LITANY OF THE DAMNED
by BGM

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"Garak?"

Julian Bashir peeked inside the morgue to find his friend
still at the deceased Ziyal's side.  A light frown crossed his
youthful features as he entered the area, his hands hooking
naturally to his back as he padded to the Cardassian's side.

Garak had still not responded to his call.

Instead, when Julian quietly stood at his side, Garak shifted
on his feet and sighed wearily.  "I ... suppose I should not
be here."

Julian gazed mournfully at the girl's peaceful features.  "I
was just about to--" he halted, deciding that detailing the
autopsy and eventual cryogenesis was indelicate at best under
the circumstances.  Garak merely nodded.

"They're ... asking for you, you know."

This seemed to draw the Cardassian's eyes to the young man.
"Hm?"

Tossing his head to the entrance, Julian attempted a smile.
"The crew.  They were ... wondering where you were."  At this
Garak merely shrugged and stared back at Ziyal.  After a
moment, he spoke.

"You know Doctor ... I've spent my exile wondering if one
day I would go home.  Spent it lamenting the fact that I was
not accepted ... or even solicited for casual conversation
here on this wretchedly cold and impersonal station.  It hurt 
me Doctor.  I am not in the habit to confess my private 
feelings to others, but I can safely say, Doctor, that it 
hurt me deeply.  

"And yet today ... I find myself patted on the shoulders and 
told what a 'wonderful job' I did for 'the good of the 
Federation'. For some reason ... my pain has intensified, rather 
than subsided, in the light of my new acceptance.  Because 
though hatred and indifference hurts me deeply, Doctor, at 
least then I knew I was still Cardassian.  Now ... it seems 
that everyone around me knows even before me that ... I truly 
will never go home."  He turned around, and the sharpness of 
emotions held within the azure of his eyes made Julian's heart 
sink.  "Because," he added, "everyone throughout the quadrant 
will celebrate me, - not as the Cardassian who fought to insanity 
for the good of the Union - not as the Cardassian who saved his 
people - but as the small tailor who gave in to the Federation ... 
who was too weak to show some mettle in his beliefs and decided 
to join those whom would offer him perhaps just a small hint 
of acceptance, if not much, then perhaps that small hint would 
be enough to make his last years livable.  It's ... rather sad, 
Doctor.  I've become weak in my old age."

Julian stared at his friend, wondering in the back of his
mind just how one responded to such a heart-felt and sorrowful
statement given by whom he would have most likely died to
save?  Speechless, Julian simply stared with his lips parted
and a frown shadowing his eyes.  Within the lull of the moment,
Elim Garak straightened somewhat and all at once he regretted
even confiding.  He tilted his head slightly and whispered,
"I'll be in my quarters, Doctor.  I'll appreciate if you send
me a notice on when the Remembrance Ceremony will be held."

Gone before Julian could assemble a proper motivation; gone
before Julian could force the words out and tell Garak that
he wasn't alone ... and that he wasn't weak ... but how does
one tell Garak that, when that someone doesn't even believe
his own propaganda?

Julian turned, looked down at Ziyal for a long moment before
he angrily threw a PADD across the room.  Unable to oppose
the strength of the throw, it shattered in two neat halves 
against the bulkhead, and crashed in a pitiful sizzle of 
energy on the ground.

It just wasn't fair.

But then.  War was never fair, was it?

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Dukat rocked amidst the revamped quarters that would be his
asylum, biting a knuckle that was already gnawed to a bright
patch of bone and blood.  Incoherent words flowed from his
mouth; about forgiveness, about home ... and all the while
he stared mindlessly at nothing, his thoughts not even lucid
enough to focus on the man who had caused his most precious
daughter to lie dead in an impersonal Federation morgue.
The lighting had been changed per Counselor Myril's advice,
painting the room not in sterile grays, but rather in soothing
blackness that was aimed to calm a Cardassian unfortunate 
enough to be locked in these particular quarters.  No port 
window to distract one's eye, no facilities to entertain one's 
mind.  Stark furniture, a practical bed, and an unassuming one-
way monitoring device that recorded everything that was said 
and done in these quarters.

At 0915, the monitoring device failed under mysterious
circumstances, though no one paid it any notice so much the 
celebration occupied the station's occupants.

At 0920, the door slid quietly opened, and a dark silhouette
slipped inside before it closed swiftly behind him.  A few
moments, and a voice broke the litany of the insane.

"Dukat."

Counselor Myril had explained that the subject might be roused
to awareness by key words or phrase, perhaps a song, or even
a voice.  So far no one had been able to discover just what
the key might be; no one had really cared, or had the time
to spare in its research anyway.

But standing amidst these suffocating quarters and looking down
to the man he had once hated and admired simultaneously,
Elim Garak found the key.  

Himself.

Dukat raised his eyes slowly to his visitor, though still he
rocked in his corner while sharp teeth sliced through his 
flesh at a second knuckle.  Garak met the gaze peacefully, and
remained standing where he was.  "You disappoint me, old
foe.  Clutching at yourself like a wounded child and babbling
on like the younger.  What happened to you Dukat?"

There was a slight shift in those hauntingly blue eyes,
but nothing more.  They lowered once more into their 
mindless staring, and Garak sighed.  There was nothing to
be done with this man.  It was a pity really; the man
Garak had once regretted not killing when opportunity
knocked now elicited pity and compassion from the tailor.

"They asked Dr. Bashir to meet with you now and then.
Perhaps he can find something chemical to jog that cunning
mind of yours."  Garak could not help but inject some
measure of sarcasm into his words.  Habits were not so
easily broken after all.

He took a chair and sat down, putting some respectable
distance between he and his old nemesis.  Although Garak
severely doubted that Dukat had the cunning and temerity
to create this entire subterfuge to rectify the mistake
of waiting too long to escape, Garak still had his wits
sharp and he knew that underestimating Dukat had been
usually fatal to the lesser wise.

Lacing his hands over his stomach as he leant back into
the chair, Garak let his eyes unfocus and he began
listening to the stream of incoherence wafting about the
quarters.

It wasn't Cardassia ... but it was as close to it as
Garak would ever hope to be.

THE END