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) 1997 by Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved. No 
infringement was meant.

WAVERING ALLIANCE copyright (c) 1996 by BGM 

NC-17           

Note:  This story is set after "Return to Grace" although I've slightly 
changed the outcome; Dukat isn't off running on his own and killing 
Klingons. He's regained his position as Military Advisor on Cardassia. 
If this detail changes the story to an alternate one, then so be it :-P 

The play Garak and Julian are discussing is of course Shakespeare's 
"Anthony and Cleopatra". 

The character of Sedi Jarelle is owned by Jennifer Shipp, so in effect I 
plead total ignorance over any misconceptions I might contribute to 
the Bajoran nurse's proper characterization. 

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THE SACRIFICE OF DELVANAR

Upon a brazen sky they came,
        Oh most noble Hebitian came and plundered,
                Slain Cardassians in their path, 
                        Sought women and took prize of them.

Naught children in sight,
        scurrying in darkness; evading death.

Most noteworthy Hebitian Delvanar came,
        pervading shadows with his bulk,
                Narrowed eyes obeying orders,
                        His blade drawn and dripping.
  
Eclipsed, a child cried,
        Cardassian filth weeping for kin lost.
                O noble soldier, raised blade to strike,
                        Water pooling at his feet,
Finding tear as its name.
        Hands took place of the sword
                And took the child to hide away.  

Out of the dark struck a sword upon his head,
        Spilling blood to the pillaged ground.
                Harsh words scolded death,
                        Berating the foolish act.
In the lightlessness, a child,
        Close to freedom by the hand of honor,
                Cried tears and blood,
                        Unearthed by noble Delvanar's slayers, 
Joining his liberator in eternal bliss
        In the arms of the Great Gul.

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I'll set a bourn how far to be beloved. 

~~ Cleopatra "Anthony and Cleopatra" act I scene I

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                         PROLOGUE

TWO DAYS AGO
  
Quark's had been unusually quiet that day. The Ferengi namesake looked 
annoyed at the tavern's condition, and at Odo for leaving him with a 
mildly smug look, content that he could finally leave the bar without 
supervision. Yet it had changed nothing to the ambiance.   
  
Perhaps it had been the sullen atmosphere, or simply the desire to lunch 
somewhere else than DS9's impersonal replimat that Elim Garak and 
Julian Bashir sat at Quark's for a quiet meal. They had dined there a few 
times, yet after Garak had begun to express complaints about the lack of 
allure in shouting in his companion's ear to remain above the clamorous 
patrons, both men had made it a habit to meet at the replimat for their 
daily lunch. 

But today was different. Perhaps not because of the fact they changed 
their habit on Garak's request, but because of the tailor's own unusual 
demeanor.    

Today, Elim Garak seemed more detached than usual, and a certain 
aloofness was sensed in his every action. Even as he ordered his favorite 
Yiggerish cream pie, his voice was dull and lacking its usual animation. 

Across the small table, Julian Bashir hesitated twice and almost asked 
the question burning in his mind. Why was his friend acting so distant? 
It troubled the young man to see the tailor so glum -- even depressed. But 
twice, his voice caught in his throat, and he finished by asking some 
irrelevant question with no bearing on his concern. 

The second question was absently aimed at the chip Elim had deposited 
on the table. "Is that Anthony and Cleopatra?" Julian asked, nodding at 
the isolinear rod. 

The Cardassian put off eating a bite of his pie to look down at the chip, 
raising his eyeridges as though noticing it for the first time and having 
nothing to do with its presence. 

He rested his fork on the plate and picked up the rod. "Yes," he nodded, 
staring at it thoughtfully. After a moment, he shook his head as though 
waking from a dream. He cleared his throat. "I've read it," he added  
trivially, sliding it across the table toward its owner. 

Staring at him with frank hazel eyes, Julian mustered a questioning look. 
Unable to remain so indifferent in the company of a being so emotionally 
spirited, the Cardassian smiled warmly. "And as much as I appreciate 
your attempt at introducing me to other works Shakespeare has done, I 
still stand by my initial impression of the man." He detected the slight 
disappointment his friend tried to quickly conceal, and Garak's eyes 
resurrected a mischievous gleam.  "Although I must admit the note of 
tragedy was more . . . present in this one. I hadn't realized human 
literature could push drama to such sorrowful ends."

Julian Bashir rolled his eyes. "Try to look beyond that."

The tailor's disconcerted mood reappeared, and Garak gazed down at his 
half eaten pie without evident appetite. He pushed it away and replied, "I 
would, if I understood half the things they're talking about. I can't say 
ancient Kardasi is any better, yet it's simply hard for me to understand 
this type of language."
  
Julian sighed and rolled the chip in his hand. "You know, you remind 
me a lot of Mark-Anthony."
  
This roused the Cardassian. He looked up abruptly, his shapely reptilian 
ridges sheltering interested blue eyes. "Indeed. In reading the play, I 
discovered I had more in common with Cleopatra than any other 
character." His lips pursed as he reviewed what little he had captured 
from the tragedy. "In fact, I found her to be quite a . . . charming lady."  

The thought nonplused the young doctor. "Garak . . . Shakespeare wrote 
her as a whore and a conniving wench!"

The tailor smiled privately, noticing how absently the doctor had 
employed two different terms for the same meaning. Terms he was 
certain did not apply to the character they were analyzing. He raised his 
hand to ease Julian's qualms. 

"Ah, ah," he warned. "Cleopatra was not a whore. She was an intelligent 
woman who knew what was at stake. She recognized Anthony's 
weakness for pleasure, and took advantage of it to keep her position of 
power. Using sex for political advantage is quite a different thing than 
indulging in sex for mere pleasure." _Believe me doctor, I should know,_ 
he thought wryly. "Cleopatra recognized an opportunity," he went on, 
"and used it for her own advancement in her Egyptian Queendom." 

He paused a moment, both to let his remark sink in Julian's thoughts and 
to recollect his own composure. Reading the play had brought upon all 
sorts of memories he thought he'd cast away. Cleopatra's demeanor had 
seemed too familiar . . . too damned familiar, he thought bitterly. 

Outwardly, he shook his head in mild astonishment and kept with his 
initial thoughts. "I must say," he added. "Cardassian authors scarcely 
wrote female characters so well developed." His brow raised over 
suddenly engaged eyes. "A shame."

Bashir sighed and leaned forward, waving at the air as though debating 
politics. "So you deny she was ever in love with him," he stated, not so 
much as a question than a statement of fact.

The tailor let out an amused laugh. Julian could swear he detected 
acerbity lining the musical tone, though that in itself was not much to 
read on. However, that coupled with Garak's whole comportment these 
past few days left the doctor in curious wonder. 

"In love with him?" the tailor was echoing tartly. "Oh I doubt that 
Doctor, I doubt that very much."

Julian broke away from the meaning of the words and mused on if 
perhaps Garak's sudden sourness wasn't associated with painful 
associations. Had he done a good thing by insisting Garak read the play? 
Perhaps Julian had yet to learn that things were best left alone. He of all 
people should know that. But how was he to know reading an ancient 
human play would elicit painful memories in his Cardassian friend? If 
indeed, that was Garak's problem. 

He blinked and listened to the tailor's explanation.

"I may not understand the language all that well, but to me the play 
clearly denotes the brimming sarcasm every time she speaks to him. 
Even as she pleads with him to forgive her, you can tell she's merely 
trying to absolve her own guilt."

The tailor's elucidation clearly did not satisfy the young doctor. "So why 
does she kill herself?" he asked cleverly.
 
The tailor shrugged, unconcerned by the ensnaring question. "Simple. 
She was given an ultimatum, and could not bear to face either way. So 
she chose the nobler path. Quite a common theme in Cardassian 
literature as a matter of fact. I should lend you "The Sacrifice of 
Delvanar."

The Cardassian's evasiveness succeeded. Defeated, the dashing doctor 
relinquished the matter with a sigh and a reluctant nod, irritated that he 
hadn't showed Garak the true meaning behind the play. 

Yet the tailor did not appear to let the matter drop. With a narrowing of 
the eyes, he said, "However, I'm interested to know what made you 
compare me with Mark-Anthony, Doctor."    
  
Bashir conceded to Garak's subtle wish to change the subject, and 
morosely swayed his hand. "Well, I mean look at his life; once a great 
roman general, feared by his people, commanding respect and then to 
suddenly loose it all in one instance."

Garak leaned back, repressing a look of surprise. Interesting. Was that 
how Doctor Bashir truly regarded him? How little the human knew of 
him -- though he could hardly blame the doctor for his misperceptions. It 
was his own stubbornness that kept his past locked away in a box with 
the key tightly hidden in his soul. How easy it would be to trust this 
charming creature, to simply invite him to his quarters one night and lay 
his scarlet past out in the open. He loathed the shiftiness, the half-truths, 
the deliberate fallacies he hurled at the naive young man. He found it 
painfully simple to create a dauntless image for his friend. A smooth 
tongue -- that's all it took. And plenty of illusory self-indulgence to 
balance the terrible guilt he felt whenever Julian regarded him with that 
innocent bronze look.

"Of course, far be it for me to imply you were stripped of command 
because of sexual indulgences..." Julian was adding slyly.

Garak offered an enigmatic smile. "Mmh, you always do manage to 
astonish me with your remarkable observational skills." He winced 
inwardly. _Damn that,_ he thought. _Can't take a comment without 
turning it into an obscure question._

In front of him, Julian frowned over widened eyes. The tailor waved it 
off. "You really must try not to take me so seriously doctor," he said 
honestly. He pursed his lips and toyed with his kanar. "Perhaps I do have 
certain mutual grounds with Mark-Anthony . . ." he confessed. His lips 
grew into an absent smile as he stared hazingly at the table top. "I 
specially loved the scene where he sends messenger Thidias away for a 
whipping. Although were I in his position, I would have done it myself, 
but still..."

_Can't break away from the habitude, can you Elim?_ he thought wryly.

Julian clucked his tongue as he shook his head.  "I'll never understand 
you Garak."
  
The tailor raised an eyeridge, his mouth drooped in a smug leer. "Which 
is precisely the way I prefer things. No offense to our friendship, of 
course," he added quickly. This time, he flinched outwardly. The clear 
azure of his gaze searched Julian's, looking to see if perhaps he had gone 
too far this time. 

Yet his friend only nodded. "Of course." 
 
He knew he was nearly getting away with murder; manipulating the 
doctor's gentle nature and twisting it to his own advantage. He couldn't 
deny that he had initially approached the doctor for selfish reasons. 
Garak could spot a trusting soul a mile away... a skill honed by years of 
exposure to treachery and deceit. Julian was young -- _too_ young for the 
harshness of this station, or the unforgiving medical demands of a dozen 
species. Yet the young man had proven himself to Garak time and time 
again, ultimately when he threw caution to the wind and did everything 
to save his life that one time. Then Garak had no further doubts that 
Julian was a capable young man -- naive perhaps but charming and 
resistant. However, the Cardassian still held reservations about their 
friendship. Of course, he had thrown away all thoughts of using the 
doctor for his purposes, and he had truly begun to view Julian as his only 
best friend. He simply wasn't sure if the doctor could handle the truth 
behind his ridges.       

Not yet anyway.

Intent on lightening the tone, Garak went to say something when Julian's 
combadge interrupted him. "Infirmary to Dr Bashir. We have an 
emergency here Doctor; we require your presence."
  
"I'm on my way," he said promptly. Nodding at Garak, the doctor 
hurried off to his infirmary, leaving the tailor in silent wonder as to what 
the emergency was. He would have to find out soon, of course.
  
Then . . . the nightmare began.  

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                             CHAPTER ONE

TODAY
  
Tight-lipped and internally bordering on the hysterical, Dr Julian Bashir 
sat at Sisko's desk with precious little control over his emotions. Hard to 
accommodate poise when he had lost seven people over the course of two 
days.

Seven people; each of their faces clearly defined in his head. Julian felt 
the need to cry again, but only a reddening of his eyes resulted.

"What's the status at the infirmary Dr Bashir?" asked Captain Sisko.

The slender doctor folded his arms and glanced at Major Kira standing 
stiffly at his side. Somewhere behind him, Constable Odo watched the 
activity at Ops through the entrance windows, arms locked firmly behind 
his back and lips pursed in thought.  
  
Bashir inhaled deeply, and forced himself to resume neatly what had 
been a relentless ugly nightmare. "Not so good I'm afraid. These 
'accidental illnesses' people are falling victim to appears to be anything 
but. On seven counts I've had patients brought in with no chance at all 
for recovery. Whatever this virus is doing to our people, it's not so easily 
curable, or halted for that matter. Nothing I give them seems to be 
affecting this new string of toxin."

Sisko brought a fist to his lips, and scowled at the desk top. "Should I be 
considering evacuation Mr Bashir?"

Julian's youthful features crumpled in a mildly reflective look. Dark 
circles pronounced his burrowed eyes, and a general weariness was 
visible on his lanky frame. "Perhaps not an evacuation," he said. "But 
rather a security sweep of the station. Whatever is affecting these people 
isn't contagious, or naturally occurring. This is a lethal venom spread by 
means of injection or ingestion. If nothing else, we should be looking for 
those who did this."

Odo looked at Sisko, recognizing his part as if on cue. "My men are 
sweeping the station as we speak, Captain. I've restricted non-essential 
personnel to their quarters, along with civilians."
 
Kira nodded her agreement. "And I've prohibited any ships from docking 
or leaving the station until we can figure out who is responsible for this."    

Bashir stared hazingly at nothing in particular. "And we should find out 
as soon as possible," he sighed. He climbed to unsteady feet and glared at 
Sisko -- although the captain understood the doctor's irritation at being 
directed at the situation, not him. "Personally, I don't care to tell another 
sobbing mother that her child is dead." He swung his glance at Kira then 
at Odo as he sauntered out of the office, shoulders slumped. 
 
Kira looked behind her, throwing a sympathetic glimpse at Odo. "Poor 
Julian," she whispered. Sisko raised an eyebrow. She shook her head and 
added, "Sir, we're going to find these assailants."
  
"Good," Sisko boomed, raising from his chair. When Kira and Odo both 
followed Julian's wake out of the office, he stared after them, his face a 
mask of stone. When he regained his seat, he swiveled his chair around 
and gazed pensively at the star vista outside.   

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Truth is ambiguous - I merely offer different views on it. 

~~ Garak 

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Dr Bashir morosely stopped at the Infirmary, yet one miserable look at 
its bleak and discordant interior was suffice to make him walk away. He 
was determined to figure out the cause and the antidote to the string of 
virus, but he wasn't quite yet ready to face the little sickbay -- it only 
reminded him how damned incompetent he had been the last two days.  

Walking aimlessly through the habitat ring, he wasn't sure where his 
steps would lead him until he looked up and found himself outside his 
friend's quarters. Sighing, he rang the chime and waited dolorously.
 
"Come in," a cheerful voice responded.

_Well he's certainly in a better mood than last time,_ Bashir though 
sharply. He hadn't seen his Cardassian friend since their last gloomy 
lunch -- yesterday had simply given him no chance to do anything other 
than spend it at the Infirmary. Garak had presumably understood, for he 
had made no move to insist on a mutual lunch break. 

The doors parted willingly  upon  his  entry, and the tailor appeared from 
an outer room, wearing a broad disarming smile. The Cardassian parted 
his hands upon seeing his friend. "Doctor!" he exulted. "What brings you 
to my quarters? I thought our luncheon date was not scheduled until later 
this afternoon."

Julian sat uninvitingly upon a chair and bowed his head, combing his 
hair with a rankled hand. "I don't know what I'm doing here," he 
breathed. "I just -- I can't go back to the Infirmary. I feel so damned 
useless there." He looked up, his hazel eyes shimmering with rooted 
anxiety. "Seven people Garak. I lost seven patients, and I couldn't even 
give them something to alleviate the pain." 

Garak sat across from him, a compassionate gleam in his sharp blue 
eyes. Unwittingly, his heart constricted at the sight of the young man, so 
concerned with the welfare of others. _Was I ever that caring?_

"This damn virus . . ." he muttered. "Who would do something like 
this?"

Garak frowned. _Should I? He deserves it. For Great Gul's sake, move on 
Elim! No one will come hunt you down for having divulged one measly 
piece of information. You're not in the Order anymore . . ._ After a 
pondering silence, he took a carefully measured breath and said, "The 
True Way."

Having not expected a response, Julian stared up at the relegated tailor 
with quandary. "The . . . True Way?"

"I'm sure you've heard of them," Garak replied, moving to his replicator. 
With a frown, the tailor found himself unable to stay comfortably still. 
The alien act of simply giving knowledge without receiving some in 
return was disconcerting. He kept thinking about what he could possibly 
ask his friend in favor, and kept pushing the thought away. Wasn't there 
supposed to be unconditional sharing among friends? 

He ordered two glasses of kanar and offered one to Bashir. When he had 
settled again, he went on, his voice a seeming whisper in the stillness of 
his quarters. "The True Way has been operating in this sector for a while 
now. It believes that the Federation is responsible for Cardassia's 
political and economical downfall. Its members seem to demonstrate 
their -- shall we say -- objections through mindless erratic violence upon
Federation people. Captain Sisko's shuttle accident for example, which 
landed his crew in our little holosuite fantasy was a result of such 
violence, although I'm fairly certain nothing has been done to investigate 
this any further." 

_Oh bravo Elim, tell him something he doesn't know why don't you?_

Julian had forgotten about the glass of kanar which he had held tightly 
throughout Garak's surprisingly open revelations. Thus realizing the 
sudden dryness in his lips, he brought the crimson beverage to his 
mouth, and promptly grimaced at the sour taste. 
  
Garak barely smiled. "Apologies," he said  lightly, glad of the break in 
the subject. "I thought you had already sampled kanar."
  
Julian settled the glass and looked up eagerly at his friend. "So you 
believe the True Way is responsible for the spreading of this virus?"

"Oh my dear Doctor, I don't believe. I know." 

"Who told you this?"

The tailor stood and took Julian's barely touched glass to throw away in 
the recycler. "As I've told Constable Odo, I still have a friend or two in 
Cardassia. Apparently, they've been receiving several messages from the 
True Way announcing the impending collapse of Federation presence in 
the sector. I wouldn't be surprised if this virus was their way of cleaning 
up the station for their purposes." 

_Well, so much for change. Not one thing you've said so far has 
endangered you. You're an old fool Elim. Get it through your head, no 
one will ever lift your relegation, no matter how dedicated you make 
yourself to be._

"Well you've got to tell them something Garak!" Julian was crying out, 
jumping on his feet. The Cardassian looked up placidly, raising his 
eyeridges with contrasting serenity.

"Tell them what Doctor? And how would I proceed to locate them in the 
first place?" 

_Oh I think you know how . . ._ was the meaning behind Julian's 
suddenly harsh stare. Yet the doctor said nothing of the sort and replied, 
"Central Command must know where these transmissions are being 
directed from. I mean, don't you have the slightest idea who they are?"

Another line thrown at him. Garak shrugged his massive shoulders, 
scoured the floor with frowning eyes and fearfully swam away from the 
bait. "Impressions, that's all they are Doctor. There could be a number of 
members, hovering about the station as we know it. After all, the True 
Way is not exclusively Cardassian, even if it's governed by them. I'm 
fairly certain a few confederates were paid a pretty sum of Latinum to 
spread this infection that so eludes you. I doubt they would be so obvious 
as to send Cardassians to do this." 

_There. Not completely the truth, but enough to work with.  He's an 
intelligent man after all._ 

Bashir sighed and slumped into the chair. "You're right, of course."
  
A pang of guilt lanced Garak's soul. "Even so, I shall keep my ears 
tended," he counter-balanced. "And perhaps it _has_ been a while since 
I've contacted my friends. They quite possibly might shed some light into 
this matter."

"Thank you," Julian smiled. "That might help."

"Now then," Garak decided, slapping his knees. "Shall we go to lunch?" 

Julian made a face and shook his head. "I should go back to the 
Infirmary. I'm sorry," he added, getting up and moving toward the door. 
"But I just can't sit back knowing this infection is killing people." 

The tailor simply nodded and swayed his hand dismissively. "Quite all 
right, I understand. Good day Doctor." 

When Julian was gone, the tailor winced. Had he just been used? 

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High events as these 
Strike those that make them; 

~~ Octavius Caesar "Anthony and Cleopatra" act V scene II

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                                     CHAPTER TWO

A few hours after Julian's brief visit, the tailor was back in his shop. The 
small boutique was dimly lit as Garak went through the routine of 
closing it up. Business had been practically non-existent given the state 
of emergency, and the Cardassian pondered lazily if he would go 
through the trouble of opening up in the morning.

His musing was interrupted when he heard the entrance door part to 
admit someone.
  
The tailor peeked a look at the main room, yet saw no one. "I'm sorry, 
I'm closing the shop," he said with diffidence. "I'm afraid you'll have to 
come back at another time."
  
Garak scowled when no response came. He rounded the mannequin 
which had been partially blocking his view and stood alone amidst the 
modest shop. When he turned, he came face to face with a Ferengi. 

Garak drooped the side of his mouth, realizing the being was much too 
tall to be authentically Ferengi.  He smirked. "Quite a lovely cover you 
have there. Shall I guess what you are?"
  
He heard the being mutter something under his breath, and giving no 
time for Garak to add anything further, he lurched forward, something 
metallic gleaming in his hand.

The tailor caught the shine, and promptly backed away.
  
"Oh no," he said apologetically. "I'm afraid I've had all my inoculations 
already," he smiled, and briskly knocked the hypospray out of the 
Ferengi's hand with his foot. Annoyed, the assailant went to reach for it, 
but Garak was a tad faster as he fell upon the creature and violently 
pushed it flat against the floor.    

"I believe Constable Odo will be thrilled to see you," Garak grinned, 
pinning down the attacker with his hands. 
  
"And I believe you're about to learn a lesson, tailor," a new voice boomed 
from behind. 
  
Refusing to abandon his hold he had on the Ferengi doppelganger, 
Garak twisted his head sideways, unable to see the new face. "Oh?" he 
inquired. "And what lesson would that be?"

"Never meddle with the True Way." 

And as those words rang loudly within the darkened shop, Garak felt a 
stinging blow to his head, then complete darkness as he unwillingly 
relinquished consciousness. A fleeting thought crossed his mind . . . 

_Didn't I just go through this sort of experience already?_

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Give me my robe, put on my crown -- I have 
Immortal longings in me. 

~~ Cleopatra preparing to die "Anthony and Cleopatra" act V scene II

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"Garak," Julian beckonned upon entering his friend's shop. He had 
thought of a way in which his friend could help with the present 
situation. "I was thinking that maybe you could--"

His words died in his throat as his sight caught the tailor sprawled on the 
floor, a stream of dark blood pooling next to his head. On his broad chest 
was a computer padd, of which Julian promptly pushed aside to probe 
Garak's body for life signs.
  
"Garak?" he beckonned. "Can you hear me, Garak?" He paused only to 
slap his combadge. "Bashir to Infirmary, I need a medic team in the 
tailoring shop now."
 
Struggling between unconsciousness and reality, Elim Garak blinked as 
he tried to look beyond the film of haze veiling his sight. There was 
someone else here, of course. His vision swam with swirls of darkness, 
yet he could still perceive the slender contours of someone at his side.     
  
He tried to sit up, but strong hands kept him down. He opened his mouth 
to protest, but a voice cut him off before his scratchy throat let the words 
out. "Garak, you've taken a serious blow to the head. Stay down."

_Serious isn't the word,_ Bashir thought frantically. _Damn, I can't stop 
the bleeding . . ._ he realized with horror, the pressure he held on 
Garak's temple unable to stop the flow of blood as it seeped through his 
fingers.  

The Cardassian narrowed his eyes, and suddenly became aware of 
shooting pains everywhere he could think of. In a valiant attempt to 
ignore the agony his body radiated, Garak tried to recollect what had just 
been said. 

_A blow to the head. Really? Is that why my skull feels like it's between 
two tractor beams?_ Yet the voice had obviously been that of Julian 
Bashir. He held out his hand, attempting to grasp something he could 
use to sit up. Instead, Julian's warm slender hand slipped inside his 
palm, and his gentle voice eased his soul. 

"Please, don't move, you'll only cause yourself more pain."   

He felt hands brushing his shoulders. Although he was fairly certain the 
fingers hadn't actually touched his skin, the pain which resulted was on 
the brink of the unbearable. He rolled over to his side and let out a 
sobbing groan. Julian immediatly turned him onto his back. 

"Don't move!" he exclaimed. "The medics should be here any minute." 
Garak felt the doctor shift position, and he heard him say, "Where are 
they anyway?  Gods, don't they know a man is dying in here?"

_Dying?_ Garak blinked and focused his eyes. Swallowing hard, he 
shifted his gaze at the doctor and managed to clear his throat. "Dying?" 
he rasped. He swallowed hard at the thought. Not possible.

Julian looked back sharply and Garak felt a gentle hand probing his 
forehead. "Don't talk. It won't be long, I promise. I'm sorry, I don't have 
anything for the pain."

_Oh my God, oh my God, he's gonna die_," Bashir thought in sudden 
panic. _He's gonna die and I can't help it. SHIT! Where are those 
medics!? Dammit Elim, don't you dare put me through this again. Son of 
a bitch, you won't back down now!_ His hands smeared Garak's own 
blood across the tailor's forehead as he tried to comfort his friend. The 
Cardassian only smiled.   

"I've -- suffered . . . worse," Garak droned. At this Julian recoiled in 
shock. 
  
"If that's so, then you'd be dead!"

Garak let out a chuckle that twisted his insides with brute violence. 
Evidently, anything he did would elicit a healthy price. "That -- bad?" he 
asked.
  
Julian shook his head and smoothed out the raven hair from Garak's 
face. He was so used seeing the tailor impeccably groomed and 
fashionably stylish. Seeing him now, lying on the floor with hair tangled 
and clothes crumpled reminded Julian just how fragile each their lives 
were. 

_Elim, don't go . . ._ a faint voice in the back of his mind whispered. 

He tried a tentative smile. "You'll be fine. If those medics would just 
arrive," he said impatiently, staring back at the entrance. 

Finally, just when Garak considered closing his eyes in merciful 
slumber, a chaotic scuffle of voices, footfalls and the clatter of 
instruments followed. Julian was gone from his side, and he heard him 
throwing orders around sternly, evidently furious that the team hadn't 
arrived sooner.
 
Some medic tried to explain, but Bashir would have none of it now. 
"Never mind," he growled. "Just do your job. Noran, give me four CCs of 
tricorazine. Dennison, try the stasis field on his back."
  
Garak felt lifted, yet he knew no one had actually hoisted his body up. He 
was probably being elevated by an anti-grav stretcher. When the 
sensation ended, a pleasant tingle then spread over his back, and Garak 
finally inhaled without feeling as though he had been prodded by a 
Klingon pain stick. He heard the hiss of a hypospray, but  never felt it. 
Of course, one never felt a hypospray unless prone to psychosomatic 
spells. Garak had never been prey to such foolishness. Again, he heard 
Julian's voice somewhere at his side. Comfortable now in his anesthetical 
state, Garak didn't dare risk further pain by moving. 

"Get him to the Infirmary," Bashir ordered. "And use the transporter, I 
don't want to waste any time. I want a full battery of test conducted on 
his brain activity. I'll be there shortly."
  
The tailor frowned and tried to say something . . .

_Julian, wait, I have to tell you . . ._

 . . but the cart wheeled away too fast, and he was soon immersed in the 
glittering blue of the transporter. When they rematerialised in the 
Infirmary, Garak smiled sweetly as a sudden peaceful wave of 
inexplicable relief washed over him. Intensely serene, he closed his eyes 
and drifted to a profound sleep, profound only in the sense of eternal 
demise. 

Laying limply upon the anti-grav stretcher, surrounded by the erratic 
movement of living beings who tried to assess his condition, Elim Garak 
died with the shadow of a smile on his lips. Freed, his soul happily 
drifted off toward the Great Gul's immortal embrace.

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The Tygers of Wrath are wiser than the Horses of Instruction. 

~~ William Blake

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                                  CHAPTER THREE

Bashir stormed into Sisko's office and dropped the computer padd upon 
his desk. Vainly trying to control his anger, the doctor pointed at the 
padd.  "Read it," he said curtly.
  
Sisko pushed beyond his initial surprise and picked up the padd. 
 

'Captain Benjamin Sisko,

The True Way shall succeed in its endeavors. If you wish for us to cease 
spreading the epidemic, evacuate the station and never return. If you 
think we are bluffing, this Federation sympathetic's death will prove you 
otherwise. 

                                                         The True Way'


Sisko raised his eyebrows at Julian. "Federation sympathetic?"
  
"Garak," Bashir barked. "Good thing I came by his shop when I did or 
I'd be writing up another death certificate. Sir, we have to do something! 
Garak warned me only this afternoon that the True Way would find a 
way to clean up the station for their purposes, and that's precisely what 
they're doing, one by one."
 
"Did Garak provide you with a description of his assailants?" Sisko 
inquired calmly, settling the padd on his desk.

Julian waved at the air exasperatedly. "He was so badly injured, I don't 
think he would have recognized his own name! Give him some time, 
maybe then he'll be able to--"

As if on cue, a cruel joke delivered its punchline. Julian Bashir's 
commbadge chirped, and a voice beckoned his name.

With an annoyed slap of the hand, Julian answered the call. "Bashir 
here. Is this important?" he spat.

"I'm afraid it's Mr Garak, Doctor," the cool professional voice of Nurse 
Jarelle said. "We've just lost him, I'm sorry. There was nothing we could 
do." There was a pause, then, "We'll need you to file the death 
certificate, if you could do so at your convenience. Jarelle out."

Captain Sisko widened his eyes and thought for certain his medical 
officer would pass out. Instead, the doctor thought it wise to sit down, his 
face promptly draining of colors. 

They sat thus in silence for a long time, until Julian's shimmering dark 
eyes enfin focused on Sisko. The captain caught the new fire burning 
within the mahogany glare.
  
"I want these bastards found," Bashir whispered hoarsely. "And when 
they are, nothing will prevent me from blasting their sorry bodies out of 
the nearest airlock." A silent promise uttered within the sulleness of 
Sisko's office. 

Quietly, Julian rose and stalked out of the room, stance renewed with 
purpose, shoulders squared with barely surpressed wrath.

As he stepped unto the turbolift, a disturbed smile crossed the doctor's 
lips. _It's a joke,_ he thought. _Yes, of course it's a joke. Jarelle is still 
angry at me for last year's april fool._ He sighed contentedly and leaned 
back against the ribbed wall. _Yes, of course it is. It has to be. Garak 
can't die. He's Garak. And Garak wouldn't allow that to happen._  

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Revenge is a dangerous act, yet so satisfying if properly used. 

~~ Gul Dukat 

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"Well, well, well," Gul Dukat sneered smugly,  staring at DS9's 
congregated crew across the viewscreen. Dax shot him an annoyed look, 
repressing the urge to stick out her tongue. It was a vividly childish thing 
to ponder, but at this point she would have done almost anything to erase 
the injurious expression on the Cardassian's intricate face.

In front of her, Julian's body tensed up with rage, his shoulders set in 
anger. It had taken him all his staff's persuasion, plus his own 
examination to finally make him believe Garak was truly dead. Now, as 
he stared at Dukat's contended face, grief quickly transmuted to blind 
wrath.

"It seems," Dukat went on with his distinctly raspy voice, "that the tailor 
finally got the punishment he  deserved . . ." He smiled crossly and 
enlaced his serpentine fingers in a satisfied prayer. "How fitting," he 
sighed, as though a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

Bashir clenched his fists and couldn't bite back the nasty reply. "Why 
you fucking son of a bi--"
  
"JULIAN!" Dax blurted, taking an unconscious step toward him. From 
afar, Kira silently praised the doctor for finally giving what the 
Cardassian deserved, while Sisko and O'Brien narrowed their eyes, 
shocked at the display, yet not entirely surprised. Worf only growled 
mutely, shifting his feet uncomfortably. To his right, Odo looked down 
and muttered something, furious that Dukat would rub Garak's untimely 
demise in their faces and provoke the good doctor. 

Meanwhile, Julian's mouth moved with the rest of his insult, yet no 
sound came out. His eyes widened as he realized it was the first time he 
had actually sworn that way. The only other person he knew who had 
done so was his father . . .

He felt a chill tickle his spine, and he brought his hands to his arms, 
rubbing warmth into them. On the viewscreen, Dukat waited patiently 
until everything had settled.  

"If this little outburst of yours is through doctor, I would like you to 
prepare Garak's body for transport. My ship should be at the station in 
half an hour, and I would like it to be ready."

Kira scowled at him furiously. "And why should we hand you his body?"

"Ceremony, Major," Dukat sighed, as though it was the most obvious 
thing in the world. "The Cardassian council has graciously agreed to 
allow the tailor's body to be buried within the Garak family undercroft."

"How thoughtful," she remarked smartly.
  
"Just have his body ready," Dukat said harshly. "And don't touch it!" he 
barked. "His family requested no autopsies or some such foolisheness."

"Just call us when you're here," Kira snapped, and severed the channel 
on the birth of his protest.

The Trill commander then turned to Julian and took him by the 
shoulders, bending her head forward to catch his eyes. "Can you handle 
it?"

Julian shrugged her off with an annoyed sound. "Gods, Jadzia, it's not as 
if I haven't done this before." 

With what he stalked away, every imaginable part of his body seething.

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He looked so peaceful.  So unconcerned by the stir he was causing 
around him. The trace of his smile was still present, forever etched on 
his pale lips. The skin coloration had naturally faded to a distinctly paler 
gray, yet his features looked so lively Bashir expected the tailor to sit up 
and ask what had happened.   
  
Julian sighed and ran the tricorder over Garak's body once again. He 
couldn't recall how many times he had done so since he entered the 
morgue. A dozen, two dozen times. . . he just couldn't convince himself 
his friend was dead. The nurses informed him the injuries to his head 
had shocked his system. 

He hadn't been satisfied with that response.  

But there it was encompassed on the small screen of his tricorder; 
negative readings on every count, not even the faintest trace of delta 
waves to suggest a profound coma.  
  
He leaned on the table and let himself sit in the stool. Leaning his chin 
on his fist, he gazed at Garak's unmoving face. 

Julian had resolved himself not to stare like that at deceased beings. He 
had learned how psychologically unhealthy doing so was. Staring at 
death itself. He sighed, and decided he didn't care. Perhaps if he 
concentrated hard enough the tailor would flip open his eyes, so they 
could forget about the whole incident and walk to the replimat for lunch. 

Shock. 

That's exactly what he did. 

Julian couldn't speak, just stare hazingly at the tailor as he fluttered open 
his eyes and sat up.
  
He sat thus a moment, taking in the scene, finally depositing his lucid 
gaze on his captivated friend.  "So this is death," he remarked wryly, his 
voice an echo inside Julian's mind. "A pity. I had thought it to be more 
interesting than this."

Bashir managed to blink and form a coherent word amidst the chaotic 
thoughts shifting around in his head. "Garak?"
  
The tailor looked down at Julian and smiled. "Yes, doctor. It's me."  

Then, to Julian's horror, the tailor began to decompose before his eyes. 
Gray skin melted away to reveal blanched bones beneath. His parched 
garment flaked away, revealing a convoluted skeleton, ridges snaking 
even around the Cardassian bones.  

Julian stared in shock and opened his mouth wide to scream; yet his 
compressed throat refused to yield any sound. He tried to sit up, but was 
bolted to the stool. 
 
At last, he woke up with a start, head nestled in the crook of his arm, his 
elbow touching Garak's limp arm. The tailor was prone, face and body 
still intact, the disturbing smile on his lips. 

Julian sighed and closed his eyes. He scolded himself for not getting the 
rest he so needed. Jadzia had been right to doubt his abilities after all. 

Resting an affectionate hand on Garak's arm, Julian smiled vacantly and 
whispered, "Rest in peace my friend." He gazed a moment more at 
Garak's peaceful face, memorizing every fluid curves, each protruding 
scales. 

In an act of finality, he drew a sparkling sheet over his head, cloaking 
the smile, the face . . .the gentle tailor.

He then left and asked his most competent nurse to go over the last 
details for the body's transport. 

In a daze, he made his way to his quarters, and locked himself in, 
clearing his schedule for the day.

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Power corrupts . . .  absolute power is blissful. 

~~ Gul Dukat 
        
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                                   CHAPTER FOUR

His door chimed thrice before Julian even considered letting his visitor 
in. Probably Dax, maybe even Kira or O'Brien. He shook his head and 
closed his robe about him, shivering despite the warm ambiance. 

The chime rang one more time. 

"I know you're in there, Doctor," a gruff voice then said. Odo? No, it 
hadn't been the shapeshifter. 

Frowning, he cleared his throat and beckonned the visitant to enter. 
When the doors parted, they revealed Gul Dukat, looking uneasy and 
uncomfortable. The Cardassian darted his attention about the doctor's 
quarters, then at Julian himself. 

"I'm sorry to disturb you," he said, his tone carrying unusual sincerity. 
"But I really must speak with you."                                     

Julian turned his back and went to sit on his sofa. "I'm in no mood for 
sparring Dukat. Tell me what it is you want to tell me and get out. But 
don't waste both our time by waving fake courtesy under my nose."

Caught! Dukat curved his lips slightly, but he did not back down. 
"Doctor, I came here to apologize . . . sincerely. But if you must be 
stubborn, I will gladly leave."

Julian looked up under frowning eyebrows. His dark hazel eyes looked 
like two pools of tar as he regarded the Cardassian obscurely. Dukat felt 
sudden arousal at the doctor's aggressive stare, but decidedly pushed the 
lewd thoughts away. It wasn't the time. Beside, he had _that_ awaiting 
upon his arrival on Cardassia.
 
"Apologize?" Bashir echoed incredulously. "Dukat, you are not the type 
of person to apologize for his actions. Now if you came for Garak, his 
body is in the infirmary morg-"

The Cardassian waved a hand. "My men are taking care of that. I had 
more urgent business." He moved closer to Julian's sitting form, looking 
down at him with a smile. "More accurately, to see you."

His smile became a grin as he moved to Julian's viewport and admired 
the stars. "I must admit," he began huskily. "I have been replaying that 
little outburst of yours earlier this afternoon, and I've been wondering 
_why_ exactly you feel so strongly about the exile."     

"Look," Julian spat, rising at Dukat's height. "You may have had your 
differences with the _exile_, but he was my friend. I don't take kindly to 
people who were either responsible for his ostracism or those who took 
pleasure out of it."    

Dukat turned, a light previously absent from the official's dark cobalt 
eyes gleaming brightly. He looked at Bashir with unreserved surprise. 
"You astound me Doctor. I never realized a Human would ever feel so . . 
 allegiant to one of our own. I must say, I can't deny feeling a bit . . . 
pleased at this." Judging by the different look he cast at Julian, the doctor 
suddenly recognized that 'pleased' was an understatement.

Bashir unconsciously took a step backward, and Dukat frowned. "Do I 
make you uncomfortable?" he asked, closing the distance Bashir had 
made.

"That's ridiculous," Bashir stammered. He blinked, and forced his voice 
to calm down. "Now if you're done, I'd like to be alon--"

Dukat tsked, shaking his head. "My dear Doctor, at a time of such 
obvious grief, being by yourself is precisely what you don't need right 
now." He flashed a cutting grin. "And I'm conveniently free for the next 
three hours."  

Julian absently tightened the grip on his robe and shook his head. "Look 
Dukat, I don't know what it is you want, but I would appreciate it if you'd 
left me alone."

Dukat sighed loudly and waved a hand. "Fine Doctor, have it your own 
way. All I wanted was to treat you to a quiet lunch at the replimat. But if 
you stubborningly persist that I have some sort of ulterior motive, than so 
be it." He turned to leave, yet gave Julian one last hard look. "Be alone 
with your grief Doctor," he spat. "See if I give it any care." 

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Kira sighed and folded her arms. "What do you want?"

Dukat exhaled noisily, evidently annoyed. "Why is it that every time I 
appear, someone asks me that very same question? Might I not be 
inclined to visit you without any hidden agenda Major?"

"Yes, but knowing you . . . well, I know better."

Dukat rolled his eyes. "You don't know the first thing about me, Major. 
After all, I had thought that after our little adventure together, you'd 
show me more . . . courtesy."

The Bajoran's arms fell at her side. "I would, if I thought for one minute 
you had actually changed along with your promotion. But it hasn't. 
You're just sitting in that chair in Central Command, reveling in your 
power and conveniently forgetting what it took you to regain it!"

_My mother, my wife . . . my children. Oh yes I remember -- no need to 
be so blunt about it._

Dukat curved his lips and stepped up dangerously close to her. "Major, I 
have not 'forgotten' our recent hardship, nor your kind assistance. Were 
it not for you, there is a good chance I might either be dead, or perhaps 
staring down at Ziyal's grave! But forgive me . . . I thought you knew 
that." 

He took a deep breath and settled down a slender bottle he had brought 
with him on her table. "Here. Bajoran spring wine. I thought we might 
have shared it . . . but I suppose you're not prepared to have me share 
anything with you yet. Drink it in good health, Major," he said coldly. 

He turned to leave, but Kira's firm hold restrained his movement. 
Startled, he craned his neck at her and droped his eyeridges in a frown. 
"Major?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered.  She released him and shook her head. "I was 
out of line. But you're wrong; I am ready to share with you," she said, 
significantly droping her gaze at the bottle. With an afterthought, she 
added, "But you'll excuse me if I'm not quite so prepared to forgive you. 
Not yet."

Dukat gave her a truly relieved smile. "Fair enough. Now . . . where are 
the glasses?" he inquired pleasantly.  

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I have seen people die - watching them and wondering . . . when will I get so lucky? 

~~ Ramblings of the depressed

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The next day,  thanks to one of Julian's nurses, the toxin had been 
localized and a cure had been quickly concocted.  Julian had barely 
acknowledged the deed, sitting alone in his quarters, and Sisko had 
allowed the momentary lull in his schedule for this one occasion.  After 
all, who better to understand to overwhelming grief of losing someone 
close to you?   

Yet the young man was barely recognizable when Dax entered his 
quarters. Dressed down in a faded crimson robe, hair tangled and a two 
day stubble on his face, Julian sauntered lazily into the den and dropped 
into a chair with a weary sigh.

Jadzia pursed her lips. "Julian . . ." _My dear lovely Julian._

"I know, I know," he said, waving his hand. "I have a career, I have to 
go to work, I have to forget about him." He frowned at himself, then 
shook his head vehemently. "But I can't forget, Jadzia." He looked up at 
the elegant Trill and tears welled up in his eyes. "He's gone, but I can't 
forget about him."

The Trill quickly moved up to him and knelt down to embrace her 
friend. Her face pressed tightly against his shoulder, she waited a 
moment then whispered, "You loved him, didn't you?"

Julian sniffed and opened his eyes wide. Did he? Had he actually loved 
Garak? "I--" He pulled back, gazing into her cerulean eyes. "I don't 
know. I guess in my heart . . . I suppose I always did." He flinched. _And 
now he's gone._ At last his pain pushed the tears to roll unbiddingly 
across his cinnamon colored cheeks. 

Dax nodded wisely, brushing the tears away with her slender fingers. "I 
know. But you have to put this behind you Julian. I know it's hard, 
believe me . . .  I've lost a lot of friends and lovers too." _And not always 
by death's unforgiving hand,_ she thought bitterly, an image of Lenaria 
forming in her mind. "But you're a doctor," she rationalized. "You save 
lives. Don't ignore that." 

He nodded, looking more miserable than ever. She smiled sweetly and 
pressed a gentle kiss on his cheek. When she was gone, he leaned back 
and produced a book chip from his pocket. 

The sacrifice of Delvanar. 

He turned it in his hand, then pressed it to his nose to detect his friend's 
comforting scent. But it was hollow, unsatisfying. 

Resolutely, Julian slipped into his uniform, shaved and groomed, then 
cleared another two hours of his schedule. 

A moment later, he was standing in Garak's empty quarters.

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The tailor's room was impeccable. Nothing was out of place, not even a 
stray piece of clothing. This is how he remembered it; this is how it had 
been the last time he'd been here, at Garak's side, soothing the 
Cardassian through his painful withdrawals.

Now, the place was empty, hollow, random discordant memories playing 
themselves in his mind. Their first meeting, the electric touch he felt at 
Garak's hand on his shoulder, the subtle attempts at courting both had 
initiated, but never pursued ... 

 . . regrettably. 
  
He let out a sigh, which ended in a low sob. Tomorrow, the furniture 
would be moved out, personal accessories sent away, and another would 
take his place. And Bashir would dine alone in the replimat, utterly 
heartbroken. 

When had he grown so attached to the tailor? Was he, indeed, in love 
with him? Perhaps he had taken his presence for granted. In the back of 
his mind, he knew the tailor would not have stayed here all his life. 
Eventually, he would have returned home to Cardassia. Bashir had 
expressed no doubt about that. 

_But he did go home, didn't he?_ he thought with sorrow. At least his 
people had the decency of burying him in his natal land, which in a way 
solaced the doctor. Having the ceremony here would have eased his soul, 
but knowing Garak was finally where he had longed to be for four years 
made him happy. 

"I hope _you're_ happy, wherever you are," he whispered, images of 
Garak finally joining the Great Gul in eternal embrace dancing in his 
mind. A pang of jealousy hit him, and he abruptly laughed self-
deprecatingly. Gods . . . he _was_ in love with the tailor if he felt 
jealousy over an imaginary deity.  

Absently, he walked over to the tailor's closet and opened it, the scent of 
Cardassian filling the air as he did so. Like his quarters, the clothing 
area was neat and tidy, five or six garments hung in an orderly fashion 
upon the rack. 

Garak would need something for the ceremony, Bashir thought suddenly. 
He knew little of Cardassian customs, but he was fairly certain they 
wouldn't bury Garak without clothes on. However, the tailor _had_ once 
been a Gul; perhaps they'd honor his memory and fit him with an official 
Cardassian Cuirass. Or perhaps whoever would take care of his body  
would mull over what would flatter him best. 

He sighed. He knew it wasn't his place to dictate what that should be. If 
it were up to him, he'd opt for the turquoise and rusty garb that so 
beautified the tailor's eyes and frame. With another sigh, he closed the 
closet and moved to the desk.

Nothing upon it was obvious enough to catch his attention, yet Garak 
being who he had been, Julian was wise enough not to take appearances 
at face value. 

He searched the desk, looking for concealed drawers or some such. After 
a few minutes of frustrating searching, he finally found what he was 
looking for. He peered inside the small open drawer, finding there only 
three things; a holochip, an ancient paperbound book obviously 
Cardassian in origin and a silver broach which, Julian admired, was 
shaped like the ankh-like symbol of the Obsidian Order. 

Carefully, he sifted through the delicate pages of the book, discovering it 
was Hebitian in origin. If Garak possessed such a culturally expensive 
book, it must have been in his family for ages. He placed it back 
delicately into the drawer then inspected the broach. 

It had been a communicator once, hidden communicator he though 
wryly, knowing Garak had indeed been a spy. It was beautifully carved, 
and when he pressed it, he found that it was no longer working. Perhaps 
Garak had been telling the truth after all. He no longer was working as 
an undercover agent. Perhaps he kept this as a simple keepsake. 

Garak? Simple? Almost imaginable.

He placed it back, and finally took the holochip and slid it into the 
terminal. The computer briskly stated that the program was exclusive to 
a holosuite. 

He took it back, and after clearing his schedule for another hour, he 
quickly hurried to Quark's.

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If it be love indeed, tell me how much. 

~~ Cleopatra "Cleopatra and Anthony" act I scene I

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Ten minutes later, Julian stood alone in the holosuite, the chip in hand, 
and a nervous tickle in his stomach. Mustering  his remaining courage, 
Julian finally slid the chip inside the proper slot and waited. 

A few seconds elapsed before the tailor was suddenly at his side, his 
usual playful smile on his lips. Julian gasped and took a step backward. 

"Oh don't worry Doctor," he waved. "I'm only but a simple projection. 
Although I've worked hard to make it as interactive as possible," he 
smiled. The image took a deep breath. "Well, I suppose if I'm here now 
and you're here with me only means one thing." He sighed theatrically 
and  locked his hands behind the small of his back. "Well, it was bound 
to happen. What was it? No, let me venture a guess. Tarkelien death flu? 
Dukat's disrupter? Lover's quarrel? Assassination? Retaliation?"

Julian smiled in spite of himself. "No. You were murdered by the True 
Way in an act of demonstration." He frowned. "I don't know if you know 
of them . . ."

"No. I was probably not aware of them when  I programmed myself at 
the time," he admitted.
 
"Well, they attacked you in your shop and got off a particularly fatal 
blow to your head."

Garak slumped his shoulders in disappointment. "Oh how utterly dull. I 
had expected to go off with a little more extravagance than that." He 
sighed and shrugged. "Oh well, beggars can't be choosers." His face 
briskly feel into the serious. "I take it that if you've found this chip, 
you've discovered the other items as well?"

"Yes," Julian answered simply.

"Mmh," Garak nodded. "Well, there's no need to guess. They're all for 
you."

Julian frowned again, a confused look on his uncharacteristically ashen 
face. "For . . . me?"

"Oh don't act so surprised. It's not a secret that you're the only person I 
truly value on this station. Take them, and don't forget me."

"I wouldn't even if I wanted too," Julian admitted, feeling the tears 
staining his eyes again.

Garak smiled reassuringly and went to take his friend in a tight embrace. 
"I'm certain we've had many years of friendship together," he whispered.

"Three."

Garak disengaged, his lips pursed. "Not much of  a time indeed. Tell me, 
have I ever . . . told you?"

Julian sniffed and dried the moisture with his sleeve. "Told  me what?"

Garak sighed tragically. "I haven't, haven't I? Oh damn myself, I knew 
waiting would serve no purpose."      

"Garak, tell me what?"

The tailor looked up, and smiled sweetly. "I suppose that now that I've 
departed it's safe for me to say. Although . . . I'm not certain it will make 
your life any easier. You see . . . I'm ashamed to say I haven't been 
totally honest with you upon our first meeting." He held out a palm. "I 
know, I was never really truthful about anything, but I'm speaking about 
my motives. I was happy to have found a friend, yes, but making a friend 
was not my initial intention upon seeing you." 

The tailor moved in and brushed a hollow hand on Julian's cheek. "My 
beautiful doctor, how I admired you that first day. I was sure you would 
not talk to me, but how you surprised me when you graced my ears with 
your delightful voice. I tried to push my feelings aside, concentrate on 
forging a proper friendship with you, but I'm afraid the feeling was too 
powerful. Seeing you everyday hasn't helped me ignore the passion I had 
buried deep inside me." 

He inched closer, and Julian felt his heart pound against his chest. _It's 
just a holograph, it's not him,  it's just a holograph, this is just a holo--_

"It dawned on me then . . ." he went on, his voice droping seductively. 
"The time you parted with your Delevian chocolates upon my departure 
for Tain's ship . . . I realized I had fallen for you, Julian Subatoi Bashir. 
It was as much as a surprise to me as it must certainly be for you now, 
but I could not deny it. I was madly in love with you, and yet I said 
nothing for fear of losing your friendship. That night, when I came back 
from my foolish escapade, I recorded this message, aware that the things 
I was giving you were little when compared to the love I felt for you. But 
they are all I have, and the only things which hold remote value to me. I 
hope you'll cherish them," he whispered closely in his ear. "Cherish 
them as I would have cherished you, my dearest Julian." And as Bashir 
closed his eyes in bliss, feeling the warm breath upon his neck, the 
fantasy faded mercilessly, and he was left standing alone, Garak's words 
echoing erratically in his mind. Alone in the holosuite, Julian fell to his 
knees and wept for an infinite time.     

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Sadly, Elim Garak had not been very popular on DS9. Thus, no 
ceremony had been given in his honor, nor did people overly care what 
had happened to the Cardassian. They did ask whether another clothing 
shop would be erected, but that had been the extent of their concern. 

Which is why, pushed by Dax's gentle encouragement, Sisko reunited 
staff members to the mess hall, gathering them in their own ceremony 
for the tailor.
 
Julian smiled at the surroundings, relieved. He needed the closure. 

Dax came up to him, elegantly dressed in a gown Julian was unfamiliar 
with. Probably a Trill mourning dress, though Bashir thought wise not to 
inquire. For his part, he had dressed in complete black, honoring his 
own tradition. He thought wryly how Garak would comment upon the 
distasteful lack of colors in Human mourning attires. 

He smiled at the thought, and Dax answered with a grin. "I'm glad 
you've regained your colors," she commented sweetly, taking a sip of 
raktegino. She frowned at Julian's own glass and pointed casually at it. "I 
thought you told me you hated kanar."

He glanced down at it and smiled again. "I suppose I can make an 
exception . . . for the occasion."

She nodded knowingly, and turned in time to see Kira join them. She 
was dressed in the Bajoran midnight blue dress uniform, and had 
wrapped an elegant ceremonial scarf around her waist. She clasped a 
hand on Julian's shoulder, her face sullen. "Listen," she began. "You 
know how I feel about Cardassians, I think it's no secret." 

Julian frowned and turned his full attention to her. She cleared her throat 
and went on, "But I can safely say that, although in no means did I trust 
him, I think Garak was a good and valued friend to you. I'm sorry for 
your loss, and . . . reluctantly, I've asked the Prophets that he be taken 
care of, even though he's Cardassian." 

Julian raised his eyebrows in surprise and glanced at Dax, staring at Kira 
with much the same expression. Then, with a smile, Julian found his 
voice, "Well, thank you Major. That's very thoughtful, and I'm sure 
Garak would love to join the Prophets if he can manage to wrest himself 
from the Great Gul's arms," he added with a knowing grin.

Both women chuckled, relieved that Julian was not the isolated soul-
broken young man of a few days ago. 
  
After sharing a few meaningless conversational words, Kira left them to 
talk with Worf, while Dax captured Sisko to talk about a Bajoran envoy 
coming in the following afternoon. Left alone, Julian went to sit by 
himself in a corner. 

He drained the last of  his kanar, then droped the glass from a suddenly 
nerveless hand. He captured his face in his hands and his shoulders 
chuckled with the rhythm of his sorrow. 

Since the floor was heavily carpeted, no one heard the glass fall, so no 
one noticed the young doctor as he sobbed quietly in his hands.

No one, except . . .

"Doctor? Are you all right?" A gruff, unmistakable voice. Bashir 
promptly jerked backward with a start, erasing the remnants of his 
misery with his sleeves. The implacable figure of Odo stared down at 
him, a mild frown on his lineless features. He dragged a chair near his 
and sat down in front of him. "This must be difficult for you," Odo said 
matter-of-factly, almost clinically. 

"You can say that," Bashir aquiesced, slumping forward. He parted his 
hands in confusion. "Why him? Of all the people on this station, why 
pick a Cardassian? I mean, the True Way *is* Cardassian isn't it? Why 
not pick on a Starfleet officer? It doesn't make sense."

"Would you rather it had been you or Commander Dax killed instead of 
him then?"

Julian looked up, anger crossing his pale features. The pleasant golden 
hue was ashen, gone with restless nights and irregular meals. "Are you 
implying that Garak was more expendable than me or any other for that 
matter?" His British accent was further emphasized with his irritation, 
and Odo frowned. 

"Not at all, I was merely saying that there were any number of targets the 
True Way could have picked from."

"Well it didn't sound that way!" Julian snapped, suddenly drawing stares 
from the small crowd. He climbed to his feet and opened his mouth. Yet 
he never got the chance to say what he had to say next. The room spun 
suddenly out of control, and everything faded to dull colors. He squinted 
his eyes at the distorted surroundings, and before he could understand 
what was happening, he fell bonelessly to the floor, Odo having not 
predicted the doctor's fall to catch him in time. 

Everyone closed in worriedly on his prone figure, but were promptly 
pushed away by Odo's capable hands. 

Dax knelt at his side and fanned his face gently, soothingly calling his 
name.   

When he came to, about a dozen faces peered down at him, each with 
their individual concern clouding their features. Julian smiled wearily 
and said, "I guess I can't endure kanar after all . . ."   
  
The following afternoon, Julian Bashir resolutely went back to his duties, 
and tried to pick up the pieces of his shattered life.

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CHAPTER FIVE

Garak awoke with the worst headache in history. He closed his eyes 
tightly as he dabbled at the sticky blood streaming the length of his face. 
The bruise had still not been sutured it seemed. _Why in Great Gul's 
name did they have to that?_ he thought sharply. At least the blood had 
stopped pouring. 

Shifting slightly, he realized his body was slumped against something . . 
 a wall or some such. He recoiled from the cold metal and pushed 
himself upright with the heel of his hands. He looked around, eyes wide 
and seeing nothing; he had yet to adjust to the dim surroundings, and it 
took him a few minutes to note where he was.     
  
An ironic smile crossed his lips. 

An interrogation room. 

The humor finally faded to confusion as he pondered what exactly he 
was doing here. Hadn't he been in Dr Bashir's Infirmary just a few 
moment's ago? His heart suddenly started in his chest . . . if this was an 
interrogation chamber, he was surely on Cardassia.   

But why? 

As if on cue, his answer was delivered. Across the room, a bright stream 
of light pierced the darkened room, and in came the sharp contours of an 
old enemy. 

Gul Dukat.

He should have known. The Ferengi, the plague... he realized that 
everything had been staged for him. Taking clever disguise under the 
True Way, Dukat had successfully managed to get him off the protection 
of the station, and would never be found out. 

He had finally been outwitted by his nemesis . . .  a fact Garak had never 
thought possible. And probably there lay his mistake; to have taken too 
much confidence in his skills. Obviously, he had grown soft over the 
years spent with Humans and Bajorans.

"My dear friend," Dukat cajoled, striding in the interrogation chamber 
with an air of imperious conceit. He smiled and knelt down at Garak's 
level. "I do hope my men didn't hurt you _too_ much."

"Nearly not as much as you will inflict, I'm sure," he replied pleasantly, 
tipping his head with mock respect.

Dukat nodded enthusiastically. "At least you know what to expect," he 
purred. "I heard you held a couple of interrogations in this very room 
yourself," he commented, glancing about the drab room.
  
Garak swept the harsh architecture, breathing heavily. "They all look 
alike to me," he deflected. But his arousal was unmistakable. The 
memories flooded back; the whips, the implants, the enticing creatures
writhing at his feet begging for mercy. How he had loved those days . . .

Dukat smiled, holding out his hand to one of his soldiers, his eyes still 
riveted on the tailor. "You were very foolish Garak," he said with 
insincere contrition. "I'm surprised I actually caught you this easily." His 
soldier slapped a device in his palm.

Garak snorted, the reality quickly dawning on him. "Only the glorious 
Gul Dukat would be so base as to murder innocent civilians in order to 
get back at me. I hope you realize the Federation won't be so happy 
when they find out you murdered those people out of malice for me."

The other man smiled a cutting grin. "*I* wasn't responsible for those 
deaths," he stated huskily. "The True Way is truly involved. We simply 
let them do what they do, and I took the opportunity." His grin grew 
wider, up to a point Garak thought it'd split his face. Dukat was 
obviously very pleased with himself. "By the way, don't count on your 
human friends to come marching in here to rescue you. They all think 
you're dead."

Garak pursed his lips. "Yes. I suspected as much. Transitory expiration, 
no doubt induced with Felabrim Intake 4," he said, recalling the memory 
of the fake Ferengi's hypospray. He sighed and clucked his tongue. "Only 
you would go to such extreme measures and purchase such an expensive 
drug." He smiled sharply. "I do hope your wife doesn't learn of this. I 
hear she controls your budget now. She  keeps you on a tight leash these 
days does she? Can't even commute with your slaves or your mistresses 
either I hear. A shame," he sighed. "But I suppose maintaining a harem 
such as yours is too expensive as well. Feel content that she at least had 
enough pity to take you back."
   
Dukat stared angrily at the tailor, biting back the impulse to slug him. 
Instead, he brought the device he held to eye level, elevating it for 
Garak's inspection. The tailor's eyes took the briefest of moments to 
glance at it, then stared back at Dukat's grinning face. Fear suddenly 
touched his eyes, and Dukat saw it.

"Not quite so pleasant when the tables are reversed, is it?" Dukat purred 
as he pressed the device harshly against Garak's neck ridge. There was a 
slight pressurized release, and the tailor closed his eyes. 

He knew he couldn't possibly feel the tiny implant as it merged with his 
bloodstream, yet being aware of its existence in his system was 
somewhat of an odd sensation. He released the breath he had been 
holding and looked up at Dukat's standing form.
 
"I hear you don't wear the implant anymore." He sighed his appreciation. 
"Which will make this even more enjoyable," he added, sliding overhung 
handcuffs to its usual height. He then hoisted Garak's suddenly 
boneless frame up. 

The tailor made little effort to struggle as Dukat snapped the cuffs on his 
wrists, extending his arms too taut for comfort. Garak bent his head in 
mute defeat and watched as Dukat's entourage filed through the exit. 

Dukat lingered a moment, a predatory smile on his lips as he unholstered 
a dagger. "Sweet dreams, Cardassian," he smiled. "I trust you know the 
protocol." And with a quick harsh movement, he shredded 

Garak's elegant garments to pieces, leaving the tailor exposed and 
humiliated. Dukat slid his boot on the floor as he pushed the scraps of 
clothing aside, and briskly left, closing the lights on his way out. 

Garak let himself go limp, uncaring that the metal cuffs were biting into 
his skin, numb to the stinging gashes on his body which Dukat's careless 
dagger had left. He simply drifted off to that place the unconscious steals 
to when reality is too cruel. In the deafening silence of the interrogation 
chamber, amidst the perpetual shadows cast on the floor and walls and 
himself, Elim Garak smiled softly as he sat down with his sister Tosal 
for a nice warm meal over the sun-drenched Tolakian Hills.       

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There - are - FOUR - lights! 

~~ Captain Jean-Luc Picard “Chain of Command II”

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Terrible thing, to be brutally awakened by a heart attack. Although not 
intense, nor terribly fatal, Elim Garak nonetheless screamed and pulled 
violently against his restraints, gasping for air. Eyes wide and 
questioning, he looked around the chamber through a shroud of agony, 
looking for his tormentor.

His sight finally settled on Gul Dukat, sitting apparently without concern 
at the far side of the room. After a moment which stretched into eternity, 
Garak's breathing finally declined to a less erratic rhythm and his heart 
retrieved its usual cadence. He looked up wearily, sweat pearling and 
gliding all over his reptilian body.

Gul Dukat smiled and turned a sleek control box in his hand. "Good 
morning, Cardassian. I trust you don't mind my waking you so harshly, 
but I would so hate having to call you by your proper name to rouse you."

_Morning? Already?_

Garak closed his eyes and bent his head forward once again. He gave no 
reply.

"Do you know why you are here, Cardassian?" Dukat inquired, 
nonchalantly admiring the smooth lines of his torture device.
 
Garak mumbled something inaudible. Dukat didn't bother to strain his 
ear. Pursing his lips, he pressed the panel on the control, and Garak 
jerked backward with a sharp intake of air. It was as though all his 
nerves had been tweaked individually, as such sending pain mostly 
everywhere, but also pleasure, surreptitiously lurking beneath the wave 
of excruciating pain. He winced, and quieted down at last.

"I didn't quite get that," Dukat leered.

"I said," Garak managed, teeth clenched and jaw working, "You 
probably lured me to Cardassia to have me killed, no doubt harboring 
some foolish notion that I'm a threat to the Central Command."

"You are," Dukat growled, throwing the device on the desk. He circled it 
and went behind the tailor. 

Taking opportunity of his invisibility, he risked a seductive look at the 
tailor's body.  Indeed, Garak had took it upon himself to stay fit during 
his relegation. His muscles were still rigid from the Order's training, 
clenching under the skin at the uncomfortable position he was held in. 
The scaly reptilian skin shone with perspiration and added a soft 
uniform gleam to the tailor's body. 

Wearing a thin smile, he leaned close and whispered directly in Garak's 
ear. The tailor tilted his head obliquely toward the voice as Dukat said, 
"You haven't answered my question, Cardassian. Do you know why 
you're here, inside this interrogation chamber, at this time? Surely, a 
man of your _once_ importance would recognize that this is not 
necessary. I have the evidence and the backings to slay you right away."    

For the first time, Garak became increasingly aware of Dukat's closeness. 
As such, his cool skin warmed up without consent, tingling in that 
pleasant way he felt whenever he started getting aroused.
 
Aroused?! No, not this time!_ 

Garak peddled forward, trying to get as far away from Dukat as his 
restraints permitted him. But the Cardassian merely rounded a lazy hand 
around his waist and pulled him back toward him.   

"Ah, so indeed I've frightened the unflappable tormentor," he 
commented. Abruptly, Dukat bent his head and roved a firm tongue 
across Garak's nape. The tailor flinched and swallowed hard.
 
"Can you deny that you want me?" Dukat asked indifferently, toying 
with Garak's spinal ridges. The tailor shuddered and arched his back 
under Dukat's feather-light touch. "All this time you fought with me, 
getting aroused by my sight every time you laid eyes on me. After all, 
there was a time where you did have me." Dukat chuckled, "Of course, I 
can't really deny that I've found the experience arousing in itself. You 
watching me ..." he whispered in his ear, flicking his tongue over the 
ornamental scale rounding it. "It's been such a long time," he groaned. 
"Don't you long for that time again?"

Again, Garak swallowed, trying hard to forget the memories.

"I'll allow you this, Cardassian," Dukat murmured. "At least something 
to enjoy before you die." 

"I don't . . ." Garak's voice caught in his throat, and he shook his head. 
"Not like this," he said neutrally.

"I don't see you having much choice," Dukat purred, flicking his tongue 
over the scales covering Garak's jaw.
 
Indeed, not much choice. "Please," he whispered hoarsely.

Dukat grinned. At last he had him right where he had longed to see him. 
Under *his* control. After years of servicing the mighty Obsidian agent 
for whatever purpose -- political *or* personal -- Dukat reveled in his 
present advantageous position. *Let's see him threaten me now . . .* 
Dukat thought.

Again, Garak whispered his silent plea.

"Maybe," Dukat replied in a pleasant voice, finally sliding his hands 
down Garak's thighs. 

The tailor repressed a moan. Suddenly angry, he craned his neck and 
growled, "If you want this as much as you say you do, you would let me 
go. What good is it if I can't touch you?"

"Now now," Dukat warned. "It's my turn. You just keep thinking of 
those times where you had to strap me down to your bed to keep me there 
 . . think of the power you *once* held over me while I now do with you 
as *I* please."

"Is that what this is?" Garak asked incredulously. "Some silly vendetta 
over something that happened eons ago?"

Dukat growled. "You may have forgotten that I was once your slave. And 
you may have also forgotten that you dishonored my Father. But I 
haven't, and I plan on thanking you for that."

Garak let out a strangled laugh. "By fucking me? You call that a 
revenge? Why don't you use a whip? I seem to recall it causing more 
pain than a casual fornication."

Dukat sighed against his shoulders. "Ah but there lies the irony of it all, 
dear tailor. The tables are reversed . . . you now dread what I'm about to 
give you because it would shame you. The mighty Gul takes advantage of 
the lowly expatriate. I hope you live with the humiliation for a long long 
time, Garak." 

Garak chuckled. "Humiliation? In front of whom would I have the 
chance to be humiliated to? I have no more life on Cardassia, and you 
and I both know I'll never regain any significant influence. So no matter 
how many stains you may drop on my present, it won't affect my future 
because you see... I have none here." 

There was a denotation of sadness in his voice, mixed with revelation as 
though he only now realizing the painful truth.  

"Good point," Dukat finally conceded. He contoured the tailor and 
considered the way Garak stood uncomfortably on the balls of his feet. 
He sighed. "I do so enjoy seeing you like this, at my mercy. But you're 
right." The confession seemed to surprise the tailor. Dukat waved it off 
with a dry laugh. "Which doesn't mean I won't take advantage of the 
situation," he added. 

_A situation that will irrevocably turn the tables on you, my dear 
Dukat,_ Garak thought, watching Dukat as he stretched over him to 
reach the cuffs. His heavy Cuirass pressed tightly against his naked body, 
sending a tantalizing sensation down the tailor's body. He groaned softly 
and was unable to resist the urge to leave a trail of passionate kisses 
down Dukat's taut neck. 

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Treason, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. 

~~ Garak "Second Skin"

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                                   CHAPTER SIX

Garak needed to regain the upper hand, and this seemed the only way to 
do so. Of course, he was fairly certain he'd enjoy himself in the interim. 
Although painful to remember, Garak did recall a few occasions where 
he and Dukat had shared more than a _mildly_ entertaining evening 
together. He felt a pull at his groin, knowing he would taste his former 
vassal once more. Though to chance his escape, Garak realized he would 
have to place himself in Dukat's hands rather than take the initiative as 
he once used to do. 

Meanwhile, Dukat closed his eyes, trying vainly to concentrate on his 
task. However, with the tailor eliciting such titillating feelings in him; it 
was too strong to ignore. Groaning low in his throat, he abandoned the 
cuffs and pressed his mouth firmly against Garak's, easily slipping his 
tongue between the tailor's parted lips. He brought a hand behind his 
head, pressing it against his as their kiss deepened in intensity. Their 
tongue danced rabidly as they systematically explored eachother's 
sweetness, lost in nostalgic passion.
 
At last, Dukat disengaged, breathless and incredibly lustful. Garak was 
in no better condition; his bright blue eyes focused on Dukat's dark own, 
and he clenched his teeth. 

"Will you get me out of these cuffs so I may properly do this?" he 
growled. _Careful . . ._ he scolded himself. He noted how trying a task it 
would be to keep his aggressiveness in check.

Dukat had forgotten about the cuffs. Now ignoring his military 
consciousness which screamed its protests, he quickly reached for the 
cuffs and freed Garak. The tailor slumped slightly forward, his legs 
unaccustomed to the sudden weight imposed on them. He fell into 
Dukat's arms, but quickly recovered. With an urgency that clearly 
displayed the tailor's longing for taking his Cardassian lover once again, 
Garak began unfastening the buckles on Dukat's armor. 

Freed from its imprisoning embrace, Dukat flung it aside and pressed 
Garak's nude body close to his as he captured the tailor's lips 
passionately. 

However, Garak would not stay in his equated position long. Flashing 
him a derisive grin, Dukat finally pushed him unceremoniously to the 
floor and swung the tailor's body around so that he lay on his stomach. 
To Dukat's surprise, Garak did not struggle. Had he done so, Dukat was 
fairly certain he'd have been quickly dominated. _So the tailor wants this 
too,_ he thought wryly. His erect sex hardened further and strained 
terribly against the tight body suit. Dukat quickly stripped.
 
For his part, Garak begun to realize he would not be given enormous 
comfort. For one the floor was terribly cold against his skin, and 
unforgivingly hard.  Second, he was fairly certain Dukat wouldn't use a . 
 .

"Gods!!" he screamed, lurching forward as Dukat entered him forcefully.

 . . lubricant. As his face contorted with a mixture of pain and pleasure, 
Garak tried to focus on his breathing. Three years ago, he would have 
delighted in this without pain, the soothing presence of his implant 
providing adequate endorphins. Now, stripped of its analgesic effects, 
Garak began to understand new meanings of suffering. Yet the pleasure 
associated with it was unsurpassed. 

Dukat clenched his teeth as he plunged further into the tailor's depths. It 
had been fairly difficult to push inside with saliva as his only means of 
lubrication, yet he began to slip in and out more easily as they began to 
rock slowly in synchronism. 

_Gul, he is so tight . . ._ Dukat exulted, clawing at Garak's leathery 
thighs as he impaled the tailor up to the hilt. He leaned forward and 
rested his body upon the tailor's back, breathing savagely into the 
Cardassian's raven hair.     

Garak could not remember a time when he had felt this filled. Dukat's 
erection was evidently large, but not uncomfortably so. Once he had 
passed the initial agony of being entered dryly, Garak found himself 
climbing new heights. He felt Dukat's warm athletic body press over 
him, and he arched his back to renew the contact. He turned his head 
and briefly dabbled at Dukat's lips, kissing urgently as both recognized 
their release closing in. 

With a growl, Dukat reached under the tailor and squeezed Garak's 
burning erection, sliding his hand around, clawing at the sides and 
kneading his balls firmly.  Garak gasped loudly and lolled his head 
against Dukat's, reveling the official's exquisite ministrations. He 
moaned powerfully as he joined Dukat's hand, conspiring with him to 
achieve his climax. On his back he felt Dukat's teeth graze his shoulders, 
biting down the sounds of pleasure against his leathery skin.

At length, Dukat jerked his head back and let out a powerful growl as he 
emptied himself in the tailor. Not a second later did Garak join in, 
spilling his seed onto their combined hands and the cold metallic floor. 
His knees buckled, and he fell upon the ground, cheek pressed against 
cold as he panted loudly. 

Equally spent, Dukat lazily slid out, breathing as hard as the tailor. 
Sitting back on his heels, he regarded Garak's prone form with an 
appraising eye, exulting again at the Cardassian's attractiveness. 

But he was far from done.

"Come here," he growled, laying back. Garak looked up, panting and 
sweating. He noticed Dukat's member hardening quickly, and knew 
without being asked what to do. After all, he had asked it of Dukat 
countless times before. 

He moved to him and wordlessly bent his head forward, savoring the 
Cardassian's arousing scent mingled with his own. 

Teasing the Cardassian's erection by softly blowing on it, Garak smiled 
privately as Dukat writhed passionately under him.   

"Aah," he sighed pleasantly. "You remember that particular caress . . ."
 
"And how it made you forget you were under my service," added Garak 
thinly. "But then I also recall you enjoying this as well," he said, 
squeezing the base of Dukat's sex with a firm hand and grazing his teeth 
over the swollen gray head.

Dukat let out a loud groan, abruptly bringing his hands against the back 
of Garak's head and urging him to plunge deeper. 

"Take it," Dukat pleaded. "Give your Gul pleasure . . ."

An inexplicable wave of desire filled Garak. At those words, the tailor 
erased what little reservations he might have had and eagerly pulled his 
lips over Dukat's erection. 

The sweet taste filled his mouth, and Garak licked the remaining product 
of Dukat's earlier release with delight, flicking his tongue over the ribbed 
texture of Dukat's hard member. He kept Dukat's balls busy with one 
hand as he kneaded them firmly, and reached beneath with his other to 
stroke the tight cleft. 

Dukat moaned his pleasure and jerked his hips forward, wanting more of 
the tailor's exquisite ministrations. Encouraged, Garak plunged deeper, 
fully swallowing the length of Dukat's erection. As it throbbed excitedly 
against Garak's tongue, the tailor contracted his throat and mouth, 
triggering another fiery release. Eagerly, he swallowed everything Dukat 
gave him, down to the last precious drop.  

"You . . . serviced your Gul well," Dukat sighed appreciatively.

Looking down at himself, Garak pursed his lips in irritation, noting he 
was hard and unsatisfied. 

He glanced at Dukat. 
  
If he wanted to stay in his favor, he would have to quietly retreat to 
another room and trigger his own release. Or he could satisfy his urge 
and ravage him right there and now. But even though Garak would have 
the physical power to overtake him, he knew he could do nothing against 
his political standing. 

Flustered, he finally stood with an irritated growl and went toward a 
storage area to stimulate his aching member. But Dukat's firm hand 
grasped his arm and pulled him back.

"Let me," he said dryly.      

He knelt before him, and for a glorious moment Garak saw himself 
perfectly; young and slim, agent in the Obsidian Order, with Dukat at his 
feet and service. He pushed the thought away and concentrated on 
Dukat's expert tongue as it roved over his aching organ. 

But his thoughts unwillingly drifted off to something unexpected. In his 
mind, a perfect image of Julian Bashir shimmered to substance, and as 
Dukat deftly drove him to exquisite heights, Garak felt his lips pull into 
a smile, his eyes closed as he imagined his dear Julian in Dukat's place. 
Not a moment passed before he came powerfully inside the Cardassian's 
mouth with the most shattering climax he had felt in a long time.  

With a satiated sigh, both men collapsed to the floor and stared at the 
other with a somewhat ambiguous display. Garak, whose full contended 
smile went out gratefully to the young golden-skinned man on DS9, gave 
out the impression that Dukat had pleased him well. And Dukat's own 
gratification was due to the fact he had finally taken Garak on his own 
terms, rather than the obscure ones of yesteryears.     

"I must say," he said slowly, catching his breath. "I hadn't . . . expected 
this."

Garak pushed himself into a seated position, his face and body shining 
with perspiration. His face contorted into a grimace. "What . . . did you . 
 . expect?"

Dukat swallowed and shook his head. "I thought that . . . perhaps living 
in exile . . . had eroded your spirits." He took a deep breath and smiled. 
Garak noted with surprise how the smile contained no trace of malice. "I 
suppose . . . I was wrong."

"Are you letting me go then?" Garak inquired. *Say yes . . . I truly don't 
wish to kill you.*

Dukat mused silently as he watched the tailor's intent face. "I don't know 
 . ." he replied, a trace of anger underlying his hoarse voice. "There are 
those at Central Command who consider you a threat."
  
Garak harumphed. "I am no more a threat than you are an Obsidian 
agent. You know full well I would never betray Cardassia."

"There are those who--"

"Ignore them! You're a Gul in Central Command! Now tell me all those 
who suspect me aren't all Glins."

Dukat sighed loudly, gathering his clothes and carefully dressing. "It 
took much effort to bring you here tailor. And I'm not certain a few 
hours of passion will be enough to annul your execution."

Garak's eyes widened fractionally. "I see now . . . all this . . . you weren't 
the one who initiated this plan were you? You were following orders I 
trust?"

Dukat stared down at Garak. "I won't disobey orders, if that's what you're 
asking. I have responsibilities, but I'm sure you know all about that. 
Although I can't say you followed yours very keenly."

Garak nodded his comprehension. "And when you learned I was being 
held here, you took on the appearance you were responsible. Why?"

"I despise you, Garak," Dukat spat, buckling his Cuirass. "I will never 
forgive you for what you did to my Father, we both know that. And I 
needed to know if *I* could take you." He knelt down at Garak's level 
and dark blue challenged pale azure. "The sad part is, we'll always hate 
eachother, and that's what intrinsically binds us together. I knew you 
would see through my charade as soon as I came into this room. I've 
been blustering how I've captured the mighty Obsidian Agent, when in 
reality I was only sent to carry you back to Cardassia." He shrugged. "I 
saw an opportunity, and I grasped it." He smiled bitterly and pinched 
Garak's chin appreciatively. "Don't say you didn't like it." 

With what, he rose to his feet and said, "Chief Arkon Dukell is presiding 
over the High Court this afternoon. She owes me," he smiled 
mischievously. "I'll have you back to DS9; that way I'll be satisfying both 
my superiors and you."

Garak frowned. "Why are you doing this? If you're so angry at me, here's 
your chance."          

Dukat regarded the tailor askance. "I can't undo my Father's fate, nor 
erase the scars you embedded in me; but I can make your life a living 
torment. I prefer that over letting you die mercifully." 

"I'm flattered."

"You should be," Dukat said seriously, "It goes against my better 
judgment, but I'm offering you the chance to see you precious Dr Bashir 
another day."

_Hello, what's this?_ "Dr Bashir? What does he have to do with this?"

Dukat simply laughed and after a moment, left the room swiftly. A few 
minutes later, a soldier entered with fresh new clothes, and when Garak 
had dressed, he was escorted to the High Court.

Two hours later, Garak was on his way back to Deep Space Nine aboard 
a warship, anticipating his return.

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                                   CHAPTER SEVEN

Julian Bashir ran a tricorder over himself and looked at the readings. 
Across the infirmary, Elim Garak sighed.

"I assure you Doctor, I'm very much alive." How many times would he 
have to say it for Bashir to believe him?

The doctor shook his head, turning to his work station and closing his 
eyes tightly. "No ... no, you're a figment of my imagination and when I 
open my eyes, you'll be gone." 

He gasped inarticulately when he saw Garak was still there.

"Doctor, perhaps if you'd aim that tricorder at me instead, you'll see for 
yourself."

Bashir did so with diffidence, yet his tricorder hummed pleasantly and 
registered Garak's normal *active* life signs. 

He droped the tricorder and grabbed the startled tailor in a fierce hug. 
Garak could only respond in kind, surprised at the intensity of his 
friend's reaction.

"We all thought you were dead..." he whispered against his shoulder.

Garak nodded, vividly aware of Julian's luxurious closeness. "A long 
story," he swallowed. He pulled away and smiled brilliantly. "But first, 
I'm famished. Shall we go to the replimat for dinner?"

Bashir shook his head and took the tailor by the arm as he led him out. 
"Too crowded. Let's go to my quarters."

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Love . . . it's a curious thing, isn't it? 

~~ Garak “Profit and Loss”

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Later, both friends found themselves in the Doctor's quarters, sharing the 
past events over a quiet meal. The candle Julian had set in the middle of 
the table played soft shadows across Garak's face, and the gray skin 
became almost as golden as that of his doctor friend. 

Julian was relieved to see his friend again, yet discovered he was 
growing annoyed. 

Every question he threw at the Cardassian met with clever, but stubborn 
evasiveness. At last, as he threw away the remnants of their meals, 
Julian heaved a loud sigh and shook his head.

"When will you learn to trust me Garak?"

"And when will you cease your obstinacy and call me Elim?" Garak said 
suddenly.

Julian looked up in surprise. "You knew that I knew your name?"

Garak laughed. "My dear Doctor, when will *you* learn to take my 
knowledge for granted? I know everything about everybody; specially 
what it is *they* think they know. But I'm not a spy," he added quickly 
at Julian's growing revelation. The least he wanted right now was to 
bring in other concerns. He sighed as Bashir regained his seat across the 
small dining table.  

"Well, I would call you Elim, if you'd stop calling *me* Doctor."

Garak recoiled in mock astonishment. "Is that not your title?"

"Not when I'm off-duty."

"My dear Doctor," Garak said with an expansive gesture. "I hold great 
respect for your rank as a medical practitioner. I would never call you 
other than Doctor, unless . . ." he drifted off, and shook his head. "And if 
I were still in the Order, I would ask that you call me no less than Gul. 
It's the way of my people. Even among good friends we have difficulty 
shaking off formality." 
 
"And among lovers?" Julian asked suddenly, though instantly regretting 
bringing up the subject so abruptly. He had meant to ease into it. But 
then there was no way of doing the latter with someone of Garak's 
caliber. Julian was even suspecting that Garak saw this coming a mile 
away. Yet he did not show it in his reaction.

Across the table, Garak's face shifted to naked confusion, fire dancing in 
his suddenly dark blue eyes. "I am not certain I know what you mean," 
he replied tactfully.

Julian changed tactics. "I found the chip . . ." he said hesitantly.

Garak smiled brightly, quickly cloaking his shock. "Did you now? How 
clever of you to have found it!" His penetrating gaze seemed to bore 
deeply into the Doctor's soul, trying to detect there what he knew. 
Finally, he sighed and his smile faded. "I suppose you know now," he 
stated honestly.

Julian nodded and watched as Garak rose and turned his back to him. 
"Well, it had to be known at one point or another," he said, unsure how 
his doctor friend would react. 

How foolish of him to have let himself be taken by this young man. He 
knew there could be no possible way Julian would agree to form a deeper 
relationship with him. Even if he did, what would this mean to his 
chances at leaving the station? If his relegation suddenly lifted and he 
was offered a position in Cardassia's hierarchy, would he accept knowing 
his dear Julian would never leave his career to move with him?
 
Behind him, the doctor smiled as he stared at Garak's slumped back and 
thought of doing something unexpected. 

Coming up from behind, he enlaced his arms around Garak's broad 
shoulders and kissed the tailor's nape gently. He smiled beautifically 
against the cool reptilian skin, contended to have his Garak back to him. 
"I love you too," he whispered simply, his words carrying a gentle 
sincerity as Bashir realized it was the first time he admitted it - to Garak 
and to himself.

A powerful shudder shook the tailor as those words, emphasized further 
by Julian's exquisite ministrations on his neck, rang in his ears. What 
else doubt he might have previously felt evaporated in thin air.

Needing no further encouragement, he swiveled and caught the doctor in 
his arms, promptly capturing Bashir's sinuous mouth in a deep 
passionate kiss. 

It was nothing like Dukat's urgent probings.   

Garak felt himself drifting off into a daze as Julian's tongue caressed his 
with infinite tenderness, sucking at its tip with poignant slowness. Garak 
responded in kind, easing his tongue deeper, roving about the doctor's 
mouth as if minutiously exploring a luscious cavern.

At last they pulled away only to remove their clothing. Garak found 
himself quickly stripped of his garment. Mutely, he helped the younger 
man out of his jumpsuit, carefully peeling it down to his waist. Smiling 
appreciatively, Garak began sliding his tongue down the gentle curve of 
Bashir's neck, sucking at the recess at the root of his throat for a 
moment. When Julian let out a pleasured groan, Garak smiled against 
the skin and moved downward, stopping at each nipple and diligently 
sucking at them with unbounded gentleness. He bit them mildly, 
producing another moan from low inside his precious doctor. 

When he finally encountered the crumpled material at Julian's waist, 
Garak straightened up. He took him by the shoulders and gently pushed 
him on the bed. He didn't want to strip the doctor completely . . . not yet. 
There was something vividly arousing in stretching the moment.

He sighed in contentment as Julian lay on the mattress, still watching the 
tailor intently under soft hazel eyes. 

The Cardassian took a moment to savor the moment, knowing that every 
day they had shared in the past, all the pleasant conversations they had 
traded had culminated to this; and Garak was intent on enjoying every 
moment of it. When Julian's affectionate gaze finally faded into a 
question, Garak erased all doubt as he leaned forward and captured the 
doctor's curved mouth in a profoundly intense kiss. 

Julian moaned softly, unprepared for the rush of sensations invading his 
body. It had been so long since his last intimate experience, and all that 
time had sensitized the doctor's body to its optimum, shuddering under 
the tailor's expert touches as they rove over his chest and limbs. He 
instinctively brought his own hands around the tailor's wide back, 
tracing the gentle curves of his ridges as he discovered just how low they 
reached. Disengaging only slightly from the kiss, Julian whispered 
against the Cardassian's gray lips, "I want you, Elim. I've never wanted 
anything in my life as much as this..." He emphasized this with his 
hands as they reached the tailor's backside, caressing the strong skin 
with slender fingers and pushing the tailor's body tightly against his, 
grinding his erection against Garak's firm manhood. 

Garak closed his eyes and let a groan escape his lips, pressing harder on 
the doctor's own. "Oh my dear Julian, how I dreamed of those words . . ." 

At last, Garak lifted himself up long enough to fuss over Julian's 
trousers. But a question suddenly washed over his gray face, and before 
he could reveal the doctor's firm erection, he lifted his chin. Julian 
regarded him with a frown. "What is it?"

"I've only just realized that you haven't had a moment to yourself since 
I've arrived. Are you certain I am not imposing on you? I will understand 
if you want to rest before . . ." he trailed off suggestively, his hands 
resting on the doctor's inner thighs with a delicacy Julian savored. Yet 
the tailor had hit close to home. Every muscles in his body ached from 
the day's long hours, and rest certainly did sound appetizing; nearly as 
much as the thought of indulging beneath Garak's erotic ministrations. 

He propped himself on his elbows and settled on a solution which would 
satisfy both their needs. "I think I'll take a shower first. But don't you 
dare go anywhere," he warned quickly, pointing his finger at him. 

Garak rested a hand on his broad chest in a show of mock innocence. 
"Me? Dare to leave? Never in a million light-years, dearest Julian. I shall 
be waiting for you, right here," the tailor promised, resting a finger on 
the soft mattress.

Julian responded with a broad grin, the kind which tugged at Garak's 
heart; he would do anything to capture that exquisite mouth in a sweet 
kiss once again, yet he understood Julian's need for relaxation. 
Exhausting the poor doctor right away would do good to no one. Thus he 
followed the lithe human as he padded into the bathroom, closing the 
door on his way. A few minutes later, Garak heard the tell tale sound of 
running water, and he began to put his clothes on. He would not go far, 
nor for long, and he vowed to come back before Julian would note his 
absence. There was something he had to do, and he was certain Julian 
would appreciate the gesture beyond simple words. At least, that's what 
the tailor hoped. Quietly, he slipped out into the corridor.
   
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The hot water was a blessing to Julian's aching body. It cascaded gently 
unto his generous curves, massaging the tension away as it naturally 
flowed over him. He immersed himself totally in the steaming water, and 
thought how equally erotic the liquid was on his sensitized skin. How 
odd that he had never given it a second thought on other occasions. Of 
course, there was never a hot sensuous lover waiting for him in the other 
room on other occasions as well. Grinning at the prospect, he turned off 
the water and nuzzled his face into a warm soft towel. He heaved a sigh 
of profound contentment as he sauntered to the oval mirror, vigorously 
rubbing his damp hair with the towel. He then slipped into fresh silken 
trousers, and walked into the main room, refreshed and energized . . .

 . . only to find it empty. Deep disappointment washed over him as he 
realized Garak hadn't kept his promise. Hunching his shoulders, refusing 
to place a call to the tailor to demand the reason, he sat at the edge of the 
bed where, a few moments before, he had enjoyed the touches of an 
exotic lover. 

Why?

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                                   CHAPTER EIGHT

Garak had lost count of the curses he'd uttered since Major Kira had 
accosted him midway to Julian's quarters. She had been confused at the 
tailor's evident impatience, and, seemingly unaware that he was in a 
hurry, she had dragged the conversation longer than Garak wished to 
estimate. He had already talked with Sisko and explained the situation, 
but Kira had evidently not been told all the details. What had happened? 
Did he see Dukat? How did he escape? 

Finally ridding himself of her, he nearly jogged toward his friend's 
quarters, having little care of the stares he attracted. 

At last he reached them, and hoped to Great Gul he wasn't too late.

"Julian," he breathed, facing the doctor's annoyed face. Yet the tailor 
also detected relief underlying Julian's stern features.

"I guess promises don't mean much to you, do they Garak?" he asked 
with mock severity. Garak raised a finger, mustering the mischievous 
gaze he seemed to always wear. 

"Ah, but I think you'll forgive me this time, dear Julian." At Bashir's 
questioning frown, Garak produced a vial from his jacket containing a 
transparent viscous gel. "I have a present for you," he said silkily, 
sauntering over to him. "And I think you'll enjoy it." He took the svelte 
doctor by the shoulders and gently pushed him on the bed so that he 
rested on his stomach. 

"What are you going to do?" Julian inquired, not particularly afraid, but 
nevertheless wary. After all, this was his first liaison with a Cardassian; 
a species he knew very little about in terms of sexuality. Were there 
customs he ignored? Should there be something to worry about after all? 
Yet Garak's cool soothing touch on his bare back killed all his questions, 
and the tension eased under the slight massaging motions Garak's hands 
were making. 

"I assure you that I won't do anything unpleasant," Garak reassured.  
"Indulge me . . . won't you doctor?" he purred.

A sigh answered him, and Julian closed his smoldering eyes, 
relinquishing his body to Garak with total confidence. He rested his head 
on his folded arms and waited patiently as Garak admired the exotic 
golden curves his sinewed back offered. Repressing the urge to cover 
them with wet kisses, Garak reached for the clear gel and applied a 
generous portion on his right palm, rubbing his hands together after he'd 
cast away the vial. The gel was extremely hot in his hands, Garak noted, 
and was just the remedy Julian needed after his long day. He could recall 
Julian complaining that no one on the station knew how to administer a 
good backrub. Had that been an invitation at the time and the tailor had 
missed it? He willed the thought away. He needed his concentration 
whole. 

Carefully, he straddled the small of Julian's back and began massaging 
the doctor's sinuous shoulders with firm strokes, eliciting a soft moan 
from his dearest doctor. Smiling privately, he moved his ministrations to 
Julian's shoulder blades, rounding them with gentle care as he copiously 
applied the hot oil everywhere. 

"Mmmh, that feels so wonderful Elim . . ." Julian said almost 
incoherently. Garak recognized the doctor was on the verge of sleep; just 
what he had intended. His own pleasure could wait. For now, his doctor 
needed to recuperate. Tracing the spine now, Garak roved his hands over 
each vertebrae, marveling again at human anatomy. Such smooth, 
uniform skin, and so delicate. He wondered lazily if all humans harbored 
Julian's unflawed skin, but quickly dismissed the thought. 
 
Who cares? There were no other humans which interested him other 
than Julian. 

Lovingly, he began stroking his arms, feeling the muscles relax instantly 
under his touch. At last, he cocked his head sideways, peeking at Julian's 
face. As he had suspected, the doctor's features were completely relaxed, 
and his eyes were closed in profound slumber.

"Julian?" he ventured in a whisper. When no response came, the tailor 
gently removed himself from the bed and quietly padded into the 
bathroom to remove the remnants of the oil from his hands. 

When he slinkered back in, Julian had stirred into a fetal position, and 
was sleeping peacefully. Garak smiled affectionately and, as gently as he 
could manage, deposited a sheet over the doctor, squeezing Julian's 
shoulder when he had been properly tucked in. 

Satisfied, Garak sighed softly, and removed his jacket. After throwing it 
unceremoniously on a chair, he carefully moved unto the bed next to 
Bashir, and slid loving arms over and under him. This drew a protesting 
moan from Bashir, but the doctor quickly snuggled closer and more 
comfortably against the Cardassian. Fighting the urge to tighten his hold 
of his loving Julian, Garak rested his chin against the young man's dark 
curls, drowsily enjoying the ticklish sensations the damp hairs were 
producing against his skin. Quickly, he fell asleep himself.

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Julian awoke slowly in the morning, rested and profoundly pleased. He 
was aware of Garak's arms tightly wound around his body, and when he 
raised his eyes he found the tailor's face intently peaceful, seemingly 
unaware that his loving doctor had been roused. 

Julian took the precious moment to admire his lover's face, tracing the 
ornate ridges with his eyes, following each scale carefully. When he had 
embarked on DS9 for the first time, it had taken him a while to even 
tolerate the sight of Cardassians, knowing how savage they had been 
during the Occupation. Such association had made the doctor blind to 
the strange beauty they offered. It wasn't until he began his friendship 
with the tailor that his eyes had been suddenly opened to the exotic 
beauty of Garak's heritage. 

Lazily, he reached up and began tracing Garak's neck ridges, smiling 
privately at the leathery texture. He swept his slender hand downward, 
still following the path of the scales which seemingly went on forever, 
rounding his shoulder, down his arm where they faded into smooth 
leathery skin. His eyes were locked on Garak's face, watching for any 
movement or twitch in the Cardassian's features. Yet they remained still, 
until Julian traced his hand back up his chest; Julian smiled slightly as 
Garak stirred. 

"Mmmh," he mumbled, opening his eyes fractionally. A tired smile 
promptly brightened his features. "Good morning Doctor. Slept well I 
trust?"

"Thanks to you," Julian replied, reaching up and kissing the tailor 
affectionately. Garak returned the soft kiss and untangled his arms from 
the doctor's body, rolling onto his back. Julian frowned suddenly. "Dear 
me, what time is it?"

"It is presently 0956 hours," the computer answered pleasantly.

"Goodness!" Julian exclaimed, scrambling off the bed. "I had to be at the 
infirmary at nine! Damn damn damn," he cursed, fumbling into the 
bathroom.

Garak took no small pleasure in watching the slender doctor as he 
rushed here and there, retrieving his combadge from a desk drawer, his 
uniform from the bathroom, his shoes from two corners of the room. The 
tailor simply propped himself on his elbow, an amused smile animating 
his face. 

"You know," he said with rascality clear in his tone. "That's the trouble 
with Starfleet. They never let you be your own boss. Now owning a 
shop," he pointed out, "that at least gives you the opportunity to enjoy 
these moments without concern."

Caught dashing for another corner of his quarters, Julian halted briskly 
and his features coalesced into a contrite look. 

"Oh Garak, I'm sorry to be rushing off like this, but I can't afford a day 
off right now. I've ignored the infirmary too long."

Garak sighed and lay back against the soft sheets. "I suppose you're right 
at that. You'd think that Captain Sisko would at least take the past events 
into consideration though."

"Well, I'm sure he'd agree with you," Julian smiled. "_If_ I hadn't 
scheduled everyone's annual inoculations for today." 
 
At the Cardassian's comprehensive -- albeit regretful -- nod, Julian 
climbed on the bed and laid his lanky frame unto Garak's body. "But I'll 
be back soon," he purred, biting the tailor's neck ridges in a taste of what 
was to come. Garak stretched back, moaning softly at the delicious 
sensations. 

"Oh Doctor," he said hoarsely. "Do hurry. I have waited three years for 
this, and I'm not certain I'm prepared to stretch that any further."

Julian laughed and scrambled off. He zipped up the black and turquoise 
jumpsuit over the lavender turtle neck and smiled sweetly. "If you go 
back to your shop, the day will pass in no time. And don't worry," he 
assured, grabbing his medkit. "I fully intend on repaying you for last 
night," he promised, his eyes heavy with passion. With what he swiveled 
on his heels and left swiftly, leaving Garak intensely piqued at the idea 
of waiting.  Stifling an irritated groan, he got up, slid on his jacket and 
headed for his shop. The day would be long indeed.

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                               CHAPTER NINE

Julian pressed a hypospray against the skin of a patient, and let his mind 
wander lazily to the interesting encounter he'd had last night. As such, 
he did not notice the woman frowning at him, nor did he feel her hand 
on his arm, shaking it slightly. 

". . . Julian?"

When he finally focused on her with a start, he realized sharply he had 
drifted off amidst his thoughts. Commander Jadzia Dax rubbed the place 
where he had lingered the hypospray longer than necessary and flinched. 

"Oh Jadzia . . ." he murmured apologetically. "I'm so sorry. I've been 
distracted these past few days I'm afraid," he explained vaguely, placing 
his instrument back in the medkit. He ran a soft swab over the blemish, 
hoping he hadn't hurt Dax too much.

Yet the lovely Trill only smiled affectionately, nodding at the hypospray. 
"I don't mind much, but I wouldn't recommend doing that to Lt. Worf," 
she warned. He smiled broadly, relieved that she had taken his lapses 
with humor. "So what's on your mind Julian?" she asked seriously.

He looked at her, wondering whether he should tell her of his liaison 
with the tailor. Finally, he took a breath and said,  "Garak and I have 
decided to chance it."

Jadzia gave him a knowing smile and placed her hand on his shoulder. 
"I'm happy for you," she said softly. She subdued her smile and hopped 
off the medical bed. "Am I finished here?"

Julian nodded curtly. "You'll be pleased to know you now have another 
year to go before your next inoculations."
 
Jadzia lingered, staring deep into the doctor's lovely eyes. "I just want to 
ask you one thing."

"Yes?"

"Are you happy?"

Julian didn't hesitate. "Very."

The Trill nodded. "Then that's all that matters. I'll see you later Julian."

He smiled after her, but his thoughts were broken when his terminal 
chirped. He went to it and noticed there was a message for him. Curious, 
he called up the menu, and perused the content of the letter. A smile 
slowly crept upon his lips as he scoured the words.


Nay, but this dotage of our General's
O'erflows the measure: those his goodly eyes,
That o'er the files and musters of the war
Have glowed like plated Mars, now bend, now turn 
The office and devotion of their view
Upon a tawny front ...

My dearest Julian, I may not fully understand Shakespeare,  but I do 
understand this; how a man, swept by the love of  a kindred soul, would 
gladly turn over his command and   devotions for its attentions. And you 
were right . . . I  am in no way like Cleopatra. I realize that upon *your*   
tawny front, I would happily retire from any position to be  near you, my 
dearest Julian. I think I understand now what you tried to show me in 
this play. And I see it now . . .   my vision clear by the love I feel for you. 
I hope you feel it too.
  
        Regards, and with all my love,
        Garak


Julian saved the message to his account, and decided it was time to 
relieve himself of duty for the rest of the day.

Determined, he left his sickbay and marched down the Promenade. 
When he stepped inside the small tailoring shop, Garak looked up with a 
start. "My my," he remarked. "Either you decided not to stay in the 
infirmary all day, or else time did indeed pass more quickly than I 
envisioned."

Julian advanced toward the console where Garak worked and leaned 
over it, eyes smoldering and an intense desire playing itself across his 
golden features. "Are you busy?" he asked hoarsely.

Garak pressed a panel on the terminal and looked up. "Just finished," he 
smiled brightly.

"Good," Julian nodded. "We're leaving."

The tailor rose and followed Julian out, leaving his terminal with 
Shakespeare's words etched upon the screen. A minute later, it flickered 
off in a whisper.

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There's beggary in the love that can be reckoned. 

~~ Mark-Anthony “Anthony and Cleopatra” act I scene I

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                             EPILOGUE

The Cardassian tailor had a pretty shrewd idea of what to expect as he 
was ushered inside Julian's quarters. Although he had admittedly 
harbored a desire for this, Garak was suddenly surprised to find himself 
nervous. He wasn't sure why. He knew the doctor desired him, just as 
much as he did him. So where was the problem? Garak was certain he 
had a great deal more experience than Julian, but as lay he on the bed, 
watching the doctor as he carefully undressed himself, Garak felt 
suddenly intimidated by this exquisite creature. A rarity indeed; Garak 
was not easily intimidated, and he decided to remedy that. 

Sitting up abruptly, he stared deeply into the doctor's eyes as he pushed 
his arms away from their task. "Let me, dear Julian. Too many night's 
I've wished to do this . . . I can't really help myself," he smiled. Julian 
nodded, gazing back into Garak's clear blue eyes. "I couldn't wait all 
day," he whispered. "I just couldn't keep away . . . And when you sent 
me that beautiful letter..." he murmured softly. 

Garak nodded wisely, having felt much of what Julian had suffered all 
morning as well. Delicately, he peeled off the jumpsuit, this time 
completely, pausing only at the level of Julian's underwear and admiring 
there the generous curve of his manhood.  Pushing away the urge to 
forget everything and plunder Julian's erect sex, Garak resumed his task, 
acutely aware of his own erection straining against his trousers. When 
finally the doctor was completely nude, Julian took it upon himself to 
mirror the gesture, stripping off the tailor's jacket, then his pants. 

As they pressed together upon the bed, warm reptilian skin finally 
caressed smooth silky skin as they lost themselves in the scent of their 
arousal. Garak soon found himself beneath the doctor's lithe frame as 
Julian took it upon himself to make true of his promise. Maddeningly 
slow, he began licking the wide ridges of Garak's neck, pausing at his 
chest where he paid particular attention to the grayish nipples. 

Writhing under the sheer pleasure of Julian's caressing tongue, Garak 
reached for the doctor's hair and entangled his massive fingers within 
the dark curls. At last Julian reached the tailor's inner thighs, and he 
teasingly nuzzled his nose against his warm erection. This drew a 
powerful groan from the tailor, and Julian looked up inquisitively. 
"Garak?"

Chest rising up and down rapidly, Garak managed to look down from 
under heavy eyelids. "I'm fine Doctor, it's just . . . I've imagined this 
moment so many times, yet I never prepared myself for . . . such intense 
feelings . . ." His head dropped back, and Julian felt suddenly content; to 
have elicited such pleasure in his lover, he merrily bent his head down 
and proceeded to take Garak's full erection in his mouth. The Cardassian 
shuddered intensely, smothering another cry into a pillow. 

Julian wouldn't have expected such a responsive reaction. For some 
reason, he had always considered Cardassian skin to be thick, not quite 
as sensitive as human's anyhow. Yet Garak's response was proof enough 
that appearances weren't always what they seemed.  

The tailor, for his part, knew himself well enough to know he was close 
to release. Refusing to let the moment end so quickly, wanting to savor 
this intimate experience with his Julian for a long time, he sat up and 
took the doctor's face in his hands, closing his mouth on his moist lips 
with a passionate kiss, tasting there his own juices coating Julian's 
delicate lips.                       

"Julian . . ." he hesitated. "Dear Julian, I want to be inside you . . . "

The doctor nodded with a light seductive smile, and he reached across 
the bed to open a drawer. There he retrieved a small tube of lubricant 
which he handed to the tailor. He took it gratefully, and turned Bashir's 
svelte body around. The doctor settled himself comfortably, anticipating 
Garak's touch. When it came, he shuddered and moaned. The tailor 
curved his lips in a wry smile as he gently caressed Julian's backside, 
opening him up easily and spreading the lubricant everywhere. 

Satisfied, he coated his fiery erection thoroughly and tossed the tube 
aside.
   
"Ready?" he asked gruffly, leaning over Julian's lithe naked body.  
  
Julian nodded eagerly, pressing his body closer to Garak's in response. 
His breath was practically ragged with anticipation as the tailor pressed 
his sex firmly against Julian's cleft. Then, with one smooth stroke, he 
entered the doctor, and Julian writhed passionately in the throes of 
powerful sensations. He emitted a low growl as the tailor pulled out 
slightly and firmly reentered. Julian thought he would collapse under the 
sheer pleasure of it. The physical enjoyment was blissful, but knowing it 
was Garak so carefully taking him like this was unbearably sweet. The 
tailor barely had time to enter him a third time when Julian came 
violently upon the bed. Garak was surprised at the young man's speed to 
release. Yet as he circled his hand around the slim waist, wanting to 
stimulate Julian's sex further, he let out a surprised gasp, discovering 
that the doctor was hardening again. 
  
"Oh what other surprises do you conceal, beloved Julian?" he whispered, 
massaging his lover's erection with a resolute hand. Julian arched his 
back, moaning delightfully under Garak's ministrations. When at last the 
tailor reached his own climax, Julian joined him once again, and their 
mingled cries sounded within the doctor's quarters.

They remained still for a moment, reveling in the mere sensation of 
being pressed so closely together, then Garak carefully rolled off of him 
and looked up smilingly at Julian with brilliant blue eyes. Julian 
answered his smile and curled up close to the Cardassian, enveloping 
himself in the warm damp feeling of Garak. Strong arms circled his 
waist and they beneficiently drifted toward sleep, Garak spooning Julian 
and leaving a trail of lazy kisses on his cherished doctor's shoulders. 
When slumber finally threatened to overcome him, Julian craned his 
neck, and brushed his lips against the tailor's. "Are you happy?" he asked 
suddenly, echoing Jadzia's earlier question. 

Garak's translucent eyes betrayed a momentary confusion. "More than 
ever, dear Julian. I've dreamed of this for far too long, and I had resigned 
myself into thinking it would never happen, knowing that our friendship 
was very important." He smiled and nuzzled his peaked nose against 
Julian's nape. "But now," he whispered, his voice almost a muffle. "I'm 
happier than I've been in a long time." Sharp blue eyes peeked up behind 
Julian's shoulders. "My desire to return home is strong, but distinctly 
worn away when I realize what I have here." He tilted his head. "And 
what of you, Julian? Do I make you happy?"

Where sleep had once invaded his mind, energy strangely found its way 
inside to replace it. Julian turned around within Garak's embrace and 
bent his head forward. The passionate kiss which he administered to the 
tailor was answer enough.

Surrounded by the station's harsh contours and beyond it the coldness of 
space, Elim Garak and Julian Bashir lost themselves to each other and 
their passion, forgetting everything to delight one another's precious 
existence.     

@}}--}----}--}----}--}----}--}----}--}----}--}----}--}----}--}----}--}-----

THE END


Copyright (c) BGM 1997
soma@johnabbott.qc.ca