This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.  

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.

"A Terrible Exile" copyright (c) 1996 by Sophie Masse - 20-21/07/96

Note 1)  Based on the wonderfully written Canadian book "A Terrible Beauty" by Nancy Baker.  I realise her original idea was intended for a vampire protagonist, but bear with me.  The idea is only *loosely* taken.

Note 2)  This is somewhat different from my usual style, as you all will find out.  No tears please.  I've shed enough while writing it.

Note 3)  Just to tell you how inspiration works for me (Garak snuck away to visit me last night; my beautiful muse) the book 'A Terrible Beauty" was read from 9:00 last night to midnight, then from midnight to ... hum, what's the time?  8:15 this morning I wrote this.  No I didn't sleep, so I'll thank everyone to notify me if some gross mistakes managed to insinuate themselves in this story.  This thing has been written purely from emotions and feelings.  I wasn't really concerned with grammar.  I had no *time* to concern myself with it anyways.  And excuse the rather botched intimate scene.  My thoughts weren't exactly on sex at 4:00 in the morning  (what a shock!!!) 
  
So on to the story.  And thanks Garak, my luv.  You provide great inspiration.

~~~

It had to be done.  It had.  He had no choice.

Self-relieved from the tedious responsibilities his usual days required of him, Elim Garak watched the replimat with unseeing eyes, oblivious to the morning scuffle around him, blind to the world of non-exiles.  

He sat alone at a small table, 

*our table*  
     
his mind blissfully isolated as his eyes narrowed in thought, his hand fluttered nervously across the slick painted metal of the table top.  After a moment, it flaked away under his sharp nails, the founding steel shining brightly beneath the artificial lights.
     
When the crowd thinned and made way for the quieter nature of the few non-workers, Garak
inhaled deeply and paid his due, ignoring the wanton defacement he'd caused on the only
property he and *him* shared.  Pleading ignorance under the Bajoran waiter's strict glare, he offered an extra strip and quickly stepped down from the quaint little area.
     
He walked nonchalantly through the Promenade, his eyes glazed and blind as he passed in front of the few shops that would have normally attracted his attention.  Not today.  Not for a long while.  Not ever in fact.  He sighed and, for the hundredth time since a time he could not remember, he reviewed his plan.  
     
*Scheming, planning.  That's all I'm left with is it?*  He smiled to himself and walked on,
rounding a corner and passing in front of an entrance which finally *did* attract his gaze.  Though it did not make him stop.  As it never made him before, despite the longing twisting his soul, despite the protests screaming in his mind to do so.  
     
His eye caught *him*, sitting behind his writing desk, sitting and deeply in thought.  Composing something on some computer device Garak cared nothing about, exquisite dark eyes frowning slightly in concentration.  This he remarked on first glance.  When he had walked midway to the end of the entrance,  he noted the long limbs, the stretch of arms slacked over the slick obsidian desk and the slim lengthy legs casually crossed at the ankles beneath the opening of the desk.  When Garak was stepping out of sight, his eyes tore away from him, feigning unawareness as the object of his scrutiny lifted his attention to him.  
     
When Julian Bashir wondered if his eyes had deceived him and that had indeed not been Garak
he'd seen, the Cardassian was already long gone.

~~~       

The obsidian dagger was beautiful.  A testament to his great-grand father's skills.  *And now you will use it for sinful purposes,* he thought, and promptly tried to chase the offending thoughts away.  Still, like an unrelenting raven picking at a choice morsel, the thought returned.  *He would have killed you before allowing it.  He would have never offered this gift to your grand-father had he known his great grand-son would one day use it for this.  He would have never permitted for you to defile his memory, his skills for this.*

With a sigh, Garak fondled the intricate weapon one last time before storing it away in its velvet black container.  He pushed it back into its place, secret to all besides him, and retreated to the replicator.  "Kanar," he asked, and waited for the computer to slowly acknowledge his order.  When it shimmered to existence, Garak was no longer thirsty.  He plucked it from the dais and threw it carelessly into the matter recycler.  Nothing mattered.  Not even the chilled liquor which had faithfully served his loneliness for a forgotten duration.

He walked to his table where more plans laid.  More schemes.  All on traditional paper, bound by a delicate string.  Vastly more useful than computers.  Machines that could be swept and stripped of the most expertly erased information.  He clutched the thin stack of paper and went to sit on his chair, tearing the string carelessly as he went.  It flew to the ground, unheeded.

He revised them carefully, noting the discrepancies which his mind swiftly corrected, the
professional touches that drew a smile from his lips.  His manner would be nebulous, he decided, but his cause was worth it.  Ripping the paper in a quick and brusque fashion, Garak walked to his door and dropped the tatters of his contrivance inside the disposal chute on his way.  When his foot stepped out of his quarters, the delicate paper was already being used as someone's coffee. 

~~~

*That *was* Garak I saw,* Julian thought, peering inside the darkened shop of his friend.  *How odd,* he frowned, turning away.  When he reached the infirmary, he glanced over his shoulder and shook his head before entering his establishment.   
   
He should have realised it by the doors.  Simply by the doors.  Nothing escaped Julian Bashir's sharp attention, though this time the odd closing of the infirmary's doors had not been indicative of something wrong.  Yet when he reached his desk, he whirled around with a scowl.  He then realised it. 

Since a few months ago, the doors *never* closed.

His heart began pounding a little faster, and he quickly chided himself for his paranoia.  *So the doors closed,* he argued.  *Probably Sedi who reconfigured the system,* he added.  And though he knew his nurse possessed no such clearance, or permission for that matter, the thought solaced him.  Even as he walked, unguarded, toward them.  

He never reached them.  When the hand pressed over his mouth to silence him, the first thing he did was curse his carelessness.  Then following a brief regret at having dismissed his staff for an early lunch, real panic began to settle in.  He screamed, his voice muffled by the broad cold hand against his lips, his own hands clawing at the thick clothing covering his assailant's arm.  

*I know this.*  

The fleeting thought vanished as he felt himself being led back.  His back was pressed tightly against a curving chest, another arm around his waist and erasing any thoughts of further struggle.  All he was left with was voice, and hope.  None of which very effective at present.

Again he screamed, attempting to bite the palm crushing his lips.  The hold never loosened,
though the pain elicited a grunt all too familiar to his ears.  *GARAK!!!*  his mind screamed, and though his struggles increased, his panic attenuated.  Screams were replaced with frantic questions, all muffled and distorted; none answered.        

He heard the opening of doors, then saw their closing in front of him.  *Where is he taking me?*  he thought hysterically, and a million answers flooded his mind.  Though most of them revolved around another question.  *What does he want?*  

A quick Cardassian command to the computer, and both were enveloped in soft glittering
transporter light.  

~~~

When the beam dissolved around them, allowing its two transportees to inspect their new location, the hand left his mouth, and the arm let go of his waist.  A torrent of curses slipped from the doctor's mouth as he turned, dark eyes wild with fury and surprise.

"What the *hell* are you doing?" he asked in belated anger, the sight of Garak confirming his earlier assumption.  

"Forgive me," Garak whispered.  "But I had to do it."  He took a step forth, reached for his chest and plucked the Starfleet insignia from his uniform.  

*Oh you idiot,* Julian cursed himself.  *You fucking idiot, didn't you listen to Darme's lessons?  You don't *ask* what your kidnapper is doing.  You call for help.*  Deciding that dwelling on things he could not change was useless, Julian focused on the tailor.  

Garak never glanced at it twice before ejecting it into space through the compact disposal chute.  "Best you make yourself comfortable Doctor," he said, moving through the room with the ease of someone who lived here.  He glanced over his shoulder, eyes sorrowful.  "You will be here for a while," he added in a whisper.

~~~

When Garak had left the quarters, 

*my prison*

Julian considered his new home.  It didn't take an expert to figure out where the tailor had brought him.  By the state of things, these were clearly untouched Cardassian quarters.  Unused, forgotten in either of the three upper or lower pylons of the stations.  Most probably lower.  

It had taken Starfleet and Bajorans a hell of a lot of security codes to try and bypass their way to here, and when the number of passwords and retinal scans had increased with each successful entry, all had agreed to leave these areas be.  Only a Cardassian would be able to find his way through these bloody security walls, O'Brien had said.  Indeed, Julian now believed it. 

Though poor these quarters were not.  Nor comparable to the ones offered lower *or above*. 
Though there was no up or down in space,  Julian felt a distinct shiver when he considered the possibility that he was buried in the lower bowels of the station.  

He swept the decor, dark and uninviting, though lavish and intricate.  No flora where Bajorans had added some to enhance the scenery, no comfort radiating from the dismal architecture.  And when his eyes fell to the far wall, the one where a large square bed occupied most of its space, his skin chilled and his heart missed a beat.  Hung over the black metallic wall in a laborious show of workmanship was a tapestry, mostly dark colours wreathed into indistinguishable patterns.  Faded actually, though no one could mistake the imposing insignia embroidered in its centre.  

*Of course,* he thought with a shudder.  *These were *his* quarters I wager.*  He took in a deep breath, and finally tore his eyes away from the bright red Obsidian Order symbol staring fire at him.   

~~~

A few things were all he needed.  Actually ... perhaps more than a few, he thought as he surveyed the pile of objects he knew Julian would want during his long stay.  Mostly Padds with limited access to the databases.  Some sheets for the nights he knew became chilly without the heating system providing for the forgotten quarters beneath his feet.  Only a crude caloric ventilator, left by his people long ago.  The accomodities for everyday grooming, some clothes, shoes ... He pursed his lips and trimmed the amount of clothing and discarded the shoes.  He would always come back for more.  After all, he knew he would be visiting him every night.    

~~~

The doors were locked, obviously.  Though ... why Garak had used the transporter the first time left him in a wonder.  No matter, he thought and turned his head to the ceiling.  "Computer," he called.  When no response came, sweat glistened over his brow.  "Computer," he called again, menacing.  When he finally tried a third time, his tone was imploring.  Nothing.  He was utterly alone, isolated.

When Garak finally came back, he threw himself at his throat.  "Let me out of here!" he cried at the startled man, clutching the lapels in white knuckled strength.  On the ground lay the various belongings the tailor had brought with him, the delicate bottles of shaving cream and oils shattered and spilling their contents.  

Defensive instincts triggered, Garak growled and pinned the doctor to the far wall, wrists circled by his cold grip.  When the lovely young features of his captive crumbled away to reveal fear and distrust, Garak pulled away as though he'd touched plasma.     

"Why are you doing this?" Julian asked, almost on the verge of tears.  "You haven't said anything, you haven't explained to me why you brought me here."

Shaken, Garak turned away and went to inspect the salvageable articles.  As he carefully gathered the broken glass in his hands, his mellow voice rose in the stillness of the quarters.  "You will stay here Doctor, for until I let you go," he explained.  "You are free to spend your time here as you wish, and you may refuse anything I ask of you."  He cut himself with the glass and stared at the thin rivulet of thin blood on his finger as he went on, "I will come here to visit you every night, to ask you a question.  Always the same, always unchanging."  He cupped the shards in his hands and went to throw them into the chute.  His voice was still calm and unemotional as he returned for the Padds.  "You may answer it how ever you choose to, though you must answer it."  He turned to face him when the Padds were stacked neatly on the slick marble desk.  

Julian parted his lips, his mind and soul combined screaming at him to claw the man's face off for daring to put him through this unsavoury treatment.  All he said was, "What's the question?"

Garak looked at him with longing, his pallid blue eyes revealing an ambiguous blend of desire and sadness.  When he spoke, his voice trembled.  "Will you make love to me."   

When Julian eventually stepped over his shock, the Cardassian was gone.    

~~~

Erasing the transporter log was the work of a few minutes, though Garak despised every minute of it.  There was always a slight chance for him to be discovered, even when he knew dragging Julian's struggling body across the station would have attracted far more attention to himself.  

With an exhale of air he left the system unharmed, his trail efficiently erased.  Sighing, he turned off his monitor and went to sit by himself, in a corner of his two roomed quarters.  

Explaining the doctor's disappearance would be more delicate, so he'd planned to feign ignorance. He'd go about his business as usual, stealing away to his former apartments to ask the question.  Perhaps stay longer if the Doctor agreed.  He had to.  He knew asking it of him bluntly would have received a negative response.  Perhaps if he showed him that agreeing to it now instead of later would be more profitable, Julian would simply yield.  He had to.  Or else everything would be lost.  He would truly die a worthless exile.  

~~~

Julian paced the room like a caged panther.  Make love to him?  That's it?  That's what this was all about?  Surely this was a practical joke; a cruel one at that.  No, it couldn't be, could it?  Garak didn't have those kinds of feelings for him.  And besides; even if he would, he would never go through this elaborate ploy simply to get him in bed.  It just wasn't his usual style.

He snorted at the thought.  *His style.  Do you know his style Jules?  He never asked you to fuck you before.  Maybe that's how he does it.* 

He paced again, sweeping his gaze angrily at the quarters.  *These *are* your quarters aren't they?  At least I recognise this sort of style.  Lavish, extravagant.  Not like Dr. Noah's apartment are they.  Dammit Garak, why the hell are you doing this?*  

He stopped in front of a dresser, and the smell wafting to his nose when he opened a drawer was definitely Garak's.  *I know your smell,* he thought with revelation.  *This is yours.*  He peered inside, finding nothing of interest.  He opened each of the five drawers, discovering nothing.  *Old news,* he thought unkindly, closing the last drawer with an angry push.  *Your whole life is a secret.  I'd never expect you to share one with me, even accidentally.*     

He sighed, hands on hips as he turned around to get the whole of the room in his field of vision.  *What happened here Garak?  How many lovers did you bring here?  How many did you lock up and asked the same question over and over until they broke down?  How long will you keep me here before you realise I won't do it?*

He lowered his eyes, frowning.  *Not like this.*

~~~

True to his word, Garak visited him every night with the same question.  And always, Julian kept with the same answer.  No.  Some nights he pleaded and begged to be let out; others he simply screamed in fury, hoping someone would hear him.  No one did of course, and he wondered how many worried of his absence.  Wondering what story Garak was weaving for them, if any at all.

But most of the nights Garak called on him, he simply kept his back to the tailor, refusing to add more to the negative response he'd given the Cardassian's request.  

On the seventh night, Julian was beginning to wonder about the tailor's impatience, and how he seemed to not possess any.  *This could be longer than I expected,* he worried, twisting his hands nervously.  *People will be asking questions.  Dammit!  Gods, Garak I won't agree!*  "Do you hear me you Cardassian bastard?!" he cried, banging over the door.  "I won't say yes like this!  Never!  Let me out!"

No one answered him, and he pushed himself away angrily.  He stalked to the bed, his feet heavy with fury and resentment.  He threw himself on the bed, folding his arms in a perfect pouting stance, staring daggers at the ceiling.  *Still, you have to admire his determination,* a voice told him, and he quickly spat at it.  *He's doing this out of some sort of misplaced anger.  He's alone, and he wants revenge.*  His shoulders relaxed, and he frowned in question.  *But if that were true, he wouldn't be asking me would he?  He'd take whatever he wants.  So why the    hell ...???*  With an indignant cry he flung himself from the bed, intent on dialling up some strong liquor.  At least the replicator could synthesise real alcohol.  

When he crossed the den, Garak chose the moment to enter the apartments.  

His outburst came naturally.  

"You can't keep me here forever!!!" he cried, waving furiously at the porthole.  "Please Garak," he implored.  "I'm going insane here.  I won't ever say yes, do you hear me?  Can you fucking hear me??  Let me go!"

Garak paused at the threshold, staring at the floor with eyes closed in pain.  "Will you make love to me?" he asked quietly, though everything in him screamed for him not to - end the torture he was bringing on himself and Julian.  He lifted his eyes expectantly, meeting the young man's rigid back.  

He said no.

~~~

*You cannot continue this,* Garak chided himself, pausing outside the locked rooms.  *He is not yielding.  His spirit is fire; you knew this yet you allowed yourself to pursue this foolish plan.  You are only pushing him away,* he decided, staring back at the door over his shoulder.  *Free him.  Don't leave knowing you forced this on him.  At least have the decency of this selfless act for once in your life Elim.*

He choked back a sob, keyed in his entry anew and wordlessly stepped inside.  He avoided the
young man's angry glance and ignored the painful stab at his heart it elicited.  "You are free to go," he murmured huskily.  He raised his eyes when Julian did not answer right away. 

"What?"       

"I said you can go," he growled.  "Leave if you do not intend to agree to my request. You were right.  It isn't right."

Walking slowly at first, as though not realising his sudden freedom, Julian kept his stare locked on his captor, confusion warring with surprise in his eyes.  "Garak ..."

The tailor softened his features and caressed the young man's cheek.  "Go Julian.  I won't force this on you.  I love you too much for that."

Julian pressed his lips tight and slipped by the tailor, mercifully stepping out of the dreadful quarters.  In front of him, the path was already cleared of security measures for him.

~~~

"Where in Hell were you Doctor?" Sisko boomed, staring darkly at his - until a few minutes ago - missing officer.   

"It's a long story Captain, and I'd rather not talk about it," he whispered, locking his hands behind his back even as he wished that Dax, Kira and Odo weren't here to add in their concerns and worries.

"You go on missing for a week and you expect us not to ask a report out of you?" Sisko growled, pushing down on the back of his chair.  Julian lowered his eyes, cursing every damn deity in existence and swearing revenge on Garak.  "I'm sorry sir.  Perhaps if I told you it was a personal matter, it would clear any misunderstanding?" he said, the request only slightly raised in question.

Kira folded her arms.  "No it wouldn't," she clipped.  "We'd like to know if we should expect the station's doctor to disappear again like this."

"I assure you," he told her, "I won't."  

*I hope.*

"Should we be looking for someone Doctor?" Odo asked.  "A kidnapper?"

Julian stifled the urge to laugh, aware that they must have probed the tailor very closely for any answers he might have provided during his absence.  "No.  It's quite all right Constable.  Thank you.  Now if you'll excuse me Captain," he said, raising his eyes to the dark man.  "I'd like to go to my quarters before starting my shift."

"Dismissed," he nodded stiffly, all three officers watching in collective wariness as Doctor Bashir walked deliberately out of the office.  A child leaving the Principal's office after a scolding, Dax thought, and her smile drew angry attention.

~~~

*He let me go.  Whatever he wanted from me, it wasn't enough to surpass his respect of me. 
Either that, or the crew were getting too close to him.*  He thought of this and shook his head.  *No.  Garak is too careful.  He wouldn't have been so careless.  So that means he really cares for me doesn't it?*  He snorted.  *And the only way he could show it was capture me and harass me for a week?*  His eyes shone with another thought.  *Or maybe that's just his way.  I mean, what do I know of Cardassian flirting, right?  Oh dammit Garak, why do you have to borrow twenty thousands paths to get somewhere?  Why the hell can't you be direct?  Would it kill you to admit your feelings for me?*  He sighed bitterly.  *On second thought, would it kill *me* to tell him how I feel too?  Yes.  Because I'm a coward.  I'm afraid what this might mean.  I don't want a commitment.  I don't want any strings attached.*  He shook his head as he rounded a corner.  *For Gods' sakes, you're speaking as though there's a line-up of potential lovers crowding the corridor outside your door.  Face it; he might be the best thing to happen to you in a long time.  Be a
risk-taker for once Jules.  Gods, show your fucking father you can take a dive without testing the water.*  He nodded and turned the opposite way.            

~~~

When eventually he found his way to Garak's quarters, his convictions had grown stronger while his doubts had silently vanished.

The doors opened to admit him, and at the sight of Garak, he smiled warmly.  Without a word he stepped inside, allowing the doors to close behind him and bathe them with comforting darkness.  He quickly found himself in the Cardassian's arms and offered him a broader smile.    

"Yes," he murmured against his ear, his hand caressing the broad back.  

"You came back to me," Garak sobbed, his own caresses urgent, his mind refusing to
acknowledge the fact Julian had actually returned to him willingly.  He raised his brow in belated surprise.  "Yes?"  

"Yes, I want you.  I always did, but I didn't want to be pressured Garak.  Though, perhaps that was your way," he murmured, pulling back to stare into the shimmering blue of his eyes. 
"Perhaps it's the Cardassian way.  I suppose I was angry."

"I understand," he smiled painfully.  "But what matters is that you've returned," he whispered, his hands already moving to uncover the precious body in his arms. 

"Yes, take me Garak," Julian smiled, clutching at the broader man with a death grip.  "I've wanted you for so long," he gasped, feeling the cold hands inside his uniform, beneath his shirt as they caressing his skin.  *I'm taking a dive.  Hear me Dad?  I'm taking a dive.*  

"Thank you," Garak murmured, moving his mouth over the slender neck.  Not pausing for a
minute to wonder about the odd reply, Julian threw back his head and moaned quietly, the
Cardassian's mouth a welcome sensation over his long untouched body.

"Yes," he whispered, his own hands working on Garak's tunic, disrobing the tailor in a matter of minutes.  "Take me," he repeated, gasping with surprise as he felt himself thrown back against the bed with Garak falling over him.  

"I need you," Garak whispered, ripping the uniform from the slender body.  "I need you to love me," he added.  Julian tossed his head to the side, fists twisting the bed sheets. 

"I love you," he cried when Garak's mouth found his sex, lapping at it with tender care.  "Oh yes," he said in a softer voice, sweat rolling down his temples as his long lashes tickled his cheeks when he closed his eyes.     

"Julian," Garak said after a moment, his voice husky, wanting, needing.  "I need you," he repeated.  "I want to be inside you, to feel you.  Now."  

"Yes," Julian cried again, his hips rocking under him.  "Take me Garak.  I'm yours."

*For this night, yes.  My last night of exile.*  Garak thought, and moved up to cover Julian's body with his own.  His sex already coated with its natural lubricant, Garak buried his face in the crook of Julian's neck and shoulder while his erection pried open the small human opening in an erotically slow fashion.  Julian gasped as the large sex filled him, stretched him, touched him to his deepest core.  Garak bit down on a shoulder, stifling his scream.     

"I love you," he said into his ear, stirring the dark curls now tight with sweat.  "Julian, I need you to say it too ..."

"I've said it, I mean it!" Julian cried blissfully, rocking with the Cardassian as he reached his peak.  "I love you Elim," he whispered before his world dissolved in pure ecstasy.

The sound of his name next to those words caused a strangled sob from Garak's throat as he too came, for a blissful moment forgetting everything but the loving creature beneath him.  The only love he'd know, the only love he'd leave behind.  

Rocking, he cried against Julian's shoulder, professing his undying love to the young man who heard nothing across the fog of sheer pleasure flooding his body.  

When Julian awoke some five hours later, he was alone.

~~~

Everything was dark in his quarters.  His *real* quarters.  Everything besides the pale light which the stars cast inside his room -- not enough to illuminate the whole quarters -- and the warm afterglow of his passion now quietly vanishing.  

On the floor next to him was the opened velvet box, the crimson material inside hardly a comfort for his eyes.  On it, the precise ditch where the dagger had rested for nearly three centuries now sheltered empty air.

*Great Grand-father ...* he thought, closing his eyes and reaching out with the weapon.  *Forgive me.*

Never one to hesitate, he jerked his arms and plunged the dagger deeply into his heart, feeling the cold embrace of death on impact.  He shuddered once, his eyes still closed and wincing, his thoughts on Julian and his warm body enveloping him.  When he opened his eyes, peace reigned, and the blissful release of pain seeped away as his soul followed the same path.  

He fell limply on his back, the dagger still imbedded in his chest, his fingers now loose around it.  The wound had been neat, skilled, practised.  A few drops of blood tinged his tunic, though not enough to pay tribute to the atrocities he'd done in his life.  But perhaps his death alone would prove to others that they'd pressed on his conscience.  That his mind had not been that of a murderer or a cold calculating being.  That, in fact, it had lived with the pain and sorrow of the countless deaths and victims until it could live with it no more.      

Next to him, a neatly folded note lay secluded on the floor, a square of bright white against the sombre dark of his carpet.  On it, where the ink seeped through with deliberate strokes, the name Julian was etched carefully over the smooth paper.  A note destined not to be found until a great deal of time; a time when eventually someone would discover a way into his secret haven that he'd shared only with the tender, precious jewel that was Julian Bashir.  

THE END