This story is a work of colorful and slashy fiction. Names, 
characters, places and incidents have been long-standing
slaves of Paramount Pictures. Any resemblance to actual 
events or locales or persons, living or dead, is probably
because the author has written too many of these already.
Forgive her.

STAR TREK: DEEP SPACE NINE is a Registered Trademark ® of 
Paramount Pictures.  Copyright (c) 1996 by Paramount Pictures. 
All Rights Reserved. No infringement was meant.  Well, not
consciously anyway.


TITLE:   REGRETS
AUTHOR:  BGM
RATING:  NC-17
PAIRING: Garak/Bashir

---------------------------------------------------------

-The Cardassian language was all made up by Andrea, and I respectfully
borrowed a few words (hope you don't mind Andrea!)

~~~

State of gray ...
State of sin ..
I'm standing on the outside
Looking in ...

Sheryl Crow - On the Outside

~~~

*My mother.  Jasmine Bashir.  She died when I was young; too young.   Too
young to conceive the prospect that I would never cuddle inside her arms
during those tender moments of reading ... or that I would never again look
up at her while she tucked me in at night, singing softly before brushing
her lips to my forehead.  

No.  

Too young.  Five years old is too young to watch a mother leave your house
and leave you behind to wait for her return ... wait for twenty-five years,
always expecting to see her smiling and beautiful face, her body gracefully
gliding toward me with her open arms.  And I have seen her this way ... in
my dreams; those of endless solitude, when all is desperate, all is desolate
... I can always count on my mother to coddle me into sleep, her voice in my
mind as clear as the days she used to sing to me.*

Chief medical officer Julian Subatoi Bashir sighed softly and stared
absently at the heavy, mahogany bottle of rum standing solitary on his desk.
An empty glass was overturned at its side, a few drops tingeing the
immaculate desktop.  It was her birthday today.  She would have been 56.
And yet all he could call up in his mind was an image of her as he had last
seen her; 31, young, full of cheer and love and a whole lifetime ahead of
her.  How she would have clasped her hands together, knowing her son was
enrolling in medical school.  She would have spent endless moments
congratulating him, praising him on what a wonderful, accomplished young man
he was.  Perhaps he'd gotten the pre-ganglionic question right if she had
been present ...  All he had received was derision for his failure,
disappointment at the erratic change of careers and hobbies he had
demonstrated before medicine had even entered into his consideration.    

He sighed again and toyed with the glass, his long, quivering finger rolling
the glass back and forth and watching the dark drops inside it slip over the
glass with the movement.  His eyelids became suddenly full of lead and he
slumped forward, resting his delicate chin over his folded arms.  

He wondered why he was so sad.  Certainly the loss of his mother had
affected him ... he remembered his father kneeling down in front of him and
placing broad, dark hands on his tiny shoulders.  "Son ..." he'd said, that
voice so low and so commanding Julian had never dared to anger it.  He
realised now it had been husky with sorrow.  "You remember me speaking to
you of Allah?  How Allah was good and caring, and how he took care of good
people who went away?"  He'd nodded at that, his brain racing to anticipate
what his father was trying to tell him.  Even at five, Julian had been
extraordinarily bright and intuitive.  If only he'd used those talents to
predict his mother's death ... perhaps he would have convinced her to stay
... pull at her sleeve, her leg, scream if he had to.  Yes, soft, quiet and
tender Julian bawling his little heart out for his mother to stay behind and
not render medical aid on Cardassia ....  

But no.  

The only time he had been obtuse enough to disregard the worried looks she
and his father had exchanged before she left ... to ignore the crushing hug
she had given him coupled with the endless words of love and care as though
... yes as though she knew she was never coming back.  To neglect, most of
all, the tears which had glittered softly in her wide, raven eyes.  The only
time he'd been stupid, she had left him forever.   

But was it only that?  Even twenty-five years later, the grief was still
vivid, still present.  Fuelling his passion as a healer, vowing to prevent
another five year old heartbreak as he worked on his patients, worked until
exhaustion to save them ... to heal them and return them to their loved
one's welcoming arms.  To give to others what he would have sacrificed
everything for.  To see his mother open the front door, smiling and cheerful.

But she never did.  And so Julian was left alone to live out his boyhood
with a cold, uncaring father, left to omit social life and immerse himself
in the study of biology, of medicine and ethics ... pushing aside his grief
and solitude for academics.  And now that he was what he had for so long
aimed for, the solitude was even more oppressive.  It weighed over him like
a plague; a disease to which he had no cure but momentary nights of
fornication which served only to eradicate his isolation for just one,
fleeting instant of bliss.  

But even those were dwindling fast.  The only constant was his Cardassian
friend, Garak.  But even with him it was usually one-sided.  Whenever
*Garak* wanted it, and *how* he wanted it ...  His friendship with him had
subsequently lowered into the sporadic, random nights of togetherness Julian
had adopted to forget the inconsequencies of life ... all but passion, lust
... but no love.  He wondered what having a steady relationship with Garak
would mean ... but this he pushed aside with all the 'what ifs' of his
existence, content with the way things were.  Lazy to change them.  Tired of
life.   

The door chime rang, and he lifted his head up blearily.  He checked the
time and rubbed tiredly at his eyes.  "Come in," he slurred, the last
vestiges of his drunken stupor evaporating languidly.  He supposed he had
dozed off for an hour or so; enough for the alcohol to subside, but not the
ache.  He looked up just as Garak approached his desk where he sat, his fair
blue eyes trained on the half-empty bottle of liquor and its glass.  He
touched the neck of the bottle with faint, idle curiosity before raising his
inquisitive gaze at Julian.  "I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?" he
asked.  

The young man snorted and shook his head.  "No Garak.  Nothing a little of
tonight's activity won't cure."  He sighed and got up, unzipping his uniform
as he headed for his bedroom like a sleepwalker.  And all the while his mind
kept reminded him ... *You're a whore.*     

He chased the thought away as he turned, his uniform crumpled at the waist.
Garak was already there, looking at him steadily, though the light in his
eyes wavered with awakening lust.  Julian slipped his hands around the broad
neck and buried his face inside the scaled skin where neckridge and throat
met.  His breath was reeking with dark rum, hot, scalding, and he longed for
sleep ... a bath ... a fuck ... anything but the mindless musings about lost
childhood. 

"Make me forget ..." he whispered, his voice muffled, his body unmoving as
he waited for Garak's first move.  

The Cardassian froze for a moment, then finally pulled away with difficulty.
His chest rising and falling harshly, he narrowed his eyes at his young
friend before cupping the delicate point of Julian's chin in his hand.  "Why
do you always say that?" he asked, his grip tightening slightly in emphasis.
"What is it you try to forget Doctor?"

Tears veiled his eyes ... the same tears that had glittered in his mother's
before her departure.  "My life ..." he husked, disengaging from the
tailor's arms to walk to his bed.  He circled it halfway before falling at
its edge, sitting with slumped shoulders as he watched the rounded viewport
sadly.  "Everything I suppose."
 
Garak followed him, and knelt over the bed, his hands coming to rest at the
thin shoulders, kneading the fine muscles.  "Is that why you feel no
pleasure with me?  Because I am a reminder of what you try to accomplish?
Of what you try to surpress?"

Julian opened his mouth to protest, but instead allowed his head to press
against the tailor's hard shoulder.  He sighed and opened his eyes to stare
at the ceiling, Garak's breaths sweeping his temple.  "I do feel pleasure
with you Garak ... but it is ..." he closed his eyes painfully and tension
hardened his muscles.  "...It's empty pleasure.  Not just with you, with
everyone."

"That is because you do not open up," Garak whispered in his ear, his tongue
rasping hesitantly at the whorls of cartilage on the human ear.  

Julian frowned and shifted aside, fluidly pulling away from the almost
comforting embrace.  "What do you mean?"

Garak sighed and stretched languidly over the bed.  "With me, you anticipate
only the moment of pleasure when all is forgotten.  You don't take the time
to appreciate the suspense, the moment ... everything but that single,
fleeting instant of rapture.  Come here," he asked abruptly, straightening
up and tapping the bed beside him.  When Julian came hesitantly, Garak
smiled and brushed an errant strand of curled hair from the young man's
forehead.  "Lie down and close your eyes." 

He did so, lying down on the hard, smooth bed, his arms straight as steel
rods against his sides and his eyes closing with a nervous flutter.  He
heard clothing rustle somewhere beside him, then hands on him, removing his
uniform.  He let himself be manipulated, the cold touch of the tailor's
fingers causing ripples of chill to course through his body.

... And then strong arms were lifting his head ... letting it rest again on
something hot ... hard .... Garak's groin.  He allowed a slight moan to
escape his lips before he felt the tailor's cool fingers playing across his
chest.  Close to his ear, his mellow voice whispered to him.  "Why were you
drinking Doctor?"  he asked, his fingers finding the chocolate brow nipples
and pinching lightly; just enough to wrestle a gasp from the human.

Then, hesitantly; "I ... I told you already ..."

"Yesss, to forget ..." Garak's voice had become distinctly seductive and
Julian longed to be drawn into a mindless bout of loving ... opening himself
to Garak time and time again ... but the tailor only resumed his stroking,
sliding up to his neck and circling it loosely, just a hint of danger
underlying the cool touch.  Julian shivered and tilted his head toward the
continuing whispers.  "Forget what Doctor?  What is it you try to forget
when you come to me?  When you lose yourself in the reek of liquor ..."  the
hiss became threatening and Julian gasped slightly, twisting in the
Cardassian's embrace as it grew torrid, firing his arousal to new heights. 

His lips quivering, his eyes still closed as sweat trickled across his
temples, he said, "I'm alone ..." in a harsh whisper.  "I never loved ... I
was never loved.  And to live like that ..."  he let out a sob and arched
his neck in aching pain.  "Oh Gods Garak, I can't _bear_ it sometimes ..."
he broke into pants and shook his head, a thin spray of sweat splashing the
tailor's scaly thighs.  "I need ... I need more Garak ..."

The hands on his body froze and he grew still as well ... his breathing
became quiet and he swallowed hard as the Cardassian's hot breaths became
closer ... sweeping across his shoulder just before lips touched his skin
... before teeth sank in.  He cried out something inarticulate, to which
Garak only grunted as he licked the bruise he'd caused.  "I can't give you
more ..." he whispered, barely audibly against the Human's ear. 

"I didn't ask it of you ..." Julian rasped, twisting his neck to the side
and blindly seeking the tailor's mouth, his eyes still closed.  "Just ... be
with me ... and make me forget."

Grey fingers slid up the narrow chest to cup the sharp jaw, shifting it at
the proper angle before Bashir felt the hot Cardassian lips touch his ...
plunder his mouth with animalistic savageness.  He groaned inside the mouth,
but pulled away finally with erratic pants.  "Why ... why do _you_ do this
then ..." he asked, his eyelids finally drifting open to stare into
hypnotising blue.

The blue flickered ... the steady lust softening into something more ...
Julian dared not to hope what it was.  "Home ..." he muttered, averting his
eyes as he found the slender neck and grazed his teeth against it.  "Exile
... solitude," he said after a moment.  "I suppose the same reasons as you.
But there is no love Doctor," he said earnestly, looking up.  "I wish there
were ... but loving you ... loving you would be a mistake ... my beautiful
doctor," he murmured, gazing back into those endless pools of night, shining
with their own light.  "Yes, a mistake ..." he muttered as he shifted aside
and pulled the narrow, Human shoulders toward him, pressing Julian's back to
his chest as they sat on the bed, Garak resting against the headboard as he
continued his ministrations.  

Julian lulled his head against the tailor's shoulder and chuckled.  "Yes
..." he muttered.  "A mistake.  Just as me loving you would be the same."

The bites paused and the question hung heavily in the air.  Bashir rolled
his head side to side, tears welling.  "I could never love one of your kind
Garak," he said finally.  "Friends with, yes.  Fuck with, yes.  Never love.
You see, Cardassians killed my mother.  And I will never fall in love with a
people that took away from me the only thing I cared about in life."

Garak swallowed hard, a million protests bubbling up to the surface, wanting
to blurt out to this beautiful creature that it was not fair to condemn a
whole race for one act of cruelty ... not fair to reject him simply because
he was an exile ... a pitiful old exile with dreams of home and fantasies of
love for a beautiful, caring Human.  "Then there is no problem," was all he
said, choking back his tears, pushing down the dark grief and bitter regrets
into a hidden corner of his withered heart.  "No problem ..." he moaned, his
hands finding the narrow hips of his partner and lifting.  Julian gasped,
then moaned as he felt himself being lowered onto the tailor's
self-lubricated shaft.  He threw back his head and pressed tightly against
the damp front of his lover, moaning steadily as he felt the impossible
thickness impale him ... possess him.  Oh yesss ... and for that one sweet
moment as Garak rocked with him, life lifted from the endless depths of
depression into something a little less hopeless ... a little more happy.
His lips broke into a smile as he rocked with Garak, his hands finding the
tailor's neck and caressing the dark neckridges.  

A strong arm curled around his chest while another cupped his aching cock
and pumped ... steadying the Human, controlling the pleasure and extending
it for him ... *Take what I offer you ....* Garak thought, wincing with
pleasure as he felt the release closing in.  *Yes ... *narai*, beloved, take
this gift ....forget ...*  

*Oh yessss ...*  Julian moaned quietly and let himself be carried away,
beyond life, beyond reality into his haven ... sweet haven which he longed
to possess forever ... to cradle into each night, lulling him to sleep ... a
beautiful haven of pleasure, happiness and beauty ... he cried out and
clenched his teeth, his hands curling into the tailor's thighs as he felt
the hand on him increase pace ... coax him into his haven of bliss.  He
sighed and murmured, barely audibly, "Je t'aime ..."  I love you ... yes,
cursed fate, it had to pull you into my life and make me love you.  And damn
you ... damn you for not being able to love me back.  

Garak cried aloud, plunging deep into the human's depths as he emptied
himself, his hand slickening with Julian's own essence as he lost himself in
his own pleasure ... his haven.  And he rasped, "*A nooar o*," under his
breath as he slumped against the Human's back.  I love you.  Damn your
prettiness and care ... you made me love you.  And damn you for not being
able to love me back ...

THE END