http://members.aol.com/hannah1971/ NOTES: Well, damn. After having watched "The Die is Cast" at least three times this past week, I realized that *someone* had to put the screws to Garak. And after my Andy Robinson/Garak weekend, I figured maybe it should be me. Don't go looking for dialogue in this one. Hope y'all are well. So, Cyndi Lauper thinks DS9 is a dirty gas station, eh? Well, Cyndi, that dirty gas station and its residents as described in this story belong to Paramount. I just admire them so much I don't want to leave their stories half-told. And while I have great respect for your talents, I would guess that, with the way *your* career has been in the past five years or so, you might not want to sneer at dirty gas stations. They might be the only place you can find work... "The Return" by Hannah R.H. Copyright 1996 His back hurt, and he was tired. Those were the main thoughts that Garak allowed himself as he settled in to his quarters for the evening. The fifth day of picking up around his shop, trying to restore it to some semblance of its previous ... mediocrity ... had left him with only those two things--pain and fatigue. Fortunately, he had predicted that he would be done with the cleanup the next day, and could begin replacing the furniture and, yes, merchandise that had been singed to a black ash in the explosion. It had been settled upon his return from the Gamma Quadrant, that he would reopen the shop and resume his life as Deep Space Nine's only Cardassian tailor. Constable Odo hadn't seemed at all surprised by his decision, he mused as he replicated a glass of kanaar. No one had seemed particularly surprised, not Jadzia Dax-- who had volunteered a few of her off hours to helping him repair his shop--or Commander Sisko--who barely grunted at him during the second of his three "debriefings." Garak smiled at the politically neutral Federation term for interrogations. Sisko had been cool toward the returned, once-again-exiled station resident as he repeatedly demanded Garak's version of the story of his and Odo's "capture"--not quite enthusiastic about fitting the newly- found pieces of the puzzle of Garak's life together for his over-eager superiors. Garak sipped the kanaar and found the best position in his favorite reclining chair. Poor Benjamin Sisko--he would have earned so many points had he been able to turn over anything of worth to Star Fleet headquarters about Garak's position in the Obsidian Order, his relationship with Tain, his knowledge of the inner workings of the Cardassian leadership structure. But now, for what Sisko knew, Garak's knowledge and experience were moot points at most. Tain and his most strident followers were dead, the Obsidian Order painfully crippled, what leadership was left on Cardassia was bedraggled and tattered. The people of Cardassia were angry... But that hardly mattered. What value Garak could have for the Federation, to their knowledge, was dead and past, and he could be safe in that naive ignorance for awhile. No, Sisko hadn't been at all surprised that Garak had wanted to reopen his shop. Sisko was long past being surprised by anything. In the last five days, Garak had reestablished the tenuous links he had with other residents of the station, taunting Quark, bickering with Odo and Kira, talking affectionately with Lieutenant Dax, who was maybe the one person left on the station whom he could be affectionate with. Julian Bashir hadn't spoken to him after that first day back. The doctor had gently repaired the damage Odo had inflicted on Garak with his well-landed punch, and when they had returned to the station, Julian had squeezed his shoulder gently with a soft comment about having missed their lunches, and then they had gone their separate ways, Garak to the Promenade and the shop, and Julian to the senior officers' meeting--debriefing--to learn from Odo what had happened. Odo had come to him later, before Garak's own first "debriefing" had begun, to suggest they have breakfast some time, and silently the tailor bade farewell to the old life he had long dreamed of returning to. That life had exploded in a brilliant white light, surrounded by 140 Jem Hadar ships. Garak waited for Julian to come to him, so they could talk about what had happened, but Julian never did. In an unbidden flash, Garak could again picture Odo cowering in a corner, Changeling solidified flesh stripping off him as he was nearing death, trembling in an excruciating agony that he would never admit to. Just one secret, just one--and Garak could have turned off the stasis field that prevented Odo's substance from returning to its liquid state. Odo didn't have any secrets that Tain could use, however--a fact that Garak had known even before the interrogation had begun. Odo wouldn't have comprehended the desire to keep secrets about the Dominion from Star Fleet in his reports. But Tain had wanted it done, and Garak had done it. Tain had opened to the door to Garak's old life, and Garak had walked through with a handshake and not a single look back. Odo hadn't kept any secrets from Star Fleet then, and he wouldn't have kept any secrets now from Sisko, Kira, Dax, O'Brien ... or Julian. Julian knew. They all knew, but Julian knew, and somehow that was worse. Garak's stomach turned at the thought of it, and he swallowed another mouthful of kanaar in defiance of the nausea. He imagined the expression on the human face as Julian listened to Odo's dispassionate description of what had been done to him. Horrified, grossly astonished, flushed with anger, outraged. Julian, the young doctor, had promised his life to the preservation of life, all life, and once, years ago, Garak had dedicated part of his own to the taking of life, the giving of pain. He was excellent at it. A bitter chuckle echoed through the room as the memory of his words to Odo played in his head. "The sad thing is ... I'm a very good tailor." He might have added the post script: "But I'm a far more excellent inquisitor." An efficient torturer. But Odo had known that first-hand. It wasn't entirely true that he hadn't seen Julian in the last five days. Two days before, as he left the replimat where he had futilely waited for the doctor to appear for lunch, he had spotted Julian lingering behind a group of Bajoran tourists, and his eyes had met the doctor's own for a brief moment, long enough for Garak to realize what Julian was waiting for. He was waiting for Garak to leave. In a flash of self-awareness, the Cardassian had understood that he had the most ridiculous expression on his face. Shock? For what? For a young man who didn't want to break bread with a torturer? For a human who couldn't forgive the harm that had been done to Odo, although Odo himself had forgiven it? He stepped backward a pace or two, and then turned to return to his work in the shop. And to allow Julian to eat in peace. The second glass of kanaar was as flavorless as the first, but he savored the sensation of his tongue numbing as he wished for a glass large enough to numb his whole body. That first day back, in the shop, as Odo walked away, Garak put away his old life, and began to think of having friends in the plural sense again. Doctor Bashir, his best friend-- perhaps Julian wouldn't be his only friend any longer. He had been greedy with it, he knew, and now his best friend was gone. Singular again. He snarled a sound of grief and frustration, which almost masked the chime to his suite. With his thick, almost immobilized tongue, Garak called for the door to open as he moved unsteadily to his feet. When he saw his visitor, the affects of the alcoholic kanaar funneled into a sweep of dizziness and then disappeared down a mental drain. "Julian," he said soberly. Julian returned the hypospray to the medical reclimator after tending to his last patient of the day. It was much later than his days normally ended, but since he had intended to catch up on overdue forms and reports in his office that night, he decided to continue to see patients. Really, it was just another way to postpone those forms and reports. He walked through the infirmary rooms, finding with dissatisfaction that no more patients remained, and returned to his desk to continue to update his files on the station's chief of security. Picking up the small datapadd that displayed the complete file on Odo's physiology and medical history, Julian rested his cheek in one upturned palm, momentarily running his fingers over his temple and rubbing his forehead. It had only been two months before that he and Odo, joking over a late breakfast, had commented on how woefully incomplete the Constable's medical file was. "Goodness, Odo," the doctor had chuckled. "One might think you were immortal..." Odo had formed an echo of Julian's smile on his own face, and raised an eyebrow. "One might, indeed," the Changeling had replied. "And who would I be to contradict them?" Two months ago they had naively joked that nothing seemed to be able to harm Odo, but now that joke sounded like heresy. They had taunted the gods, and they had paid the price. Julian punched a few more keys on the padd. Odo had paid the price, actually. And now all Julian had to do was describe to Star Fleet in full detail the effects that the Cardassian stasis device had had on Odo. He tried to recall the Constable's exact words five days before, at the first senior officers' meeting since Odo and Garak had returned from the Gamma Quadrant. He tried to recall the dispassionate way Odo had described the forcibly solidified flesh peeling from his arms and torso—his face!--the shudders that wracked his body, the unending agony. Perhaps if he could remember the emotionless way Odo had described the ordeal, he could finish the report with the same cold efficiency, and the task would be out of the way. He could go back to his other duties. Julian pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes, and recalled fleetingly his mother's warning that that particular habit would eventually blind him. Sometimes he chuckled about it, and suspected that he had gone into medicine simply to disprove all of her old superstitions. He revelled in the fact that his face "hadn't frozen that way" yet, or that hair hadn't grown on his palms. And he wouldn't go blind, not yet. Stars danced on his retinas, reminding him of the view outside his quarters. If he would just finish this one report, he could return to his quarters and get some rest. He would just borrow that cold efficiency from Odo, and the task would be completed. He pressed more buttons on the padd. But weren't "cold" and "efficient" words that Odo had used when he had described the one who had been responsible for his torture? Odo hadn't been dispassionate throughout the entire testimony, after all--when it had come time for him to describe Garak's role in his interrogation, Odo's voice had taken on a particular tone. Admiration. Or reverence. Julian had thought it was utterly bizarre, and had almost pointed it out to Kira, Dax, Sisko--whoever would have listened to him. But in the end he had kept his mouth shut, feeling himself flush with outrage and horror, as Odo described the cold and efficient way Garak had gone about tormenting Odo for secrets about the Founders. Odo, of course, hadn't had any secrets to give him. They all knew that. And in the end, Garak had stopped the interrogation, for God-only-knew what reason, right before Odo would have flaked out of existence onto the floor. A life of service and duty, ending in agony in a corner of a dark room on a Romulan warbird. Julian looked down at the miniature screen in amazement, wondering at what point he had finished describing the effects of the Cardassian device on Odo. He transferred the file into the station's main computer system, taking care to lock it with his highest Star Fleet security protocol, and earmarked it for delivery to Headquarters in the next message transport. He could have used his own clearance to send it immediately, but why? Soon all the crusty old admirals and lackeys on Earth would know that Odo wasn't immortal. No point in giving them that information before absolutely necessary. Odo. He had often suspected that, early on, Odo had considered the Terran physician an annoying pup--oh, hell, it seemed as if everyone on the station once considered Julian an annoying pup--but in the last year, he had begun to count on Odo as one of his good friends, and actually enjoyed the few times they had socialized together. He had even nursed a small hope that the Changeling or Chief O'Brien might see their way to invite him along on one of their semi-frequent kayaking adventures in the holosuites. He was becoming quite fond of O'Brien as well, and often wondered what the two talked about during their river trips. But they had not invited him, and he had never really minded. Because he had always had Garak to spend time with. Kira had Dax, O'Brien had Odo, Sisko had his son, and Julian--Julian had Garak. His best friend. Julian nodded at the arrival of his relief officer, and without another word left the infirmary for a roundabout return to his quarters. Down through the Promenade, first-- to see what, if anything, was going on in Quark's. His best friend. He passed the exact point he had been standing the one time he had seen Garak in the preceding five days. It was after he had briefly stepped into the replimat for lunch, jumping back out when he saw that Garak was standing up from his lone spot at one of the tables. The Cardassian had just been finishing his own lunch, later than the accustomed time. Julian had backed across the Promenade to stand behind a group of chatty Bajoran tourists, hoping that Garak wouldn't see him in his (efficient) return to cleaning up his shop. But Garak's hyperdeveloped senses had served him, and he had looked over just at the moment that Julian had begun to exhale, and their eyes met. A strange expression had passed over the tailor's face--was it surprise? And Julian had instantly realized that Garak knew the doctor was avoiding him. And after a moment, Julian wondered why he really cared. Torturer. All those months--years, really--of lunches, dinners, animated conversation over ales and synthesized kanaars in Quark's. The scaly face covered by a thin layer of reflective material, bouncing back whatever emotions or feelings Julian had chosen to see there. The doctor snorted. Those feelings had never truly been there--just false ones in their place, as unreal as the kanaar that Garak insisted on drinking every time they were together. He even wondered, now, whether during their arguments about literature--the value of the Cardassian enigma tales, the medical parable inside Shelley's Frankenstein, the translucent battle between passion and logic in so much modern Vulcan fiction--Garak had just been prodding for Julian's weak points, looking for ways to exploit the Terran. Julian knew that Garak had been exploiting him from the beginning. And as he looked forward to his return to his quarters for the night, he dreaded the knowledge of what was to come, another parade of nightmares, that he was to be the one tortured at Garak's hand. Those blue eyes, so often mimicking amusement and affection, would drill into his soul, and wouldn't care whether Julian Bashir had any secrets to reveal. They would want nothing more that to watch him die. His best friend. After absentmindedly lifting a hand to his eyes to wipe the excess moisture fatigue had left there, Julian regained himself with a start. In his roundabout return to his own quarters, he had made his way to Garak's instead. And now, without a thought, he sounded the chime requesting entrance. The door, of course, slid open. Garak was half-standing next to the chair in the middle of the room. Julian noted coldly that the Cardassian looked surprised. Again. He only had one word: "Julian..." "Julian..." The one word hung between them as Julian Bashir and Garak stared at each other through the door to Garak's quarters. Why the hell am I here? Julian panicked, completely appalled that his feet could have led him here without his brain's permission. Why is he here? Garak wondered with simultaneous fear and hope. "Julian..." "Garak." "Will you come in and sit down?" The tailor stepped back toward the chair he had just stood up from and gestured to the identical chair next to it. Julian stepped carefully into the room the way a Bajoran child might walk through an empty field, half-expecting a land mine to detonate and take off his legs. "All right." He watched Garak self-consciously move into his own chair, and realized that, although the two chairs were identical in every way, he had never seen the Cardassian sit in the other one. A peculiar quirk, he supposed. He lowered himself into the seat as Garak tucked his legs under his body, leaning forward in total attention. Suddenly Garak started. "Oh--do you want something to drink, Doctor? That tea of yours, or perhaps a glass of wine, or water? Or..." "No, Garak--nothing. I'm fine, really." Fine. Really not fine, actually. Julian couldn't remember a time when he had been just fine. Not at that moment. Garak watched him. Julian's face was dark, flushed just as it got when the Terran was angry or upset. Julian had walked into the room as if he suspected land mines were laid there, but to Garak the only impending explosion was the single one due any moment from Julian. Why was he here? "Julian ... " "What?!" The answer was sharp, almost as if Garak himself had entered the doctor's territory at an unwelcome moment. "I've missed you, you know...," Garak said quietly. He rubbed his eyes in an unconscious mimic of the doctor's habit he had so often witnessed. Julian watched him coldly. My best friend, Julian thought. I've sat here any number of times before, in this chair, watching Garak toss back glass after glass of kanaar, always the same though my "poison" changes almost daily, depending on what sort of day I had. Always the same chair, the same kanaar, the same legs tucked under Garak as he leans forward, intent on every word that comes from my mouth, ready with an argument--or debate--for everything that I say. Always. Julian murmured a response to the Cardassian's last statement, suddenly wishing for a glass of something to distract him. His murmur sounded inadequate, and needed modification. "Have you?" he continued, louder than necessary. "Have you?" "Yes," a quieter voice replied. "I wonder if you were thinking about how much you missed me when you were watching Odo die?" That, too, was immediately inadequate to Julian's ears, but it was good enough for a start. "Mmmm? Were you thinking of *me* while he was suffering?" Garak didn't allow his face to change. "Doctor, I was hoping I might talk to you, to explain--" "Explain? What?! I'm not certain there is anything for you to explain, Garak. I listened to Odo's side of the story, and I read your reports, and talked with Sisko myself about what you told him. What on Earth more could there be for you to explain? Your and Odo's versions of the story are remarkably similar!" "But, Julian--if you know--" "No, I don't *want* or *need* to know anything else, Garak. After three years on this station, three years during which I have done nothing but attempt to befriend you and convince others to do the same, three years of recommending your shop to friends and station visitors, three years of making sure you were invited to all the social gatherings, three years of watching you finally begin to establish some ties to other people, and to me--you took all that, all my friendship and devotion and concern, and you torched it. You couldn't wait to return to your old ways!" He overrode a protest that threatened from the tailor. "Quiet! Do you really think I'm here to listen to what you have to say? Odo told me, told us what you did to him... How did it make you feel, watching his flesh drip from him? You must have known, honestly, that he didn't have anything to tell you, but you did it anyway." He inhaled. "You did it *anyway*." "Julian--I stopped it. I stopped it. I realized it was wrong, and --" Garak was panicking now. He had to get something in, he had to make Julian listen to him. The color was beginning to rise alarmingly in the human's angry face, and Garak knew he couldn't rely on him to stay much longer. "Oh, good for *you*" was the cold response to Garak's interruption. "Good for you, Garak. You realized it was wrong to torture and kill one of your very few friends so you could return to the one man directly responsible for your exile. How *noble* of you! You must be so proud..." Julian's voice faded into silence, one that Garak couldn't bring himself to take advantage of. He watched the top of the younger man's head as it rested in his hands--curious, he found he had never thought much about Julian's hair, much as he didn't think about his own, choosing to push it back from his face in the conservative Cardassian style. But Julian's hair curled--it was short, but it curled. Curious. "Doctor Bashir, for the second time in a long while, I find that I'm at a loss for words." Garak stopped then, finding that, instead of being a good segue into his own monologue, the sentence was the truth. Silence fell again in the room. Finally Garak heard an angry hiss, and realized with alarm that it had come from Julian. "I don't know why I'm here, Garak." Julian looked up at the tailor. He found that in the time he had buried his head in his hands, Garak had lost careful control of his facial expression. Julian saw horror and fear there. He wondered briefly if that had been the expression on Odo's face when the Changeling realized the implications of what Garak was going to do to him. Certainly Odo had sounded unemotional when he related the details of his interrogation to the senior officers, but no one--not Sisko, not Kira, not Dax, not Julian--knew what had really taken place in that room. Only Odo knew. And Garak. Before Garak could react, Julian Bashir stood and walked quickly to the door. He almost made it, before large hands clamped down on his biceps and held him still. With an angry growl, Julian tried to struggle out of the grasp that immobilized him. "You have to listen to me, Doctor," the voice from behind him was coarse. "Let go of me!" He tried to pick the fingers off his arms one by one, growing more enraged. When nothing happened, he yelled again, his furious cry sounding alien in the austere, impeccable surroundings. "What is it, Garak?! Are you going to do to me what you did to Odo?!" And before Julian knew it, the unplanned and unwanted happened. He began to sob, and the angry tears coursed down his face. The strong hands tightened painfully on Julian's arms once, and then released him with a shove that sent him away from the door. Julian turned to face Garak, who had placed himself as an obstacle to the exit. "Is *that* what you think, Doctor? Is that what you've *really* been thinking for the past five days, wondering... Not entirely about Odo, or about all the parties to which you personally ensured my attendence. You were thinking, “Would I have done it to you?" The Cardassian face held an obscene parody of a humorous expression. His eyes were bright, and his mouth turned up at the corners. He stepped toward Julian. The human wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hand. Garak had begun to approach him alarmingly, but Julian wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing fear on his face. He sucked in a breath of air, and considered what to say next. Finally, he answered quietly, his voice half-choked, "Yes." The tears threatened again--they were now as much a product of four essentially sleepless nights as much as they were of the present situation, and Julian didn't think he'd be too successful at banishing them for the rest of the evening. He was exhausted, and he wanted to go home. "You-- were--my best friend here, Garak. I'm not sure if that has any meaning to you at all--" "It does, Julian. I promise you, it does." "--and I waited for you to come back from the Gamma Quadrant, and when Sisko decided to take the Defiant to the other side of the Wormhole to look for Odo, I volunteered to go because I wanted to find *you.* I wanted you back on the station..." He paused and turned himself to step further into the room, as much to show Garak that he didn't intend to leave as to avoid looking at Garak's face for the next few moments. "I was so--glad that you were safe, when you came off the transporter pad, and even wondered when we would next meet for lunch--" "Oh, I did, too, Doctor. I--I was thinking the same thing." Garak could feel his pulse throbbing in his temple. He wanted to sit down again, but he wanted to hear Julian without distraction much more. "And then, I heard Odo's story ... and as much as I hate to say it, as much as I hate myself for admitting it--I was concerned about Odo, but--" Julian waved a hand in the air as if he could continue the conversation in sign language. "No." Garak's word carried through the room, enveloping both of them. "No?" Julian repeated. He still didn't turn. The Cardassian breathed. "I don't expect you to believe me, Doctor--Julian. I wouldn't expect that at all now. But no, I could never have done that ... to you." A bitter laugh came from the human. "You're right--I don't know if I can believe you." Julian paused for a moment, and Garak watched some of the tension leave his shoulders. "But I want to. I want to so badly, Garak, that it's almost within my grasp." Julian turned just as Garak stepped up behind him, and the tailor noticed that the extreme color had left the young face, and he wasn't near tears. Garak didn't know if this was a good sign or a bad one. But he plowed ahead anyway. "You're my closest friend, Julian...," Garak said softly. "You asked me if I was thinking about you when I was-- hurting--Odo? I was." The brown eyes fixed on him, surprised. "I was thinking about you when I was begging Odo to lie to me, to create some story so I could have anything to give to Enabran Tain, so I could turn that horrible device off and let Odo heal. I was thinking about how much I missed you, and how, in those few moments, I wished we were still at the table in the replimat talking about Shakespeare or Shogoth, or Dax's latest conquest, or whom Quark had been caught cheating the night before. For the first time in my life, I wished for ignorance, Julian. And I thought of you when I finally did turn off that device, after Odo told me--" Garak caught himself, but not before Julian's eyes had narrowed. "--after Odo told me once and for all that he couldn't tell me anything. I thought of you when I turned the device off, and a small part of me, a part that can't be much more than three years old, hoped that I would be able to come back to the station, to my ignorance... I hoped it, even though I knew Tain would never let me leave his side alive." He fell to silence, and he and Julian regarded each other. "Elim." Julian chose Garak's first name carefully. "I'm not sure I can forgive what you did to him." His eyes never left the Cardassian's. "I know," Garak answered. "But I'm going to try to earn your respect, and friendship, back again. I'm going to try." The human and the Cardassian sighed in unison, both their bodies trying to normalize the fluctuating amounts of oxygen their bloodstreams had absorbed in the last few minutes. Finally, Julian spoke. "I'm exhausted, Garak. I haven't had much sleep in the last few days, and from the looks of it, neither have you." The last part of the sentence was uttered with the professional detachment of a doctor. But the warmth returned for the following, "We should both get some sleep. Perhaps you'd like to meet for lunch tomorrow?" Garak smiled minutely, not quite ready to assume anything. "I'd like that immensely, Doctor." "All right, then--the usual time, the usual table, Garak. Don't be late..." He walked toward the door as the tailor chuckled quietly over the private joke--Julian had commented numerous times that the Cardassian was the most punctual person he knew. "I won't. And Julian?" The young man stopped in the threshhold of the now-open door. He turned, a weary but attentive expression on his face. "Yes?" Garak realized he really hadn't anything to say. Again. "Nothing. Nothing at all. I'll see you tomorrow." After the door closed, after Garak had returned to his usual chair with his usual glass of kanaar, tucking his legs up underneath his body, and thinking about the day... long after all of that, a smile remained on his face. The End