FUCK YOU!
© BGM

Julian Bashir paced the length of his quarters at least six times before he 
resolved himself to stop, lest he drove himself to the brink of madness. He 
couldn't though ... had to do *something*, so he began kneading his hands while 
gazing out anxiously at the streaking stars outside the porthole. 

Error. He wasn't on the brink of madness. He WAS in madness already. 
Submerged by it. Chaos and death. When would Starfleet realise that sending 
ships on and on against Terok Nor -- Deep Space Nine -- wasn't helping anyone? 
When would it realise that real people were dying and that it wasn't any more of 
a force to be reckoned with than when it had started this bloody war?? 

He was suffocating too. Trapped in these small bunk-sized quarters ... denied 
relaxation and entertainment as the Jem'Hadar ship continuously kept its crew 
on its toes. He wanted to scream, wanted to cry and kill himself all at the same 
time. But it wouldn't do. It wouldn't do to have the CMO found in his blood in 
these tiny quarters while others died. No ... he couldn't do that ... 

The chime rang and he nearly jumped. He glanced sharply at the door and said, 
"Come," out loud ... TOO loud. 

The door opened on an hesitant-looking Cardassian. What's more, the same 
Cardassian was holding a bottle in one hand and a platter in the other. Julian 
twitched nervously. 

"What are you doing here?" 

The fallacious facades were quickly erected, erasing the doubt that had clouded 
the tailor's face. "Ah, simply here to continue a little tradition ... I ..." Garak 
looked around, "... am not intruding I trust?" 

"No ... no, not at all ..." Julian replied quickly, his eyes shifting over to the 
things his friend was carrying. "Tradition?" 

Garak could spot fear a mile away. It had been his job, his profession ... his 
calling. And right now Garak could practically smell it, and he wondered why as 
he smiled brightly. "Why lunch, my dear doctor. To tell you the truth, I don't 
take great satisfaction in sharing the mess hall's mediocre food with lieutenant 
Worf and his ..." A wrinkle of distaste appeared broke the Cardassian's nose, 
"Prune juice, so I said to myself ... why not?" Garak grinned lavishly as he set 
the platter over the lower bed. He looked around at the cramped space of his 
friend with a mild quirk in his lips. "Well ... I see I was complaining for naught 
about my quarters. It seems we're ALL in the same predicament." Garak 
promptly realised he was talking alone, and finally looked up with a frown at 
Julian. "Doctor, are you all right?" 

"I'm fine." He switched the subject, re-directing the concern at his friend, 
"How's ... that head?" 

Garak pursed his lips wryly. "Throbbing and generally offering me grief without 
end, but I'll live. Well ... assuming I'm among the 32% who do survive," he 
added with a faint sigh. 

Julian looked away to gaze out the viewport. "I said a 32% chance of winning. 
Those weren't survival odds." 

Garak studied the taut arch of the doctor's back as he quirked an eyeridge 
curiously. "Should I take my chance and ask what ARE the survival odds?" he 
asked after a moment. 

Still staring at the void of space, Bashir shook his head mildly. "Probably not." 

Garak hisses low in his throat. "Well you're a constant source of optimism 
Doctor." 

"I'm being realistic." 

"Realism cannot offer warmth to a soldier's soul, Doctor." 

Julian turned around, folding his arms suspiciously as he leant back against the 
bulkhead. "How would you know? I've never pictured you as ever needing any
outside help in keeping your priorities straight." 

Dark, blue eyes narrowed. "What is that supposed to mean?" 

Bashir shrugged. "Just what it sounds like." 

Garak spent a moment staring at the doctor before delivering his observation, 
"You know, you've changed. I don't like you this way Doctor. You've lost ... I 
don't know ... you've lost something." 

Bashir looked back without a break in his stance, his eyes darkening almost. He 
assessed the Cardassian standing so ... poised ... erect and dignified as he waited
for any sort of reaction Bashir was not inclined to offer. Rather, Julian replied 
without a trace of emotion to taint his voice, "You're angry. I can tell. And 
bitter." 

Garak, on the other hand, was not as inclined to remain impassive. He tilted his 
chin higher, eyeridges raising with bewilderment. "Bitter?" he echoed 
incredulously.
"Where is THIS coming from?" 

"Bitter Garak ..." Julian said unkindly. "Angry that you misread me. Angry that I 
might have been able to successfully keep something from you all these years." 

A curve of amusement lifted the tailor's lips. "What makes you think I didn't 
already know, Doctor?" 

"Because you, yourself, have changed since my "abilities" have been made 
public. You're bitter ... always sarcastic ... always insulting me. Have you 
noticed?" Julian regarded him steadily, giving no indication that he'd let himself 
be lead away by Garak's attempts. 

Garak's eyes darkened in response. "You're being ridiculous." 

"Am I. Well. Have it your way Garak." Julian turned slightly to the side, turning 
his nose in almost aristocratic disdain. Garak couldn't help but chuckle. 

"I think you actually WANT to believe I'm bitter, Doctor," he said after a 
moment, smiling triumphantly when Julian reacted the way he'd hoped. 

Whipping his head sideways, Julian stared back with wide, appalled eyes. 
"What??" 

"Well ... look at you," the Cardassian indicated Julian with a nonchalant wave of 
his hand. "Almost YEARNING for me to acknowledge your silly observations 
that I'm actually ANGRY that you kept something from me. How very childish," 
he concluded with a vicious smile. 

"I thought you said I wasn't so childish anymore." A very lame attempt to turn 
the advantage back in his favour, but then Bashir had so very little to use right 
now. 

Garak only smirked. "I referred to your comment about your boyish smile. I 
never said anything about you being childish." 

"Is there a difference?" Bashir asked coldly. 

"The very fact that you're asking proves my point." 

"Honestly Garak. Did you come here just to insult me again?" Bashir said with 
irritation, stalking forth and pushing passed the Cardassian. Or rather, *tried* to, 
since Garak grabbed his arm and shoved him against the bunk frame to study 
him more closely. Julian hissed and struggled for a moment before Garak 
tightened his grip and snarled, 

"You said I've changed ... I think, rather, it's you who's changed Doctor. And 
that ... transformation is distorting your perceptions. I've never changed ... you're 
just annoyed perhaps that everyone knows *you* have." He watched as the 
doctor's face contorted into one of annoyance. 

"Perhaps you should leave," said Julian starkly, trying vainly to look dignified 
with his arm sharply twisted within the Cardassian's hold. 

"Should I?" Garak took another step forth, his ridged brow omniously lowered 
as he pressed against the young man. "Oh I really don't think so Doctor." 

He could detect the panic that soon followed the annoyance over Julian's 
features, and he merely squeezed his grip over the narrow arm before swinging 
it abroad.  Julian yelped, grinding his teeth together as his cheek pressed against 
the cold metallic frame. In his ear, Garak's voice was a mere whisper. "I tire of 
this game, doctor, don't you?" 

Bashir panted loudly through his crushed lips. "I don't ... know what you're 
talking about." 

There was a rustle of clothing behind him that Julian could very well identify. 
He remained frozen, one arm twisted behind his back while the other clawed at 
the linens which spilled over the top bunk. His arm was wrenched up tighter 
against his back and he cried involuntarily. "Garak!" 

"Don't play innocent with me! You've shown me you can be QUITE mature 
lately, so why don't you use that advanced brain of yours and wonder just 
WHAT you've been doing to me these past few days with that smug attitude of 
yours, hm? Playing these games with me, encouraging our arguments ..." Garak 
seemed distracted as he spoke, and Julian tried feverishly to decipher the 
meaning behind his friend's words. Finally, he heard and *felt* the rip which 
tore the ensuing silence. 

"GARAK!" Julian redoubled his struggle, shivering in spite of himself at the 
cool air that now crawled up his naked thighs and ass. "Damn it, stop this before 
I call security!!" 

"Why would you? You want this as much as I do," Garak snarled harshly before 
letting go of Julian's arm. Thinking of it as a release, Julian went to turn around 
when strong hands grabbed his hips and violently pulled him to Garak's hips. 
Searing length impaled him with a streak of agony as he shattered the air with a 
scream. He pressed his forehead to the cold metal and whimpered, reaching out 
to grasp the edge of the bunk frame. "Garak please ..." 

The Cardassian merely answered with a thrust of the hips, shoving the young 
man against the frame even more. A vicious curl lifted his lips. "Arrogant little 
bastard ..." he hissed under his ragged breath. "This is a lesson far in need to 
tame your despicable smugness, my dear." 

Crying at a particularly hard emphasis from the Cardassian's hips, Julian tried to 
twist to the side, groaning and flailing back to claw his assailant off of him. The 
cramped space offered very little chance of escape, however, and his struggle 
only made Garak press harder against him, grabbing the doctor's wrists and 
pinning them against the frame with his own hands, pressing his weight against 
them. It was only when Julian started to scream uncontrollably that Garak 
smirked, and slipped out of the warm depths of his prey. He clasped his hands 
over the narrow, still clothed, shoulders and used his strength to shove him to 
the side. He advanced with the momentum, watching as Julian hit the far wall 
with his back. The breath knocked out, he could do very little in the way of 
struggling when Garak lashed out with his hands, crushing the wrists together 
over Julian's head. Holding them easily with one hand, Garak slipped down a 
naked hip, staring all the while into the fear-stricken eyes of his prey, smiling 
harshly as he circled a thigh with his hand and lifted it against his side, holding 
it up before he stabbed with his hips and impaled the young man in one, hot 
stroke. 

Julian couldn't fight it anymore. Throwing his head back he moaned forlornly, 
wrapping his lifted leg involuntarily against the Cardassian's back. Garak 
smirked again, pressing more intimately against the doctor, never yielding his 
fierce hold. His lips traveled from the long, graceful throat to an ear, whispering 
into the coppery shell, "You want this, don't you? Hm ... someone needed to 
teach you some modesty ..." Garak grunted, his cock slipping easily now into the 
welcoming depths of his Julian. 

This time ... Julian cried for more. 

"Interesting ... how these Solids spend so much time in the matters of sexual 
recreation." The Founder turned slightly to the side to watch the monitor while 
she continued speaking with her colleague. "See here ... now this is interesting ." 
She pointed to two of the seven stasis fields. "The Human doctor and the 
Cardassian have managed to *merge* their simulated worlds together ... Even 
beyond technology, they have managed to act and react as though they were 
doing so without any help from our simulations." 

The other founder barely gave the monitors a glance before he made a rude 
noise. "If you ask me, this experiment is a waste of time. Come, let's go 
concentrate our energy in getting the Jem'Hadar to rescue their damaged ship. 
It's taking up enough place in our hangar." 

With a final glance to the Starfleet crew, the Founder nodded slightly, and 
followed the lanky humanoid outside the compound. 

END