is coded directly to my subderm." "Ambassador," Elim protested, handing the commbadge back. Julian refused to accept it and then crawled into bed again. "Keep it until we're gone. You never know what may change your mind." There. It had ended. It was over. The curtains had closed. The play was over. Julian knew Elim Garak well enough to be able to decipher the meanings of sighs and gestures and all else. It was, admittedly, unnerving to have so much of his soul bared. Before Julian could mold himself to him, Elim slid out of bed. Hazel eyes stared at him with veiled disappointment but no effort was made to draw him back. Elim probably would have done so without protest. It was most disconcerting to dress while Julian watched him. Sprawled in the bed, without a bit of linen to cover him, the ambassador monitored his every movement with an odd half-smile on his face. Elim idly wondered how many times his alternate had hurriedly slipped on his clothes in order to get to a meeting or to the bridge or whatever "the most respected gul in the Federation" did while Julian had the luxury of lounging. his mind continued to chide, Oh, but he knew the answer. His alternate had understood. Seize the day, indeed. But what had he gained from this? A fulfillment of his fantasies and nothing else. The ambassador even understood that no matter what great prize Elim would bring back to the Cardassian Empire, the tailor would still be in disgrace for what it had cost him. Not so much in public shame, neither would openly admit a tryst had taken place, but Elim would always know exactly what price he had paid. Julian had repositioned himself on the bed, back against the headboard, left leg stretched out while the right was bent towards his left knee, and arms draped over the edge of the headboard. It was a clear invitation, a sign that the Cardassian did not have to leave, that whatever arrangement had been made with Captain O'Brien included a provision if Elim chose to stay the rest of the evening. The curse of self-discipline, Tain had once said, is knowing when to say when. Garak wasn't one to believe in Fate. His destiny was self-determined. However, if circumstances were to change and Garak won Doctor Julian Bashir to his bed, he didn't want to be... spoiled. He almost laughed aloud; the concept was absurd. For a man whose entire life had been dictated by the understanding of probability and working the odds, he should take advantage of what was being offered him because the opportunity might never arise again. He was Cardassian. Not a Ferengi. He would wait. They hadn't spoken since the ambassador had insisted he keep the communications device. Even as Garak moved to exit the bedroom, he couldn't think of a single thing to say. He had just stepped to the doorway when he heard the ambassador get out of bed and approach. "Elim." No one had ever spoken his name quite like that: soft, haunted, loving. Garak would not turn around. No, he was not going to look into those eyes. Julian's hand captured his shoulder. He froze. Julian tugged slightly, clearly indicating he wanted Garak to face him. "Elim." By the Great Gul, did he have to say it like that? "Please." Slowly, Elim turned and saw the emotions rolling across Julian's face. Love. Agony. The jealousy was there too. Peace. Serenity. Grief. Julian bent his head, his other hand now pulling the Cardassian closer into arms which Elim knew would not release him until Julian could say, "Goodbye," in whatever odd custom humans bade their lovers farewell. A kiss. Different from before. Slower. More passionate. Delicate. Possessive. Wistful. Encouraging. Tender. When they broke away, Julian's eyes overflowed unashamedly with tears. His brought his hands to the sides of Elim's face and used his thumbs to gently caress the Cardassian's eyeridges before dropping his arms back to his sides. Nothing else was said. Garak left. The corridor was quiet. Had he really spent five hours fulfilling part of his desire and satiating his lust? Garak wondered who would be standing guard, who would let him out back into the bitter reality of DS9, and he continued his leisurely pace down the hallway. He wasn't expecting Captain O'Brien to be standing at the checkpoint and nursing a mug of coffee. There was no lecherous smirk, no mirthful grin, no hint of teasing or rude comments. The captain sounded neutral, as if he were commenting on the time of day. "Crossing back now, eh?" Garak gave a short nod. "Can't have you go back the way you came. I'll beam you directly back to your quarters. That's where everyone thinks you are." "Oh really?" "That scan you felt when you first came in? It's for a sensor ghost. One of my personal favorite engineering tricks, it is." O'Brien gave him a direct look of an unspoken understanding, that if Garak were to return to Julian's quarters right there, right then, nothing would be said. No comment would be made. The captain offered an odd sort of protection and the gesture so unusual, so disconcerting coming from Chief O'Brien's double, of all things, that Garak could not accept. If it were Dukat standing there, perhaps. Not O'Brien. The cautious, wary side of Garak refused to go back. Instead, he gave a slow, respectful salute, knowing this O'Brien would comprehend the meaning; there was no need for awkward words or meaningless phrases. The Terran returned the gesture. And as the transporter beam coalesced around Garak, the Cardassian could have sworn he heard O'Brien say, "Same old Garak." *** "We can't track him using this!" Brahms snapped impatiently as she handed the tricorder to Dukat. "I've taken the sensor readings you gathered, pilfered medical files from their CMO, and used all available data we have to find out why this," she pointed to the offending instrument, "can't detect him!" "And the reason is?" Dukat prompted. "The molecular distortions are missing." "Ah." "Ah?" she echoed, her voice taking on a edge of hysteria as she thumped her fists on the table they were sitting at. "That's *it?* I'm telling you that we have no plausible means of tracking shapeshifters here and all you can say is 'ah'?" "I believe, commander, you're blowing this out of proportion." "If *these* changelings can do it, *ours* can!" "How long have you been working on this, commander?" "Since we arrived." "Less than twenty hours ago." "Yes." "So in that time, you've been trying to determine the reasons why Odo cannot be detected." "Yes." "Commander, it took Federation scientists almost ten years to develop the tracking system and now in this universe, which may have a different set of physical laws, you expect to solve the problem in twenty hours?" Her lips curled back into a snarl. "With due respect, we already have the groundwork. It is a feasible time span." "You're assuming far too much, commander." "And you're not? You beam over to an enemy ship just because the gul happens to be your alternate?" "Commander," Dukat warned sharply, "I believe your are straying from the topic at hand." "Forgive me, sir," she spat sarcastically, "I thought I had permission to speak freely." "You do, but questioning Captain O'Brien's or the ambassador's or my actions during that encounter with the 'Hadar is pointless and unnecessary," he stated simply. "Now, at 0800 hours, we are supposed to meet with our hosts and explain the tracking technology. If there is a flaw, I'm sure their shapeshifter will volunteer as a test subject." "I'm supposed to help Jake realign...." "You've been temporarily reassigned, commander. Mister Sisko will not miss you for a few hours. Think of all the scientific data you can collect." *** The woman introduced as Leah Brahms, chief science officer of the Defiant, was not friendly. She regarded the DS9 command staff with unmistakable loathing, most of which was unsurprisingly directed at Odo. Ben Sisko was prepared for such a reaction from Captain O'Brien's crew, especially after Doctor Bashir relayed what had transpired yesterday on the Promenade between the ambassador and Odo. Yet Sisko had not anticipated that her attitude would go beyond his crew and Admiral Nechayev to include Gul Dukat, Dukat's two officers, Shakaar and the two Bajoran ministers. This woman despised them all and made no pretense of hiding her feelings. In fact, her hatred seemed to extend even to her fellow officer, Dukat. The Cardassian was attending the 0800 hour meeting in lieu of Ambassador Bashir. Brahms' hostility probably stemmed from the fact that giving their precious technology to people who openly accepted a shapeshifter was fundamentally wrong. The only thing probably preventing her from outright refusing to participate was the retribution for disobeying an order. Whatever the penalty was, Sisko supposed, it had to be severe enough to keep her in line. She sat to right of the Defiant's security chief, at one end of the wardroom table. Nechayev had forgone bringing any of her own support staff, deciding that the experience of Sisko's command officers was more valuable. Gul Dukat had brought Glinn Damar, whom Kira had explained was the Cardassian's first officer, and another Cardassian Dukat didn't bother to name whom the major didn't recognize. The Ministers of Defense and Technology tagged along with Shakaar. The table could not accommodate all sixteen people, so the nameless Cardassian and DS9's command staff except Sisko and Kira stood. Dukat launched into his rhetoric immediately, skipping over the perfunctory "Welcome to the meeting" and "Thank you for joining us" which the ambassador would have probably used. Instead, the Cardassian treated the gathering as a military briefing, his voice dispassionate yet commanding but again lacking the smug, overblown posturing Gul Dukat usually displayed when he knew he had everyone's rapt attention. "We have been battling the Dominion for over ten years. Only recently have we been able to develop technology which gives us an advantage over the Founders themselves, who are still our greatest threat." Dukat paused and referred to the datapadd he had brought with him. "I have been informed that you currently employ phaser sweeps combined with random blood screenings." He glanced to Sisko and the captain nodded in affirmation. "Even though we have the means to track shapeshifters, we have not abandoned any prior security measures. There are those within our Federation who are willing to tamper with our sensor systems to allow Founder and/or Dominion infiltration. The tracking system did not replace any of our security protocols; it was only an enhancement. "Except in their natural state, changelings usually emit something similar to a humanoid's natural bio-electrical field. It is believed this is the energy expended in maintaining a certain form. Even when the changeling assumes an inanimate object, this field can usually be detected." "Usually?" Dax asked, picking up on the clause in Dukat's explanation. "Does this mean you haven't been able to detect Odo?" "That is correct, commander," he replied. Brahms's eyes widened at his admission, scandalized he would give away such information, but Dukat looked perfectly calm, as if he welcomed the discussion. "But you were able to locate Odo when you first came on board the station," Kira said, trying her best not to sound challenging. He almost looked disappointed with her statement but answered, "Major, as I stated before, we do not rely solely on this particular technology. To do so would be foolhardy." Sisko sighed inwardly, knowing the game Dukat decided to play. It was the same tactic Ambassador Bashir had used during their initial meeting: he was making them come to the conclusions instead of offering them. Dukat was content to allow everyone else to reveal what they had discovered and then provide commentary. The captain addressed him directly, "If a member of your crew is empathic or telepathic, he may be able to sense a presence." "That is one method which can be used and can be very effective. Of course, you also must consider our experience." Arrogance laced his words. "There are certain things we have been trained to look for; we must be keen observers at all times. It is something which we have incorporated into our lives out of necessity, captain." "This technology you referred to earlier which cannot detect Odo," Shakaar referred to Dax's initial question, "have you been able to find a reason why?" "As of this morning," he told them, "we have no definite answers." "So what are you offering?" Gul Dukat didn't sound demanding, only a bit impatient. "You have graciously," the word dripped with sarcasm, "lectured on the importance of combined security measures, which is the most basic rule of any proper defense strategy. While your ambassador has clearly stated your Federation is, and I quote, 'dedicated to assisting worlds against Dominion attacks,' these proceedings seem to indicate a lack of... sincerity." The Defiant's security chief smiled thinly, "As I stated before, gul, there is that small matter of treason." "Because of Odo," Shakaar guessed with a slight tone of disappointed defeat. "First Minister, I am sure you understand the dilemma many of our officers face. For us to openly discuss classified technology with those who willingly work with a Founder...." he paused and shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps it can be compared with the feeling some of your people have regarding those who collaborated with the Cardassian Empire during the Occupation. It is... execrable to say the least. As Commander Dax has so succinctly pointed out to Captain O'Brien, it is difficult for us to separate our world from yours, especially in the matters of tolerance." "Dukat, I am not in the habit of proving my loyalty or my convictions," Odo sharply said as he crossed his arms and glared at the black-clad Cardassian. Brahms automatically bristled and Sisko wondered what kind of weapon the science officer was toting. "Nor are these people deserving of your contempt. You ask us not to judge you by our standards yet you condemn us by yours. Maybe a Founder has come to your Federation in hopes of ending this conflict but your people were too short-sighted to...." "One *did*!" snarled Brahms, rocketing to her feet so fast her chair skidded backwards. She leaned forward, her left hand flat on the table top while her right hand formed a fist and pounded the surface with each word. "We *trusted* that Founder and it *murdered*...." "Commander!" Dukat barked, his voice startling everyone but Brahms and Odo. The woman's eyes blazed with pure hatred as she whipped her head to stare at her commanding officer. Dukat said nothing, but met her gaze with an icy one of his own, clearly demanding complete obedience. "Sir...." she began, harsh and fiery. "*Commander,*" he forcefully repeated. Ben's hands, which he had clasped in his lap, automatically tightened as the word burned in his head. Dukat had used Brahms' rank, not her last name, in calling her down. It was an unusual slip, something in all their meetings, none of the alternates had committed so far. If the ranking system of the First Federation's Starfleet was comparable to the UFP's Starfleet, then Brahms could either be a lieutenant commander or a full commander, since a lieutenant commander could be addressed as "commander." This meant either Dukat was a full commander or, as Dax had postulated earlier, a gul without a ship. Sisko bet on the latter, simply because this Dukat expected immediate compliance to his order. If he had been the same rank as her or even just O'Brien's first officer, Brahms wouldn't necessarily back down since Dukat may not have "the final word" on the matter. No, this Dukat was definitely a captain. Slowly, Brahms straightened and took a few steps backward to retrieve her chair. Her nostrils flared with each breath as her eyes bored holes into Odo. The constable did not seem bothered by her palpable animus against him; he regarded the alternate Dukat and Brahms in the same manner he did those in Starfleet who questioned his integrity: with indignant tolerance. As she sat down, Sisko watched how Dukat refused to look at her, not even nodding in appreciation she had obeyed his command. Instead, he reached into his jacket. Worf moved forward, his hand dropping to his phaser as if daring the Cardassian to draw a weapon. For a moment, Dukat seemed almost amused as his movements became deliberate. He pulled out a datapadd, held it up for Worf to see and even turned it a few times as if taunting the Klingon with it, before leaning forward. "Commander Dax," he motioned to her with the padd, "this contains the schematics of the tracking system which we employ and I have included research materials for your reference. Preliminary findings indicate Odo lacks the molecular distortions which are associated with changelings in our universe. We cannot be certain this is the sole reason why our sensors cannot locate him." Warily, she walked to Dukat and accepted the item. She tapped a few keys and quickly scanned the screen. "If we solve the mystery before you leave, Dukat," she told him, "we will, of course, share it." "That would be most kind of you, commander," he replied. "If you would like, Commander Brahms or myself can assist you with your studies." For the Defiant's science officer, it was clearly the last injustice she could endure. Standing, her voice wavering slightly but Sisko could not tell if it was from outrage or fear of reprimand, she spat, "I refuse to be part of this... travesty." "Surely, commander, you can overcome your racist feelings for a few hours," Dukat responded, and although his tone wasn't mocking, it was as if he were making light of her reactions. She flushed angrily. "After all, it is an opportunity...." "No. I will not." She glared at him before raising her left hand to behind her left ear and poking what Sisko assumed was the external activator for her subderm comm device. "Brahms to Sisko. Beam me back." There was, of course, no answer, but moments later the science officer dissolved in a transporter shimmer. Dukat seemed unruffled by the entire incident, almost as if he were expecting his science officer's belligerence, and Ben wondered just why he had chosen to stage such a scene. Was it to lull those who witnessed it into believing this Dukat would not intentionally harm Odo? To offer Dax a choice of research partners only to have the one she would more than likely choose to abruptly leave so Dax could only choose Dukat? Sisko wasn't comfortable with it and neither was anyone else in the room as far as he could tell. "We appreciate the offer," Dax gave him a sweet smile as she used the first person plural "we" instead of the first person singular "I" as if she were reinforcing the fact the DS9 crew was going to share this technology, "but we'll need some time to review this. How shall I contact you when we're ready to discuss this?" He didn't seem upset she had put him off temporarily. "Oh... I'm sure your comm system will relay a message to me. If not, you can always knock on our door." *** End Part 12 ***